Chương 26

Noah and Ciri sat on one side of the wooden booth while their new guide—Sable, as he'd learned—sat on the other. She tore through a meat pie with startling speed, her back pressed to the wall, eyes flicking side‑to‑side without pause. The rest of her street gang occupied nearby tables, doing much the same. Every few minutes another child wandered in, leaned down to whisper something in Sable's ear, then ordered a pie—on Noah's tab, naturally.

During the walk to the tavern, Noah had kept his senses sharp, expecting at least one of the kids to make a grab for his gold. To his surprise, none had tried, which only deepened his suspicion that Sable was leading them into a trap. He'd almost smiled with relief when the tavern owner took one look at her and barked that he ' wasn't running a fucking charity,' before Noah stepped in and explained he'd be paying for all of them.

"So, uh… what did you say this was made of again?" Noah asked, gesturing to the mystery pie in front of him.

"Tunnel rat," she said through a mouthful. He set his spoon down.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Tunnel rat. You don't 'ave those where you're from?"

"We do not," Ciri said, speaking in Common to Sable for the first time as she pulled out her notebook and began writing.

"Can you describe them?""'Bout this big." She held her hands roughly forty centimeters apart and swallowed another bite.

"Live in sewers. Pink skin, three eyes—the third's on a stalk. Smart little buggers. Some people keep 'em as pets. Lots of folks eat 'em."

"They keep them as pets?" Noah asked, incredulous.

"Right?" Sable nodded enthusiastically.

"Weird. I'd rather have a dog. Owner of this place sent his after me once—left me with this." She rolled up her sleeve, revealing a jaw‑shaped pattern of scars, then nodded toward the barkeep.

"He doesn't keep it for show. Heard he tamed it from one of the feral packs in the city." Noah followed her gesture. A dog trotted around the bar before settling in a corner. It looked almost like a German Shepherd, but with a wider skull and an extra joint in its hind legs that gave it a strange, springy gait. The resemblance was too close to be coincidence. They must have interbred with something local.

"Alright," Sable announced, dropping her spoon into her empty bowl and belching loudly.

"Ask." Noah had already settled on his first question.

"We're going to need to blend in better. What made you pick us out?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Told you already: you're not from here, and you've got money."

"Okay, but how did you know that?"

"For a start, you're too pale." She nodded at him.

"And you're wandering around like you're lost." Noah frowned and glanced around the room. Everyone else's skin tone was several shades darker than his—even though he'd spent most of the last three months outdoors and was more tanned than he'd ever been. When he looked back at Sable, he studied her more closely and came to another realization. She's tanned like she's South Asian or Mediterranean, but she's got blonde hair and blue eyes.

But I guess that's what happens when you portal people in from all over the world and give them centuries to mix.

"We can hide our arms and faces," Ciri offered from beneath her hood.

"There's another problem," Sable said, pointing at her.

"You talk funny."

"We talk funny?" Noah asked.

"Yeah. You use all these big words—like rich folk who live higher uphill. Like you're tryin' to teach school or something." She gestured vaguely to her right.

"That, and your clothes don't have oil on 'em. That's how I know you've got money." I can't help that I'm pale, and I barely speak Common so I don't think I can mess with the accent too much. Noah thought before addressing her other points.

"We can get some other clothes. Tell me more about the layout of the city so we don't look so lost."

"City's built around a hill. Lower down you are, poorer you are. Factories, docks, warehouses. Uphill's taverns and nicer homes. Top of the hill's the grease merchants, the Lord and Lady, and their trader friends."

"The grease merchants," Noah repeated before adding.

"I noticed there's a lot of that going around."

"Keeps everything running." She shrugged.

"Daddy was an oiler." So that's what they call the people running around with grease cans, Noah thought.

"And your mom?"

"Scavenger." She grinned.

"One day she found a Fae part still working. We ate good for a month." That must've been what the woman at the docks pulled out of that crane, Noah realized. They take them out and repurpose them—probably for things they were never meant to do. As he mulled that over, another child approached Sable. He couldn't have been more than five, his green eyes wide with fear. He whispered something into her ear. This time, instead of sending him off for a pie, she turned sharply toward him.

"You're sure?" The boy nodded. Sable went still. She looked at Noah.

"You're… not gonna tell him I tried to rob you. Right?" Genuinely baffled, Noah blinked.

"Who?"

"Him."

