Broken Guns

[translations at end of chapter]

It felt quite a longer journey back than it had coming, with Ezra heaving and heavy against his side. Emmerich had not wanted to return to the print house, as it was clearly no longer safe, but did not think Ezra would make it further than that. And they had gotten just inside the front doors of the back entrance before Ezra’s legs gave way beneath him, and he keeled hard into Emmerich before simply sliding towards the floor. Emmerich managed to catch him below the arms and lower him carefully the rest of the way down, letting Ezra collapse into a heap at the foot of the stairs. He then went to pull the doors shut behind them, throwing the bolt.

When he turned back round, Ezra had curled into himself and was weeping softly against his knees.

“Mein Süsser,” Emmerich said, going to a knee beside him on the stairs and taking him gently by the shoulders. “Was ist los?”

“I’m sorry,” Ezra said thickly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t.”

“There’s nothing you’ve done—” Emmerich began, and then wondered if maybe Ezra was apologizing for the crying he was doing, which he could hardly be blamed for. He settled for saying nothing more, instead only gathering the boy into his arms and stroking his hair gently, letting Ezra rest against him and sob.

He didn’t do it for long, and eventually he drew himself away from Emmerich and looked at him. “You came alone, for me?” His voice came thin and unsteady.

“No, I—there were others. From the Thistledown.”

Ezra’s startled laugh became a muddy cough. “You brought a brothel down upon them?” he said when he was recovered, and curled his fingers into Emmerich’s coat. “But you still came for me.”

“Of course.”

“And the things that Clavel said of me—you truly did not believe them. Even for a moment.”

“No, Ezra. I’ve told you,” Emmerich said patiently, thinking Ezra might have just forgotten in all the earlier excitement. But instead of being soothed by the reassurance, Ezra only became more agitated.

“But it must have all seemed true,” he insisted, catching Emmerich’s coat more firmly with one hand.

“But it wasn’t.”

“But it could have been!” Ezra shook at Emmerich’s clothes, frantic. “Easily, it all could have been the truth. And yet, not even for a moment did you think—“

Emmerich seized him by the shoulders. Ezra cried out, a sound that sounded more near to pain than startlement.

“Ezra, du—“ Emmerich halted himself, took in a calming breath, and began again in the proper language. “Do you not understand what it means when I say that I trust you? I’ve no fear of betrayal, not from you.”

“Oh, Emery. You are a fool,” Ezra said, and then began to weep again. Emmerich tried to pull him nearer, but Ezra was still determined to speak and resisted. “I have betrayed you. Not in the way that they said, but I have never told you the full truth, not since the moment we met.”

Emmerich knew by now of Ezra’s fondness for the dramatic, and decided to reserve his reaction until he had heard what Ezra considered such an appalling treachery. He kept on stroking at the boy’s hair, allowing him to sniffle into his shoulder for another half-minute before Ezra drew away again.

“I want—I want to go upstairs,” Ezra said then. He took in a bolstering breath, and turned bright eyes up to Emmerich. “To our room. There are some things I need to tell you.”

“I think you ought to rest first,” Emmerich said carefully, and smoothed a stray lock of damp, blood-stained hair from Ezra’s muddied forehead. “Or at least bathe.”

“Oh, all right,” Ezra said, agreeably enough. Emmerich thought he might be a little out of his head at the moment, either from shock or pain or this strange madness that had set upon him. But Emmerich did not mind the idea of taking care of him, not at all.

Emmerich got Ezra to his feet again and helped him to the washroom, and then to undress. He then heated the water for him while Ezra sat naked upon a stool, knees drawn up, rubbing absently at the drying cut across his forehead. When the washtub was filled enough, Emmerich guided him into it, steadying him at the elbow and with an arm across the small of his back. Ezra sank into the water, making pained sounds as heat touched the wounds on his body, until finally he was seated and shrunken in on himself in the basin.

Because he didn’t appear about to do it himself, Emmerich knelt beside the tub and began to clean Ezra carefully, rubbing a rag along his skin and pouring water over his dark hair to wash the muck and blood from it. Ezra simply let him, hissing through his teeth when Emmerich encountered the cuts and bruises on his skin, especially those on his face. The worst of his injuries was a large patch of skin already showing mottled colors along his his ribs, and the wide gash above his forehead. His nose appeared unbroken, and once the blood was cleaned away he appeared worn and tired but far less battered than before. Emmerich drew the cloth carefully over the thin set of Ezra’s shoulders and the knots of his spine; the developing body of a boy. Surely one day he would be just as strong and sturdy on his exterior as any other man, but now his nakedness betrayed his youth.

“Let me tell you what I knew of all this. What led us to where we are now,” Ezra said at length, and Emmerich could see he wouldn’t be persuaded otherwise. He brought up the stool besides the tub and sat himself upon it, while Ezra pulled his knees up against his chest and locked one arm about them. It took him a moment to speak.

“Staard came to me the night before you and I met,” he said, staring down at the clouded water. “He asked me how long I wanted to go on as I had been, living in a store-room above a livery stable and often dressing in second-hand clothes from men twice my size, as I’d been for the past three years. He knew where I’d come from, what my life had been like, knew he could interest me with a promise of more.”

Ezra dragged his hand across his eyes and let it fall back to the bathwater. “And it worked. Of course I didn’t want to keep on like that. He was pleased when I said so, but he wouldn’t tell me the whole plan. For safety, he said, in case something went wrong. That should have told me right then, but…I was rash, and greedy. What I figured was...that we were double-crossing Allister.”

“And you went along with that,” Emmerich said, old anger rising lazily in his chest at what he had lost, the convenience of his old life—despite the fact that he no longer wanted anything like it.

“God, Emmerich, but you are foolish sometimes,” Ezra said. “Do you even realize what kind of life you’re living? There’s no such thing as trust, not really, not between men like this. They make truces with each other because it’s beneficial, but if something better comes along—there’s nearly no hesitation in treachery.”

