Chương 27: Chapter 26 – Low Profile

The five of them spoke little on their journey north across the city. A pillar of black smoke rose into the southern sky above an orange, the fire burning on while the rain and damp contained it. Torvin worked the oars, both Passage and Bracken too sore to volunteer themselves. The streets weren't an option, none of them fancying a stroll past Silk's tonight. Bracken held close the bag of books and tried to convince himself of their worth.

If they contained any information or guidance of substance, then he could still sell them for a tidy sum. Not as much as the knuckles might have been worth. Not enough to donate a replacement for Harrow's lost bell. But something to help pave their way forward. He could still fix this. He did his best to ignore the way Ressa was looking at him, the glances she threw when she thought he wouldn't notice. Not reproach, not concern, but some pained and ugly third thing in between.

She didn't approve of leaving Cinder to die. She didn't need to say it out loud for him to hear it. Passage seemed disquieted as well, though Bracken suspected his grief was for Patrick and the shattered bell. Bracken was sure he'd have grief and regrets of his own come morning. For the time being, however, he'd satisfy himself with relief that they were all alive. So long as they all drew breath, they could navigate the consequences together. That was enough.

They tied off the dinghy a little way south of the Aelbridge. Bracken shivered in his cloak and was grateful for the rain continuing to fall. With any luck, the guards would take their sopping wet clothes at face value and be less likely to question their appearances. They all looked like hell. He and Torvin probably smelled like smoke – he couldn't really tell with his nose still full of soot and ashes.

"Are you sure Glasshill is the right call?" Sable asked, eyeing the Aelbridge mistrustfully. Aside from Bracken, the rest rarely ventured up the hill except to con rich folk or blow their savings on things too nice for the Gutters. Without money in their pockets, the folk up there would be disinclined to welcome a few low town fugitives.

"We could still hide out at the temple," Passage offered.

"Dad will look out for us."

"I still think we ought to just go home. Less suspicious if we all just act like nothing happened," Sable countered.

"And if we were seen, if anyone traces it to us, we'll be twice as fucked for being caught on our own. No, we stay together," Bracken stood straight and adjusted his cloak.

"It's my fault things went so wrong. If I'd been more careful, more alert, maybe I could've gotten out before things kicked off with Pike. I don't know."

"No one blames you, Bracken. We all agreed to the plan, but you can self-flagellate all you want once we're somewhere warm and dry," Ressa placed a hand on his back. Passage nodded firmly, crossing his arms as if to dare anyone to disagree. No one would, of course. Assigning blame was not their way.

"I don't think he's flexible enough to flagellate himself," Torvin snickered quietly. The four of them looked at him, and Torvin looked back at each of them, straight faced. As one they broke, a single collective snort.

"Idiot," said Sable, making it sound like a compliment. Together they ambled across the bridge, doing their best to look and act natural. Bracken found he couldn't remember what he normally did with his hands, twitching and fidgeting more with every step towards the guards stationed at the far end. That anxiety did not go away when he recognised his brother in their number.

"Bracken?" Edrin's eyes narrowed immediately. Of course they did. The only person they knew who might've been dumb enough to believe their collective appearance could be blamed on the storm alone had just been eaten by a Hollow.

"Edrin," Bracken said, silently pleading with his brother not to ask any pointed questions. Edrin glanced at the guard to his left, his usual partner. The two shared a meaningful look.

"Busy night?" Edrin asked. His eyes flickered towards the plume of smoke in the distance and back.

"Not really," Bracken lied.

"Heading home?"

"Yep."

"All five of you?"

"Think father will mind?"

"I think he'll have questions," Edrin crossed his arms and clenched his jaw, muscle feathering in his cheek.

"I have a tab open at the Last Step. Get yourselves a room. One room. We'll talk tomorrow."

"I ever tell you you're my favourite brother?" asked Bracken, the others shifting around him as some small bit of tension bled from their postures.

"Not often enough. And hopefully you're still my favourite after we're done talking. Now get gone." He jerked his chin towards the lift. If his partner minded, or had questions of his own, he didn't show it.

The five of them crowded into the cheapest room the Last Step had on offer. It was an inn not far from the top of the switchback steps at the southside of Glasshill. A two-story horseshoe shaped building wrapped around a central courtyard, a bar on the ground floor and a dozen rooms throughout. The clientele was a mix of guards looking to let off steam, and dockworkers with money to burn. Rough company by Glasshill standards, but miles nicer than just about anywhere in the Gutters shy of Silk's Laundry.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Implements lit the room, two spheres of glass set into the ceiling, glowing gold with inner light. A panel on the wall controlled them. Another Implement above the window, a wrought iron phoenix perched on the wall, kept the air warm and dry. The bed was big enough to sleep two of them comfortably, three of them uncomfortably, and all five of them piled one atop the other.

They'd take the last option, of course, each of them drawing comfort from the closeness of the others. Such was always the case in the wake of their mistakes. Four of them, Bracken corrected himself. They would need to set a watch detail, one of them awake and alert at all times. The more distance they gained from the night's events, the murkier his feelings turned and the worse his paranoia grew. There was no way of knowing who had been watching from within the surrounding slums. They'd called one another's names.

The clash with Pike had been deafening, the tolling of the bell distinctive to anyone who'd attended one of Harrow's services. Bracken slumped into a chair in the corner and ran his hands through his hair, tugging at his scalp. The others seemed no less worried. Quiet and reserved didn't suit any of them, except maybe Passage, but even the big man himself was more sullen by the minute. The room was overcrowded and yet Bracken felt himself small and alone, guilt stretching feet into miles.

