Page 45 of The Only Way Out Is Up

Somi looks at the floor. We both know—now, at least—what Fara’s other job was, the one that kept her out nights. But we don’t like to talk about it.

“I miss her,” he says quietly. “I wish she was here.”

“Me too.” I swallow a knot in my throat. “But it’s on us now.”

“Yeah.” He looks up. “Do I need to tell you to be careful?”

“Dunno. Did I listen the first seventeen thousand times?”

“Not really.”

“Better try again, then.”

The ghost of a smile crosses his face. “Good luck, Taj.”

SIXTEEN

This is ridiculous.

[Agreement: supremely undignified.]

I mean it ought to be you carrying me. You’re the one who just got a lot stronger.

[Offense: I am not your mount.]

Star’s new body has to weigh at least thirty kilos. I made a big sack to carry him in, but it’s not exactly comfortable for either of us, and Stair #3 seems to go on forever. I contemplate letting him out to walk the rest of the way, but while there are a few runics around, they’re simple haulers, nothing like Star’s vicious and (in my humble opinion) elegant design. Someone would ask questions that I, with my stolen Malkuth pass, might not want to answer. So instead I trudge on, sweat streaming down my neck and dripping off my chin.

The morning shift is suffering right alongside me, some of them carrying even heavier loads. There’s the usual mix of workhouse inmates heading home from leave, haulers and hawkers, hopefuls looking for work as day laborers or whores. Scrap-sellers carry yesterday’s take in wagons with wheels like cogs, each tooth perfectly sized for a step on this twice-a-day journey.

Underneath the ache in my legs and the shooting pain in my shoulders there’s a deeper anxiety. What if she’s not there? What if Ky changed her mind, or she was lying to me this whole time? What if those assassins got to her and she’s lying in an alley somewhere with a slit throat, blood soaking into her silver hair? Or dragged back to Hod in chains for stars-know-what tortures?

When I reach the top and spot a thick white braid amid the crowd, therefore, it’s a relief to more than my trembling limbs. Ky is waiting off to one side with a group trying to spot the faces of their loved ones among the incoming tide; she rushes out at the sight of me and, to my surprise, throws her arms around my neck and hugs me tight. At first I assume it’s a show for anyone watching, but I can feel the wet warmth of her tears against my neck.

“Hey,” I manage. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” She sniffs, her voice thick. “I spent the last three days wondering if I’d burned the last of my money and contacts for nothing. I thought you might take the money and never come back. I honestly couldn’t bring myself to blame you; it might have been the smart move. But then I’d probably be dead in a couple of days with the Cavcante and the Council fighting over my corpse.”

“Well. I didn’t.”

“You didn’t. You’re as crazy as I am.”

“Let’s not go that far.”

She laughs and pulls away from me, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “Okay. Emotion time over. Let’s get to work.”

“Can I let Star out of the bag?”

“Hmm.” She pulls open the flap and shakes her head. “Better not. He’ll still draw attention. We haven’t got far to go.”

My shoulders are already screaming. I clench my teeth and resettle the weight.

[Objection: don’t bounce me, mount.]

Oh, shove it.

Going through the checkpoint makes my heart race, but the reality of it is anticlimactic—we show our passes, and a bored Arbiter waves us through the gate into Malkuth proper. Inside is a teeming market full of scrap wholesalers, packed with so many people I start to feel claustrophobic. Ky and I fight through the throng with the other morning arrivals, ignoring offers of food, drink, and companionship from all sides. My pack draws cries from the scrap-merchants, competing to offer the best prices for broken treasures from the Heap.

Malkuth in daylight is quite a sight, a churning vortex of flesh and commerce. I can’t help but feel the heavy hand of what might have been. In another life, if not for Fara’s determination to keep us away from the workhouses, Somi and I might have ended up here. I could have been part of this crowd, looking like a graying forty before my twentieth birthday, snatching at a few pleasures on my trips below before returning to continue selling my soul slice by bloody slice.