“Isn’t there,” Emmerich said. If there could be no trust between men like them, what exactly was there between Ezra and himself? Emmerich trusted him, and he’d been quite sure that Ezra felt the same. But perhaps that was only a fanciful illusion. Perhaps—as many of Allister’s men had often said, and as Ezra had just told him—he was simply a fool.

“Allister was nothing to me,” said Ezra. “Nor were any of his men that I had ever met before then. I’d no reason not to go along with it. I walked into that brothel thinking I knew exactly what was to happen that night. Then I came into that room and saw you, and...that was when I began to think differently. Usually it’s—well, you know who it would have been from Allister’s group, doing that part of the job.”

“Thomme or Uxilord.”

Ezra nodded. “I’ve no reason to care for either of them,” he went on. “Whatever the plan was, I wasn’t bothered about what might happen, what I might have to do. But it was you instead, and...” Ezra closed his eyes for a moment. “You were different. We were talking, and I—it’d been such a long time since anyone had spoken to me like a friend, an equal, not a strict father or a bossy elder brother, and I liked you. I don’t often like people. It’s just difficult to, the way I—the way we both live. You know.”

“I liked you as well,” Emmerich said, an unnecessary admittance that nevertheless made Ezra smile towards the grimy water.

“When the shots went,” said Ezra, after a moment, “I knew there weren’t enough of them for what I’d thought was going to happen; turning on Allister’s entire crew. Instead, two shots only; one for Kegg, one for Allister. One each from their most trusted man. Still, I didn’t fit that together, not right away. What I was thinking about was what Staard had said to me, that I’d know what to do when the time came.”

Ezra glanced away. His smile was gone, and Emmerich could not take in his next breath. “And I did know it. But I liked you. I already knew something was strange about the whole arrangement, and you felt like the only ally I had in the world in that moment. So—"

“So you shot the mattress,” Emmerich said, suddenly cold all over. “That—scheiße, Ezra, that bullet should have been for me.”

Ezra took a breath and nodded. “I didn’t want you to know that I knew, even partly, about any of the plan. Not then. I wasn’t sure about you—you might’ve shot me yourself for it. But I could tell by the way you looked at me how young and innocent you thought me to be. That you wouldn’t think it very strange if I appeared to panic.”

He was right; Emmerich hadn’t thought it strange. He’d never spared another thought to that moment after it had passed, had barely remembered it until just now. And how odd it was, to hear Ezra had thought that Emmerich saw him as inexperienced, and not the other way round. The way that was true.

Ezra went on, “I thought it would earn us some time; that if they heard the shot and thought you were dead they wouldn’t come up immediately, thinking that I had a handle on things. They likely wouldn’t have come up then anyway, but I didn’t realize that then—because they knew I’d never have gone along with the real plan and I was the perfect one to pin the betrayal on afterwards, a perfect distraction for everyone in the downmarket to chase after so that no one would think too closely on the truth of everything. The money never truly mattered, whether you were alive or dead didn’t matter, it was all about putting me in that room and making me run. They wanted me to run.”

“Gott.” Emmerich ran his hands down his face, twisting them into a knot beneath his chin. He could see the full reality of Ezra’s words now, exactly how everything had played out from the very first moments in the Prince and Rose, how he and Ezra had gone near flawlessly into the set up as they had been led to it. Clavel had likely considered Emmerich nothing much of a threat—an errand boy just barely lifted to higher responsibilities, with very little skills and experience, who would be of no real asset to the man that they truly meant to frame. He had, in theory, also been a perfect choice.

It was interesting then, that he had turned out to be the perfectly wrong choice. Emmerich could think of none of Allister’s men who would have allied with Ezra if they had found themselves betrayed. They would have turned on him. But Staard and Clavel had chosen to pair him and Ezra together and they had stuck, become bound together in a way they would have never been otherwise. He supposed he almost ought to thank them for it, as meeting Ezra had perhaps been one of the most fortunate things to happen to him.

“What are you thinking?” Ezra asked, palming Emmerich’s face gently and turning him.

“Only that we surprised them,” Emmerich said. “Worked their own plan against them, really.”

“Without even knowing it.” Ezra’s smile was small but lovely, even under the greyish pallor of his face and the watery mud still streaked at the edges of his hair. Emmerich lifted the rag again and rubbed it over Ezra’s brow, and felt the boy lean against the pressure of his hand.
“Emery,” Ezra said then, softly. “I’m very sorry.”

“Wieso?”

“Well. You were caught up in this, dragged all over this damnable city, forced into hiding, made a target by dangerous men—simply because you met me. I know it’s hardly my fault, but it is all rather because of me, isn’t it?”

“It’s of no matter,” Emmerich said. “And, Ezra, would you like to hear a truth?”

Ezra blinked heavy drops of water from his lashes. “Of course.”

“It’s been nearly ten years since I’ve had such luck in my life. Certainly since I ever came to this city. If I had to live these last few weeks over again a thousand times, I would walk into that room at the Prince and Rose and meet you again for every one of them.”

Ezra reached up and caught Emmerich’s hand. “As would I,” he said. “I truly would.”

When Ezra then wound their fingers together and held, it took Emmerich a moment to remember that they were now lovers, that affection between them was not limited only to a comradely or brotherly sort. That they could touch and look and linger as freely as they liked, as long as it was hidden from the eyes of others. Ezra’s hand entwined with his like this was rather innocent, yet breathtaking in its meaning.

Archie had never touched him so. Perhaps no one ever had.

Emmerich raised Ezra’s hand to his mouth then and pressed his lips to the wet skin there. Ezra smiled in response—though the expression was tired, he did look shyly charmed.

“Why did they take only you, this morning?” Emmerich asked then. “I was just upstairs, asleep...it would not have been difficult.”

“Because I told them you were no longer with me,” Ezra said. “They broke my arm for it, but they did believe me.”

