"You smell like a clogged latrine, Arlen."

"And you sound like a bitch. If I wanted your opinion, I'd fucking ask."

"I'm just surprised you don't bathe even before seeing your employer." Darin's eyes across the wagon were fixed on his knees, which was a good thing because Arlen might otherwise have been tempted to poke one out with his walking stick.

"He doesn't employ me for my washing habits." Arlen scowled. "You do realise that if he approves you, you're under my direction? This isn't a promising start."

Darin said nothing. He hadn't said very much all morning, and everything he had said was intended to piss someone off. At first Arlen had been generous and put it down to nerves – after all, Marick was a nerve-wracking employment prospect at the best of times – but it had quickly worn thin. After nagging Arlen's ears off about it for weeks, Darin was doing a very good impression of not wanting this. Which was, of course, true; men like Darin were all fart and no shit. Arlen had known that. He'd left it weeks before mentioning anything to Marick, at great risk to both of them, on the slim hope that Darin might change his mind before it was too late. There were benefits to allowing him to join as long as he committed to it once he was in, and Arlen wasn't convinced. The last thing he needed was to be lumped with another reluctant trainee.

"Will he kill me if he doesn't approve of me?" Darin asked suddenly, as if the thought had only just occurred to him. Arlen suppressed an eye-roll. It had been the first thing he'd thought of when he realised that Darin hadn't been joking.

"He'll approve," Arlen said. "Long as you don't start whining at him. Or commenting on how he smells."

"Even if I was going to, we'll both have a job smelling anything over your stink." Darin glanced anxiously down the road as they turned another corner.

Arlen chose not to dignify that with a response. Marick had kept him so busy over recent weeks that bathing had come out very low on his priority list.

"Arl's going to be your best bet in there," Usk said. The huge Varthian brute sat hunched over the reins at the front of the wagon, a blackweed cigarette smoking gently between two fingers. Arlen could have done with one himself, but he wanted to keep all his wits about him. "So maybe start pissing him off after Marick approves you, eh?"

Darin scowled, but he didn't speak again.

Arlen fidgeted as the wagon bumped over a loose cobble and sent pain shooting into his hip. The stump where his calf and foot had once been was finally healed, but the weeks of underuse had left the joints weak. Overtaxing it like he had in the last month had caused him all kinds of aches and complaints that he'd hoped not to have to deal with for at least another decade of life. The trials he had been through in the past year, he had not expected to face until he was well out of his prime. Yet he had no choice; he couldn't give Marick any impression that his performance had suffered badly from the loss. He had only just made it back into a relatively secure position.

Not that he trusted it. Marick's return to sense was too sudden, too easy. Arlen had never known him to take it well when a grand plan failed, so he was slow to trust the calm and apparent lack of concern this time. If he'd only kept faith with Arlen in the first place, he could have told Marick that the Caelumese were even less reliable than the flakiest of the Devils. He could have told him that Gelert, with whom he had been planning to replace Arlen, was weak and pathetically buyable. It was hard to believe that Marick hadn't known these things, so Arlen trusted it even less.

For now, though, he could play the game. Gather his cards while his employer was looking the other way. Being reticent and reproachful now would only raise suspicion, and Arlen hoped Marick didn't actually know how much part he'd had to play in that grand plan's failure.

The beer hall loomed out of the evening twilight, torches burning on either side of the door. Along the walls, tucked between crates and barrels, Devils leaned or crouched or stood; the shadows were alive with the glowing ends of cigarettes and low chatter. Darin, who was always pale, had gone white as milk and looked fit to fall out of the wagon when he tried to get up.

"Keep it together," Arlen hissed. "You give the wrong first impression and you'll have to work twice as hard to scrape together any kind of reputation."

And you'll drag mine down with it, he thought sourly. His reputation couldn't afford any blows. It was fragile enough after his weeks of absence, and the only thing he needed less than a reluctant trainee was one who made him look a fool. Calder, his apprentice, was not exactly an enthusiastic member of the Devils, but he could at least hold his own in a meet like this.

Darin followed him out of the wagon. He kept his shoulders back and head up, but one look at his face showed it for the sham it was.

