- TMK -

There was something plainly wrong the moment Joh stepped into Hazh’s store. The blinds had stayed down since the last time he arrived. There was dim light in the room from an oil lamp, but nothing more. The display cases were locked tight. Khos was nowhere to be seen, the clerk usually offering Joh a warm greeting if she wasn’t busy with what could scarcely be called a customer. Not even the bell rang as he set foot in the store. All that was audible was the tinnitus of silence.

           

Something was far more than wrong.

           

Whether by habit, or by fear Joh took another step into the shop. The floorboards creaked with his footfall. A creak loud enough for someone to notice.

           

Footsteps not his own shook the building. Joh put his back against the wall, the footsteps growing louder. Then, the door to the staircase opened. Hazh stepped into the gloom. He glared at Joh, forcing air through his nostrils like an enraged bull.

           

“Hazh, I–.”

           

“Shut up,” Hazh interrupted him. “I’ve had more than enough of cocksure runners.”

           

Hazh held up his right hand. Draped over his claws like a curtain, was a scaled hide. Dark blood dripped from the loose muscle still bound to the hide. Hazh threw the Salamander skin to the floor where it unfolded as if moved by an unearthly power. Soon, a perfect map of a Salamander spread flush against the floorboards.

           

A Salamander with a diamond back pattern along the spine.

           

“Steal from me?” Hazh showed a crocodilian smile. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

           

Joh froze, staring at the flat, bloody eyeholes of Fost’s skin.

           

“Like my work?” Hazh licked warm blood off his claws. “Amazing what a little donation to Vandar will get you.”

           

“Hazh, w-whatever you think–,” Joh stammered.

           

“Think?” Hazh’s hand erupted with the same golden flame Joh saw at Vandar’s temple. Hazh flicked his hand to the right. Joh flew across the room. His back slammed against a display case, casting shattered glass, dry goods, and splinters across the shop. His spine throbbed like a thousand needles pierced him as glass dust split the skin between his scales. That pain only grew as Hazh brought his foot against his head.

           

“Such a coincidence, isn’t it? My operation in the Ivory Quarter gets raided and a minute later, you show up with a Saironian constable. Not only a constable, but one who Lysänder himself has given authority. Then, would you have it, my bite starts disappearing.”

           

Hazh put more of his weight against Joh’s skull, beads of dark blood appearing where Joh’s snout met glass.

           

“I asked your friend here, but he swore he didn’t know. He should’ve known what happens to runners who lie.”

           

“Hazh, I swear I didn’t tell him anything,” Joh pleaded, his jaw nearly pinned by Hazh’s foot. “I brought every jurad to Agon just like you asked. The Saironian helped me do it. He drove off the dedalat.”

           

“Why would he do that?” The stink of Hazh’s ammonia spit polluted the air. “Speak!”

           

“The bomb!” Joh blurted. “He knew the Coterie was behind the bomb in the square. He made me a deal. He’d free Agon if I told him who did it.”

           

“Rookshit. I don’t even know who planted the bomb. And Lysänder doesn’t give a fuck about forlorn, why would he care about our bomb?”

           

“He does though!” Joh reasoned as Hazh’s heel slowly began moving to his throat. “He needs them for the colonies! Weren’t you listening to the speech before we blew up the Hollow?”

           

“Why would I waste my time with that?” Hazh uttered a hissing cackle. “You’re smart Joh. I’ll give you that. Smarter than Fost, at least. I could almost believe Lysänder needs your kind for his meat grinder. There’s just one problem with that bullshit story. My bite.”

           

“I swear to you, I didn’t take it. Ask Agon.”

           

“And give you time to scurry off to the North? Absolutely not.” He lowered his glowing hand to Joh’s face, the heat from Vandar’s fire searing the tip of Joh’s snout. “Nothing will take this from me.”

           

“His gums!” Joh shouted as he felt the scales on his face start to cook. “Check his gums. That will tell you where your bite went.”

           

“Whose gums?” Hazh paused, slowly moving the arcane flame from Joh’s snout.

           

“Fost.” Joh struggled to lift his face from the glass. “Fost has been using ironbite for weeks. His gums, t-they’re grey.”

           

Hazh snorted, lifting his bulk from Joh’s back. His glowing hand extended toward Fost’s unfurled skin. The skin levitated off the ground, dripping red as it sailed to Hazh. The jaw on Fost’s perfectly flayed hide dangled in midair. Hazh pried open Fost’s jaw further, examining the remaining tissue around a lipless mouth.

           

“You already took care of your leech.” Joh struggled off the floor. “All I did was what you told me.”

           

“Should’ve said Fost was a leech.” Hazh’s demeanor changed as the grey gums attached to Fost’s jaw became clear.

           

“You didn’t ask.”

           

“No…No, I didn’t.” The glow around Hazh’s hand faded. A moment later, Fost’s skin fell to the floor. “What did you tell the constable?”

           

“Tzipa. I told him to look at Tzpia,” Joh lied.

           

“Good.” Hazh rubbed the side of his head, closing his eyes as if struck by a migraine. “At the very least, that rectal biscuit of a dwarf only has to teach Odovan to one new runner. Hopefully, one who isn’t already a fucking biter.”

           

Joh gasped, leaning on the splintered wreck of the display case. Splotched glass dust fell from his oozing snout against the floor. Joh slid his hand over the side of his head, trying to halt the blood seeping between his scales. 

           

Hazh turned his back to Joh, wiping his hand against the curtains. He sighed, as if his troubles had just started. “Go on then. Get that rubbish off your face and be here in the morning.”

           

Joh grunted as he limped to the door.

           

“And Joh?”

           

Joh stopped, his hand halfway around the doorknob. 

           

“Keep something like this from me again, I’ll finish what I started,” Hazh told him with a monotone tenor.

           

“Nái, aftainon,” Joh said through clenched teeth.

           

Then, he crossed the threshold into Rat Hollow, the image of his friend’s bloodied, eyeless corpse burning in the back of his mind.