Chương 15: Chapter 14 – Last Chance to Back Out

Passage found him drinking alone on the roof. Bracken sat on the ledge with his back to the door, his feet dangling out over the empty night air. He wore a borrowed outfit that was too big for him, looking like a child dressed in his father's clothes. He and Torvin had arrived back a little while before Passage and Sable, though they'd left as soon as they finished paying the Apothecary and hurried back across town.

The two of them had said little to one another on the return trip, Sable not wanting to be lectured and Passage not wanting to sound like he was lecturing. In the end, he'd held his peace. She knew he didn't agree with her about poisoning Cinder and Pike. He knew she was unhappy about it. But she'd also followed his lead when it mattered. There was no point arguing about it further.

He'd reached that same conclusion six times on the walk back and still he'd found himself gulping like a fish out of water, trying to find words to fill the silence. It had been a relief to find Torvin midway through telling Ressa about Bracken's near-death experience, until he'd heard the story himself. The others were still laughing downstairs. None as loud as Torvin, still cackling as he told the story again of how he'd pulled Bracken from the canal, bare as Fisher's balls and twice as blue.

He seemed to think it was the funniest thing that had happened in all the years they'd known one another, going on about seeing Bracken waving his arms from the fourth-floor window in a panic, and how he'd broken into an old bar song to distract the villains. Sable had been immediately enamoured with the story, pulling up a chair and pouring herself a mug of wine, pressing for more details and for Torvin to start over from the beginning.

Ressa had smiled politely, laughed at the appropriate moments, and gestured towards the roof as soon as she caught Passage's eye. Passage had only stayed downstairs long enough to get the broad outline of the tale before grabbing a fresh jug, two mugs, and heading up to find his best friend. Passage sat down on the knee-high parapet wall, shifting around until his legs dangled over the edge.

The Maid was only three stories tall, and they sat on the canal side, legs dangling above misty waters, but Passage still blinked past a wave of vertigo at the height. He hated sitting on ledges like this, but he hated seeing Bracken hurting even more. His friend was small in stature, but he never carried himself like it. Sitting with his shoulders hunched and his head bowed, for once Bracken's spirit seemed to fit within his own skin. It didn't suit him.

"Rough night then?" Passage asked, holding out a mug, steaming in the frigid air. He'd splurged on hot mulled wine with what little coin he had left. Fresh from the pot and smelling of spices, it still tasted like hot vinegar, but at least it was warm. Bracken accepted it with a quiet grunt of thanks. They sat for a while, watching the mists swirl, listening to the sound of water lapping at the stonework, and saying nothing.

Every now and then a conversation or a laugh would drift their way from an open window or a group walking the canal, but for the most part, the night was quiet. It seemed appropriate, like the city was doing its best to respect the occasion, letting them wallow in their unspoken doubts. In reality, the Drowned Maid was just a shit pub in a shit part of town, and everyone with a lick of sense had gone home for the night or decided to pass the time somewhere nicer, but Passage pushed his cynicism aside.

If Bracken was feeling low, then Passage would just have to play the poet for once instead.

"You worried?" Passage finally broke the silence.

"Yeah," Bracken said quietly, taking another sip of his wine.

"Embarrassed?"

"A little."

"Alive?"

"Somehow."

"Then I'd call tonight a success," Passage kept his eyes on the canal, but he felt Bracken stiffen beside him. He could imagine without looking the way Bracken would be closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, looking crushed beneath the combined weight of his sins and his ambitions. He'd always been that way. A boy with big dreams and big feelings. When he was merry, his joy was infectious, spreading to everyone around him.

When he had a plan, his tongue turned to silver, and his every terrible idea seemed spun from pure gold. And when he was sad, it was as if his soul sank to the blackest depths of the Stillwake and shivered there, far beyond the reach of anything warm or bright or decent. Bracken snorted a bitter laugh.

"I don't know what I'm doing, Passage."

"Drugging and robbing a pair of psychopaths. One of them is a Caller, has a bad habit of burning people to death. His buddy is a big fellow, got a thing for property damage and breaking people's limbs with his bare hands. Have you not been paying attention at the planning meetings?" Passage did his best to sound sincere, trying for that same cocky calm that came so naturally to Bracken. It came out a little wooden, but Bracken still offered him a bemused eye roll and a smile.

