You can read the previous chapter here!
Content warning: this chapter contains a moment of suicidal thinking. Be well.
Asp woke up in the dark inn room. Her hair was matted, and she was sweaty. She fumbled in the dark and got out of bed. She slipped out the door, down the hall, and into the night.
She walked down the road, passing the shops and houses along the way. She came to the museum and hurried past. She arrived at the burned remains of the estate and rushed on. She came to the alleyway where Candace had killed Wanda and Marina and sat down cross-legged in it, facing the street.
She sat there in the dark for over an hour. Sunlight began to peek into the city. She remained in place as people began to walk through town. Bigger and bigger flocks of people passed in either direction.
Asp sat and watched them passively. She held each of them in her mind. Do you deserve to die? she would think as she considered them. Each time, she found herself trying to feel yes but always instead feeling a horrified no. She was shaken from her thoughts when a thin young slightkin girl approached her in the alleyway.
“I’m very hungry,” said the girl, her voice honey-sweet. “Could you spare a coin so I could eat?”
What about you? Do you deserve to die? Asp grabbed a handful of caps from her coinpurse and held them out to the girl. “Here,” she said. “Please, eat. You look so hungry.”
“I am hungry,” said the girl, rubbing her stomach. “I’m very hungry.” She was still smiling widely.
“Well, go eat,” said Asp, trying to shoo her away.
“But I’m new to town,” said the girl, her voice frightened, but her face covered in a smile. “I’m terribly lost.” She continued smiling despite her apparent fear.
“There’s a good slightkin restaurant near here,” said Asp, gesturing. “I used to go all the time with–” She froze, her insides churning. “Oh, nevermind that. It’s good and you’ll get your fill. C’mon.”
Asp stood up and led the girl back through the streets toward the center of the city. They walked past the burnt remains of the estate.
“That’s sad,” said the girl with a smile. “I hope no one got hurt.”
Asp swallowed hard and didn’t reply. A few moments later, at an intersection, she said, “It’s just down here. Where did you come from?”
“Lowglen,” said the girl, smiling wide.
“I came from there, too,” said Asp, suddenly awash with memories. “It’s nice on Eunax. But it’s nice here too. You’ll like it.”
“I hope so,” said the girl, stepping quickly to keep up. “Mom says we might have more food here in Strey.”
Asp suppressed a sigh as they arrived at the bakery. “C’mon in,” she said, holding the door for the girl.
An elderly slightkin man came to greet them. “G’morning, ladies,” he said with a smile, “what can I do for you?”
“What would you like?” Asp asked the girl. “You can have anything.”
The girl thought for a moment. “Do you have crunchy bread?”
“Crunchy bread?” repeated the baker, brow furrowed. “What is it like?”
“It’s sweet and chewy and yellow on the inside, but it’s crunchy and brown on the outside,” described the girl.
“Oh, pallash!” cried the baker. “I usually make that on the weekends, but I could whip some up for you.” He headed to the back, whistling a tune.
“Crunchy bread,” marveled Asp. “I used to love pallash, too.”
“You don’t like it anymore?” asked the girl.
“Oh, I still do,” said Asp, correcting herself. “It’s just, when you grow up, you take less time to do the little things you enjoy.”
“That’s silly,” said the girl, smiling.
“You know, it is silly, actually,” said Asp, nodding to herself. She turned to the kitchen. “Hey sir? Sorry to ask, but could you make some for me too?”
“Double round, coming up!” came his response.
“Thanks,” said Asp, turning back to the girl. “And thank you, too. I wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t help me realize I was being silly.”
“Grown-ups are silly all the time,” said the girl, tapping the top of her head. “They don’t like it when you play pretend.”
“That’s silly too,” agreed Asp. “I love to play pretend.”
“I like to pretend to be a princess, and everyone has to do what I say,” cried the girl.
Asp chuckled. “We all like that,” she said with a smile. “I dunno about the princess part, but the other thing, definitely.”
The smell of rising dough and cinnamon filled the air.
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Asp said, inhaling deeply. “Crunchy bread,” she repeated, smiling.
“You can’t eat it,” said the girl, suddenly sour.
Asp recoiled. “What?”
“You can’t eat it,” repeated the girl. “Because it’s mine.”
“I just want a little,” said Asp, shaking her head. “You’ll still have more than you’ll need.”
“Miss?” said the baker. Asp turned to face the kitchen. “It’s almost ready.”
