Rift in the Sky

“I noticed.” Raised fists and shouts. Objects thrown at them—though most of those hit pox. She shouldn’t feel satisfied, Aryl told herself with a smidge of guilt. Haxel would doubtless have something to say about such behavior. “I don’t like them,” she finished, taking out a clump with a sweep of her longknife. She didn’t bother clarifying which she didn’t like; her Chosen didn’t bother to ask.

Abruptly, the symbols over the remaining pox disappeared. Red light shone from the holes in the walls. It was a summons; the pox stopped, fluffed out their fur, and scurried back inside.

Their prey, half stripped of its fur and bleeding from innumerable small bites, leaned against the door through which it had come and heaved a sigh.

A sigh she could hear, Aryl realized, because all other sounds had ceased.

Except for an approaching thunder of clanking metal, as if several someones fought with empty pots.

The spectators melted away from the railing where they’d been standing, to be replaced by a looming black shape.

Dozens of shining black eyes on stalks stared down at them.

Aryl and Enris stared up at the eyes.

Just as she wondered if she should say something, the silence ended in a deafening bellow.

“WHAT IN THE SEVENTEENTH SANDY ARMPIT OF URGA LARGE ARE YOU DOING IN THE POX PIT!!?”

They were now the entertainment, Aryl thought glumly as she followed the huge black being through the crowd, a passage made easy by the space granted the creature. Its lower immense pair of claws might have been the reason, though it was equally likely the creature’s imposing air of “move or I’ll run you down” was responsible.

It did give her a better view of the place. She looked around for their quarry, knowing Enris did the same, but also marked possible escape routes, should they have to give up the chase.

There were several doors, like the one they’d come through, both on this floor and the one above. Interestingly, there was a lit dais, shaped like a licking tongue, filling the midst of this floor. No railing separated viewers from whatever they watched there, but tables with chairs were pulled up all around it. At the moment, the dais was empty. The air around it swirled with white smoke, though there was no open fire in sight.

More tables and chairs, most in use, filled the shadowy edges. The exception was a long curved counter that jutted out from one wall, its outer surface reflecting the legs and feet of those who sat on stools beside it. This turned out to be their destination. The giant creature used one of its smaller, more flexible upper claws to lift part of the counter, then snapped a lower impatiently when they hesitated to go through. “Inside.”

Aryl obeyed, Enris behind her. The creature barely fit. It dropped the counter back in place with a bang: a signal to someone, for the loud drumming and singing resumed, and those who’d been watching turned away as if disappointed.

Explain to me again why we’re not leaving.

We need help.

This is help?

She didn’t know why she believed it, only that she did. The other scouts still hadn’t reported success; Imi’s group had retreated to the Buried Theater, after being chased by some kind of authority. Or a cook. The sending had been confused.

It’s a Carasian. We can trust it.

The floor directly behind the counter was at the same level as the larger room. Three of the multi-armed beings stood there, busy wiping, filling drink containers, or taking away empty ones. They ignored the new arrivals.

The inner portion sank to form a ramp leading down to the back wall. A wall, Aryl saw with interest, covered with weapons displayed behind metal grids. She walked over to it, impressed. “Are these yours?”

Several eyes bent to look at her. “Their owners left them with me.” Its voice was a deep rumble. “I suggest you do the same.”

A hand slapped the counter before she had to answer. “Gurdo! Whaddabout our refund!?”

The tone wasn’t one she’d use, given one of “Gurdo’s” claws would span the Human’s ample torso. But its reply was mild. “You’ll have to take that up with Louli. I can call her for you.”

The florid-faced Human lost all color. “No,” he said quickly. “That’s not necessary. ’S was only a little bet. Some fun. That’s all.”

“Generous of you. Yirs? Beer for this fine Grandie. On the house.”

Once the Human was mollified, Gurdo tipped its big head back to Aryl. “Ordinary knives—no one cares. But any constable will seize that,” a gesture to the longknife still out in her hand, “and throw you in jail for the privilege, first chance they get. Which will be when you leave the ’Dive. You see, locals call this Tax Free Layer, but that’s only because few here can afford to pay them, not that we don’t get interfered with by the powers above. There’s always a couple here. Yirs?”

One of the servers spoke without turning around. “End of the stage, as usual. Waiting for Brocheuse.”