“I see two lovers, separated by the satirical humour of fate.” 

I look at Folkston, trying to gauge whether he’s joking. Either he’s lost the plot due to grief from his friend's death, or he’s trying to lighten the mood.

I try to think of a witty retort but my insufferable curse is smothering every thought.

“It’s the symbol for the Brotherhood of Disorder,” I say as we look down at the carving on the floor.

“Great and what does that delightful group do for fun? Share poetic stories and craft lullabies?” His mood sours again. 

I shouldn’t have said anything.

“They’re a faction in Omnia’s army. I came across one in the wilds and its poetry was a tad bigoted in my opinion.”

“Aye, well we should report this to the Yorkton guard. I doubt the Blackroots will have bothered. They’ll want to keep it in House.” The merchant runs his hand through his greasy hair, still unwashed from our journey. He’s not had a chance to relax and recoup. The tavern owner’s wife is in despair at her husband's demise. Folkston has taken it upon himself to sort the tavern and also feed the fatherless children. I’ve managed to find the only noble person in the entire world.

“Shouldn’t we let them sort it out themselves? They might not want us going to the authorities and telling the whole story, seeing as they committed the crimes.” The fewer people that see that symbol the better, for me. If only I had found it first this morning, I could have removed it. I’m still in disbelief that those drunken fools saw my hand in the alley and remembered.

Folkston’s wife calls from the kitchen, the fatigue of cooking for so many mouths is evident. 

“Aye, I just don’t want any more trouble coming this way. Whether it’s this Brotherhood or Blackroots. It’s not just my family I need to protect now.” 

 

“Understood. I’ll talk to the guards when I’m Topside. You wouldn’t know a way up there?”

“He fixes me with an odd look. “Still want to make your purchases? Seems like those scum had all the coin in the city. It's the only thing they didn’t leave behind.”

“Exactly, I need to find who they sold to and make my offer.”

“I wouldn’t have a clue, society is changing faster than I can keep up. But I know an old contact that will. Portland, you’ll find him at The Zoo next to the market district.”

The Merchant gives me some detailed instructions about how to find it in this nightly maze. He assured me that a penny would loosen most mouths if I got lost.

From the baying calls of his wife, he makes his way to the kitchen doors, lets out a heavy sigh, and then puts on a broad smile. 

“Uncle Folkston’s here!” He yells as he pushes through the door to the squeals of children. They haven’t the heart to tell them yet. He’s a good man indeed. This city might chew him up because of it.

I spent a few branch falls cleaning the mess. Sweeping broken glass and misplaced teeth. Wiping the blood out of the bartop, the flooring, the furniture, everywhere. I lever the carved plank out of the floor and flip it. No one else needs to see it, I rub the brand as I think. If only I could have it removed.

The itch pulses for attention.

One mark at a time.

Moving into the streets, it's difficult to tell the time of day. A few people pass me in the low lamplight, hunched and paranoid.

Portland first, then a hunt and after I’ll need to find the Blacktree or this theatre. Down alleyways and cobbled streets, I pass boarded houses and businesses. A man wheeling a smokey cart waddles up to me. A hot brazier cooks skewered chunks of meat, and their origin is difficult to distinguish. 

“How much?” I ask the seller, his face hidden under a large hood.

“Penny for one. It’s York’s finest.” He purrs out at me.

Spending so much time with a real merchant has prepared me for certain aspects of city life, such as bartering. A penny can buy you a flagon of cheap ale or a half a cooked chicken. 100 pennies make a shilling, which is worth keeping out of sight as they’ll only buy you a sharp prick in the ribs. 

“Finest what? Rat?” 

The man shifts uncomfortably. Mother’s bosom, it is a rat.

“A penny then, but tell me. How safe are the streets in Undercity?”

He snatches the copper coin from me and hands me a dry burnt chunk. Cane will eat it. I hide the rat under the cloak I bought from Folkston, then drop it into my inventory space without the rat seller seeing it. 

“Safe. Never, they try and rob me twice a week. But old Rinkal doesn’t share for free.” His hood pulls back slightly to reveal feline pupils.

“No time of day is worse, no specific street?”

“I suppose night. Could be the scum have kept to their sleeping schedules.”

“Nothing like routine. How do you even tell down here?”

