Chapter Twenty: Lyewkin

Moments later, Godwin found me on the beach. He was out of breath, clutching a sack that made a racket with each step. Its contents—what I knew to be shillings—clinked together.

Judging by the bouncers closing in from the distance, I was quick to discern they weren't the profit of a fair fight. In fact, the sack reminded me of one just like it in the gambling tent.

We took off down the beach without so much as an exchange of words, where we put distance between us and the lumbering bouncers with ease, only slowing to walk when they disappeared entirely from view.

Thanks to Godwin's stunt, we had no choice but to hike the hour-long trail up the seaside cliff to Port. It wasn't until the light of lampposts hit that either one of us spoke a single word to the other. Godwin was the first to break.

"Are you drunk?" The light must've given my tatteredness away. He scoffed, "Can't spare a sip of spirits with me all week, but you can run off with a filly and waste away?"

Godwin had been in a mood all week. I didn't bother giving rise to more bickering, so I ignored the bite of his words, and the truth some part of me knew they held. Not when my head had been racing, and still was racing, with thoughts of what just happened.

Godwin gave me an earful, but each of his words went in one ear and out the other. I continued to ignore him throughout our trek, as the light of morning began peeking its head in the east. In an hour or two, these streets would awaken. The awning windows would begin cranking open, and vendors would begin arranging their stock.

But for now, the only sign of life was Godwin and I—our crunching boots, his heated words, and the jingle-jangle of shillings in the sack he swung at his knees.

There was too much to make sense of, and the wine wasn't helping. Even though our journey back had sobered me up all too quickly.

And when I should have been considering Esselle's aptitude for gambling—that a bar-maiden quick-witted enough to cun seasoned punters would never spend such a meager salary on something as frivolous as ruby rings—and that even her presence in those Festival grounds was rather convicting—all I could think of was our chat atop that beach.

Something had possessed her. Something about the way that I touched her sent her somewhere else.

Something about it reminded me of my mother in her younger years—the sleepless nights that she'd toss and turn and wake to supposed nightmares. She spared me the details as a boy, but I remembered those nights. When I'd tiptoe into her room with a candle so as not to startle her, and she'd be trembling, crying, wriggling like Esselle was tonight—like someone was pinning her down.

Like she was somewhere else.

I kept picturing the way Esselle recoiled when I'd reached for her. I wanted so badly to comfort her, but how could I? It was I that set her off in the first place.

The thoughts continued racing through my head as Godwin and I stumbled up to our shanty-door. I hadn't even noticed when Godwin quit his one-sided squabbling and silence assumed our journey home. I hadn't even noticed him unlock the shanty door or disappear behind his bedroom one. Nor had I noticed that my feet carried me through the hall to my own.

I was occupied with tonight's many sights. For the first time on that shoreline, I saw past the burgundy waves of hair that flowed to caramel skin. I saw past the silky olive gown and those eyes of dark sepia—ringed by kohl and enfolded in feathery lashes. I saw past the black and white of a cutthroat and thief at odds to find that Esselle was simply a girl fulfilling a duty to keep afloat.

If she stole, it wasn't for the devil of it. She did so to survive. And even then, she chose her victims wisely.

She refused Arne's coin.

She owned up to her lies.

She couldn't stop the tears from swelling at the expense of her compassion.

Esselle was good. She seemed to be the definition of it.

➸

One night away from the theater had turned into four. Then five, six, seven. Godwin, noticing the case was growing cold, nudged me every evening—urged me to return to the Basement and clear my head in spirits and classic prating with Finn. And every night I refused, locking myself into my bed chamber.

Terrance had been writing to me—small notes and letters.

Lyewkin,

I assume you were busy this evening, but I took the liberty of scouting out the bar. If I remember correctly, Ansel Pattry is one of our regulars. We were introduced tonight, and not once did he budge from his bar-stool. In fact, he chatted with Willow pretty much all evening. I don't know if that's reason enough to exonerate the lad but figured any word might be of help.

-Terrance

➸

Lyewkin,

We were planning to meet with Antolie this evening, did you forget? Regardless, he had nothing much to say.

Anyways, I've been keeping an eye out, but mine is nowhere near as sharp as yours.