“Oh good,” said Asp, surprised at how quickly the crunchy bread was done. “I just can’t wait to–”
A sharp stinging sensation in her back stopped her from speaking. She turned to see the girl glowering at her, a thin black dagger in her hand.
“No!” cried the baker, running between them and swatting at the girl with a towel. “Bad Heather! I told you, you have to stop killing people!”
Asp sank to the ground, blood gushing from her back. She grew cold. She lost consciousness.
-
Asp woke up in the dark inn room. Her hair was matted, and she was sweaty.
She was lying on her belly on the bed, her face smashed into the pillow. “Fuck. I can’t do this,” she said to herself, muffled into the pillow. She flopped over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “Well, Asp, you done got yourself in a fix that ain’t easy to fix,” she said quietly. “And now there’s nobody to help you.”
She glanced over at her pack.
“I didn’t have time to put my savings in my bag. I have walking around money. Not enough to make a serious move. And I need a serious move if I’m gonna get back on my feet.”
She rolled out of bed and checked her pack.
“Enough for maybe two or three days. I need to get some funds. Maybe an elven prisoner?”
She listened to the uncertain sound of her own voice.
“Not like I have a lot of options,” she added. “I don’t even have a partner for a fiddle game. And I can’t do it alone again if they’re looking for me–too risky. I need a job that pays out quick, no details to worry about.” She sighed. “Elven prisoner means Penelope. I think it’s still nighttime–I’ll get moving in the morning.”
She returned to the bed and lay down.
“So what do I do until then? I do not want to go back to sleep.” Not with dreams like that last one.
Restless, she got back off the bed and went back to her bag. She searched for a moment, then withdrew the black dagger Candace had given her. She took it back to the bed and sat, considering it.
“It’s just a piece of metal.” Her voice sounded hollower to her than she had expected it to.
She withdrew the blade from the sheath and held it before her. The low light glinted on the knife. She lightly ran her fingertip along the blade. It drew a tiny bead of blood on her forefinger. She placed her finger in her mouth, then withdrew it and examined it.
“Maybe more than just a piece of metal,” she added, eyebrows raised in respect.
She stared at the knife as though it were a book full of secrets.
“You have the answers,” she said, her voice certain. “Show me.”
The blade remained motionless in her hand.
“We’re in this together, you know?” Her voice rose and almost cracked. “I killed Gunther, but so did you.”
She suddenly held the knife to her throat.
“I could stop both of us.”
Her hand quivered. She pulled it back. What am I doing?
“Oh, gods. I hope I never need to kill someone again, because I won’t be able to do it.”
-
“Authentic dwarven armors! For sale at reasonable prices!”
“Fresh game, caught just outside the city!”
“Custom leatherwork! Buy ours or supply your own!”
The sounds of the marketplace–shouts, laughter, a raucous commotion–swirled around Asp. She had taken up a place on the busiest corner of the loudest part of the market. Hardest place to get caught, she had thought as she had scouted it.
It was like being in the city for the first time. She had only ever been a part of the gang here, and had never had to run one-person jobs unless she wanted to–and that was not the kind of thing she chose when safer alternatives existed. Now that I’m on my own, I need to adjust some of my strategies. Less safeguards. More pressure.
“Excuse me, sir,” she called to match the din, facing a well-dressed human man. “May I request your help with a serious matter?”
“I’m afraid I’m in a hurry,” he said. “Sorry.” He passed by.
Asp waited for another well-dressed person. She spotted a well-to-do Ronan'el woman.
“Excuse me, miss,” Asp began. “May I request your help with a serious matter?”
“What is it?” responded the red Ronan'el.
Asp smiled and began her pitch. “I represent an elven noble who has been unlawfully locked away. As a result, his sizable fortune has been seized by the elven government. But you see, they are willing to release him and his fortune if a sum is paid for his fabricated crime. If you could help him to pay this fee, he would be willing to reward you with a great deal of his fortune for your efforts once he is liberated.”
“I don’t like to meddle in elven affairs,” said the Ronan'el, her red scales glinting in the morning sun. “They are quite hostile to outsiders, especially Ronan’el.”
“I agree, unfortunately,” said Asp as though she’d been a victim of the elven government many times before. “But they would never know. You see, your money would go through me to my dear elven noble, and the elven government would never know about your involvement.”
The Ronan'el crossed her arms. “I don’t know. What’s this elf’s name?”
“Lord Ellerin,” announced Asp. “I can show you his letter of endorsement testifying to what I have told you.”
“I would like that,” said the Ronan'el, her eyebrow raised.
