CHAPTER 4: The Smell Of War

For a full minute, neither Mouse nor the stranger spoke.

They stared into the gilded chest.

Inside lay a young girl, apparently fast asleep. Black hair rested against the cushioning beneath her head, and pointed ears peeked through the loose strands. She looked about Mouse’s age.

Mouse looked at her. Then at the stranger. Then back at her.

What am I supposed to do with her?

He had come here for a box. Not a person. Certainly not a girl packed away like expensive luggage.

Beside him, the stranger had a similar problem. This wasn’t what he’d come for either, and the boy was becoming an increasingly troublesome addition to his evening.

Still, he’d grown just the slightest bit attached to the little idiot.

A very slight bit.

“You look like you’re trying to take a shit.”

Mouse frowned. “I’m thinking.”

“That explains the smell.”

Mouse glared at him.

The stranger sighed. “Want some advice?”

Before Mouse could answer, a furious voice erupted beyond the office.

“WHY IS EVERYTHING ALL AT ONCE DECIDING TO GO TO SHIT?!”

The stranger’s expression changed. He grabbed Mouse and shoved him into the chest beside the girl.

“HEY!”

The lid came down, swallowing him in darkness. Mouse’s shoulder pressed against the cushioning; there was barely room to move.

The stranger hadn’t locked it.

“What are you doing?” Mouse whispered, pressing a hand against the lid.

No answer. Footsteps thundered toward the office, and the door burst open.

“I TRUSTED YOU TO TAKE CARE OF THIS OPERATION!”

Mouse flinched.

“AND INSTEAD YOU TAKE A SHIT!”

“Boss, I took care of the spells myself!” another man protested. “I triple-checked the latches on every cage! It makes no sense!”

The rat beastman in the doorway looked ready to tear out his own whiskers. The cages had failed, the monsters were loose, and his guards were scrambling. Now his captain wanted credit for checking the things that had gone wrong.

He opened his mouth to shout again.

Then his nose twitched.

Wet stone. Torch smoke. Damp moss.

Garlic.

His eyes narrowed.

“Get out.”

The captain blinked. “Boss?”

“NOW!”

The captain hurried away. The rat stepped into the office and closed the door.

A man sat behind his desk.

His desk. His chair.

The stranger looked perfectly comfortable.

After a moment, the rat approached the guest chair and sat down.

The stranger smiled. “You know your place well, rat. Anything to tell me, Fitch?”

Inside the chest, Mouse could hear everything and see nothing. That was beginning to bother him.

He pressed his palm against the lid and lifted it a fraction. Then he shifted the weight onto one finger, leaving a narrow gap through which he could see the office.

There was the stranger. Across from him sat—

Is that a rat?

A very large rat. Wearing clothes.

I hate rats.

When he was smaller, he’d made Lys chase them away. Sometimes he’d asked her to hunt them. She usually complained.

Sometimes she did it anyway.

The rat shifted in his chair.

“I don’t know what you’re tal—”

“Cut the bullshit, rat.”

Mouse blinked.

The stranger was sitting behind the desk.

He was also standing behind Fitch, a knife pressed to the rat’s throat.

Mouse’s eyes darted between them.

What?

He squinted at the man in the chair, then at the one holding the knife.

How is he doing that?

Fitch didn’t struggle.

“It’s not that I’m hiding things,” he said carefully. “It’s just that I lead a smuggler’s guild, Garran. I do a lot of things a lot of people want to know about.”

Fitch was terribly afraid. But fear and panic were different things, and he’d survived long enough to learn the difference.

Garran Veyl wasn’t the sort of man who killed without reason. As long as Fitch gave him what he wanted, there was no reason to die.

A perfectly survivable conversation.

All he needed to do was figure out what the Grey Man wanted.

Mouse leaned forward another fraction.

The stranger behind the desk moved his hand. Something flashed through the air.

THUNK!

A dagger struck the chest. The impact jolted the lid off Mouse’s finger and slammed it shut.

Pain shot through his hand.

He clamped his other hand over his mouth before a sound could escape. His eyes watered.

OW! OW! OW!

In the darkness, he curled around his injured finger and silently cursed the stranger with every word he knew.

“You ask what I’m referring to,” Garran whispered behind Fitch, “but is it not obvious?”

Fitch’s gaze drifted toward the chest. His eyes widened.

“That box?!” He looked toward the man behind his desk. “I stole it from the top merchants! I couldn’t get it open. The spell on that thing was cast by a Bishop-level priest from the Church of Light!”

