Chris Evans - The Light of Burning Shadows

“Right here,” Zwitty said, emerging from the back door of the pub. He was carrying two muskets, one of which he threw to Alwyn. “Don’t want to lose that.”

Alwyn caught it and nodded his thanks. The others were catching their breath and buttoning up their jackets. Teeter had a nasty gash on his forehead and both of Hrem’s hands were bloodied, but otherwise they looked as if they’d fared well. Inkermon was still clutching his now-empty wine glass.

“What was that all about?” Alwyn asked as Yimt started to lead them down the alley. Without a word the soldiers spread out, their muskets ready in their hands.

“That,” Yimt said, “was about regimental pride. Those cheeky buggers thought they’d make a few disparaging remarks about the Prince and the major, so we had to tune them up proper. A rather energetic discussion ensued, which I think you caught the tail end of.”

“But we’ve complained about them ourselves,” Alwyn said.

“Aye, we have, and that’s our right. They’re our colonel and second-in-command and we have the right, nay, the duty to complain about ’em. Them other duffers don’t. Just the way it works.”

Alwyn tried to get his head around that. “Even so, now none of you get to go upstairs”

Yimt turned to look at him, the smile still on his face. “True, but you did. So how did it go?”

Alwyn felt all their eyes on him.

“Not the way it was supposed to,” Alwyn said, remembering too late what Nafeesah had told him to say. Before the hooting could start up, he quickly related everything else about Kaman Rhal and the white fire.

Teeter shook his head. “You sure you didn’t dream all that? You were hitting the hookah pretty hard.”

Alwyn shook his head. “I was wide awake, believe me. Look, if what she said is true, even some of it, then we know what we’re dealing with.”

“He’s right,” Hrem said. “It’s about time we knew what we were up against.”

“Or we could just leave well enough alone and not say nothing to no one,” Zwitty added. “We got no way of knowing if anything she told Alwyn was true.”

“It fits, though, don’t it?” Yimt said. He turned to Alwyn. “You sure about this, lad?”

“Go back and ask her,” Alwyn said, then quickly added, “Sergeant.”

Yimt ran a hand through his beard and pulled out a piece of orange. He popped it in his mouth rind and all. “All right, I believe you, but you sure do have some of the strangest encounters.”

“So what do we do now?” Hrem asked.

Shouting echoed off the alley walls. “For starters,” Yimt said, grabbing Alwyn by the arm and pulling him toward the end of the alley, “we get our arses out of here. The Viceroy’s got all kinds of constabulary just waiting to lock up innocent soldiers like us.”

Alwyn looked down at the dwarf as they hurried away. “Innocent?”

“Figure of speech, Ally, figure of speech,” Yimt said, huffing as he pumped his short legs. “Stands to reason that we’re always innocent of something, even if we’re guilty of something else.”

Alwyn couldn’t argue with that logic, but then with Yimt it was usually because you didn’t understand it.

“This isn’t the way back to the palace,” Alwyn said as they rounded a corner and headed off down another alley. He looked behind them and was relieved to see the rest of the section was keeping up.

“No point going back there now anyway,” Yimt said. “The streets will be swimming with people, including a herd of lads from the twelfth looking for some payback. Our best bet is to head away from all the hubbub and lie low for a while.”

“But we need to tell the major. This is important,” Alwyn said, shaking loose Yimt’s grip and coming to a stop. “If even some of what Nafeesah said is true we have to act.”

The other soldiers came to a halt and promptly bent over or slumped against a wall. It sounded like a pack of race horses after a mile and a quarter.

“And we will, lad, we will, but you have to trust your sergeant. There’s a time to go running off half-cocked, and there’s a time you want to be fully cocked.” More shouting erupted from somewhere nearby. Yimt motioned with his thumb toward another dark alleyway. “And this is definitely one of those times.”

Alwyn pushed his spectacles back up his nose and set off after Yimt. They were rounding another corner when a thought occurred to Alwyn. “Sergeant? Which one of those times is it?”

A fter another five minutes, Yimt led them to a dead-end alley with a tarp for a roof and several lanterns hung from rusting iron hooks set in the walls of the surrounding buildings. Wicker baskets, some as large as a man and others smaller than a rabbit, filled the space. A leathery-faced dwarf wearing local robes with a gray beard tucked into his belt sat on one of the baskets chewing crute and spitting into an earthenware pot on the ground. Frowning, he got up when they approached, a drukar appearing in his right hand.

Yimt took a moment to catch his breath, then walked forward. His shatterbow remained slung on his back. “Well met this fine evening,” he said, holding out his bag of crute.

“Don’t got drink or women here, and I don’t keep more than a few copper coins in my purse,” the dwarf replied, taking a pinch of the offered crute and placing it between his gums and cheek. His metal-colored teeth flashed in the light as he smiled, then quickly went back to a frown.

“Both more trouble than they’re worth,” Yimt said, smiling broadly. He sat down on another wicker basket and pointed toward Alwyn and the group to come closer. He looked around the stall.

The dwarf snorted. “Quite a commotion going on at the Blue Scorpion tonight by the sounds of it. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Yimt held out both arms wide. “We’re innocent.”

The other dwarf grinned. “I don’t doubt it, but what are you guilty of?”

“Nothing they’ll get us for if we keep our wits about us,” Yimt said, scowling briefly as he looked at Scolly. “Now, we got a bit of time to kill and could use a diversion for perhaps an hour or two, one that would remove us from these fair streets, and away from prying eyes.”

“We could get tattoos,” Teeter suggested. He had pulled a bottle out from somewhere in his uniform and was mid-drink. “I always get a tattoo when I land in a new port. Sort of a tradition in the navy, you know.”

“You ain’t in the bloody navy no more,” Zwitty said, grabbing the bottle out of Teeter’s hand and taking a drink. “Besides, where are we going to find an inker around here, anyways?”

“Tattooing is considered immoral in these parts,” the dwarf merchant said, lowering his voice. “Folks round here figure you’re desecrating your body if you get ink done. A fellow could lose a hand that way if he got caught…if you catch my meaning.”

Yimt held out his hand until Zwitty walked over and put the bottle in it. “Times are changing,” Yimt said. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the Empire is now in town.”

The other dwarf spat and laughed, a harsh sound that was not at all comforting. “Sure, you’re here now. But where will you be a week from now? A month from now? Times are changing all right. Stars are falling, the Shadow Monarch is rising, and the Empire is scrambling to hold on to what it can. I was here the first time the Empire waded ashore. Less than a year later, they were gone save for a token trading delegation and a few siggers to keep up appearances. That was decades ago. Only thing different since you boys arrived is the price of just about everything has gone up.”

“Oh, I hear there’s at least one more difference,” Yimt said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder toward the desert outside Nazalla. “Way we hear it, sounds like the Shadow Monarch ain’t the only one stirring things up.”