Roars of laughter erupted from the Eaves’ customers, and Lapis wished she could join in the festivity, but depression, dull and dark, weighed on her spirits. However much she rationally convinced herself that her actions to save Lykas were justified, she could not sway her soul into believing it.
She had left the House because she could not bear the sympathy poured upon her by those she held dear. Sitting in the tavern listening to random others discuss the day’s events should have distracted her, but she withdrew from the rowdiness, slid down on the bench, and half-listened as the reading circle went about their reading business.
She wished she had a stake, but forcing herself to the nearest community center failed, so a convenient excuse to wallow in agony by herself vanished before it materialized. Truthfully, she did not think she could apprehend a shank in her current state. Breaking down in tears in front of a stake held no appeal.
Her brother reminding her that the streets of Jiy were still unsafe for staked her, and that she needed a companion when she walked them, did not help her state of mind.
She rocked, then glared at her partner, who scooted her rump over with his own so he could monopolize the end of the bench.
“That was rude.”
“Hmm.” His jug of wake juice hit the table, and a sack with the Night Market insignia followed.
Her mouth watered. The delectable smells coming from it prompted her hunger to roar back from the dark, melancholy recess she shoved it into, and she glared harder. He withdrew a stiff paper box and set it before her; she did not have to remove the cover to know thin, fried steak topped with cheese and wondrous brown sauce awaited her, accompanied by mashed tubers. She pulled the wooden top off; he even got her the brown bread that tasted like a summer’s night to her, and a cupful of butter to go with it.
How unfair for him to tempt her. That did not stop her from accepting silverware and digging in. Her body wanted that food, overwhelming her helpless unhappiness in favor of a tasty treat.
He slid another, smaller box to her. She peeked; cake, with enough frosting to send her into a drooling, glassy-eyed state.
“We can share,” he offered as he took his meal from the sack. He settled a comforting hand on her lower back before sticking his fork into the plateful of spicy pan noodles mixed with pork and seared vegetables.
“You know me too well,” she whispered. He chuckled, leaned over, and kissed the side of her head, his lips lingering longer than necessary. He pulled her closer, and his heat infused her. For the first time since that night, she felt the glimmerings of peace.
Which, she supposed, she should not let linger. “Did you take backup?”
Patch rumbled, as if he expected the annoying question. “No one was around.” She narrowed her eyes—had they not spoken about how he needed one or two others with him?—but he grinned mischievously and continued. “I bought one. It was as strange as Armarandos said. Took it to Jhor before I came here.” Grimness overran his humor. “I don’t want to bring you down, though.”
He did not need to say anything else; Armarandos was right. Someone had snagged khentauree parts to make a crude tech weapon. She set her head on his shoulder, the peace evaporating.
“But,” and he pressed his cheek onto her hair, “Jhor thinks he can help the head using those parts.”
She blinked, then looked up at him. “Really?”
“Yeah. We’ll know more tomorrow.”
Her thoughts whirling, she opened her mouth to ask more questions, but a blond head peeking into the Eaves’ door and looking around caught her attention. He focused on the rats, and scurried inside, beaming. The young one was maybe eight or nine, and they held a drum wider than they.
“Brone, Brone, look!”
The street rats turned to the kid, and Brone grinned. “You got a drum?”
“Granna got it for me!” he said with excitement. “She came back because Tessy had her baby, and she said I could get one to celebrate!”
Tessy? Lapis looked at Brone, but Phialla answered her unspoken question. “Tessy’s Granna Cup’s first great-grandkid, and this is her first baby. And Jovie’s been wanting a drum from the first time he heard Brone play.” She leaned closer. “Jovie’s her fifth child’s youngest son. Granna Cup has an enormous family.”
How old was Granna Cup, that she had a great-great-grandbaby? Lapis had not thought her over seventy! Of course, families in the Grey and Stone Streets often started when the parents were still kids themselves. If she had her children young enough, and those children had theirs at a young age, she could see a great-great-grandkid before she hit seventy.
Brone scooted through the readers and took the drum from Jovie’s mittened hands. He tapped the top, then showed him how to tune it. Seven more kids in heavy coats, fuzzy earmuffs, and scarves crowded around, and Lapis thought she recognized a couple from Ghouls and Fools. Patch chuckled, and she looked over; Dagby leaned over the counter to speak with Dachs, carrying a child sacked out on his shoulder with another gripping his pantleg as if he would never let go.