"I don't know who you're talking about." She glanced at the door, as if weighing whether to bolt, then leaned in and whispered, "Borin Ohnar." Noah leaned in as well, whispering back, "Yeah, that doesn't help me."

"Your friend. White hair. Came on the boat with you. She's meeting with Borin Ohnar now." I didn't think she knew about Hannah, Noah thought before turning to Ciri and switching to Fae.

"She keeps saying that name like I should know it. Should I? Do you?"

"I do not," Ciri replied.

"My reference materials are mostly historical. This sounds like a contemporary figure." This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Even without understanding Fae, Sable read their expressions easily.

"You… didn't know what your friend was into, did you?" Noah switched back to Common.

"To be honest, I still don't know what she's into. Who is Borin Ohnar?" Sable studied him for a long moment, then seemed to decide he was telling the truth.

"Depends who you ask. He's a pirate, a smuggler, a thief, and a murderer."

"Sounds like someone the guards should worry about," Noah said. She laughed humorlessly.

"Guards look the other way if you slip 'em coin. And Ohnar's got plenty. Real good at oiling the joints, that one."

"And you said our friend is meeting with him?"

"Yup." Hannah's mixed up with someone dangerous - which means we are too. Noah exhaled slowly.

"Where are they meeting?"

"What's it worth to you?" Sable asked, confidence returning.

"Depends. What's it worth to you for me not to mention your name to Borin Ohnar?"

"You wouldn't dare. You couldn't even find him without my help."

"My friend could still turn your brain to goo."

"You're dray-stubborn. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"I don't even know what that means." Noah replied honestly. She pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes, then relented.

"Spice market."

"Do better," Noah said.

"Spice market at the top of the hill." She saw his expression and groaned.

"Fine. Take the road uphill. On your left there's an outdoor spice market. It's closed by now, but there's a locked building where the vendors store their stock overnight. That's where Ohnar hosts regular card games. Your friend's there." Decision made, Noah waved down the tavern owner and set several gold coins on the table without bothering to count them. Making sure the man saw, he stood, pointed at the coins, and headed for the exit.

He pushed open the door and stepped into the night; the sun had set while they ate.

"You want to go to this spice market," Ciri said as she joined him outside, fingers interlacing with his.

"I do," he replied in Fae.

"Is this a wise plan?"

"Probably not. But I've got a feeling that if we don't figure out what's going on with this Borin Ohnar guy, it's going to turn into a nasty surprise later." They started uphill, grateful that foot traffic had thinned.

"You could simply ask her."

"Do you really think she'd tell us?" Noah countered.

"I'm not saying she'd lie, but she'd leave things out. And it's not like we have other options for getting to Crownspire." Ciri fell silent for a moment.

"Given that she is sometimes the only connection between the tribe and the larger world, it would be beneficial to know if she is under threat…"

"We're not starting a fight. Just gathering information. Peek through a window here, find an unlocked door there. No one will even know we were around."

"Have… you done this before? In your realm?"

"No," he admitted after a beat.

"But we'll be careful."

"I… see." Even in the dim light, Noah noticed the architecture changing as they climbed. The flat, utilitarian brick buildings gave way to larger homes and businesses with far more ornamentation—garish paint, iron‑and‑stone walls with gates, oversized statues. People around them had less oil on them, but for some strange reason still tended to have goggles hanging loosely around their necks or strange hats on their heads. The machinery running the city improved as they climbed as well.

Water pumps still had leaky seals and oil slicks surrounding them, but the water they produced was clearer than the brown muck near the docks. At one point a human conduit passed them, flanked by a dozen armed guards, casting spells to light streetlamps along the road. The noise from the lower levels never vanished entirely, but it became manageable. As they passed an enormous building, Noah slowed, tilting his head for a better look.

It seemed to take up an entire city block, candles and torches glowing at regular intervals. Men and women in brown robes wandered through open-air corridors lined with pillars, speaking with more plainly dressed citizens. Those are Russian Orthodox‑style onion domes, he thought, recalling his brief trip to Russia. And that stained glass looks like a cathedral. But the crescent moons on the towers look Islamic, and the writing isn't Common—it's almost Arabic.

"Noah," Ciri said, squeezing his hand.

"That's it." He turned to where she pointed. A large plaza sat further uphill, separated from the street by a low wall and an ornamental stone archway etched with Spice Market. Beyond it, dozens of empty wooden stalls were crammed together beneath taut white tarps.

