Page 18 of Poison Nights & Twilight Alchemy

They showed no reaction.

“See, it all started when the cattleman tried to pass off one of his hogs as his wife…”

Reed thought the enforcer on his left was fighting a smile, but he couldn’t be sure.

With the night long gone and the sun concealed somewhere, the barred carriage sped over the uneven road, jostling its passengers against him in a mostunwelcome way. His second journey in less than a day, but at least these horses were much swifter than the merchant’s mule.

“His wife, truth be told, had somewhat of a swinish look about her, especially around the eyes. Definitely in the hips.”

The enforcer on his left turned to the window, while the other stared straight ahead, his expression as unreadable as stone.

“Anyone ever tell you two you’re no fun?” Reed decided the enforcer on his right didn’t deserve to hear the rest of the story and instead hummed a tune, the raunchiest bar song in the Glen. Enforcer Left definitely knew it, now visibly trying not to laugh.

Reed had learned long ago to appreciate small victories. He was arrested, probably on his way to the gallows. However, anything could happen.

His brother was safe from the plague and healing. That was what mattered most.

Reaching Moonglade—after a journey in which he succeeded beautifully in annoying two enforcers—Reed was dragged across the town’s cobblestone prison yard and down several uneven stairs, where he found himself unceremoniously thrown onto a pile of foul-smelling straw. The sound of clanging iron echoed off stone as the cell door slammed shut, bolts driven home, and unease crept into his mind like swamp fog. The room had a wide view of the jail’s office—deserted but for one portly guard busy with paperwork at his desk—and was equipped with four cots, a water spigot, and an actual hole in the ground for a latrine. Luxury accommodations compared to any jail in the Glen.

Peering up at his cellmate, Reed smiled wide, all swamp fog lifted.

If the enforcers planned on detaining him indefinitely, they shouldn’t have put him with the Pikeman.

“Your loot was hot,” the Pikeman grunted, looking pleased about it as he lounged along one of the cell’s cots, picking at his teeth with a bit of straw. “I won’t ask where you got it ‘cause I was bored anyway.” He spat, meeting Reed’s gaze. “Back home, it’s nothing but compulsion, compulsion, compulsion all the time. Lots of crying and begging. I could use a break. Stretch my legs a bit. But I said to myself, I said, if I’m to be taken in by the Duke’s enforcers, you’ll be joining me.”

Reed knew better than to think the Pikeman had given his name up to enforcers out of anything but his own volition, but at least that explained his arrest. He still wondered how Dulce’s jewels had been found so quickly. Could they hold some kind of magical tracking properties inside them? He’d heard rumors of that sort of thing—rubies owned by witches, infused with magic, and gold created in an alchemist’s lab. He’d always thought it all a bunch of pribbling, superstitious lunacy. Magic wasn’t real. At least, not in the filth and misery of the Glen.

“It shouldn’t be long now.” The Pikeman sighed, lying back and regarding the ceiling as if he’d miss the place. “A friendly word of advice if you don’t want to return my payment in full. You’ve got about … three minutes to prepare for acquiring its replacement.”

Reed glanced around, searching the place for any sign of valuables.

“There.” The Pikeman jerked his chin at an iron box in the far corner. “Reckon that’ll hold a pretty loot. Teach ‘em to leave us Glen folk alone.”

Reed stood, rolling his neck and shoulders, wondering where the Pikeman’s men would wreak their havoc from. He’d heard many tales of the Pikeman’s love for chaos, and he wasn’t too keen on learning of it firsthand.

The walls of the cell appeared to be solid stone—the bars thick as his wrists. High above though, the ceiling was nothing but wooden beams across what was clearly a thatched roof, its layers of water reed and longstraw peeking between mossy sedge grasses.

Reed lowered his gaze to meet the Pikeman’s grin.

“What did you do to the jewels?” Reed asked. “If you don’t mind me inquiring.”

“Are you suggesting it was my interference that brought the law to our doorstep?”

“Well, I mea—”

“You’d be quite right.” The man laughed maniacally, still lounging along the cot as if he had all the time in the world, not bothering to put on his shoes. Reed arched a brow at his long and filthy toenails. “I cleaned them in the usual way,” he continued with a shrug, “with boiling peppermint water. That ring put up quite the fuss at that. Don’t include that fobbing bauble in my payment. The pearls I’m happy to take back though. Ah. Here my boys are now…”

The Pikeman stood on his bed, his shoes tied before Reed could blink, and the ceiling burst into flame. The lone guard at the desk showed no reaction, too immersed in his work to bother with a couple of degenerate Glen scum, the cell’s low walls protecting the flames from his view.

A braid of silk fell like a twisting serpent through thesmoky clouds above to unwind at the Pikeman’s side, and the pawnbroker secured one foot into its knotted base, wagging his fingers at Reed before using both hands to grasp the fabric.

“You have ten minutes to bring my payment to the Rowan Inn’s alleyway,” he said with a wink. “After that, you’re acquiring quite the pretty interest. Don’t waste time having too much fun.”

“Wait!” Reed shouted as the Pikeman was lifted into the air. “You’re leaving me here? At least give me something to pick the locks with!” The enforcers had already confiscated the knife in his boot, so he’d been left with nothing of use.

The guard at the desk finally noticed the smell of burning thatch and rushed from the room, shouting.

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out!” the Pikeman called down to him, followed by a chorus of laughter.

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