Asp reached into her pack and produced a sheet of parchment she had written on earlier that morning. She handed it to the Ronan'el. “I think you’ll find it’s all in order.”
The Ronan'el read the letter, occasionally uttering phrases aloud. “Most unfortunate circumstances . . . deplorable prison conditions . . . vast holdings . . . fair recompense.”
She clicked her teeth absentmindedly. “I suppose this looks legitimate. I only remark because I hear that some criminal scum make up these troubled people for money.” She looked around, her eyes suspicious. “You never know when you’re dealing with a con artist.”
Asp scowled, but was smiling inwardly. “Ruffians like that make honest work like mine all the harder.”
“I understand all too well,” said the Ronan'el. “I run an orphanage. When I ask the government of Strey for money, they look at me like I’ve suggested burning the city to the ground. But of course, their ears are always being chewed off by liars and rogues.”
Asp shook her head. “A true tragedy. I wish there was something that could be done. But of course, you can help Lord Ellerin. And think of all the good you could do for your orphanage when you receive your reward.”
“Yes,” said the Ronan'el, a daring smile on her face. She’s going for it. Focus. “Between the two of us, what might I expect?”
Asp suppressed a smile. “He would like to offer two hundred-fifty crowns for your efforts.”
The Ronan'el smiled. “And my investment?”
“Only twenty-five crowns,” said Asp as though the number were nothing. That seems reasonable, right?
“My, that is a bit steep,” replied the Ronan'el, withdrawing. “I simply don’t have that much capital lying around.”
Shit. “Perhaps I could contribute part of the sum, and we could divide the reward?”
“I don’t know,” said the Ronan'el, looking away. “I think I’m going to go. Good luck with your goal, my Lady.”
Asp watched the Ronan'el woman walk away. I scared her off. Too much. What am I thinking? I never would have tried the elven prisoner at that price before. I’m too used to the big takes with the gang. I guess I try again and don’t get greedy.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” said a deep voice.
Asp turned. It was Nesbit.
“Yes?” said Asp, trying to contain her surprise.
“I’ve received reports that a slightkin woman has been trying to get people to contribute money to a sketchy legal campaign,” he said, looking down at her.
“People have said that?” asked Asp. “I am a diplomat representing an elven lord–”
“And you thought the marketplace was the place to get support for him, not city hall.” Nesbit said this as a statement, not a question.
“Support from the people is what my employer wants,” explained Asp. “Not to be indebted to some foreign government.”
“Yeah, okay, lady,” said Nesbit, putting even less effort into his fake smile. “Move it along.”
Asp hurried away. Penelope might be burned. Dammit. She headed back to the inn to regroup.
-
Asp pulled on Delia’s green and red dress and her leather cap and slid into her heeled boots. Fucking Nesbit. I bet that Ronan'el saw him coming and got spooked. Maybe it’s time for a lower risk con. Perhaps the long lost relative will work. She considered this. Yeah, first middle-aged slightkin I see, I’m going for it.
She grabbed her pack and headed out. On her way, the innkeeper waved to her. “You’re checking out, right?”
Asp shook her head. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“Well,” said the innkeeper. “You’re only paid up to now, and I’m mighty uncomfortable about how many disguises you’ve worn since you arrived, so I think it might be best if you moved along.”
Asp slumped her shoulders. “I won’t be back,” she muttered, placing the steel room key on the counter before the innkeeper.
She headed out into the city. She took a few turns to end up in the region between the industrial sector and the guardhouse–just enough traffic, not too much. She set her eyes on the road ahead of her and stalked forward.
An older slightkin man came hobbling down the street on a cane. Asp approached him. “Excuse me, sir, do you know a Lidda?”
“I had a neighbor who was a Lidda,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Why?”
“Oh, I thought you looked familiar, but I was mistaken. My apologies!” Asp said, smiling.
She walked a way longer and saw an elderly slightkin woman with large spectacles.
“Excuse me, ma’am, do you know a Lidda?” asked Asp.
“My sister’s a Lidda,” said the woman, nodding.
“You look just like her,” said Asp in wonder.
“Like who?” asked the woman, leaning in.
“My grandma,” said Asp. “Lidda.”
“Do we know each other?” asked the woman, surprised.
“I came to this town because I heard that some of my family might be here,” explained Asp. “And here I am meeting someone who looks just like my grandma who says she has a sister with the same name.”
“But Lidda didn’t have any children,” said the woman, confused.