“Oh,” Emmerich said. And then, “oh, Ezra, why didn’t you say? Let me—“

“Can you mend it yourself, then?” Ezra asked as Emmerich reached across him carefully for the arm that he had all this time been keeping close to his body, held limp and strange at his side. Emmerich had noted it before, but been too consumed with other matters to think closely on it. Now he saw the bruising, the strange shape and swelling there, and his chest ached.

“You ought to see a surgeon,” Emmerich said. “We can certainly afford the cost.”

A true smile broke over Ezra’s face then, and he moved to grip Emmerich’s collar tightly with his good arm and pulled him close. For all that, the kiss was gentle and warm. Ezra ran his wet hand along the side of Emmerich’s face, stroked his cheek and jaw and brushed at the hair over his temples, and Emmerich gripped at the wooden edge of the tub to keep from falling.

#

“How is it?” Emmerich asked, for perhaps the dozenth time since the surgeon had come round to look at Ezra and set his bones to rights. The break had been clean, fortuitously so, and the surgeon had assured them that Ezra’s mending would be reasonably quick and he would suffer no lingering effects.

“Fine, Emery, it’s quite fine,” Ezra said in something of a lazy drawl. His arm was now wrapped into a thick cast of plasters and bolstered in a sling. “It doesn’t even hurt any longer.”

“That’s because you’ve breathed enough ether to ease a woman’s labor,” Emmerich muttered, and Ezra laughed, lolling his head back against the back edge of Luca’s chair and looking to the ceiling.

They were preparing to leave the print house for good. As Staard had sent his men straight here to collect Ezra, it was no longer safe. They were only waiting for Luca to return, as the man was nowhere to be found in the print house and there had been a sign on the workers’ entrance announcing the place closed for the day. Emmerich assumed the man had gone to find a surgeon of his own, for the head wound he had suffered. But they wished to tell Luca that he also ought to quit the place entirely for the present, and so here they remained until he returned. And also until Ezra was able to walk a straight line for more than two paces without a bout of unbearable dizziness from the ether.

They had not yet discussed where they ought to go, but Emmerich favored the idea of the Thistledown, and not only to assure himself of the well-being of the women there who had aided them. Miss Ingsbel had already shown she had no fear of these men, and aside from Vena there was little to tie either of them to the place. Vena had also done well at disguising the fact that she was employed there; a connection between her and the print house would be made with difficulty. They might not be found there for a very long time.

There was also a third reason they could not yet go anywhere—Ezra was wholly unpresentable. His movements had all become the clumsy actions of a man half-drunk, giddy on spirits. He had not favored keeping all of his clothes on once the surgeon had departed, complaining of heat and discomfort, and was now only wearing his trousers and a mostly unbuttoned shirt. His braces and boots were elsewhere, his feet entirely bare, his usually neat hair falling rakishly over his face. Emmerich heated just to look at him in this state, unkempt and tousled as if just roused from a lover’s bed.

Ezra seemed to sense this, for his eyes became bright and his own face flushed as they stared at each other from across the small office, his chest beginning to rise and fall with more eagerness. Emmerich had to look away, for this was hardly the time for such things. Ezra was injured, and he was clearly not possessed of all his wits, and they ought to be leaving soon, and—

A shadow fell over him, and Emmerich looked up to find Ezra climbing into his chair, straddling his lap and settling himself with his weight on Emmerich’s thighs. But he was still injured despite his nonchalance about it—not only his arm, but the various maladies he had suffered at the hands of his previous employer’s men. Doubtless he felt rather free of all of them under the persistent influence of the ether. But Emmerich had not forgotten.

“Ezra, sto—oh, well, all right,” he tried, as Ezra looped his sound arm about his neck, and leant heavily against him. “Now just say put here; no moving about.”

“Mm, if you insist,” Ezra said, taking his arm from Emmerich’s neck to drop it down between them.

“Ezra—“ Emmerich began, as Ezra’s fingers began to move upon him. “I’m very glad you’re all right, but—“
“Oh, yes, I see that,” Ezra said. His good hand continued to trace the front of Emmerich’s trousers with clumsy fingers, doubtless made that way from the ether. “I feel it, as well.”

“All right. No more of that.” Emmerich got a firm grip on Ezra’s shoulder and steered the boy back from him until he was sitting in his own chair again. “We’ve to decide what next to do. This isn’t over yet.”

“That’s not nearly as enjoyable,” Ezra sighed, but he made no moves back towards Emmerich.

“Do we agree that the Thistledown is the best place for now?” Emmerich questioned, and Ezra seemed to nod. Or perhaps he was only falling asleep. “I assume Miss Ingsbel will have us there for cheap. Not that it matters so much, with the money. And—what?”

Ezra was now watching him with a soft little smile, his chin tilted down to his shoulder and a lock of hair falling across his eyes.

“You’re very handsome,” he said affectionately. “Did you know?”

“Ezra, please concentrate,” said Emmerich, a sudden heat about his ears.

“Tiresome.” Ezra tipped his head back over the edge of the chair, baring the line of his throat, then let it fall forward again until his chin lolled near against his collarbone. “But all right. What shall I concentrate on?”

“What we ought to do next.”

“Well. Clavel must be dead,” Ezra said, and Emmerich agreed. He had seen the amount of blood himself, the ragged wound and Clavel’s final glassy stare—there was little chance the man had recovered. “That leaves any remaining men under Staard, I would think. Hmm, yes, I would think.”

“There was no other who I would think could take lead of them,” said Emmerich. He did not know how many had even survived the shootout in the ice house, or if Staard even still lived. “If in fact they feel any loyalty to him at all.”

“There’d be few other places for them to go. Unless they too have all struck out on their own. Which would make them far less of a threat.” Ezra swung his leg up so that the back of his bare heel dropped down upon Emmerich’s thigh, and then crossed his other foot on the top of it. His expression was a rather comic dare for Emmerich to protest. Emmerich did not, only smiled and rested his hand against Ezra’s ankle beneath his trouser leg. His skin was warm, and small hairs tickled the skin of Emmerich’s palm.

