“At this rate he might burst in five days, sister.”
“Let him burst. That day I’ll come to gather gold instead of watching the duel.”
The price of a token had risen sharply. Buying three with one gold Serapion left only a few copper alpion in change. The tokens’ price was the Den’s fundamental source of income. When buyers crowded in, the price crept up. It was adjusted at one in the afternoon according to the morning’s sales, then at one before dawn according to the afternoon’s. These times embodied the culmination of cunning business practices refined by experience. If an event was expected the following day, sales were usually highest the night before, so the price was raised sharply at one before dawn to gather money. People who came to convert a win into money after the event generally arrived in the afternoon, so the price was lowered at one in the afternoon to minimize what had to be paid out.
“Number one hundred eighty-six!”
The young man called again. This time an old man rose and bought tokens. The hooded man moved closer and glanced at what he received. The old man paid a heap of coins, bought exactly two tokens, and disappeared into the inner room. Then the man leaned in a corner of the hall and surveyed the people.
There were women, but most were men. Few looked to be in their teens, or even their twenties. Most had faces marked by possession of the so-called “back-alley citizen’s rights.” Water with ice and ale sold without pause, and the tokens vanished endlessly into people’s pouches. The hooded man noticed a limit on the number any one person could buy at a time. Several people had complained that they ought to sell more rather than make them wait in the heat. But the young man at the counter had been unmoved.
“Do you think you’re the only one waiting? And how would you feel if someone came this morning, bought up every one of today’s tokens, then left empty-handed marks on top of them?”
He was, of course, the only man wearing a hood in that hot room. The men had removed their shirts or opened their collars. The women too had rolled up sleeves or taken off even their sandals and sat barefoot. People gathered in little knots on the floor caught his attention, exchanging the latest rumors. Most spoke of the duel in five days, but a few discussed other subjects. Taking ticket number two hundred sixty-seven, the hooded man slipped among them to listen.
“There’s something suspicious about them. Until just the year before last, that place was only an ordinary school. But now it feels as though they’re doing a job for Lord Onestra, the governor’s own intelligence officer. Not long ago, Selia, who sings in the square, was dragged away and searched by them. If they’d found anything, they’d have cut off her head.”
“They say that stone-headed Kasim fellow goes there.”
“It must be some sort of cult. That’s just the sort of thing that fool would join.”
“If they’re a cult, shouldn’t they be preaching? What sort of cult locks itself in a basement?”
“Plenty do. Rich cults don’t preach. They make a paradise on earth for themselves and enjoy it.”
“They build their earthly paradise in a basement beside a sewer?”
Laughter rose. When the conversation moved elsewhere, the hooded man edged sideways. A bald man was speaking excitedly.
“They say the general’s mother was the daughter of the governor’s mother’s benefactor. Anyway, the mothers were like sisters in the old days. The governor and general have known one another since they were children too. So the governor must have meant to cover up the usual madness, but he couldn’t have expected him to bring a catapult. A dangerous object like that, reminding people of wartime… At least the citizens didn’t really know what it was, so it passed without much trouble. They say when the governor got the report afterward, he was furious.”
The swarthy man, who seemed well informed, wore a green-dyed hemp one-piece garment over his bald head and body. He looked as though he came from the southern port of Yurial. A middle-aged woman took up the conversation.
“Honestly, it’s madness. Can’t they court-martial him?”
“He’s retired. And the governor’s important offices are full of the general’s friends, relatives, and men he promoted when he was still serving. They say the current interior minister was his adjutant at the Battle of Edeka. If we’re talking military law, merely having a catapult was a problem, but everyone knew and stayed quiet, didn’t they?”
“He may have meant to take the patrols down a peg while he had the chance. There’ve been plenty of incidents lately. A well-timed disturbance is just what the governor needs.”
A young man beside them thrust in his head.
“Then shouldn’t the Shadowhawk lose this duel?”
The bald man wheeled around and shouted.
“Hawk House’s been left in that state, and you think the Shadowhawk, furious as he must be, will lose? Listen to this nonsense! Have you bet on the general’s tongue?”