“I opened it.”

Of course he had. Somehow, that was the least troubling thing Fitch had heard all evening.

“Well,” he asked cautiously, “what was inside?”

Garran gestured toward the chest.

“Have a look.”

Fitch waited for the knife to ease away before rising. At the chest, he hesitated, then lifted the lid.

A small, white-haired boy sat hunched inside, sucking his injured finger and muttering an impressive collection of curses. His eyes were still wet.

Fitch stared.

Mouse stared back.

“Meat?” Fitch tried.

“Under the meat.”

The boy blocked most of the view. Fitch lifted him out and set him beside the chest, then leaned over the open box.

He saw the girl.

His expression changed. He swallowed hard.

“SHIT!”

He turned slowly toward Garran.

Garran shrugged. “You really kicked the beehive this time, Fitch.”

He glanced into the chest.

“Reminds me of our mercenary days. You just couldn’t keep those sticky fingers to yourself.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “And now you’ll die for it.”

Fitch looked at him, then at the swords hanging from his belt.

His ears flattened. He dropped to his knees.

“PLEASE, GARRAN! I DIDN’T KNOW!”

Mouse flinched at the shouting.

“HOWEVER MUCH THE STAGS ARE PAYING YOU, THERE’S NO WAY I CAN DOUBLE IT! BUT!”

Fitch pressed his hands together.

“I still haven’t had the chance to repay you for what you did for me! And I ask you, just this last ti—”

“Oh, I’m not here to kill you.”

Garran looked as though he were struggling not to laugh.

Fitch froze.

What?

Mouse had seen grown men run, shout, threaten, and cry. But the guild master of House Vyre was on his knees, begging, and the stranger was enjoying himself.

The rat looked horribly pathetic.

For a long moment, Fitch stared up at Garran. Then his expression tightened.

“Why are you here, then?”

“Oh, that.” Garran sounded as though he were explaining what he’d eaten for breakfast. “I stole an artifact from the Black Hooks. Thought they might assume you’d hired me. Get the two of you into a nice little war.”

Mouse’s mouth fell open.

He just told him?

No excuses. No lies. He’d practically admitted to trying to get the rat killed.

And he was smiling.

“WHY?!”

Garran stepped closer and rested a hand on Fitch’s shoulder. His smile faded a little.

“I need you to repay your debt now.”

The fear remained in Fitch’s eyes, but the pleading stopped. He straightened on his knees.

“What do you need, Garran?”

“First things first. Give me the box and the girl.”

Garran paused, glancing at the chest.

“Wait. Just the girl.”

Mouse stared at him.

Is he dumb?

He considered it.

Or, like… really, really dumb?

“Done,” Fitch said. “Take her.”

Mouse blinked.

That’s it?

A girl had been locked inside a magically sealed chest, guarded by smugglers and monsters. Now the rat was simply giving her away.

Who is she?

He desperately wanted to ask. But he’d already learned there were times when keeping his mouth shut was the smartest thing he could do.

This felt like one of them.

“I want NOTHING to do with that girl or her family,” Fitch declared.

“Good. Second…” Garran folded his arms. “I owe someone a favor.”

Fitch’s eyes widened.

“A favor from you is no joke, Garran. Who is i—”

“Cripple the Black Hooks for me.”

The rat fell silent.

“You don’t have to kill them all. Just weaken them enough that they can’t recover quickly. My client will handle the rest.”

Fitch studied him. For once, no joke waited on his tongue.

“I don’t know what this is about,” he said, “but if I can finally pay you back, you have my wor—”

BOOOOM!

The cavern shook. Dust spilled from the ceiling, and Mouse caught himself against the chest as a deep rumble rolled through the mine.

A voice thundered down the tunnels.

“YOU RAT SHIT! GET OUT HERE AND BRING ME MY ARTIFACT!”

Fitch’s whiskers twitched. His face twisted.

“ONI BASTARD!”

He turned back to Garran.

“You have my word. I’ll push them back here, and tonight I’ll fill the streets with Black Hook blood!”

His voice rose.

“My rats will flush them out! We’ll show those bastards why they’ve always been the lowest guild among us!”

Fitch rose to his full height. Moments ago, he’d been begging on the floor. Now he marched toward the door as the guild master of House Vyre.

He stopped when he saw Mouse, still nursing his finger.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t take another apprentice.”

Garran didn’t hesitate.

“He’s just meat I found.”

Meat?!

Fitch was already gone. Another crash echoed through the mine.