“The question is, do they care more or less about us now,” Emmerich said, even as Ezra’s eyes wandered away from him. A frustrating conversation this was proving to be, though hardly Ezra’s fault for all the ether he had taken. “Will they double their efforts, or leave us—“

Emmerich lost his words suddenly as Ezra made a soft sound that was near to a moan, his hand traveling down to the soft bulge forming at the front of his trousers and rubbing at it, making small low noises as he did that were wholly inappropriate for Luca’s office.

“Ezra,” Emmerich said, though the lewd sight was startlingly appealing.

“No, no good,” Ezra said in mild upset, and peered down between his legs, where nothing further was happening. “Nothing more than this.”

“I think you ought to go to bed. Alone,” said Emmerich faintly, because he would not take advantage of Ezra in this near-drunken state. Perhaps they would be safe enough here til the morning. Ezra was clearly not fit for being in public, and there was little hope of encountering not a single soul on the journey across the river to the Thistledown.

Ezra glanced to him, looking aggrieved. “Alone?”

“Alone,” Emmerich affirmed, though with a certain amount of regret.

“I’ll stay here then,” Ezra said with a stubborn firmness, but he did at least cease fondling at himself. He did not seem to be able to remember things from moment to moment, because now he was inspecting the sling and casing on his arm and frowning. “This rather hurts.”

“It’s been broken,” Emmerich reminded him.

“Yes, that’s right.” Ezra sighed, and tilted his head back against the chair. The physical effects of the ether must be wearing off, though Ezra was clearly far from firm in mind.

Right then, there came a loud and persistent knock at the print house door. The sound resounded down the silent workroom and over the quiet machinery, the echoes of it ringing like a struck bell. Emmerich startled badly, but Ezra only yawned.

“Ezra,” Emmerich hissed, and pushed Ezra’s foot from his knee, regaining his feet. “Get up—we’ve got to leave at once, we oughtn’t even have come back here, they’ve come back—“

“Mm, no,” Ezra said idly, resisting as Emmerich took his arms and tried to pull him out of his chair. He looked up at Emmerich with his pale eyes more soft and unworried than they had ever been, or ought to be. “They’ve knocked.”

Slowly, Emmerich drew away. “I suppose they wouldn’t knock first if they were here to kill us,” he said, and Ezra lifted his good shoulder languidly.

“So. It must be someone else.”

“Yes, but who,” Emmerich muttered. He reached automatically for the bulldog in his holster but found only the unfamiliar sleek grip of the Lutreole there; Imogen still had possession of the bulldog. Of the two of them, Ezra was the better shot, drugged or not. So Emmerich held the Lutreole out to him, and after frowning for a moment, Ezra took it with very careful movements. He propped the butt of the pistol on his knee; even so, Emmerich saw that his hand was unsteady.

“Don’t worry,” Ezra said, half an impish smile upon his face. “I won’t attempt to actually shoot anyone. I’ll only sit here and look threatening.”

Emmerich couldn’t bring himself to tell Ezra he had never looked less threatening in the entire time they had known each other; half-undressed as he was with a boyish flush still coloring his face, and still obviously indecent below the waist. But he went to answer the door.

One of the printing machines was half disassembled, likely having broken down and in the process of being repaired. As he passed Emmerich grabbed what looked to be a large square wooden paddle, inset with metal casings, from where it lay atop the machine. Even if he had no pistol upon him, he would not be unarmed.

But the faces he saw when he opened the alley door threw him into such startlement that he nearly dropped the paddle. Uxilord and Thomme, two of the men he had formerly been employed with, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the alleyway.

Uxilord had clearly been in the path of somebody's bullet at the ice house; his arm was set in heavy plasters just as Ezra’s was, and he favored it against his side. Thomme looked unhurt, though stains that appeared to be blood had soaked through much of his greyish coat. Of the ones to have survived the ice house nearly untouched, Emmerich would not have wagered on these two. Neither was the brightest man, which perhaps was what had made them rather accommodating towards Emmerich, nearly comradely at times. They had deemed him worthy of idle chatter occasionally, mostly of bawdry and foolish topics. At least Uxilord had, as Thomme spoke rarely and rather abruptly when he did, his voice usually clotted with drink or smoke or the ailment that seemed to bestow him with a perpetual bounty of phlegm.

“What?” was the only word that Emmerich could call to his tongue upon seeing them, any others were in a language these men would not understand.

“I hope we ain’t disturbing you none,” Uxilord said, peering about rather anxiously. “We only come to make our amends.”

“What,” Emmerich repeated, as Thomme gave a low burbling cough and wrung at a flat cap in his hands.

“Always liked you, didn’t we, Rufus?” Uxilord said, and Thomme nodded quite earnestly. “Even if you talk a bit queer. Not fond of what Clavel planned, not one bit, we weren’t. Now he’s dead, we can come out right and say that, can’t we?” Thomme continued to nod along with every word, as though his head were set upon a gimbal.

Emmerich remembered abruptly the way that Uxilord had grasped his hand after he and Thomme had finished wedging the at-the-time mysterious trunk beneath the bed at the Prince and Rose, and said to him with unusual sincerity, “best of luck, lad.” He had nearly forgotten it, but it was the existence of that moment which made Emmerich truly believe these men were on the level.

“I—Clavel is dead, then,” Emmerich said, and tried to reach inside himself to find some regret or sadness, and could find none. Not after what he had nearly done to Ezra.

“Oh, aye, dead as you please,” said Uxilord. “Staard though, he got himself away, he did. Him and—oh, how many would you say, Rufus? Ten? Aye, ten others, at the least.”

Ten was still a rather threatening amount, as Ezra and Emmerich were still only two in number. Emmerich would not count on Uxilord and Thomme as true allies quite yet, not until he had learned more from them. Certainly no longer enemies, however.