The others had said they didn't blame him, but how could they not? He'd set them on this path. He'd failed to steal the knuckles. He'd made them all accomplices in the murder of two of Tallow's favourite enforcers. If the crime lord got so much as a whiff of their names, all five of them would be dead inside a week.

"Bracken," Passage said softly, his friend placing a chair down beside him and taking a seat. Bracken looked at him askance. His eyes stung and there was no smoke to blame it on.

"Stop it."

"Hmm?" Bracken asked, not entirely trusting his voice with words.

"No one blames you, and no one's going to." The room was small. No such thing as a private conversation in a place like that. Still, the others busied themselves about the space, acting like they weren't listening. Bracken just nodded, grateful for the loyalty he knew he didn't deserve.

"Aldaryn above," gasped Ressa, poking her head out of the ensuite bathroom. It was small, tiled, and furnished with both Implements and internal plumbing. Nothing too fancy by Glasshill standards.

"It has hot water straight from the tap," she beamed. Sable sprung from the bed and joined her immediately, pushing her way into the cramped side room.

"Caldr's balls, that is nice," Sable agreed, the sound of running water resounding from the room.

"We're taking first bath!"

"What? You two are the driest and the cleanest, that's not fair!" Torvin protested, trying to squeeze his way into the ensuite.

"Yeah, and not looking to splash about in your filthy bathwater," Sable pushed him back, the pair mock fighting over the door.

"Torvin, let them go first. You can go next – there's more than enough hot water, I promise," Bracken croaked. The pair were laughing, but Bracken found the levity harder to bear than the quiet. It seemed wrong in the moment.

"Oh shit, Sable let me in, he's about to start flagellating himself again!" Torvin mock cried. Sable finally shoved the door closed, and the sound of water and laughter grew muffled but not silent.

"Bracken," Passage said again, quietly insistent. His shoulders were slumped, elbows on his knees, his own worries weighing him down though he refused to give them voice.

"I, we, mean it. Seriously. It's not your fault what happened tonight. None of it. Not yours alone, at any rate. We all had a chance to bow out and none of us did. Just because you took the biggest risk, doesn't mean you were any more to blame than the rest of us for things going south. Alright?"

"We lost the bell," said Bracken, that fact feeling somehow chief among their sins. Passage flinched at the reminder. Perhaps Patrick would have killed Cinder and Pike on his own. Bracken still wasn't sure exactly how the baker's son had arrived on the scene, but it wasn't hard to fit the pieces of that story together. Breaking the Durnheim bell, however, was a transgression against Harrow and his temple. A betrayal of the shelter and guidance offered by the preacher over the years.

"And I'm the one who stole it," said Passage with the sort of steady remorse you only learned from a lifetime at a preacher's side. Religious sorts made a sport out of guilt and Passage was an athlete in a league of his own. He held fast to his guilt even as he bade Bracken do the opposite. He shifted his chair around to force Bracken to look him in the face.

"The plan went wrong. We all fucked up. It's going to be okay. Don't try to shoulder it alone." Torvin stood at Passage's shoulder, looking serious for once. He pushed a gentle fist into Bracken's shoulder, the closest thing Torvin could manage to a sincere turn of phrase. Bracken appreciated it all the same. They ordered food and had it brought up to the room as they waited for the girls to get cleaned up. More than they really needed. Bracken shrugged at the cost.

He'd happily owe Edrin the coin and pay it back just as soon as he could. The true debt would be in asking for his silence, and a plea to not ask any questions. Eventually, the five of them lay across the bed sideways, shoulder to shoulder with their legs dangling over the side. The lights were still on, an unspoken agreement between them not to invite darkness into the room. Sable was admiring her fingers, the tips pruney and wrinkled from an overly long soak in the tub.

"So, you've got a tub like that at home, then?" she asked, turning her face towards Bracken. They rarely discussed the fact that he lived on the hill, none of them quite comfortable with the line it seemed to draw between them whenever the topic came up.

"Three of them, actually," said Bracken, watching closely for her reaction. Torvin propped himself up on one elbow to properly raise his eyebrows at that, Sable whistled and nodded appreciatively.

"Right. We'll be wed in the spring then, shall we?" she said, looking to Bracken for agreement.

"You gold digging cow, you get your claws off him," Torvin protested with a laugh.

"Bracken and his many fine and fancy things are mine. I call dibs."

"You're both fools," Ressa declared, "It's his dad who has the money."

"You're right," said Sable.

"What does the elder Mercer look for in a woman, Bracken?"

"Might need to worry about my mother before you go planning too far ahead," Bracken smiled, thankful for the teasing. It was far better than a distant silence.

"Obstacles," Sable waved her hand.

"But you make a good point. What sort of wine does she drink, and does she spend much time by the cliffside?"

"You're a monster," Bracken admonished, hand to his throat in mock outrage.

"There'll be none of that disrespectful talk when I'm running the household, son," Sable wagged her finger at him. The five of them dissolved into laughter.

"I'm confused why we spend so much time at such a shitty bar if we could've all been hanging out in Bracken's third bathroom at his castle this whole time," Torvin finally said to the ceiling.

"Reckon dad might disapprove," Bracken said, smile fading just a little.

"Reckon you'd better get on his good side then. I've tasted luxury. There's no going back now, so you're going to need to become the favourite son, I'm sorry to say," Torvin teased. Ressa and Sable agreed, while Passage remained silent. He alone seemed to understand how complicated Bracken's feelings were towards the matter, even in times of jest. Bracken rolled over and pulled the sack of books out from under the bed.

"Can't make any promises about that. Reckon Lio has me beat as heir to the company. But we do have these to sell. Play our cards right and there'll be finer things than this place ahead of us, I promise." In the moment, warm, fed, and surrounded by friends, he really did believe it.