“Well, you found me,” she said. “I’m here, and I’m healthy and whole. So…”
“I can’t believe you were sitting out in this weather. People die like that.”
“They don’t.”
“They do. Especially when they’re too drunk to feel the cold. Yarro Connish did two years ago. They found him curled up outside Ibdish’s house with half a skin of wine in his hand.”
“I’m not him,” Alys said, and started walking southeast, toward the Smoke. She was steadier on her feet now, and Sammish had to trot to catch up. Her heart was a complex of resentment, amusement, and regret. Part of her wanted to be back with Ullin and the necessary evil of his friends, trading stories and laughing and getting drunk on smoke. But part of her, she now realized, wanted badly to sleep. She didn’t know how long she’d been out in the alleyway, or how far into the night they’d come. With the clouds low overhead, there was no moon or star to tell her. Ullin had the trick of making the night seem brief.
“Long walk home,” Sammish said.
“I’m not going home,” Alys said.
“Oh. All right,” Sammish said, her voice pulling back like Alys had touched a cut. “Then I should…”
“Fuck’s sake, you’re not either. Stop whining and come with me.”
The streets of Stonemarket were calm and quiet in the darkness. A few people made their way on foot, and Alys led Sammish past one slow-moving cart drawn by an ancient, tired-looking mule, but the doors of the markets, workshops, guild halls, and warehouses were all closed. There were glimmers of light in the higher windows where families and servants hadn’t yet gone to bed, but only a few. For the greatest part, the city was saving its candles and oil. Alys stopped at a private alley with a high iron gate and took the key from her sleeve. When she closed and locked the gate behind them, Sammish looked as lost as a rabbit, and Alys took her hand to lead her into the darkness.
The merchant family she’d taken her room from traded in salt and private loans, and they’d bargained hard for her little shelter. It was close as a grave, but it backed against the kitchen. The stone radiated a little of the cookfire’s heat even long after the cooks had gone to bed. Alys wondered whether Darro hadn’t also had arrangements like this. Little places to go to ground scattered all through the city. She imagined that he might have. She hoped that he had.
There was no candle or lantern, so she led Sammish to the straw mattress in darkness, and in darkness, she brushed the melting snow off her own cloak sleeves and shoulders. The mouser that lived in the alley scratched at the door, and Alys let it in too. A few fleas weren’t much to risk if it meant a little more warmth.
“There’s a night pot in the corner if you need it, and some water on a stand beside,” Alys said, lowering herself into the bed.
“Are we supposed…” Sammish said, as if the words were too big for her throat. “Should we undress?”
“If you want to freeze to death, go ahead,” Alys said. “There’s only one blanket, and it’s thin.”
“All right. I didn’t know.” And then, “I’m sorry.”
Alys found the blanket and hauled it up over the both of them. “For what?”
“I’m in the way. I shouldn’t have come looking.”
“You could trust me better to watch out for myself, that’s true,” she said. Then, because it had come out harsher than she’d meant it, “These are good people.”
“Are they?”
“They aren’t like us. They’re rich and they’re smart, and they didn’t spend their lives grubbing for their next meals the way we did. They’re bigger than we are is all. They’re better. It’s why Darro was with them. They care about the whole city, not just their corner of it.”
“Those boys?”
“Not them. Andomaka. The people who matter.”
Sammish didn’t speak, but Alys felt her shift and thought it was a nod. Alys closed her eyes, and the world didn’t get any darker. The mouser crawled between them, turned around twice, and settled down, purring. Alys’s body felt heavy and slow. Sleep tugged at her, but having Sammish there, another flesh next to her own, felt odd. She’d grown used to being alone.
“How much do they know about us?” Sammish whispered. “About why you’re really here?”
“As much as they need. I don’t go around launching into it every time, but there’s no call to hide it.”
“They know about the gold?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, if it came up. I wouldn’t keep anything from Andomaka. There’s no reason to. We want the same things.”
“So you wouldn’t keep secrets from her?”
“Of course not. Why would I?” Alys said, and shifted. “Did you find something?”
Sammish was quiet for so long that Alys thought she’d fallen asleep, and when she did speak, her voice was small and oddly sorrowful. “No. I didn’t find anything.”
Back in Longhill, Alys drew the club through the air as hard as she could and enjoyed the feeling of its mass. It made a soft noise like the flutter of wings.
“You like it?”
It wasn’t quite like Darro’s, but then it couldn’t be. Darro had carried his for years, and use had changed it. The wood had been darker, and shaped to his hand. Even if she’d had it, it wouldn’t have been quite like it had been for him. Her arm was a different length, her hand had its own grip. The most she could hope for was a translation: a tool that was to her as his had been to him. As far as she could recall, Darro had bought his from Merrian Haldin, whose son Jiam stood before her now, Merrian having died last season from a cut on his leg that wouldn’t stop bleeding. It was the same little shop, though. Darro’s club had been oak, as was hers. His had an end dipped in lead to give weight to its swing, just as this one did. And it was a good piece of work. It was as near to her brother’s as it could possibly be. And still, the gap between what she could have and what she wanted chafed.
“It’s good,” she said, and wished she could have been more enthusiastic.
“It will do everything you need, that,” Jiam said, almost defensively.
It wouldn’t, but Alys would take it anyway. She smiled because smiling was polite, and gave the boy his money. Trees that had been lush and green when Darro died were black sticks now, and she still had enough money that she didn’t have to save for the club or trade for it. She walked back out into the streets of Longhill with the weapon across her shoulders and her arms resting on it like a yoke.
She had come back to Longhill for the club and to be in her own room again. Ullin had teased her for leaving, pretending an affront he didn’t feel. She took it as a sign of friendship—or at least companionship—but it sat poorly with her. And now, walking through the familiar winter streets and alleys of home, her irritation grew.
Ice had settled into Kithamar with the deepness that meant it was there to stay. Snow haunted the shadows, and the shit that people threw from their windows froze in the street, waiting for the prisoners’ cart to come by and clean it away. It didn’t even stink.