“I suppose you—come inside, then,” Emmerich said, and moved back up the stairwell to allow the other two men in. Thome was carrying a large and rather cumbersome looking haversack on one shoulder, which Emmerich eyed with some caution. It was likely something harmless, but not the most reassuring way to present themselves.

“Who’ve we got, Emery?” Ezra called from the office, sounding much less out-of-mind than before. Perhaps he was putting an effort into it. Ezra was familiar with these men, as it was usually one of them that would have been in Emmerich’s place at the Prince and Rose that night, so perhaps introductions would be redundant. When they got nearer the office, Emmerich saw that Ezra had dragged the chair outside of it and was sitting in it against the wall, his pistol resting upright atop his thigh.

Emmerich was glad to see he had at least done up his shirt, so that he did not appear quite such a slattern, though he was still without shoes. At seeing Thomme and Uxilord traipsing along after Emmerich, he cocked his head in curiosity.

“Well. I know you,” he said. “Taken leave of your comrades for good then, have you?”

Thomme and Uxilord glanced at each other, and Emmerich frowned. He had not considered that, yet it had been Ezra’s first thought. If had seemed as if these men only wanted to express regret at Emmerich’s mistreatment, but had they truly decided to abandon the men who remained with Staard and strike out on their own? Ezra had theorized such a thing, not so many minutes ago.

“They ain’t much of comrades, anymore,” Uxilord said. “Most of them who we knew ain’t so alive. Staard, well—he don’t know us much either. We ain’t so keen to work for him.”

“So it’s mostly his men who survived,” Ezra said. “And they’ll stay together, I would imagine.”

“Seems so,” Uxilord agreed. Their ease in conversation with each other was no doubt from the times they had spent doing the very job together that had gotten Ezra and Emmerich into this mess. And Ezra did not address Thomme at all, so he was also aware of his reticence in speaking.

For a long stretch of moments, there was silence between them all. Emmerich did notice that Ezra’s hand which gripped the pistol was trembling. From exhaustion, weakness, or pain—perhaps all three? Emmerich could not comfort him for any of them, not at this moment. He wished Uxilord and Thomme would state their business and depart, so he could tend to his lover. And Ezra seemed to have the same thoughts.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said. “The information is of value, and we thank you for it. Have you need of our assistance in some way, or shall we conclude our business here?”

“Also brought you something, we did,” Uxilord said, and nudged Thomme. “Have it out, Rufus."

“Wait.”

The objection came from Ezra, sharp and sudden, and he raised the Lutreole from his thigh. He was beginning to sweat now along the sides of his face and neck. He must have been beginning to feel stronger pain from his arm; his jaw was clenched and his pistol hand was shaking more with each second.

“It’s all right, Ezra,” Emmerich said, catching his eye and trying to impress upon him that neither of these men were clever enough to be setting some sort of trap, or would even be able to act as a distraction without giving it all away. It was a difficult thing to convey through only a look, and so Emmerich just hoped that Ezra would trust him.

And, after a moment, Ezra lowered his pistol. “All right,” he said, and Thomme obligingly swung the large haversack off his shoulder and held it out to Emmerich.

“Was all we could get, it was,” he said, the first words he had spoken since appearing at the alleyway door. As usual, his voice was thick and rheumy. “We was sent to fetch them from some old shopkeep a whiles back, so as you couldn’t be havin’ ‘em.”

“Mayhaps you’ve no need of them now,” Uxilord put in. “But it’s a show of our good will, it is, to give ‘em back.”

Emmerich and Ezra exchanged a look, and though Ezra looked rather fit to faint, he rose unsteadily from the chair and followed Emmerich inside Luca’s office. There Emmerich opened the haversack while Uxilord and Thomme hung about in the doorway, and reached inside to immediately encounter the cold metal barrel of a pistol. He withdrew it, curiously, examining it a moment before handing it to Ezra. Ezra glanced it over as well, and then placed it on the desk.

Emmerich continued to remove items from the haversack and Ezra placed them neatly in rows, until there were three pistols and a various assortment of bullets, cleaning tools, spare parts, bullet molds, and other accoutrements spread over Luca’s desk. No doubt Ezra would know what they were all for, but most were strange and unfamiliar to Emmerich. When he glanced back to Thomme and Uxilord, both seemed expectant, as if waiting for an opinion on their offering.

“These are beautiful,” Ezra said, running one hand near reverently above the three pistols without touching them. Two were clearly a matched set, and the last even larger and heavier than the bulldog in pale wood and brass. The twins were long and sleek, rich brown wood with scrollwork of raised silver down their entire lengths, perhaps tending towards opulence; rather fancy but still quite fetching. Emmerich could not take his eyes from them, and Ezra noticed where his attention was focused.

“Pepperboxes. Like mine. Likely a dueling set, from when such things were allowed. Do you like them?”

“I—” Emmerich said, and could speak no further.

“They’re made to be quite accurate,” Ezra said, sliding his hand gently down Emmerich’s wrist, lifting his hand, and placing it atop the grip of one of the pistols. “Reliable, as well. Identical to each other in use. They would suit you.”

“I have a gun,” Emmerich finally managed. He had had reason to object to the Acllaum pistols—they had looked delicate, too small for his hands, and he preferred something sturdy and heavy. These were...

“And where is it?” Ezra asked, and Emmerich remembered that the bulldog was halfway across the city in a brothel. Ezra watched him carefully for a moment, then let go his grip, leaving Emmerich’s finger loosely curled around the pistol’s handle. “Just for now then, at least. For me.”

There was no arguing then. For Ezra; anything.

Emmerich lifted the pepperbox, found its weight satisfying and the silver embellishments cool against his palm. It was a good fit in his hand, the trigger accessible. He did not see, however, how one might load it. Ezra, as naturally as though he were listening to Emmerich’s thoughts, reached in to show him how the barrels could be slid forward, though neither one of them placed a bullet inside. The touch of Ezra’s hands against his, their closeness, so overt in this room in front of other men, sent oddly expectant thrills through Emmerich’s body.

