Chapter 11: Auntie’s Disappointment. Auntie’s Rage. The Wolf.

After disappearing into a nearby house with a basement entrance into some suspiciously spacious sewers, the man I had entitled the “portable brick wall” led me through a series of turns before working a switch concealed behind a rock.

With a click, a section of the tunnel wall slid open into complete darkness.

His voice was remarkably musical for a man of his size and, ahem, stature. He looked like the sort of fellow who gargled away his morning breath with rocks the size of gold nuggets.

I’ve only seen a few gold nuggets in my time as a Rogue. They’re very pretty, but they don’t spend nearly as well as soldans or gold dragons. Something about always having difficulty making change.

And never mind fencing one. Any fence who would willingly buy a gold nugget from you would most likely be stupid enough to hang a sign over his entryway saying:

I TRAFFIC IN STOLEN GOODS!
GUARDSMEN GET TEN PERCENT OFF WHEN RETRIEVING THEIR LOST AND STOLEN GEAR!

Besides, I was tactile enough to appreciate the clinking of coin in a purse rather than the clatter of a dropped nugget.

You may ask why I devote so much time to this tangent. Mostly because it seemed as though we were trekking halfway across the city without making a turn, which is a rather neat trick now that I’ve had time to think about it. There were no turns. No cross-chambers. No echoes from adjoining tunnels. I began to wonder exactly what kind of road system lived beneath Totar. I had already used the method most people considered the only sensible way to travel through the city: the maze of streets, twists and alleys that all begin to look distressingly alike once you become lost in them. Then there was the Vagabond’s Highway.

That was ... exciting. Also a remarkably quick way to cross the city, assuming you survived the journey.

Eventually, just about the time I began wondering whether my guide intended to walk me all the way to the Capital, he stopped. I did not.

I walked straight into him and nearly fell down again.

Really. Where did Auntie find these people? Did she visit a quarry, locate a sufficiently large piece of stone, hand someone a cutout and say, “Carve this for me”?

I idly wondered what sort of spell could bring such a man to life. I should probably have been thinking about what was going to happen next. My only defense is that I had likely bumped my head against him at least once and suffered a scrambled brain. Either that, or I had spent entirely too long surviving on adrenaline, little food, less drink, and the constant question of whether my last breath would have been my last breath. When you say it in that order, it acquires very sinister connotations.

“Do not stress Auntie unnecessarily, Arin,” he said. His voice was nothing like I expected. It had a deep, trained quality to it, the sort of voice that projected force without needing to threaten anyone. I had expected him to sound like a bag of rocks carelessly rolled down a flight of stairs.

“She is having a rough day, dealing with all the trouble above.”

Well, join the club. Perhaps we should have designed ourselves a fitting club tattoo. Thirteen black cats, perhaps. Or a hallway of broken mirrors. He opened a door I had not previously noticed, largely due to the fact that we were standing in pitch darkness, and I performed an actual stutter-step as I crossed the threshold.

Beyond it was an honest-to-gods noble-style tearoom.

Small magelights glowed inside sconces, giving the room an almost ethereal light. One wall held an armoire filled with leather-bound tomes. In the center of the room sat a chair that looked like the perfect place to have approximately a thirty-one-hour nap.

All right. I exaggerate. Eighteen hours. Thirty-one would have been greedy.

By that point I was exhausted from avoiding the Guard, the Independent’s Guild, and any further romantic or non-romantic but physically enjoyable entanglements.

Frankly, the chair could have been one of those pieces of furniture you hear about in lurid bard’s tales. You know the sort. They enforce your stay with large straps and locks, and the first application of glowing hot pokers and tongs to various portions of your anatomy is provided free of charge. Due to fatigue, I still might have sat down.

Instead, my guide indicated the chair and a pot of tea that had apparently been placed there shortly before my arrival.

Steam still curled from the spout.

Well, I was ready to fall down, never mind sit down, but a Rogue is ever curious.

I ran a finger along the leather tomes filling one shelf of the armoire, half expecting them to be empty shells concealing various implements of destruction. Or perhaps the finger bones of the last person to disappoint his dear old Auntie. After about two minutes of this, curiosity lost its battle with exhaustion.

I went to pour the tea. A familiar scent rose toward me. And once again, I stopped.

Orange Peel N’chaka?

That had been Thallid’s favorite tea whenever he could wheedle some merchant traveling from far-off Rine City into bringing him a supply.

He had once assured me there was absolutely no truth to the rumor that the flowers of the N’chaka plant had to be separated from the main plant one petal at a time by chaste maidens of impressive stature who were forbidden to wear clothing while harvesting the delicate flower, for fear that fabric would somehow change the flavor.

That, he explained, was simply how the merchants sold the product. He knew this because he had met one of those maidens while visiting Rine on a job. According to Thallid, she had been anything but chaste. Everything else about the story checked out, he said. I still don’t know whether I believe him. Perhaps I could visit Rine after this whole situation died down and investigate the matter personally.

You know, I really ought to stop using words like “died” when discussing my immediate future.

I took a sip. It was exactly as I remembered it.

I had never developed Thallid’s full appreciation for the stuff. I preferred more earthy ways of spending the hours when I wasn’t being a Rogue and general menace to Noble Houses, Guardsmen, and women of negotiable virtue.

Still, I would never deny Thallid his small pleasures. And this had been one of them. I took another sip. Yes. It was very good tea.

“You know, Arin, sweetie ... I’m surprised you didn’t come to your dear Auntie when this whole thing kicked off. Didn’t you trust me?”

I froze, then spun. In the dim light, behind a screen, sat Auntie. It was part of her myth. No one had ever met Auntie in person. Or, if they had, they either could not or would not describe her. She had apparently been part of Totar City since before I was born.

But one could almost hear the amused disapproval and teasing humor that only an Auntie could give you.

It said several things at once.

I know everything. I find it amusing. I would gossip about it incessantly to all my friends over tea, except I’m too busy being the Underworld’s best friend and worst nightmare simultaneously.

She continued, and I could almost hear the tut-tut in her voice. Through the screen, steam from her own cup of tea caught the light and curled around her shadow.

“I know you enjoy being the independent type, but when Harian started letting you twist in the wind, I rather expected you to come asking whether I could help restore something like your arrangement with the Old Man. I don’t think it would have worked, mind you. But I would have been glad to try.”

“You bring a certain ... enjoyable flutter of chaos to the city. Restoring your independence would probably have done more to balance Totar than most of the alternatives.”

“Before all this began, people were much happier discussing your latest romantic indiscretions. Everyone was terribly envious over those two tavern girls.”

A pause.

“At least until they found out. Don’t you ever get tired of disappointing women, Arin?”

There was no way to get upset with Auntie.

Well, it was much safer for your future prospects if you didn’t.

I tried to be calm, breezy, and altogether too Rogue-ish for the moment. This was difficult while running on little sleep, little food, and a great deal of oh gods, I’m about to die in the next three seconds.

“Well, I once thought about settling down, Auntie. Then I realized the mere thought of domestic bliss scared me more than anything else in my life up to that point.” It had the unwanted ring of truth. I wondered how Alina was doing. And how badly she would thrash me should I cross her path again. I should have left a note. If I had enough to leave a note ... I don’t think I would have left.

I considered recent events.

“Although I’ve had my eyes opened to entirely new levels of anxiety lately, I must admit.”

“Yes ... and think of all the enjoyment you’ve had since then. The Guard wanted to arrest you on general principles. Half the Independents envied you enough to slit your throat for a couple of copper thangs, if the Old Man hadn’t found your adventures so entertaining.”