"Blackheart," someone called from the shadows. Arlen nodded a greeting. He could've smacked Darin for looking so surprised. They'd already been over it; Arlen's name was established. Darin would have to respond to something else if he didn't want to give them away.

"In," he growled, as Darin hesitated at the door. He bashed his adoptive ex-brother in the back of the knees with his stick, and followed as he stumbled into the dark beyond.

The hall stretched ahead of them, most of it in gloom aside from the lit brazier stands along the centre aisle. Marick lounged in a chair on the raised dais at the far end, cold eyes watching them come. In one hand he flicked a tiny knife back and forth. He slumped on the arm of the chair, legs crossed and dark hair swept back, the picture of casual aside from the fixed look on his face, the hard set of his jaw.

As Arlen and Usk flanked Darin up to the dais – he wasn't convinced Darin would make it if they didn't – Marick straightened. The knife disappeared into some obscure fold of his clothing. They stopped a few feet from the steps and waited. The collar of Arlen's coat was damp with sweat.

"This is him?" Marick asked, after giving Darin a thorough up-and-down appraisal. Arlen sensed the eyes of everyone in the beer hall on their backs, eyes glittering from the safety of the shadows. No one stood in the light of the braziers unless they were there to be judged.

"It is, sir." Arlen cleared his throat.

"What's your name?" Marick didn't smile, but continued to pin Darin to the spot with his gaze.

"D-darin Chandler."

Thank Nict he'd remembered the name. Arlen pulled in another breath. They might actually pull this off after all.

"Chandler." In a brief glance, Marick took in everything about him, the way Arlen would have evaluated a mark for impersonation – looked at Darin's hands, raw and red from stripping rope, and his broad shoulders from ferrying vats of tallow across the factory floors. The shiny burn scars littering his arms. The shabbiness of his clothes. "Looking for better pay prospects, I expect, hm?"

Darin bowed his head. "Yessir."

Marick turned his gaze to Arlen. "You've evaluated him? You think you can work with this?"

"I have, sir. I think there's potential."

Marick narrowed his eyes and finally allowed the corner of his mouth to tilt up. "Well, you've not given me cause to doubt your evaluations thus far. Who will be responsible?"

"I've nominated Usk as his main supervision."

Marick looked at Darin again. "He does not look like a fighter to me."

No one did when they looked one mild shock away from pissing their trousers. "Like with Calder, I will assign a range of tutors to best evaluate his strengths. Usk has been with the guild for the longest and I feel he would be a good starting point."

"Agreed." Marick had not looked away from Darin once. "You will keep me well updated?"

"I'll report the same way I do for Calder."

"You understand what you are letting yourself into?" Marick asked Darin. "There is no abandonment here. We may seem lawless to those on the outside, but within this guild the rules are strict and transgressions are not tolerated. We own your first loyalty. If you cannot commit to that, your contracts will be...voided." He cocked his head. "Arlen will report to me. He will evaluate whether you can fit in with us, and when you may join as a full member. Do not disappoint him."

He met eyes with Arlen. "If you do not feel he will match with your group, I can assign him another."

Arlen bowed his head. "Yes, sir."

"I do not want any chances taken. Any waver, and I want decisive action, taken swiftly. This city is in a precarious political position and I do not have time nor patience to deal with risks that won't pay off."

If he tries to back out, kill him, was what that meant in idiot's terms, but Marick didn't need to disguise it. Darin clearly understood what he meant.

"Understood, sir," Arlen said.

"How is Calder's progress with his assignment?"

"I'm preparing him for it, sir. It'll be done well before the Fayre is over."

"Good." Marick swept them all with another cold stare, and then gestured his dismissal. "That's all settled. I want a report on fifthday, Arlen."

Arlen nodded. Normally he and Usk might have lingered longer at the beer hall, had a drink and listened to the talk, but Arlen wouldn't risk that with Darin. The slightest slip-up would give them away. Arlen had to look like he'd picked Darin up by chance, not that they had known each other for most of their lives. If they did anything to trigger an investigation, they were all fucked.

"Keep moving," he growled under his breath, as they exited the hall and Darin sagged. "Not yet."

Usk led the way through the gathering night towards where they'd left their wagon. When they reached it, someone was already sitting in it. Ashe perked up at the sight of them, unfolding her legs from under her and jumping down from the wagon bed.