Where have you been anyway?

-Terrance

➸

Lyewkin,

Are you reading my letters?

I'm worried about you. Antolie is, too. We met again today, and I'm not all too comfortable sitting on the couch whilst he powders his face in silence. In fact, I think he's uncomfortable with it, too. A lot is on the line here… for all of us. Please come back.

-Terrance

➸

Lyewkin,

I believe I found a break in the case. One that might just change everything. I look forward to filling you in on the details.

When do you think that will be?

-Terrance

I crumpled each one and used the parchment as crumbs of life for the fire of our hearth. And when another courier arrived at my doorstep, I almost didn't bother to read the newest one. Until I read the name scribbled into the top-right corner of its envelope.

This one wasn't from Terrance. It was from my father.

Lyewkin,

I haven't heard much from you since our chat in that dreadful excuse of a bar. Regardless, I assume you're making waves… if anything about that reputation of yours is true. I'll be leaving town for a bit with my wife. She insists I ride with her to Pitmerdan and visit the kindred. I'm telling you this because I expect the case to be wrapped and ribboned upon my return.

If not, perhaps a fresh pair of eyes will be of more use to me.

Three nights. Then we'll talk.

-Stoney

I crumpled it up and threw it into the hearth.

➸

"Look who decided to slum with the rest of us!" Finn bellowed as I approached the bar where Godwin and him reveled. Godwin's eyes widened at the sight of me—seeing that I'd denied him so many nights in a row that he no longer bothered extending an invitation.

Still, he pulled out the barrel beside him, and Finn raised a tankard to me before drawing tin to lips. I forged a grin and took my seat. "I hear you prefer to spend your nights chasing some bonnie lass through Ristic these days," Finn jested.

"Godwin's been yapping," I muttered, looking at my friend who only shrugged.

"Don't worry," Finn said, "He hasn't said much… just that some nob's got you on a goose chase."

"Some nob?" I tittered. "More like my father…"

With that, the humor left Finn's eyes, and Godwin looked down at his hands.

"What?" I asked, looking from Finn to Godwin and scanning the voids in their eyes—their attempts at hiding remorse unavailing.

"Nothing," Finn said, "Perhaps you'd like a spirit—some rum?" It was a lousy attempt to change the subject, for Finn knew my answer.

"No."

Unsurprisingly Godwin piped in with no shortage of sourness in the way he spit his words, "Lyewkin's too good for spirits these days, Finn. He only drinks cocktails now."

"What is a cocktail?" Finn queried. But I was in no mood to egg Godwin on, nor ease the chip on his shoulder.

I ignored the remark and looked straight at Finn, saying, "You don't need to walk on eggshells everytime I mention my father. His name doesn't shroud me in fear."

Finn opened his mouth and raised both hands in the air, but it was Godwin who spoke. "Please," he spat, and Finn mumbled his name. But it was no use—he went on, "He asks one favor of you, and you're hopping barrels to please the wretch."

I straightened. "You're overstepping."

"I did tell you not to take the job." He started again, "Yes—said the shillings weren't worth it to act as his henchman. You've gotten on this long without stooping so low as to become a cherry boy."

I shook my head in disbelief, then rolled it around my neck in a long stretch.

"Sure, go on ignoring me—you've grown quite used to it," Godwin slurred, "Just don't come crying to me when you're jumping cities because you botched the big man's favor."

"Botched his favor?" I was boiling now, seeing that he understood so little of my predicament.

He huffed a breath, shook his head. "I am not a blind man, Lyewkin. And I am no fool, as opposed to what you believe. You've practically been courting your suspect, and you haven't been into the theater in well over a week." He lowered his voice. "Now that you're all too distracted by knockers and a head of flowy locks…"

That did it. I wanted to slam his head through the wood of the bar-top. Even Finn had grown quiet.

"If that's the way you see it, it's no wonder you've never made for more than a keg-carrier," I riposted, pushing my barrel from the bar-top to leave.

"He invited the lass to gamble with us," I heard Godwin telling Finn when my back was to them both, like it was a sin that I'd suggested she join us.

I spun around, knowing there was hardly a point in arguing with him. Godwin was the most hard-headed man I'd met. He always had been.