No kids. Hmmm. Back off or push forward? I’m in a tight spot. Push forward. “But she had a secret child–my mother,” said Asp breathlessly. “It’s so beautiful to meet you,” she said, tears in her eyes.
“Oh my!” cried the old woman. “Dear, what did you say your name was?”
“Nicole,” said Asp, going with the first name to pop into her head. As she said it, darkness surrounded her. A ring of faces–Nicole’s, Gunther’s, Candace’s, Wanda’s, the bearded man’s, Marina’s, her own face from the dream. She was crying hard and sank to the ground.
“Um . . .” said the old woman, looking around at the area with people now staring at them. “I’m going to go,” she said, backing away.
Asp allowed herself to continue crying. She sat for a few minutes before a hand rested on her shoulder.
“You should get going, Asp,” said a gravelly voice.
She looked up in panic. It was Trask. He was smiling paternally at her.
“Trask,” she said, a smile spreading across her tired face. “Good old Trask. You saved me from some tight spots.”
“And I’m getting you out of one more,” he said, looking around. Despite his visual focus roving, Asp felt he was entirely paying attention to her. “I saw the hideout burned down. I heard from Kyrn that you’re out of the gang. I know Oslo burned your real name, and I gotta tell you, I think Penelope is close behind. Nesbit was doing a lot of talking about a slightkin diplomat.” He continued looking around, alert. “Hell, after that display, Delia might be burned too. And I saw some lady asking around about you. She knows your real name and what your aliases look like. You gotta leave town, Asp.”
Leave town. “To where?” she asked.
“You could go to Eunax, try to blend in?” he ventured.
“I’m burned there too,” said Asp, slumping over. .
“Shit,” said Trask, laughing. “You don’t mess around.”
“Apparently, I do not,” she said, a mixture of laughter and dawning self-realization in her voice.
Trask smiled. “Just get down to the docks. And get somewhere you can start over.”
“That would be good,” replied Asp. “Somewhere where I’m not burned.”
“Not like that,” said Trask, shaking his head. “I mean, all the way over. Do something on the other side of the law.”
“Like you?” asked Asp, smiling.
“Not like me,” said Trask, his eyes closed. “I got my own demons, okay? But I can still give good advice. Get on a boat, and use the trip to figure out how you’re gonna live a good life.”
Asp furrowed her brow. “Kyrn told you about Gunther, didn’t she?”
“Maybe she did,” said Trask, his voice distant for a moment. “But either way, I’m right. So think about it.”
Asp pointed to an alleyway nearby. “Can you help me with something real quick?”
Trask nodded and smiled. “What do you need?”
“Help me put on my goatee for Gilbert,” she said, gesturing to an alleyway behind her. “I can’t have it all crooked right now. Not when it counts more than ever.”
Trask laughed. “I’ll be your official hair stylist for your dramatic escape.” Asp handed him the false hair, and he carefully applied it to her face. “There we go,” Trask said, standing back. “Now you look like a Gilbert.”
“Thanks, Trask,” she said, offering her last crown for his help.
“You’re gonna need it,” he said, waving it away. “Good luck, Asp.”
“Thanks, Trask,” she said again. “Make sure Candace stays safe.”
“That woman does not need my help staying safe,” said Trask, laughing, “but I will do everything in my power to make sure she’s fine.”
“Thanks, Trask,” she said one more time.
“Stop thanking me and go,” said Trask, his eyes kind.
She nodded at him and turned toward the docks.
-
Asp hurried to the pier. She had scouted a job here last year, and she still knew the layout well. The docks were structured in four main parts: at the entrance was the ticketing booth. In order to pass into the boarding zone, you had to get past the ticketing agent, who also served as a sentry for criminals on the lam. Once inside, you were in the boarding area, but you couldn’t stay there: people waiting for passage had to stand at the opposite end, in the waiting area. Alongside the boarding area was the baggage area, which held stowed cargo and the luggage of deboarding travelers. Asp had seen a pickpocket get cornered in the waiting area and dive off the pier into the water when she was scouting, and the reports in the following days had said that he had drowned right away. So fierce were the waters in this area, it was already a forgone conclusion when he had jumped in.
Asp looked from a distance at the ticketing area. She couldn’t make out the agent, who was obscured by the shade of the building they were in. I want to be in the waiting area for as little time as possible. It’s basically a trap if anyone comes for me. When’s the next ship to somewhere safe?
She paced up to the ticketing counter. She could now see that a young newtkin man stood there. He looked up at her from a book he was reading.
