Page 11 of Kill the Beast
“I don’t know any Alderry… whatever. I know Icicle.”
“Well, get Icicle here some water,” Lyssa said, and Molly obliged with a grumble. “I got your letters the other day,” Lyssa told him as he drank, dribbling a good half of the water down his cravat. “That’s why I’m here.”
“You… you just got my letters? I’ve been sending them for nearly a year!”
“I’m a busy woman,” Lyssa said. “Tell me, Al, what is it you want from me?”
He leaned so far forward that for a moment she thought he was going to vomit on his shoes. “I want you,” he said slowly, with an elaborate seriousness that made her almost choke on a laugh, “to kill a monster for me.”
“Oh, good. For a second there I thought you wanted me to sew you a wedding dress.”
“I…” Alderic blinked at her, seeming baffled. Most of the wealthy men she did business with had a similar reaction. They were used to a certain kind of woman, caged in forty pounds of clothing, bound by propriety to rarely leave their domestic domain. Women who held their tongues, who spoke when spoken to, who conversed in a way that made the gentlemen in their company feel good about themselves, instead of like the raging idiotsthey so often were. Men of Alderic’s class—the ones with ridiculous names and even more ridiculous heirloom clothes—tended to be downright horrified at Lyssa’s blunt words and boorish manners. Not that she gave a shit. They were a payout to her, and nothing more, just as she was merely a weapon to them, albeit one who happened to have breasts. A means to an end, no matter how distasteful to their refined sensibilities. The more jobs she did for men likethem,the more jobs she could do for free for the people who needed her and couldn’t pay.
“Tell me about this monster,” Lyssa said. She glanced around the pub, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to them. Even Molly had lumbered out from behind the bar to wipe down the empty tables.
Alderic propped his right ankle on his left knee—Lyssa lurched forward and grabbed his waistcoat before he fell over backward trying to adjust his position—and held his water glass loosely in his hand, like he was sipping wine at a fancy party instead of questionable tap water in a dingy pub in the middle of nowhere.
“As I’m sure you are aware, you have quite the reputation,” he began.
“Oh, Al. You flatter me,” she said, batting her lashes at him.
“I’m being serious,” he said. “Your résumé is nothing short of impressive. The Redcap of Reedshollow, the Morton-Hill Ogre… But whatIam interested in is how you managed to kill the Serpent of Ire, and whether your success could be replicated with a similar—”
There was a crash of glass behind them, and Lyssa whipped around to see the gangly boy scrabbling to stop his spilled drink from spreading across the table.
“Don’t mind him,” Alderic said. “That’s just Birch. He’s a regular here at the Morningstar, aren’t you, Birch? We see each other quite often.”
“Just a pair of nightly drunks,” Birch said with a nervous laugh, though his glass had been full the entire time he had been at that table.
She narrowed her eyes. “Birch, huh?”
He blanched. “Yeah. M-my parents like nature, you know?”
It made sense, now, why Brandy had been so ill at ease. Lyssa should have recognized the boy for what he was. Of all the pub-goers she had seen in the past few hours, he was the only one with silver at his throat instead of iron. And his clothing… homespun, simply cut, in various shades of green. The tree-name just confirmed it.
Aside from the backwoods bumpkins who gave gifts to their hobs in exchange for household chores, there were a handful of cults in Ibyrnika who took things a step further, worshipping the long-dead aelfs—faerie royalty, in a sense—as gods. They considered the other, lower denizens of Faerie to be sacred, worthy of the humans’ protection instead of their scorn. Some inserted themselves in local politics, fighting tooth and nail against industrialists like William Clarke and sabotaging city expansion projects in an attempt to preserve the forests where faeries could thrive. They whispered poison into peoples’ ears, trying to convince them that the faeries could be good and helpful and kind, if only the humans would show them the respect they deserved. They preached of making peace with the creatures, of living with them in harmony, as if such a thing could ever be possible.
And then there were the Hound-wardens, who were as dedicated to protecting the Hounds as Lyssa was to destroying them. They had managed to steal a few of the monsters out from under her over the past couple of years, hiding them the Lady knew where, for purposes Lyssa could only guess at. They had been the bane of her existence since their formation, a constant threat to her mission, and their founder, Honoria, was relentless in her determination to stop the Butcher at all costs. Lyssa had barely escaped from their last two encounters, and had a new collection of scars to commemorate the occasions.
Lyssa sincerely doubted this gangly boy mopping up beer with his sleeves was a Hound-warden, but just because he wasn’t a physical threat didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat ofsomekind. Hehad ears, after all—quite large ones, in fact—and a mouth to spill news as readily as he’d spilled his drink.
News that the Butcher was in town, and looking for work.
The Hound-wardens would pay dearly for that kind of information.
Lyssa stood, eyeing the burly men by the hearth. Their focus was still on their cards, or so it seemed, but it paid to be careful. “Square up with Molly, Al. We’re leaving.”
He frowned at her, confused. “Really? Why?”
She leaned into him, feeling him flinch at her proximity. “Because there are those who hate the work that I do,” she murmured in his ear, “and they would love nothing more than to corner me in a shithole like this and remove my head from my body while I’m busy talking to a drunken idiot. So, pay the nice lady for our refreshments, and come with me.”
To his credit, Alderic didn’t argue further. He tossed down double the amount they owed onto the counter, and Molly abandoned Birch and his wet sleeves in order to collect it.
“See you tomorrow,” she said to Alderic, and he flashed her a melancholy smile as he donned his scarlet coat.
Lyssa pushed out into the cold, Brandy at her heels, Alderic stumbling behind. The streets were nearly empty, and Lyssa chose an alley at random, disappearing into the semi-dark.
“What are you doing?” Alderic demanded from the mouth of the alley.