"Think I've been drunk at most of them, to be honest," said Bracken.

"Yeah, I think that might be true for all of us." The pair lapsed back into silence for a time, though it felt more companionable than before. Less like Passage was intruding on something private and painful.

"I'm a really bad thief, I think," said Bracken, refilling his mug.

"I don't know about that. You got out, didn't you?" Passage couldn't help wondering if maybe they wouldn't all be better off listening to Bracken's doubts and choosing a path less reckless. It would be easy to agree with him, to talk Bracken and himself and all the rest off of this mad ledge they called a plan. But that wasn't what Bracken needed just then, so he did the decent thing and ignored that traitorous instinct.

"Fuckin' barely. I was so stupid. So many decisions and every one of them wrong. I should've ditched my boots and my clothes with my cloak. Instead, I wore them into the water and then had to ditch them in an attic after they almost drowned me. I should have brought a boat, so I didn't have to swim to begin with. I should've brought Ressa to watch from further up the road, so she could've warned Torvin and given me more time to get out.

I should have realised I was going to struggle to get back into the attic before I climbed down into Cinder's office." The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

"And you still got out alive, and uncaught, and now you know better for tomorrow," Passage interrupted before Bracken could list any more of his mistakes. That's the thing about looking back on things. You don't see them as they were, just as you now know them to be, and the present is a poor lens to look through. Cracked and dirty, made filthy by consequences. Enough time passes and every decision becomes a mistake, every friend a fool or a sad story, and every self a naïve child.

Bracken let out a long sigh, looking unconvinced. The night had clearly rattled him. Shit, the night had rattled Passage plenty as well, he couldn't blame the man for being shaken, but there was more to whatever was bothering him. Bracken looked lost and afraid in a way Passage had rarely known him to be. They'd been in their share of brawls. Taken their share of beatings. Passage had been almost certain a few times that they were all going to get themselves killed.

That sort of thing still scared Bracken, of course it did. But it never left him looking small in the way that tonight had.

"I almost didn't," Bracken said.

"What if we can't pull this off, Passage?" And in that question, Passage finally thought he understood something of what was really going through Bracken's mind. It wasn't just that he'd nearly failed. It wasn't just that he was embarrassed or afraid for himself. It was about what came next for all of them. Passage thought of the glassy eyes and pale waxy faces of noctar addicts in the Night Garden. Of the way Sable had walked the halls with unspoken familiarity, and Torvin's admission to an unpaid tab.

He thought of the Apothecary, a creature so drenched in Planar magic that Passage could scarce imagine the scale of his power, who despite having miracles at his fingertips, spent his existence toiling in the dark to grow poison for the lonely and the lost. And he thought about how sad it was that until just then, he'd still thought of Bracken's dreams as being only dreams, this plot of theirs just a silly act of defiance. The Gutters well deserved their name. Passage knew that. Had known it for years.

But perhaps it was in letting himself imagine a life outside of them that he'd finally begun to truly see the Gutters for what they were. Not just a melancholy backdrop to an ordinary life but a prison he'd lived in so long that he'd forgotten how to see the bars. If they stuck around much longer, they'd never slip through the gaps to whatever lay beyond. The five of them were living through the final pages of the prologue to a tragedy, and it seemed that only Bracken really understood that fact.

That only Bracken was trying to change their story.

"I'm thinking about joining the Wardens, you know," said Passage, eventually.

"What?" Bracken finally turned to look at him, surprise distracting him from being maudlin for a moment.

"Why?"

"Well, I reckon I'd make a terrible preacher for starters." He let himself smile, not quite joking.

"But mostly because I think I could do some good. Maybe if there were a couple of Wardens around who cared about the lower city, the Gutters wouldn't be so…" He fished for a word. Bracken volunteered several.

"Shitty? Bleak? Unsafe? Grim? Captive to the whims of a criminal overlord and his gang of violent arseholes?"

"Yeah, all of the above. I just think, maybe if there was a Warden or two down here, maybe the Cinders and Pikes of the world would think twice about beating up preachers and breaking bakers' arms."