Dachs grinned wide. “Hear that?” he called. “Granna Cup has a great-great-grandbaby!”
A cheer went up, and the crowd toasted to the absent Granna, the new mother, and the new baby. Any excuse to drink, Lapis supposed.
“Cousin Dagby’s babysittin’,” the eldest girl said as she leaned over the table to Phialla. “He took us to Candycakes, and we’re goin’ back home, but it’s cold, so we stopped here to warm up.”
“Do you kids need a warm drink?” Lapis asked. All eight perked up, and Patch nudged her shoulder before rising and heading for the kitchen.
“No, it was borin’,” Jovie said, disgust lacing his tone as he stared at Ness. “We sat for-ev-er at the doctor’s, too. Cousin Tessy’s been sick, so she had to have the baby at the Meint clinic. We finally got to see her after we ate lunch. She’s all red and wrinkly and UGLY.”
The girl whapped his arm. “Jovie!”
“What? It’s true.”
“What’s her name?” Phialla asked.
“Mara,” the girl said. “She’s named after Granna Cup. Granna cried when Tessy and Ander told her what they decided on.”
Dagby stopped behind the kids, looking a tad tired but not as worn as she would expect, taking care of ten kids. “Babysitting?”
“The older ones,” he said as he adjusted the sleeping child on his shoulder. His blue wool coat looked thick enough to act as a warm, comfortable pillow, and the kid must have thought so, because she did not wake despite the noise. “It’s not so bad. I decided to stop here, get them warmed up, then hire a wagon back to Underville. The janks are patrollin’, and I’d rather get them back home faster than they can walk.”
Lapis winced. “Patrolling?”
“Nothin’ official as far as I can tell, but they were soundin’ desperate, askin’ after a group of friends who disappeared. They were at Candycakes makin’ a nuisance of themselves and irritating the richer customers. They hired all the streetwagons and vacated. Paliope should’ve kicked them out, but you know how she is.”
She nodded. Not that she had many interactions with the head of the Candycakes market board, but she had spoken with her often enough to know she did not like the pedantic, stern woman who catered to authority and yelled at everyone else.
“Dachs said there should be wagons waitin’ at the Coin Street stables.”
“There should be, yeah. It’s not late enough for the tourists to have left the taverns and bars and hired them all.”
“Good.” He snagged a chair leg with his snowy boot and sat, which effectively unhooked the young boy’s hands from his pants. The lad pushed into his arm; he extricated it, snaked it around him, and squeezed gently. “You’ve heard the kids at the Lells talk about the Lady,” he said. “She’s nice. Why don’t you say hi?” The shy one buried his face in the ex-chaser’s chest.
The shyness lasted as long as it took Dani to set the tray of hot honey chocolate on the table. Patch bought enough for all the kids, and the rats eagerly gulped the sweet stuff after performing a mug-clinking toast to the new baby.
“How’s Lykas?” Dagby asked after making certain each of his charges got a drink.
“He’s bruised and sore, his cracked rib hurts, and he’s been having trouble sleeping, but otherwise, he’s fine.” Lapis looked at the tabletop, embarrassed that she claimed he was fine when he, too, suffered nightmares. Patch rejoined them and dug into his noodles, unconcerned about the increased noise from the kids.
“He’s lucky you were there,” Dabgy said. “I’ve tangled with janks before. They’re skilled and ruthless, though I’m wonderin’ if newer agents were sent to Jiy. Their heavy-handed approach isn’t makin’ friends.”
“Celem’s influence?” Patch’s sarcasm elicited laughter from the ex-chaser.
“Probably. He seems to prefer loyalty over knowledge and experience. That’s good for us.”
Was that why she succeeded? The janks she took out were new recruits? Patch tapped at her food, and she started, then ate despite her lack of appetite.
“You shouldn’t mourn.”
She rolled her eyes to look into Dagby’s serious brown ones. “No?” she asked, feeling dark and surly.
“They deserve all the respect they gave Lykas, which was none. You were the mirror that reflected their maliciousness back at them, and they paid for their cruelty. There’s no reason to waste sorrow on them.”
She nodded, uncertain how to feel about the advice. She added it to the others that swirled in a sludgy whirlpool of regret and despair, and wondered, once the kids left, if she could talk to Patch about it. Maybe they could eat the cake in her room, snuggled on her bed, with him holding her, his lips pressed against her hair, while he listened to her muddle through her thoughts and emotions, straining to place them into a semblance of order. That sounded good.