“Where to?” he asked.
“When’s the next ship leave?” she asked.
He smiled. “Well, if you’re not particular about destination, there’s a ship leaving for Eunax right now,” he said, flipping through a stack of papers before him.
“When’s the next next ship leave?” she asked.
“No love for the homeland,” he said, flipping through more papers. “Uh, there’s a ship bound for the Myriad in about half an hour. Southmoor port.”
“Sure,” said Asp with something of relief. “I’ll take a ticket.”
“One crown, five helms, eight caps,” replied the newtkin.
That’s more than a little steep, she thought. But then, I did play the “I’ll go anywhere” card pretty early. He’s grifting me, but I have no choice.
She slid all but a few of her coins across the counter.
“Alright, here’s your pass,” he said, reaching below the counter.
“Wait–can I hold onto it on this side of the counter for now?” asked Asp.
“You want to avoid the waiting area, huh?” he asked, a strange light in his eyes. “Alright, sure, here’s your ticket.” He moved his hand under the counter, withdrew a small slip of paper, slipped it into an envelope, and slid it over to her.
“Thanks,” said Asp, pocketing the envelope. She turned and walked back to where she had been observing the ticketing counter.
She tried to focus. Her mind was still awash with images of sharpened blades and bleeding wounds. She leaned against a pillar to help herself stay on her feet.
Twenty minutes passed without event but tensely, nevertheless. A figure came to the door of the ticket office, and they and the newtkin switched places. Asp watched for another five minutes, and the ship began to load people and cargo. She breathed deep. Time to go, she thought. Let’s get that ticket ready. She drew the envelope from her pocket and opened it. Inside the envelope was a sheet of Strey Docks stationery with nothing written on it.
Fuck. She dropped the useless paper. He took me for everything. Fuck. I can’t believe I’m this stupid. A pig-in-a-poke? Seriously? I missed a pig-in-a-poke? She looked over at the docks. The ship continued to load people, the line to board dwindling. She stood up straight, glancing around. I can con a ticket. Even like this, I can con one fucking ticket.
Asp strode up to the counter. A human woman looked down and said “Yes?” in a pleasant voice. Asp did a double take. It was Patience.
“Oh, I uh, I was just going to board the ship, but it seems my ticket has been mixed up with something else,” she began.
Patience scowled. “I’m not falling for this one again. You need a ticket to pass.”
“I swear I paid for a ticket,” exclaimed Asp. “I bought one from the newtkin who just left.”
Patience narrowed her eyes. “A likely story. Please, move on.”
Asp looked around. “Patience, listen to me,” she said in Delia’s voice. “Look past the goatee and the newtkin guy thing, and imagine me with a leather cap as a slightkin girl.”
Patience narrowed her eyes as though Asp was hard to look at. Eventually, she smiled. “My guardian angel,” she said. “What’s with the get-up?”
Asp sighed. “My old friends decided to tell the guards I did some bad things,” she explained quietly. That much is actually true. “I need to get to the Myriad, but your co-worker just took all my money and gave me a fake ticket.”
“Wait, for real?” asked Patience. “He’s been telling everyone that’s a con people are running. That bastard.”
“Look, I don’t mean to be rude,” said Asp, pointing to the nearly-loaded ship. “I gotta get out of here, and now.”
Patience smiled. “You got me my home, and you got me this job. I owe you. Here,” she said, passing Asp an official ticket. “Good luck, Delia, or whoever you are.”
“Thank you,” gushed Asp. “You have no idea.” She waved and hurried to the boarding area.
“You here for the Myriad?” called a dwarf at the end of the pier. “Last call!”
“I’m coming,” cried Asp, dashing onto the ship and handing the dwarf her ticket.
“Looks good,” said the dwarf as he inspected it. He placed Asp’s ticket on a stack of identical slips of paper. “That looks like everybody. Let’s go!” he bellowed, and the ship began to bob away from the docks on the choppy waves.
Asp leaned against the railing on the ship, looking at the city receding in the distance.
So much happened here, she thought as the waves bore them on. I lived a whole life here, and now it’s over. How will I ever start over from that?
“Excuse me,” said a small and familiar voice. “I didn’t seem to see you back on the dock.”
Asp turned to face a middle-aged slightkin woman.
“Have you seen a slightkin, name of Heather, a con artist who plays a diplomat and a reporter?” asked Asp’s mother.
“‘Fraid not,” said Gilbert. “But good luck finding her.”
You can read the next chapter here!
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