"I wouldn't be so sure. I don't think Wardens get that much say in where they do their Warden-ing. Reckon you might need to aim a little higher if you want to fix that. Maybe become the next Magister yourself. You could reform the whole Empire from within while you're at it."

"Mm, right, seems like a bit of a hassle."

"Yeah, massive hassle. Probably a lot of paperwork. Stuffy meetings. I'd give it a miss."

"Right, no, I take your point. Alright, well I'll try for the Wardens anyway, but if it doesn't work out, I'll just drop out and come back to start a vigilante street gang with you. Dispense our own justice."

"Well, you'll be welcome back, of course. You're a Wyrm for life, after all. But I'll be long gone. Off adventuring, I think, building a legend bigger than the Ashwind himself. Probably fighting all sorts of monsters, impressing beautiful women. Standard hero business." Bracken kept a straight face but there was finally a real smile in his eyes.

"Naturally," Passage nodded.

"Naturally," Bracken agreed, clinking his mug against Passage's. He seemed more himself as they each sat with their thoughts, though Passage could see doubt was still gnawing at Bracken from the inside. Bracken didn't look at him when he asked, "Do you think we're doing the right thing?" Passage considered his words carefully, for the sake of himself and their friends downstairs, as much as for Bracken's.

"I think what we're doing is dangerous. I think there are a million ways it could go wrong, and we could all wind up hurt because of it." Bracken hunched further in on himself.

"But I also think it's brave, and noble and decent. I think that even though we give you shit for all your hero talk and your obsession with legends, you really are a good man with grand ambitions. I think if we can actually pull this off and sell the knuckles, and then pay to Stain ourselves, you, more than any of us, will do great things with that sort of power."

"Alright, I should warn you before you embarrass yourself that if I were going to make a pass at one of the group, it would be Sable. I'm sorry, I love you dearly but you're just too much man for me," Bracken held up his hands in mock apology. Passage punched him gently in the arm and they both chuckled.

"Aldaryn forbid we just have a nice moment."

"I'm sorry. Please, go on." Passage took a slow draw of his wine. For all his aggrandising and his efforts to comfort Bracken, he'd gone along with the plan so far for his own reasons as well. There was something black and angry that lived in his chest. It growled when he breathed and clenched its teeth when he was silent, and it was growing fat on all the rage that he swallowed. He remembered Cinder's handprint on his father's face. The sound of pews being broken.

The sight of Jasper's arm hanging limp and bent the wrong way. He thought of a hundred small injustices playing out across the city every day.

"I think it is the right thing to do. Standing up to Cinder and Pike, and Tallow, I suppose. All of them. Everything they stand for. I think someone has to, even if it's just in a small way, even just making one thug a little less scary. And, most importantly, I think we can pull it off." Bracken said nothing, just leaned back and stared at the stars, nodding to himself. Passage did the same, finding himself less nervous about the day ahead. He wouldn't call it calm, nor steadfast. Those feelings were too patient.

Too still. What he felt was more like instinct, or conviction, the sense that no matter how scared a part of him might be, a much larger part of him was certain that he was on the right path. That this was what he was meant to do. It felt good.

"I cannot tell you how excited I am about an Aerwyn Stain. I've been thinking it through, and that really is the right one for me," Bracken turned to him with a grin, the last of his reservations cast off and dropped into the canal below.

"Oh, Aerwyn for you then? I'd have thought you'd want Wodfyr. Seems flashier, more impressive."

"I'll have both, eventually, of course. Don't get me wrong. Shit, all the greats have at least two Stains. Maybe I'll even go for three. But Aerwyn first for sure. Flying is plenty flashy, I reckon. Much more exciting than boring old Durnheim in any case." Passage pretended to look wounded, slapping a hand over his heart. The pair of them sat up there a while longer, trading jokes and good-natured insults until Ressa came up to remind them both they had an early start and a big day ahead.

She shared a look with Passage when she did, silently approving of whatever he'd said to lift Bracken's spirits. He just smiled back at her and hoped he had made the right decision in not talking them all down when he'd had the chance. The plan began at dawn. There was no backing out now.