“The tongue” was another name for the betting token, a favorable reference to the tongue of Charla, god of probability. Charla was always depicted laughing with his tongue out. Since old statues often had their tongues stolen, many believed luck dwelt in that tongue. There was a separate god of good fortune, yet Charla’s tongue was somehow received as the better charm.
The young man shouted back, indignant.
“I couldn’t buy a tongue because of that damned ticket queue. How can I bet?”
“Then stop drinking, get some lemon water, and bet when you’ve sobered up, boy. The Shadowhawk broke Tideiros three times. He won’t lose to a washed-up retired general.”
Tideiros had been the Shipwrights’ District’s former guard captain, the man who killed Gene’s predecessor as Shadowhawk. Riding high, he had resolved to wipe out the district’s organizations and declared that he would face their patrol captains in public duels. He had killed two and left another permanently crippled when his turn came against Gene, captain of Hawk House.
Rather than killing him, Gene had thoroughly humiliated him. They said it had looked less like a duel than a scene from a farce. Had people not remembered Tideiros’s earlier, brutal fights, they might have thought the two had rehearsed an absurd entertainment. The back-alley citizens, disheartened until then, had gone wild at Gene’s appearance. The Shadowhawk Tideiros killed had been a despicable villain, but they could not tolerate the back alleys being brought to heel by the so-called “governor’s dog.”
After two more challenges made the difference in their levels plain, Tideiros resigned as guard captain and left. Gene had felt a little guilty, as though he had unwittingly driven out a diligent public servant. But once it began, he could neither retreat nor refuse. Sparing Tideiros’s life had been the best he could do. And that affair had earned him the title Shadowhawk.
“Who said he’d lose? I said he ought to be made to lose.”
“Same thing. What’s the difference between losing and being made to lose?”
“Losing is losing, but being made to lose means he has to lose…”
While the bald man and the younger one argued, the middle-aged woman banged her empty cup against the floor. It was broad daylight, but she looked as though she had drunk plenty.
“Oh, stop flapping your mouths and save your strength for the day of the duel. If something suspicious happens then, are we supposed to do nothing but watch?”
“What do you mean to do besides watch?”
The young man seemed offended by their misunderstanding. The bald man shouted with undiminished vigor.
“If, as you say, losing and being made to lose are different, you’re saying we ought to let him be made to lose!”
“What do I care? Has the Shadowhawk ever bought me so much as a drink?”
The listeners around them joined in all at once. Opinions differed, but most could not stand the thought of the general taking victory from the Shadowhawk. He had been famous in the back alleys, but not this broadly influential. Rumors that the guards had stood by doing nothing while Hawk House, its captain absent, was destroyed without mercy seemed to have inflamed the back-alley citizens’ anger.
The middle-aged woman gave the young man a bitter smile.
“The Shadowhawk’s never poured me a drink either. Though of course I wouldn’t refuse if he did. Anyway, he has to win. Tideiros wanted to hang heads and line them up around the back alleys too. Whatever his purpose, we were handy posts for him to hang them on. He nearly succeeded. Then the Shadowhawk came and protected our pride. General Nikephoros must be after something as well. Otherwise, why single out Hawk House and smash it? He must think we’ll meekly obey once he clears the Shadowhawk away. We ought to teach him the world isn’t that simple.”
The young man seemed unable to reply and merely twitched his nose. Then an old man covered with scars, who had been listening throughout, spoke.
“No one knows what might happen one against one. But if the general dies or gets hurt because of this, they’ll seize the opportunity to purge the back alleys on a huge scale. A general doing mad things like this isn’t indispensable to Delphinad. The governor might prefer that outcome.”
“Unless those Firran invade again.”
“True.”
While they argued, another number rang through the hall, and more people forced their way inside. Unable to stand it any longer, the hooded man rose awkwardly and went out. Following the canal, he hurried into a narrow alley, then finally pushed back his hood and let out a great sigh.
“Whew, Anir. It’s kind of you to grant such magnificent revelations, but must the worshipper be boiled alive in following them? What’s wrong with the weather in October?”
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