Page 8 of The Only Way Out Is Up

“I’ll need it for an hour, Ek. The fight’s today. I just need to put the finishing touches on my masterpiece.”

“Taj.”

“How long have I been buying from you?”

“Since you only came up to my knees,” he says grudgingly. “So what?”

“So you know me. My brother and sister run the bakery. I’m not going to run out on you.”

“Not worried about you running out on me. Worried your fight won’t pay off.”

“If it doesn’t I’ll just have to hunt some Twisted for you.”

“And get yourself killed.” He snorts. “Then I’d be sad and broke.”

“Please, Ek. I’ve put up the entry fee already; you want to just hand that to Rekas for nothing?”

Ekkeban grunts. Nobody likes Rekas.

“And we’re not talking that much, are we? Four reds and a couple of joints?”

“Let me see if I’ve even got the joints to sell you.” He taps his finger on the counter thoughtfully, then turns away to duck through a doorway into the back. “Don’t get excited yet.”

I can’t help it. My foot bounces nervously as he roots around, and I scan the walls of the shop for a distraction. Beside the counter is a bounty board, with official Arbiter notices at the top and less official bounties tacked up below. Heading the list, of course, is Rotwurm; that monster has ruled the central Heap since before I was born. The offer of two hundred stripes—more money than the bakery could earn in a dozen lifetimes—has only managed to lure a few score fools to their horrible ends.

Below the reigning champion are a slew of other Twisted that have acquired names, become local legends; a whole team might have to organize to hunt one down. Broke Valley Ripper, 3 m long and MEAN, 0.1 s. Big Belly Bob, spits flaming oil, 0.2 s. Below those are the new arrivals, identified only by where they can be found: Half a klick clock-inward of Stair #3, killed 3, 145 b. Two klicks inward of Zema’s place, took over homestead, big pincers, 210 b. And so on.

If I had the money to upgrade Star’s body, I could go after some of those myself. Of course, to get the money to upgrade Star’s body, I’d need a big bounty to buy parts, a rich kill, or (more likely) both.

Or I could win this fucking fight. My foot tap tap taps.

Beside the bounty list is a new poster, the paper so clean and white it can only have come down from the tiered city. Usually that means bad news, arrests, or proclamations, but this one looks more inviting than opposing. It says ASCEND in large block type, and below that, The Hod Council invites all to participate in our most ancient tradition, the Ascent Runic Tournament. Test your skill and ingenuity against the very best in the city, and win the ultimate prize.

Then, in slightly smaller type, Entry Fee 100 s.

“What are you putting this shit up for?” I ask Ekkeban as he returns. “You get a lot of customers who can spend a hundred stripes on a ticket?”

“A couple of Arbiters came around and asked me politely to post it,” he says. “And you know I’m always eager to assist the authorities any way I can.” He dumps an armload of stuff on the table, the thread junctions and sigils I asked for. My face lights up, and he sighs and holds up a warning finger.

“I gotta ask you one more time, Taj,” he says. “You really sure this is what you want?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“If I do this for you, and it goes wrong, don’t think I’m going to write it off.”

“Of course not. You’ve never let a single bit slide between those fat fingers.”

“That’s right.” He leans closer to me. “If you can’t pay, that means Rekas. The Clawmarks. You understand?”

“Sure.”

“Taj!” He fixes me with his gaze. “I like you. So I want to make sure. You understand?”

“Yes.” I give him my best sincere look. “I understand.”

“Fine.” He shoves the pile across the counter. “Good luck today.”

I hurriedly sweep the goods into my sack. “Thanks.”