For a moment he thought he might forget himself, and kiss Ezra there in front of several people whom it would be very unwise to do so. The expression upon Ezra’s face looked as though he were nearly about to do the same, and Emmerich turned away before either of them could make such a blunder. It was strange how easy it was to forget. Every other act he had done with a man had been secreted away, hidden by darkness and shame, never spoken of, never acknowledged. But the desire to kiss Ezra in the daylight felt so natural as to be disarming.

Distantly, he heard Uxilord speaking, and desperately turned his attention towards the man to catch his last words, “—glad my brother and I could be o’ some use.”

“I didn’t know you were brothers,” said Emmerich, glancing rapidly between the two men who appeared nothing alike. Uxilord was lean and rather stooped in the shoulders, fair-haired and fair-skinned, while Thomme was ruddy and thicker-set. Though, they were both of a height and shared the same bottle-green eyes.

“We have a different mother each, don’t we, but we’re brothers all the same,” said Thomme, with another of his sincere nods. The same father, and yet, their surnames differed. Emmerich found it more prudent to not inquire about the specifics.

“Well. Thank you, for these,” Emmerich said, and held out his hand towards Uxilord. The other man took it in knobbly fingers, they shook once, and then Emmerich turned to do the same with Thomme. But the other man did not offer his hand, and instead appeared to be bolstering himself to offer some words.

“We was wonderin’ if you might have use of men like us,” he spoke at last.

“We ain’t sure of your plans, of course,” Uxilord hurried to add. “If you’ll be needin a crew. But if you do…”

A crew. Was that what he and Ezra were becoming—or what others were beginning to perceive them as? No longer scapegoats in hiding, but a rival force on their own, a power worth seeking out to join with. Whatever the truth of it was, he was far too exhausted to think of this matter now, and Ezra had to be doubly so.

“Meet us tomorrow afternoon, at—the Prince and Rose. We’ll speak more of this then,” Emmerich said, deciding at the last moment it would not be wise to direct these men to the Thistledown, simply out of safety. At his side Ezra nodded, and this time Thomme took Emmerich’s hand when they offered it. Then the two men—the unlikeliest of brothers—departed from the print house into the late afternoon light. How the day had passed so quickly, Emmerich could not even imagine. It seemed that not so long ago he had woken to find Ezra gone from his side.

And the day was still far from over. They still had to wait for and speak to Luca, go to the Thistledown and hope to be provided a place to stay, and if not then they would have to search out other arrangements, and—

“Let’s just leave a note for Luca,” Ezra said suddenly, sounding very worn. “Who knows when he’ll return here. And I believe I can walk well enough now. If we mean to leave, we ought to do it before any others find us.”

Emmerich quite agreed.

#

It was near sundown by the time they reached the Thistledown, and upon crossing the threshold were immediately swarmed by several women—Katharine and Franny among them, Emmerich noted, but also others who seemed have heard the entirety of the tale of the ice house and had only Lilin’s word that the two of them had survived. They seemed equally interested to hear of the fate of Johan Staard, and Emmerich could not bring himself to tell them that he had survived and thus professed ignorance. Ezra’s bandaged arm was fussed over some and he accepted it good-naturedly while assuring them it was hardly anything. He was quite good at hiding his pain, the only hints of it were in the tightness around his eyes and the occasional slow controlled breath he took when no one but Emmerich was looking.

Miss Ingsbel suddenly appeared on the stairs and quieted the flock. Her presence alone sent most of the women back to what they had been doing—the parlor itself and the larger room beyond were rather empty, though Emmerich imagined it would populate with customers as the night grew deeper. A few men sat smoking and playing cards, paying no real attention to anything else happening around them.

It fell mostly to Emmerich to briefly explain their situation and present their request for a place to stay, as he thought he had something of a better rapport with Miss Ingsbel. He was not even sure how often Ezra had spoken with her, what they thought of each other. After all, most of Ezra’s time here had been spent arguing with Vena or spending his time with Lilin.

“Of course you may have a room here,” Miss Ingsbel said, when Emmerich had finished. “If you have the money for it.”

“We do, of course,” Emmerich said, mindful of the satchels he and Ezra carried at their sides, finally removed from within the walls of the print house and quite full of money.

Miss Ingsbel passed a glance at them as well. “The attic is rarely used, you may have the use of it.”

“We appreciate your hospitality,” said Ezra, and at once Miss Ingsbel turned a sharp eye on him.

“It’s not hospitality, Mister Lace. Simply business. Your presence here is not particularly safe for myself and my girls, yet a paying customer is always an asset. As long as you keep yourselves unobtrusive here, you may stay.”

“Understood,” said Emmerich, and Miss Ingsbel passed him a rather undecipherable look.

“One of the girls can show you the room, if you cannot find it yourselves,” she said, and then turned about in a swish of skirts and returned upstairs.

“I never even told her my surname,” Ezra said with some puzzlement, and Emmerich was unsurprised that Miss Ingsbel had somehow learned it. Nothing about the woman would truly shock him. “She didn’t even say how much she wanted for the room.”

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” Emmerich said, and at the same moment he heard a soft sound behind him, a light clearing of a throat. He turned about to find the girl Imogen standing behind him.

"Here," she said quite suddenly and softly, and produced a pistol from her skirts. The bulldog, Emmerich realized after she held it out towards him, the barrel aimed towards the rugs. "Thank you for the use of it."

"I should rather be thanking you for using it," Emmerich said, and Imogen favored him with a smile he had never seen. She seemed so young, younger even than Vena perhaps. He wished he could take her from here, every one of them, all the girls and the women and even Lilin. They were strong and quite capable, as he had personally witnessed, but that strength eventually ran out. A life like this perhaps allowed one to survive, but at too high a price. He knew that well.