“Get ready, boy. We’re leaving.”

Mouse looked toward the door. “Wait. What about the rat?”

“What about him?”

“Can he handle all this on his own?”

Garran laughed.

“Just get ready. Don’t worry about other people when you’re the weakest thing within a ten-mile radius.”

Mouse frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

“What about the gir—”

He froze.

“WAIT! WHAT ABOUT THE GIRL?”

Garran raised an eyebrow.

“How am I supposed to carry her? She weighs, like, a million pounds!”

Something shifted inside the chest.

Garran smiled. “You don’t have to.”

“Why?”

“She’s been awake ever since we opened it.”

“HOW DID YOU KNOW?!”

Mouse spun around.

The girl had pushed herself upright. She glared at Garran, keeping one hand on the edge of the chest. Her eyes flicked toward the doorway, then to his weapons.

Finally, she looked at Mouse.

Wait.

He glanced at the cramped space inside the box.

I’ve been sitting on her.

For the past ten minutes. And she’d been awake the entire time.

Mouse grimaced.

The girl drew herself up.

“AND HOW DARE YOU CALL A LADY FAT!”

She climbed out of the chest and strode toward him. Mouse raised both hands.

“Wait! I wasn’t calling you fat! I was simply sayi—”

THUMP!

Her fist drove into his stomach.

All the air left his lungs. Pain folded him in half, and his knees struck the floor.

Did she just punch me?

He doubled over, coughing and gagging, trying desperately to draw a breath.

Above him, Garran burst into laughter.

“Never talk about a lady’s weight, you wretch!”

Mouse tried to answer. Another miserable cough came out.

The girl turned back to Garran, leaving space between them.

“Where am I?”

Garran straightened, then bent into a bow so exaggerated it bordered on ridiculous. His voice took on the polished, theatrical tone of a gentleman addressing royalty.

“I shall be escorting you home, my lady. All you need do is follow me.”

He extended an arm toward the doorway, his other hand sweeping downward to usher her forward.

She stayed where she was.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

Another crash rolled through the mine. She looked toward the sound, then back at him.

Garran held his gesture.

The girl studied him a moment longer. Then she approached the doorway and checked the passage before stepping out. Garran followed.

Neither spared a glance at Mouse.

He lay curled on his side, an arm wrapped around his stomach. Beyond the office, people were shouting. Explosions shook the mine. Someone was probably dying.

Mouse had a more immediate concern.

Mara.

His first solo request. A smuggling den. A girl in a magical box who’d punched him in the stomach.

He stared miserably at the stone floor.

She’s going to murder me.

He shut his eyes.

I’m so dead.

Then another crash got him moving. He pushed himself upright and hurried after them.

The cave was nearly empty.

No guards at their posts. No smugglers moving crates. The voices that had echoed through the tunnels were gone.

Everyone had left. Or everyone who could fight, anyway.

Mouse wasn’t comforted by the thought.

He caught up, keeping a few steps behind the others.

Garran. That was the stranger’s name. The rat had said it enough times.

Mouse turned it over in his head. It didn’t tell him much.

His eyes drifted to the girl.

She walked beside Garran as though he were escorting her into a grand ballroom. Straight back. Raised chin. Only the way she checked each opening they passed spoiled the impression.

She hadn’t looked at Mouse once.

Stupid girl.

His stomach still hurt. He wasn’t particularly fond of her.

Not even a little.

“What do we do when we get to the exit?”

“Watch,” Garran said.

Mouse frowned. “Watch what?”

Garran glanced back.

“Pay attention, boy. What you’re about to see is war.”

He faced forward again.

“Blood. Death. And magic density so strong you’ll want to throw up.”

Mouse’s steps slowed.

Magic density.

Mara had told him about it. Too much magic gathered in one place could make the air itself suffocating. He’d asked what it felt like, but couldn’t remember her exact answer.

Only that he hadn’t wanted to find out.

The tunnel widened. Light spilled through the mouth of the mine.

Shouting reached them now, close and angry. Metal crashed against metal. The ground trembled beneath Mouse’s boots.

The girl slowed, watching the opening ahead.

They were almost at the exit when Mouse drew a breath and felt the difference.

Smoke caught bitterly in his throat. Beneath it came something sharp and metallic, and something else he couldn’t name. The air pressed close around him.

Mouse swallowed.

He’d never stood on a battlefield. Never watched two guilds fight. Never felt so much magic gathered in one place.

But at the mouth of the mine, he could smell it.

War.