Free The Interminables by Paige Orwin Page B

the past month alone.
    The work crew waved over a figure clad in an armored harness of garish reds and yellows, who leaned against a ladder and gazed at him through pilot’s goggles. Istvan looked away. Had everyone come to watch?
    Edmund picked up a tin can someone had discarded, looked it over, and shook water off it. “Now, we’re not getting any drier. Preferences?”
    Istvan shrugged.
    Another flash of that watch–
    The Twelfth Hour’s roof post-Wizard War was a strange hybrid of stern Roman angles, modern glass, and exotic decadence, ringed about with elaborate carvings of stone nymphs entwined in sinful poses. Twenty stories high; miles away from where they had been. Sunlight glistened across pools and puddles, the storm just passed and rolling across the sky towards the west.
    Edmund propped his elbows on a balcony wall. “Didn’t I ask you to stay clear?”
    â€œYou did.”
    â€œIstvan, alone is a very simple word. It means ‘with no one else around.’ Not ‘with no one else visible around.’”
    â€œI’m well familiar with the word, Edmund, and I’m not about to apologize.” Istvan drew up beside him and crossed his own arms on the stone. It was rough and pitted, even through the fabric of his uniform, and he knew that was because there was no fabric really there. No flesh to muddle relic sensation.
    From here, the prow of the Magnolia Group’s buried space vessel was just visible, a triangular slab of armor studded with spotlights and stenciled with what looked like primitive petroglyphs. They had helped the Twelfth Hour weather that first winter, trading produce from their hydroponic gardens in exchange for protection.
    â€œI asked if I could trust you,” Edmund muttered, setting the tin can on the wall.
    Istvan sighed. “Edmund, please. Why would she ask you to come alone if she meant perfectly well?”
    â€œTo minimize her risk. Information like this is dangerous. It was a more than reasonable request.”
    â€œI don’t like it.”
    â€œNoted.” He was annoyed – had been annoyed since Istvan’s appearance, a fine layer of citrine spice dusted across his usual mellowed resignation, itself a patina over fears old, dark, and oaken – but of course was trying not to show it. He turned around, leaning on the wall as he retrieved the note from his lapel pocket.
    Istvan beat a fist on the stone. Soundless. How to explain it. How to put it in words. “Edmund, didn’t she seem... strange to you?”
    â€œShe did leave that pie.”
    â€œThat isn’t what I meant. She was blank, Edmund. Wholly blank. Bland. Tasteless.”
    â€œTalk like that is why you never get a date.”
    Istvan turned around. “Edmund, I am bloody serious!”
    The wizard sighed. He tucked the note back in his pocket. “Can we hold the debate until after we know whether or not Lucy’s information checks out? Please?”
    â€œWhat, until tomorrow? That’s like waiting to see whether or not the tiger will eat you after you’ve been locked in its cage.”
    â€œIstvan, I’m the Hour Thief. I can teleport.”
    â€œThat hardly–”
    Edmund changed.
    It was the small things: a shift of his stance, a straightening of his shoulders, the flash of that faint, pleasant smile. An act. That was all.
    And yet he was suddenly more than himself. Immovable. Unkillable. A man who could strike in an eyeblink; who could stand, in waiting, forever. Every detail carried a deceptive weight, from the silver and dark enamel of his Twelfth Hour pin to the groomed sideburns that framed his lean, masked face. His eyes were visible but only just, a plain hazel behind tinted lenses. Thirty-five and never counting. He’d led armies, once, and still hadn’t quite recovered.
    A real Man in Black, the woman had called him. She had no idea.
    Istvan turned back to the wall. The city. The