The abandoned mill here, once used for hulling rice, wasn’t just an empty building the guild could sleep in. It was a sign. Mills on the west shore would be looted by those so desperate they’d break past whatever bashers the mill owners hired. It was all garbage and rejection, and Azoth was part of it.

When he got to the guild home, Azoth nodded to the lookout and slipped inside with no attempt at stealth. The guild was used to children getting up to piss in the night, so no one would think he’d been out. If he tried to sneak in, he’d just draw attention to himself.

Maybe that was what furtive meant.

Lying down in his usual spot next to the window, he slipped between Doll Girl and Jarl. It got cold here, but the floor was flat and there weren’t many splinters. He nudged his friend. “Jay-Oh, you know what furtive means?”

But Jarl rolled away, grunting. Azoth poked him again, but Jarl wouldn’t move. Long night, I guess.

Like all the guild rats, Azoth, Jarl, and Doll Girl slept close to each other for warmth. Usually Doll Girl got the middle because she was small and got cold so easy, but tonight Jarl and Doll Girl weren’t lying close to each other.

Doll Girl scooted close and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tightly, and Azoth was glad for her warmth. A worry gnawed at the back of his mind like a rat, but he was too tired. He slept.

5

The nightmare started when Azoth woke.

“Good morning,” Rat said. “How’s my favorite little guttershite?” The glee on Rat’s face told Azoth that something was seriously wrong. Roth and Harelip stood on either side of Rat, almost bursting with excitement.

Doll Girl was gone. Jarl was gone. Ja’laliel was nowhere to be seen. Blinking against the sunlight streaming through the guild home’s torn roof, Azoth stood and tried to orient himself. The rest of the guild was gone, either working, scavenging, or just deciding that now would be a good time to be outside. So they’d seen Rat come in.

Roth stood by the back door, and Harelip stood behind Rat in case Azoth ran for the front door or a window.

“Where were you last night?” Rat asked.

“I had to piss.”

“Long piss. You missed the fun.” When Rat spoke like that, totally flat, no affect in his voice, Azoth felt a fear too deep to shiver out. Azoth knew violence. He’d seen sailors murdered, had seen prostitutes with fresh scars, had a friend die from a vendor’s beating. Cruelty walked the Warrens holding hands with poverty and rage. But the dead look in Rat’s eyes marked him as more of a freak than Harelip. Harelip had been born without part of his lip. Rat had been born without a conscience.

“What did you do?” Azoth asked.

“Roth?” Rat lifted his chin at the big.

Roth opened the door, said, “Good boy,” as if speaking to a dog, and grabbed something. He hauled it inside, and Azoth saw that it was Jarl. Jarl’s lips were swollen, both eyes black and so big he could barely see through the slits. He was missing teeth and he had crusted blood on his face from where his hair had been pulled so hard his scalp bled.

He was wearing a dress.

Azoth felt hot and cold tingles on his skin, a rush of blood to his face. He couldn’t show Rat weakness. He couldn’t move. He turned so he wouldn’t throw up.

Behind him, Jarl let out a little whimper. “Azo, please. Azo, don’t turn away from me. I didn’t want—”

Rat struck him across the face. Jarl fell to the ground and didn’t move.

“Jarl’s mine now,” Rat said. “He thinks he’ll fight every night, and he will. For a while.” Rat smiled. “But I’ll break him. Time’s on my side.”

“I’ll kill you. I swear it,” Azoth said.

“Oh, are you Master Blint’s apprentice now?” Rat smiled as Azoth shot Jarl a look, feeling betrayed. Jarl turned his face to the floor, his shoulders shaking as he cried silently. “Jarl told us all about it, sometime between Roth and Davi, I think. But I’m confused. If Master Blint apprenticed you, why are you here, Azo? You come back to kill me?”

Jarl’s tears stilled and he turned, grasping at straws.

There was nothing to say. “He wouldn’t take me,” Azoth admitted. Jarl slumped.

“Everyone knows he doesn’t take apprentices, stupid,” Rat said. “So here’s the deal, Azo. I don’t know what you’ve done for him, but Ja’laliel’s ordered me not to touch you, and I won’t. But sooner or later, this’ll be my guild.”

“Sooner, I think,” Roth said. He wiggled his eyebrows at Azoth.

“I have big plans for Black Dragon, Azo, and I won’t let you get in my way,” Rat said.

“What do you want from me?” Azoth’s voice came out thin and reedy.

“I want you to be a hero. I want everyone who doesn’t dare stand up to me themselves to look at you and start to hope. And then I will destroy everything you’ve done. I will destroy everything you love. I will destroy you so completely that no one will ever defy me again. So do your best, do your worst, do nothing at all. I win no matter what. I always do.”

Azoth didn’t pay dues the next day. He hoped Rat would hit him. Just once, and he’d be off the pedestal, he’d just be another guild rat. But Rat didn’t hit him. He’d raged and swore, his eyes smiling, and told Azoth to bring double next time.

Of course, he brought nothing. He merely extended an empty hand, as if already beaten. It didn’t matter. Rat raged, accused him of defying him, and didn’t lay a hand on him. And so it was, every dues day. Gradually, Azoth went back to work and started accumulating coppers to put in Jarl’s pack. The days were awful: Rat didn’t let Jarl speak to Azoth, and after a while, Azoth didn’t think Jarl even wanted to speak to him. The Jarl he knew disappeared by slow degrees. It didn’t even help when they stopped making him wear the dress.

The nights were worse. Rat took Jarl every night while the rest of the guild pretended not to hear. Azoth and Doll Girl huddled together and in the quiet punctuated by low weeping afterward, Azoth lay on his back for long hours, plotting elaborate revenge that he knew he’d never carry out.

He became reckless, cursing Rat to his face, questioning every order the boy gave and championing anyone Rat beat. Rat swore back, but always with that little smile in his eyes. The littles and the losers in the guild started deferring to Azoth and looking at him with worshipful eyes.

Azoth could feel the guild reaching a critical mass the day two bigs brought him lunch and sat with him on the porch. It was a revelation. He’d never believed that any of the bigs would follow him. Why would they? He was nothing. And then he saw his mistake. He’d never made plans for what to do when bigs joined him. Across the yard, Ja’laliel sat, miserable, coughing blood and looking hopeless.

I’m so stupid. Rat had been waiting for this. He’d arranged for Azoth to be a hero. He’d even told him. This wasn’t going to be a coup. It was going to be a purge.

“Father, please, don’t go.” Logan Gyre held his father’s destrier, ignoring the predawn chill and holding back tears.

“No, leave it,” Duke Gyre told Wendel North, his steward, who was directing servants with chests full of the duke’s clothing. “But I want a thousand wool cloaks sent within a week. Use our funds and don’t ask for repayment. I don’t want to give the king an excuse to say no.” He clasped gauntleted hands behind his back. “I don’t know what shape the garrison’s stables are in, but I’d like to have word from Havermere of how many horses they can send before winter.”