Free A Discourse in Steel by Paul S. Kemp Page B

showing Channis his tat. “No.”
    Channis’s eyes lingered on Rusk’s tat and its seven blades for a while before returning to Rusk’s face.
    “I guess Trelgin’s not coming then,” Channis said.
    “I guess not.”
    Channis smiled, a predatory look. “I ever tell you how I came by all these scars?”
    Rusk shook his head.
    “These have come from men trying to do me ill, sometimes during a regular scrum, sometimes during guild business. All those men have a home in the ground, now, Rusky. You follow? You clear?”
    Rusk kept his face expressionless. “I ken the game, Channis. I’m a loyal guildsman. And you’re the Upright Man.”
    “What’s loyalty got to do with it? Seventh Blade’s a shite job, and I oughta know.”
    To that, Rusk said nothing.
    Channis donned a softer smile, about as genuine as a whore’s moans of pleasure. He came to Rusk’s side. The man had a smell about him, an animal stink. He took Rusk by the arm, put it beside his own so the tats on the backs of their hands were side by side.
    “Aster’s a funny bastard, ain’t he, Rusky?”
    Funny wasn’t the word Rusk would’ve used. “Aye.”
    Channis released Rusk’s arm.
    “Gonna stay a shite job. I got plans for the guild and making the Seventh Blade happy ain’t part of ’em. I thought it’d be Trelgin, but it looks like ol’ Aster sent it your way. So be it. I ain’t the forgiving sort, Rusk, but you know that already.”
    “Yeah, I know that.”
    “Good. You be a good boy now, Rusky. A loyal boy, like you said. And we’ll see how things go, yeah?”
    Rusk swallowed bile. “Yeah.”
    “Now here are the first couple things you’re going to do, Seventh Blade. Get the Committee together so I can let them know how things are gonna be. And the second thing is, you’re gonna send a group of men to go to that inn. They can pull from the guild’s store of enchanted gear, if you think it’s necessary. Anyway, they’re to burn it down with that faytor in it. She knows guild business—”
    “Maybe knows,” Rusk said.
    “Maybe’s all I need. You questioning me already, Rusky?”
    “No.”
    “Good.”
    Rusk nodded. “I heard that place is part-owned by some hard fellows, though.”
    Channis said, “They ain’t hard enough. Get it burnt. Clear?”
    “Clear,” said Rusk.
    He had some men in mind, and he didn’t think they’d need to pull on the guild’s store of enchanted items. Rusk disliked relying on sorcerous shite.

Egil and Nix spent the evening worshipping at the altar of Gadd, while the tattooed easterner tended his congregation of hogsheads, taps, tankards, cups, and drunks. The buzz of the Tunnel went on behind them, laughter, conversation, occasional whoops and shouts. They checked on Rose from time to time, but there was no change.
    Serving girls weaved deftly through the crowd and smoke, tankards and platters clutched in their hands. Tesha’s men and women lingered flirtatiously on the sweeping central stair until patrons purchased their time and bodies, and they disappeared into the rooms upstairs.
    Kiir and Lis spent some time at the bar—both lovely in their bodices and flowing dresses—but Nix and Egil made such sullen company that they soon drifted away. By the eleventh hour, Nix and Egil sat at the bar alone, their only company Gadd and his pipe. Hyram Mung and his chins stared down at them from the portrait behind the bar. Nix toyed with the idea of putting another dagger in Mung’s face but resisted, and instead went upstairs again to check on Rose. He ignored the sounds of sex coming from many of the rooms, and adamantly refused to think of Kiir in any of them.
    He knocked on Rose’s door, entered, and found Merelda and Tesha sitting at Rose’s bedside, daubing her forehead with a damp cloth.
    “She’s still asleep,” Merelda said to him softly. “We’ll know more when she wakes.”
    “How’re things downstairs?” Tesha asked.
    “Same as always,” he answered. “Can I bring