“Keep it,” he told her. “You’re in more need of it than I am, I would imagine. I know it’s not particularly an impressive thing—”

“It’s fine.” Imogen held the pistol rather shyly. “Sometimes, the presence of something is more effective than the use of it. I’ll keep it well.”

She turned then to go up the stair herself, perhaps to put away the pistol in a safe place. Emmerich watched her go, an odd sensation in his chest that was not quite like loss, but rather a bittersweet sense of change, of things in the world moving on and Emmerich finally allowed to move with it. He and Ezra now stood alone in the parlor. The quiet of the room settled itself around them, but for the wind that whistled through thin cracks in the walls.

A pressure against his arm startled him. Ezra had slipped up quietly beside him, and had leant the shoulder of his sound arm to Emmerich’s. Their hands brushed, and Emmerich smiled at the gentle touch.

“Emery,” Ezra said, in a voice that was low and promising and warmed Emmerich from within. He joined their hands and threaded their fingers. “Let’s go to bed.”

“God,” Emmerich said with a laugh. “Your arm’s been broken, Ezra. How can you think of such a thing?”

Ezra’s hand tightened upon his. “I don’t much care. I’ve had worse pain.”

“Are you even in your own mind again?” Emmerich said, and Ezra smiled.

“Doesn’t it seem so?”

“It’s difficult to tell sometimes, with you,” said Emmerich, and Ezra laughed and caught him round the waist.

“We’ll only sleep, then,” he said, an impish smile bright on his face. “If you’re so worried.”

“Less every moment.”

“But now I insist.” Ezra’s grin became infused with more mischief. “We’ll only sleep.”

#

The small bed in the dusty attic room had a thin mattress and creaked terribly; every small movement had brought a wailing of the bolts inside the wood. Emmerich had tried to tighten them with some success, but they still occasionally gave a long and reedy squeal. True to Ezra’s word, they had gone to bed with the intent to sleep, but were only lying awake together in the dark. Moonlight came in at the small window, just enough to see each other by.

“Ezra.” Emmerich moved his fingers in Ezra’s hair, and turned the boy’s face gently towards him on the pillow.

“Mm.” Ezra’s smile was languid and sweet, and Emmerich drew his thumb lightly across the attractive shape of it.

“Tell me about the other,” he said. “The boy you were with before.”

To his surprise, Ezra laughed. “He wasn’t a boy at all. Likely he was near the age then that you are now.”

“I suppose I ought to be glad you favor older men,” Emmerich said, and Ezra laughed again, his fingers tracing across Emmerich’s stomach.

“It does seems to happen that way,” he said. “Jasper—for that was his name—was at least ten years my elder. He was tall and dark and educated and I thought he was beautiful. I was very foolish, and very in love with him. I would have done anything for him…and I let him do anything he wanted with me. I thought the things he did meant he loved me in turn. I know now they didn’t. I was nothing much more than his convenient, one he needn’t ply with gifts or money.”

Ezra shifted onto his back, setting the bed frame to soft squalling. He spoke then towards the ceiling, while Emmerich lay upon his side and watched him. “I was living in our country estate then. We’ve the residence in the city proper, of course, but I grew up mostly in Kettingsfeld Park. I was only fifteen years when I met him. I was engaged to his sister Orpha, I’ve told you that, and they would come together in his carriage—he as a chaperone, she to become acquainted with the house, with me. The first time I saw him…”

He spread a hand across his bare stomach, fingers taught. “It was like a rush of fire, here, and it spread through every part of myself. It ate at me like nothing else. There was nothing else I could think of but him, not for weeks, until they came again. I never thought he would pay me any mind, just the silly little boy his sister would marry, but—in the garden one day, he found me alone. Brought me to the gardener’s shed. Took everything I had then to offer. I gave it to him, all willingly. I wanted so very much to please him, any way I could. My life became his.”

Emmerich found himself holding on to a breath, and Ezra was not even through speaking.

“He always visited with her, as it was suitable and proper for us being future brothers-in-law to become acquainted. And he sought me out every time. I thought it all so terribly exciting. Greeting them so properly in the parlor, taking a walk through the back gardens with Orpha, knowing that later on she and my sister would go into the sitting room to embroider and talk of all the matters of high society, and Jasper and I would go upstairs together. In the same house as my own family and fiancée, in my own bed, with such risk of being discovered. That was how we were discovered, in the end.

“I ought to have hung for it, so I suppose what happened to me was the kinder punishment. Though, I can’t imagine I was expected to do as well as I have—likely I wasn’t expected to even sustain my own life for very long. But I’ve always been willing to do what needs to be done. I had to do quite a lot then, but I did it all, and I survived.”

Ezra wound himself a little closer to Emmerich’s side then, breath hot across his chest. There were a few minutes of silence between them, and then Ezra said, “you think me a fool.”

“I think you were young,” Emmerich said. “I think a man who only wanted a bit of fun didn’t understand what he could do to you. I think I want to kill him for it, but it wouldn’t do any good now.”

“I’ve thought the same, many times,” Ezra said.

“And how did this man escape any sort of punishment? If you were discovered together—“

“Oh, he placed the entirety of the blame on me. Told everyone that was I was brash and wanton and had forced myself upon him in a lustful fit. He had a wife and child, a name and reputation built for himself, and his word was taken far beyond mine. Of course, my defense was that we were deeply in love.” Ezra laughed, with little mirth. “His story was much more agreeable.”

Emmerich frowned. “And they believed all that of you?”

Ezra shifted again, his head settling more snugly against Emmerich’s shoulder. He had removed the sling from his arm, and the plaster scratched against Emmerich’s bare skin. “I had a reputation of being...somewhat imprudent, in our circle of society,” he said. “It was why my family was arranging my marriage at so young an age. I believe they hoped that if I were to become a husband, then a father, I would have to fall in line with respectability.