"Hey, boys," she said. Her dark eyes twinkled. Ashe was another new addition to Arlen's group that he hadn't seen coming, but he couldn't deny that his gamble on her had paid off. No one else was smaller or sneakier than Ashe, yet she could hold her own without any help from the lads, and she got on with the munitions expert he already had very well. She and Raziel did, in fact, get on like a house on fire – or several houses, lit on fire and then exploded in a shower of colours, as they laughed and watched the rubble pile up. Even if those things hadn't applied, Arlen got a great deal of entertainment from watching her harass Darin and Calder until they almost imploded.

Darin's face immediately coloured at the sight of her.

"News?" Arlen said. He didn't want to pause this close to the beer hall and he clambered into the wagon without stopping for her. She seemed unfazed and just hopped on after him, choosing a seat deliberately close to Darin, whose face was now an unflattering shade of blotchy magenta. Arlen had never asked about Darin's love life, mostly out of a total lack of interest, but he had a feeling it hadn't been extensive, if it had ever existed at all.

"Jes got the outfits you wanted," she said. "We're waiting for a delivery of saltpetre, it's due tomorrow."

"Seeing the lad tomorrow," Usk grunted, jerking the reins. "You want me to have him come out?"

"Bring him back with you." Arlen frowned. "What are you seeing him for?"

"Pint." Usk shrugged. "Said he wanted to talk about something."

Ever since Calder had saved his life during the Angels' abortive attempt at taking over Shadow's Reach, Arlen had felt a little more secure in his loyalty – but all the same, this seemed to be overstepping a bit. "With you?"

Even from behind he could tell Usk had rolled his eyes. "Not about any Devil business, Arl. Don't get your britches in a twist. 'Sides, thought you were off on some of Marick's business most of the day tomorrow."

He was, but he still wasn't comfortable with the idea. Calder, going to Usk for advice – what in the Pit could he want Usk's advice on? Wasn't a few months before that the kid looked fit to shit himself every time Usk entered the room, but they'd become closer in recent weeks. Possibly too close.

"Take Darin with you." That would break up the cosy little get-together, and he wouldn't get a note telling him his new recruit was having a breakdown when he was with Callan. He was never certain how much of his business made it to Marick through the Head of House Nict, but he wasn't about to risk that. Not the day after half the guild had watched him assert that Darin was up to the job.

He glanced at the man's white face and tight jaw and sighed.

"Fine." Usk gave in without a hint of complaint.

"You can hold it together for a pint, I presume," he asked Darin. He received a baleful stare for his efforts. "You insisted on this. I gave you time to change your mind."

"I'm not changing my mind," Darin snapped. "I just...I didn't realise..."

"That Marick was quite so terrifying?" Ashe said, leaning in close and pretending obliviousness to Darin's discomfort. "Don't worry, we've all been there."

"I didn't expect..." Darin tried again, and trailed off.

"Didn't you?" Ashe rolled her eyes dramatically. "You've met Arlen, haven't you? You can't join a criminal guild and not expect the top ranks to be ruthless. They wouldn't be top ranks if they weren't."

Darin mumbled something at his knees and then fell silent.

Arlen's new residence was bigger than his old one; when it seemed that, at least for now, Marick was back on his side, it finally seemed appropriate to move back into the dead quarter. Darin's rented room at the edge of the merchants' quarter had its advantages at most times of the year, but during the height of the light season it was just a risk. There were too many people out and about, and too many guards, for it to be used as a predictable bolthole. Besides, if Darin really was committed enough to leave his job at the candle factory, it was likely he would lose that tenancy anyway.

So after a few weeks of searching the dead quarter's admittedly shitty real estate market, he'd finally found a building he liked. Usk and Jesper had scouted it out and confirmed that the roof and floors were still sturdy and there were no fewer than two rooms with doors. When Arlen had been in person to inspect it, it became apparent quite quickly that its previous resident had recently vacated, and that it hadn't been the most peaceful of exits. Still, he'd never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He'd moved all his limited personal belongings into it right away.

The place even had stairs, which was a major improvement on a stack of crates that got slippery during the dark season. Since he'd lost his leg, a minor inconvenience like that could become a major problem, despite the grips on his false foot.