"Let's walk by," Noah said.

"Don't stop, but get a good look." As they approached, he angled his head just enough to see a large stone building at the back of the market. It had a single front entrance and several second‑story windows spaced evenly along the sides. Light spilled from them, casting long shadows—more than enough to hide in. Except there are guards patrolling with torches, he noted as one rounded the far corner. And guards at the front too.

"This should be far enough," Noah said, ducking into a dark alley just out of sight.

"Did you see those guards?"

"Yes. I believe those law enforcement officers have been bribed, as Sable indicated."

"That complicates things. I didn't bring my crossbow, and even if I had, attacking guards is definitely not the move."

"I agree."

"Got any spells that might help us get in?"

"I do not. We have not created a camouflage spell or an incapacitating spell, and my older repertoire is wholly unsuited for this. We may need to abandon the plan."

"Let me… think." Noah rubbed his forehead. Can't fight our way in. Can't magic our way in. Sneaking is possible, but risky—and if we get caught, we're screwed. And it's not like we can just ask nicely and—oh.

"You have an idea," Ciri said, watching him closely. He blinked.

"How did you know?"

"When you work through a problem, you clench your jaw and tense your shoulders. When you find a solution, you relax them." She's memorized my body language. If it were anyone else, it'd be creepy. With her, though… He leaned in and kissed her.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being you." He smiled, then refocused.

"Yes, I have an idea."

"What is it?"

"We're going to ask the guards to let us in so we can play cards."

"Do you… know how to play?"

"No, but it doesn't matter. We're not there to win—we're there to see." She shook her head.

"I do not believe they will let me in. I am Fae, and I carry a grimoire. They will assume I intend to cheat."

"Hm. Good point. I didn't think of that." Ciri met his eyes.

"If you are determined to pursue this course, the logical choice is for you to attempt entry alone. However, I am… unwilling to recommend it." He set his hands on her hips, offering a reassuring smile.

"I'll be fine. I'm just going to ask. If they say no, I walk away and we go back to the boat."

"And if they say yes?"

"Find somewhere nearby to hide. Wait twenty minutes. If I'm not out, assume something's gone wrong and go get Ken. You two will figure something out." She held his gaze for a long moment before nodding.

"Very well." He kissed her once more and removed his coat for her to hold before stepping back.

"I'll see you on the other side." Feeling strangely exposed, Noah stepped out of the alley, threw back his hood, and walked toward the spice market again. Determined not to show the anxiety twisting in his gut, he forced himself to take a few steadying breaths, loosening his shoulders and unclenching his fists. His eyes still flicked side‑to‑side as he passed under the archway, which immediately drew the attention of the three guards posted in front of the building.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Noah said once he was close enough. They were dressed like the guards he'd seen at the docks, but in far worse condition. Their brass buttons had been replaced with mismatched metal scraps, the blue of their coats had faded to gray, and their sleeves were patched with whatever fabric had been available. They still wore leather gorgets, but none carried brigandines, swords, or bows—only truncheons.

"You shouldn't be here," one guard said, slowly drawing his weapon. Noah stopped and raised both hands.

"I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm just here to play cards." The guard hesitated. Another stepped forward.

"Who told you there's cards here? This is a spice market." Noah flashed what he hoped was a confident smile and echoed Sable's line.

"I have my ways."

"Well, your ways are wrong," the second guard said.

"No cards here. Now get lost."

"Gentlemen," Noah pressed, spreading his arms slightly.

"Come on. There has to be some kind of arrangement we can reach."

"You wouldn't be trying to bribe an officer of the law, would you?" the third guard asked, narrowing his eyes. Thinking fast, Noah shook his head and improvised.

"A bribe? Never. A donation to the city guard so they can be as well‑equipped as their dockside counterparts?" He forced a grin.

"Now that seems admirable. Everyone knows uphill postings do the hard work." Either this is going to work or I'm going to have to run. The guards exchanged looks. Finally, the first guard slid his truncheon back into its loop.

"If there were cards being played here—and I'm not saying there are—the game would be invite‑only. And you don't have an invite." Sensing the shift, Noah leaned in slightly.

"But…"

"But…" the guard echoed, leaning in as well.

"…if a civic‑minded citizen were inclined to make a donation, maybe we could find an extra invitation."

"Then let's come to an agreement," Noah said with a nod.