"I was testing her."

"Testing her?"

"Seeing if she was as clever as I assumed our thief must be," I said, "She certainly wiped the floor with you and your pitiful gambling."

Godwin's cheeks heated to a cherry red, and his eyes darted to Finn who certainly heard what I'd said. His jaw hung. "If she proved she's so clever then why don't I see her blood on your hands?" Godwin queried.

"It isn't that simple."

"It has always been that simple." I knew this was coming. "The Lyewkin I knew would never doubt his instincts. That's what made you king cutthroat, was it not?" The three of us shared a breath of silence, as Godwin tipped back more ale and smacked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. It was true. "You've grown soft."

The roaring of scoundrels and courtesans washed over us—at least it washed over me as I stood speechless and fell back down to the barrel beside him.

"Another round," Godwin demanded, smacking his tin before Finn with his head hanging.

To my surprise, Finn rejected the order. "I think you've had enough, Godwin."

A huff and the sound of a screeching barrel sent my closest friend to fetch his own refill. In moments, he was descending the steps to the cellar, and his orange buzz was sinking beneath the stone floor.

I sat there, awkwardly staring at the lines of my knuckles that had grown white—I'd clenched them so hard during our squabble over Esselle and my father.

Finn gave me a moment or two to calm my breathing before rejoining me.

"He's only upset." The tavern-keeper's voice was soft in comparison to mine and Godwin's. "That's why he's raising hell."

"What does he have to be upset about? He gets to sit here and revel each night."

"He misses his brother," Finn said, "He's too stubborn to admit it, but he does." Guilt swallowed me, and my eyes darted to the vacant cellar steps. Godwin was likely drinking down there to avoid me, or at least the new me that he clearly wasn't fond of. "It's difficult—I understand," Finn went on, "You have so much to lose, and Godwin… he only has you."

Esselle admitted she was lonely. I wondered if Godwin shared that sentiment. Perhaps even I did. Pale had a way of doing that to people—pitting its dweller's against one another for things that only added to the selfishness and cruelty. Even those who didn't much care for such things could not fight the nature of Pale. For the ones that did would find ways to entangle them into their own greedy ventures—find ways to make them care.

My father was the best at that. He'd done so to me.

I sighed, and twiddled my fingers.

"You're a good kid, Lyewkin." My gaze shifted to Finn and his random gift of words. "I've no doubts you'll do the right thing."

The right thing?

"I'm not good," I countered, shaking my head, "Godwin's right—I've never thought twice about taking the lives of people I hardly know."

"Who could blame you when you've been taught that such acts put food on the table?" I peeked up at him through hooded eyes, answer-enough that his words brought me no solace. "And I take it you've never put a name to a face. Tell me about this belle."

I shook my head. The last thing I wanted to think about was Esselle, and the last place I wished to mention her name was down here, in a basement tavern where the wrong man could be listening.

"Did you know that my father drugged my mother with his dust?" I said instead. Finn winced. "Yes," I went on, "I think that's why she brooked his abuse. Yielding to him was the only way to get her fix."

Mother never told me that, but I deduced as much from the pouches of powder I'd find in her drawers and scars that littered her arms and legs. Low ranks only got their hands on dust when high-borns were willing to give it, and seeing that my father was the king of Djinn…

I'd been unable to think straight since witnessing Esselle panic on that beach. To think that she may have endured something similar made me sick to my stomach.

"Godwin was right when he said I shouldn't have taken the job. But the pay seemed too good to be true at the time, and I figured it was my one chance to do right by my mother."

"You've been doing right by your mother since you were in diapers," Finn interjected.

Still, I went on. "I thought the coin could put an end to it, and I could finally leave her." Admitting the words aloud was guilt-inducing, but also relieving. Finn nodded. "I don't know how I've been so blind to see that I'm actually wronging her. Helping her torturer go on as he has…"

Stoney was a dust-trafficking, coin-hoarding—as Godwin said—wretch. And Esselle was good. For how long had I been working for evil to rid of what's left of the good?

Finn, finally recognizing why I'd been eating at myself, offered a spell of apologetic silence. Then he simply repeated, "You're a good kid. You'll find a way to do the right thing."