His old rooms had been cramped with the whole of his group in it – he'd moved into those when it was just him and Usk - but the new place had enough space that it didn't feel like everyone was breathing down each other's necks. When they reached the upper floor, Jesper and Akiva were playing cards at the table in one corner, and against the wall was a bundle of bright clothing and a bulging bag of food. Ashe skipped past Arlen and threw herself into the third empty seat at the table. Darin went straight to the fire and set the kettle over it.

"How'd it go?" Jesper leaned back in his chair, grin wide. "Judging by that face, I'm guessing you didn't willy out three feet from the door but now wish you did."

Darin just grunted.

"He's provisionally accepted." Arlen rummaged through the food bag and came up with half a loaf of bread, tearing a chunk off the end and stuffing it in his mouth. "Long as he delivers. Marick's not fixing to be lenient these days."

"You're telling us." Akiva shuffled the card deck and dealt a new hand, including Ashe this time. "Did you hear Risk got beat for brawling outside the hall?"

"Madrigal's lad?" Usk said, frowning. "Why was he brawling?"

"Cuz he was off his tits," Jesper said. "Obviously. Certainly didn't anticipate that Marick would haul him up in front of the dais and have Kur take a strap to him."

Usk curled his lip. Arlen had never quite got to the bottom of why Usk and the guild tattooist hated each other quite so much, but had a feeling it was some leftover Varthian tribe war demonshit. Like any of that mattered once you joined the Devils.

"Who was he brawling with?" Arlen muttered, tearing another chunk from the loaf. "Did they get strapped?"

"Some bottom ranker who doesn't have a guild name yet." Akiva shrugged. "And no, he had the sense to scarper when the gig was up."

"Hm." Arlen frowned, discomfited, and quickly took in everyone in the room. With the exception of Calder and Raziel, who were absent, this was the sum total of his almost-certain support base if he wanted to take Marick's seat. It was not a vast number, but he couldn't be anywhere near as sure with anybody else.

But he was too exhausted to think about that tonight. He crossed the room to his own private space – one of the rooms with a door – and shut himself in. The other room belonged to Ashe, out of practicality. He was a criminal, not a savage.

He hadn't had time to make a floor cavity in this room, so his belongings currently resided in a locked chest against the wall. He threw his coat across it and scowled.

Perhaps he could do with a bath.

He stuck his head out of the door again. "If anyone fancies fetching water, I'll pay you."

"I'll do it," Usk muttered, grabbing two pails from the corner. He disappeared out of the window.

"If you actually bathe with it, Arl, we'll pay you instead," Jes mumbled, pretending to be too engrossed in his game to notice Arlen's glare.

"Ha ha, fucking ha," he snapped. He pointed at Darin, who was waiting for the kettle to boil as if his watching it would make it go faster. "Get in here. I want a word."

Uncharacteristically, Darin put up no protest. He entered, head bowed, and waited for Arlen to give the first word. Also so out of character that it unnerved him for a minute.

"Are you going to get yourself killed?" Arlen hissed. "Because I've not seen a thing today that suggests otherwise. This won't work unless you fucking pull it together. I swear to Nict if you give us away I'll..."

"No." Darin glared. "No, I'm not. Because this is the best option I have. This, or die alone on a factory worker's wages." His eyes welled up, and Arlen grimaced and looked away. "I don't understand how you've taken it so well."

"Taken what?" He began tugging off his boots.

"Ma's death."

Arlen paused, but only for a second. "She wasn't my ma."

"She was as good as," Darin said hotly. "For ten years, and beyond that she still loved you."

"Look," Arlen rounded on him, "this..." and he gestured at the both of them, "isn't going to work if you're still giving me shit for my own business. Don't think that if I get fed up with it I'll just shuffle you into a corner and lie to Marick's face for you. You signed up to work for me. The idea was all. Yours. Show some willing." He got closer. "From now on, you're one of them." He jabbed a finger at the door, towards the room where the others sat. "Fall in line, or get Marick to assign you to someone you can stop yourself preaching at. Nict." He turned and started unbuckling his belt. "You're starting with Usk tomorrow. Eat something and sleep. Or don't. I couldn't give less of a shit at this point."

There was no response except a long, uneasy silence and then the soft click of a closing door.

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Regards,

Elinor (S E Harrison)