“The lamps, they change to a cold blue as the sun sets and back to warmth at rise.”

So it is daytime. 

“And a bad street I may want to ‘avoid’?”

“Please mister, this is my living and other customers need to eat.” He waves short stubby fingers around the completely empty street.

I suck my teeth and buy another rat, my mouth is salivating from the smoke. It’s just meat and completely cooked through. I bite into the salty rodent, not bad.

“Sistern avenue near Whitechapel. People go missing, children are sold, smokes are burnt. I get a lot of produce from the gutters, you want to know why?”

“I’m sure I can work it out. Thanks for lunch.” I hand him another coin and head towards the markets.

“Watch out for the Sistern Smilers, they’re the reason guards didn’t patrol that area even before the paving.”

I shout my thanks and light an ebony, using some blood and the point of my stiletto. The bustle of pedestrians grows as I draw closer, more lamps and braziers create a haven to trade in. A large square houses the stalls and carts of various commodities from across the land. Folkston usually rents a spot here but has opted for another day, information doesn’t rot on your shelves he said. An internal maze through the bazaar offers an intriguing day of shopping, however, my mind is set on achieving more than buying simple trinkets. My curse also has other ideas, like visiting the Whitechapel. 

A woman points me towards The Zoo, a large warehouse that makes up the eastern side of the market. 

The guttural screeches of man and beast alike echo off the inside walls. The crowd’s hungry cries come from the second floor, as does the infamous stench of blood and muk.

Two kids stop me before I can ascend the waiting staircase. “Penny in, penny out.”

“Penny out? What if there’s a fire and we have to rush out.”

The two lads look at each other, puzzled.

“Then everyone would have to pay later.”

“Yeh, I’d remember all the faces and then come smash kneecaps for payment.” The other says.

“Quite an incredible memory you must have. Home schooled I’d imagine.”

“School?” 

“It’s where they send Kids to get their heads cleaned so the Yorks can shove all their lies in.” The first one says.

“Not me, rut your school. Where’s my penny?” Demands the second.

I hand one over.

“Bets and liquor to the left. Sign-ups on the right. Don’t toss anything in unless you want to follow it.”

“Understood.”

“You can pay your exit penny now as well.”

“What if I never leave.”

I head up the stairs as they try to figure it out.

The Zoo’s ceiling must rise past Topside, for actual daylight is streaming through the upper windows. Its golden rays highlight the gantries full of bystanders, screaming for blood or crying at their losses. They surround sunken pits where I assume people aren’t competing in Spoken Word battles. 

Folkston said his contact, Portland, will be here. I assume that confidence means that this fellow spends an awful amount of recreational time in this delightful establishment. Therefore the bar staff may know him.

The bar is fairly normal except for amongst the taps and bottles are several dangling plants with colourful leaves. Similar to water leaves, customers pop them into their mouths, which results in varying facial expressions.

“What you wanting?” The bored bar staff asks.

Bit early for a drink, though coffee would be amazing.

“You serve anything that’ll perk me up from a sleepless night?”

“We got stuff that’ll make your little man stand to attention all day if that’s what you mean?” She leans forward with an easy smile.

“Just to recover from fatigue.”

“Aye. No one likes to admit they need help. Usually, it’s the wives that buy it. You can send yours my way.”

“No wife and no issues, honest.”

“Oh, good to know.” She gives me a wink and tears off a tongue like leaf from an overhanging vine. Puffs of pink float down and coat the bar in a fine layer.

“Prim’s Kiss, it will sort you out. Two pennys.”

I take the leaf and pop it in my mouth. It slowly dissolves as my heart wakes up. Finally, I've discovered this world’s equivalent of caffeine. Sweet like a Kiss, it fizzles away to nothing in a few leaffalls. 

“Wow, Prim knows how to give 'em.”

“Being the lover of Order will do that.” She holds her open hand out expectantly.

As I hand over the coins, her fingers brush mine and she raises an eyebrow suggestively.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been missing.”

“A strong woman’s kiss?” She licks her teeth, including the gaps between them.

I look away awkwardly from her advances. “Just a wake up, Portland will probably want one. You’ve seen him here today?” 

“Ports such a bore, I could show you where we grow the Prim’s. It's just in a private backroom, you’ll find it far more interesting.” 

The itching curse throbs at the opportunity.