“I know him,” she whispered, just loud enough for Kel to hear. “He is Ashkar.”
“And he knows you?”
“We all know one another.” She pressed herself back against the wall. “He’ll see me,” she whispered. “He’ll tell the Maharam.”
As if he’d heard her, Oren raised his head. He began to turn—and Lin found herself caught up, her body blocked by Kel’s. His arms were around her. She looked up in surprise and saw the moon reflected in his eyes. “Look at me,” he said, and kissed her.
For all that it was swift and bewildering, it was gentle. His lips captured hers with expert ease, his hands rising to cup her face. She knew he was hiding her, hiding her features from the man who might otherwise recognize her. The touch of his scarred palms was rough and soft at the same time, like the flick of a cat’s tongue.
She let her head fall back against the cage of his hands. She had been kissed before, at the Goddess Festival. It was the one time of the year one might kiss and not have it be a vow or responsibility—or a shame if it was discovered. But that had been a quick peck on the lips, not like this at all.
He kissed like a noble, she thought. Like someone who had done this many times before because he was allowed to; because he lived in a world where kisses were not promises, where they were as common and bright as magic before the Sundering. There was something expert, if dispassionate, in the way he explored her mouth, sending small sparks rising up along her nerves, like the embers of a disturbed fire scattering brightness. A sort of heat suffused her body; her knees shook, and her hands, too, where she held the lapels of his coat.
When they drew apart, it was to the sound of whistles and catcalls. She glanced around, half dizzy; Oren was gone. Kel acknowledged the attention of the crowd with an imperious nod that reminded Lin, with a dark kind of shiver, of the Prince. Would kissing the Prince be anything like kissing Kel?
She shoved the thought instantly from her mind. The crowd having lost interest, Kel began to draw her around a corner, back toward the wider part of Arsenal Road. “You’re all right?” he murmured. “I’m sorry. It was all I could think of.”
“Really? That was all you could think of?” Lin touched her hand to her mouth. Her lips still tingled. It had been a very forceful sort of kiss.
“It really was.” He sounded rueful. “I apologize if it was terrible.”
He looked sheepish as a puppy who had been caught chewing a slipper. Lin couldn’t help smiling. “It wasn’t terrible. And thank you. If Oren had seen me . . .” She shuddered.
“So,” he said, “do you wish to try to discover who bought this book Andreyen is seeking? You are not wrong that it might be possible to buy it back—”
Lin froze. She had seen a shadow detach itself from a group of other shadows and approach them—a man, face hidden in the dim light.
The man was of medium height, wearing a coat with a multitude of buckles across the front. Most of his face was hidden behind a mask of tarnished metal. From the little she could see, Lin guessed that he was young, and the thickened scar tissue around his right eye suggested he had been in quite a few fights.
Kel exhaled. “Jerrod,” he said.
“Sorry to interrupt whatever this is,” Jerrod said, indicating Lin in what she felt was an insulting and dismissive manner, “but that appointment you were seeking? It’s now.”
Kel looked annoyed. “I suppose you’ve been following me around?”
“Obviously,” said Jerrod, as if Kel were very stupid for asking. Clearly there was no love lost between the two of them.
“Prosper Beck wants to see me now,” Kel said. He glanced at Lin. “Beck is like the Ragpicker King, but worse.”
“How rude,” said Jerrod.
“Why do you want to talk to someone worse than the Ragpicker King?” Lin asked, puzzled.
“I don’t want to,” said Kel. “I have to.” He turned back to Jerrod. “Can I bring her with me?”
Jerrod shook his head. “No. Only you.”
“I can’t leave my friend here,” said Kel. “Let me bring her back to the—to our carriage, and I’ll return and meet you.”
“No,” said Jerrod. Lin had the feeling he rather enjoyed refusing requests. “Come with me now, or the deal’s off.”
“Then we’re back to where we were in the noodle shop,” said Kel. “I’ll harry you unto death, et cetera, et cetera.”
“Gray hell,” muttered Jerrod. “I should have killed you when I had the chance. Wait here,” he said, and disappeared back into the shadows.
“He seems nice,” Lin said.
Kel, looking harried, half smiled down at her. “He isn’t an easy man to deal with. But he’s my only conduit to Beck.”
“Is he a Crawler?” Lin asked.
Kel looked surprised. “How’d you guess?”
“Chalk dust on his fingers,” Lin said. “I had a patient who was a Crawler once when he was young. He told me they use it for grip.” She hesitated. “Was he one of the ones who—”
“Attacked me in the alley?” Kel said. “Yes, but I’m working on not holding grudges. Besides, it was a mistake.”
Jerrod returned before Lin could ask what that meant. This time he had a carriage with him—a small, nearly impossibly light-looking vehicle with open sides. A young woman with close-cut dark hair sat in the driver’s seat. She had chalk dust on her fingers, too.
“Prosper Beck offers you the use of a carriage and driver to bring your friend home,” said Jerrod, in a tone that indicated that this was the most generous suggestion anyone had ever made. “Take the offer or leave the Maze.”
Kel’s brow furrowed. He started to protest, but Lin cut him off. “We will take the offer.”
She clambered up into the carriage—easy enough; it was low to the ground, light as if it were intended for racing—and settled back into the seat. Kel leaned in. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. The Qasmuna book was not here. She felt empty and weary and wished only to go home and remake her plans. She would not give up, but she could not bear more of this tonight. There was also a thread of anxiety in her chest, still, about Mariam. Surely it would be best to check in on her.
Kel stepped back. “Take her to the gates of the Sault,” he said to the driver. “Do not stray off course.”
“Indeed, do not,” said Jerrod. “Or he’ll poison you.”
This produced an alarmed look from the driver. She raised the reins, clucking to the horses, as Lin wondered what on earth that meant. She recalled Merren, the pretty boy at the Black Mansion who’d called himself a poisoner. Surely, she thought, as the carriage began to move through the tangle of Arsenal Road, that could not be a coincidence? It was as if every thread led back to the Ragpicker King somehow, like the threads of a web all led to the spider in the center. Was she an observer of the web, she wondered, or was she, too, a fly?
When the last of her people had passed before her, and her Source-Stone could hold no more power, Queen Adassa climbed to the top of the tower of Balal, and there her heart sank, for outside the city walls she could see the massing of the armies of the Sorcerer-Kings. She cried out then for Makabi, saying, “My right hand, you must now leave me. Leave me, and save our people.”