“I doubt that would have happened even then. I couldn’t have bedded Orpha even if I hadn’t been so in love with Jasper, just the thought of it—it sets me on edge even now, as though I’m flooded with cold and iron. Through no fault of her own; she was charming and clever and I truly was fond of her. She didn’t deserve what I would have done to her. I would have been leaving her bed to find other men, because I had to. I would have had to.”

Emmerich understood that all too well. It was why he had been reckless enough to engage as he had with Archie, rather than the still unlawful but much more common route with whores. Because Archie was a man; the only thing that had ever truly satisfied him. Because he simply had to.

“So perhaps Jasper did us both a favor, in that he saved her from me,” Ezra said. “Still, I thought about climbing into his bedroom and killing him in his sleep every night, for at least a year. Two, perhaps. Sometimes I still want to see his face again, if only so he could see me as I am now. That I survived despite him.”

“I’d help you,” Emmerich said fiercely. “If you wanted still to do so.”

Ezra only kissed him in reply, deep and lingering, combing his fingers through Emmerich’s hair.

“No,” he said, when he pulled away. “It was a resolve that kept me going in the beginning, but now it’s only a bitter fantasy. He never promised me anything, gave any suggestion that he truly cared for me, and in the end he was only trying to save himself as anyone would. In that way, I understand him perfectly.”

“How could he not care for you,” Emmerich said, and Ezra lifted his head so he could look down into Emmerich’s face.

“I wasn’t always so loveable,” he said, and though his tone was amused his face was serious. “Even now, there are few who do. Even before all this, I’ve never been as good a man as you are.”

“Du bist—“ Emmerich began, but Ezra pressed fingers over his mouth.

“Shh,” he said. “Please, don’t say it. I know you may believe it, but I’m not. And I do hate to disappoint you.”

“You don’t,” Emmerich said, catching at him and pulling him close. “You can’t, you don't, unmöglich—"

“Oh, Emery, stop,” Ezra said, and pushed him away. “You think me so perfect, I don’t know where you’ve got this idea from. I’m truly far from desirable. Perhaps physically there’s appeal, but more than that...there’s little to endear me to anyone, and I don’t pretend otherwise.”

Nasty little rotter, an ill-bred cur to be put down, bloody little mandrake, Emmerich remembered, and pushed all the words from his mind at once. Except perhaps the very last one, which was truer than the man who had spoken it knew, but that was only in Emmerich’s favor. But he had never seen any evidence of the other accusations—perhaps Ezra was quick to temper and unhesitant to end a life if need be, but Emmerich had never known him to be cruel or malicious only for the sake of it, not in the way he seemed to think of himself. He had only just spoken of having no remaining ill-will towards the man who had all but ruined his life, and though fully capable of doing so, had never harmed him and had no desire to any longer. Which was in truth something Emmerich was not innocent of himself. The men who had killed his father…he had—

“Emery,” Ezra’s voice shook him from the past, brought him back to the warm bed and welcoming body that lay beside him, fingers playing questioningly in his hair.

“Is that truly how you consider yourself, Ezra? Every time I think I know you—” Emmerich said, and Ezra caught his wrist.

“You do know me,” he said. “I’ve been nothing but true to myself with you, since the moment we met. Perhaps more so than I ever have with anyone. I’ve never had cause to be anyone different.”

“Then, what you are is a good man,” Emmerich said. “I won’t hear otherwise.”

Ezra sighed, pressed his lips to Emmerich’s forehead. “If you must,” he murmured. “But I did warn you.”

“Noted,” said Emmerich. “But I’ll have my chances.”

There was quiet between them for a time, and Emmerich did not find it uncomfortable. Ezra lay on his back beside him, eyes open towards the ceiling and his hand warm on Emmerich’s bare thigh.

“Emery, how old are you?” he said at length. “I’ve only just realized that I don’t know.”

“Nor do I,” Emmerich said, and Ezra cocked his head. “I may have known once, but—I lost count of years and time somewhere during everything. Five and twenty is the most likely. Perhaps a little older. No use asking the year of my birth; I never knew that. I don’t know what the year is now.”

“Oh, Emery, how can you not know?” Ezra said, with a laugh that sounded dismayed.

“There are quite a few things I don’t know,” Emmerich said, wondering how much he would astonish Ezra if he admitted to his tenuous ability at literacy. He was sharing a bed with an educated gentleman, after all, and though they may have ended up with the same life, they certainly hadn’t begun with it. Emmerich had never felt to be an inferior being to his lover, but perhaps Ezra did not think likewise.

But Ezra was now watching him with the same eyes he often had when he was thinking deeply—and not only that, but considering Emmerich in a way that no one ever had bothered to before.

“You don’t believe that I think less of you for it, I would hope,” Ezra said then. “You couldn’t help how you were born, the same way I couldn’t.”

“There’s nothing wrong with how I was born.”

“I know that,” Ezra said, and made a faint sound of frustration. “That isn’t what I meant at all. I’m only saying that the things that are simple for me, that I was provided from birth, that I’ve taken for granted—I understand, very well now, how lucky I was to have them. If I looked down on all others who didn’t have the same fortune, well. There’d be hardly any man I could respect.”

“And I should take that to mean that you do, in truth, respect me,” Emmerich said. “Regardless of my humble beginnings.”

Ezra put a hand to Emmerich’s face, turned him so they were made to look at each other’s faces. “Perhaps more than anyone,” he said, and it was so very earnest that Emmerich could do nothing but believe him.

“Then will you—“ Emmerich began, faltered, and then resolved himself, “would you help me, then, to read and write? I never learnt properly.”

Ezra looked at him with no trace of scorn or pity, and stroked Emmerich’s cheek gently with his fingertips. “Of course,” he said. “When would you like to begin?”

“Well, not now,” Emmerich said, and drew Ezra closer to him, watchful of the boy’s bandaged arm. Ezra laughed, a bright sound, and kissed him eagerly and at length.

“Your beard’s grown,” Ezra said, when they pulled apart, and spread his fingers across the angle of Emmerich’s jaw.

“And what do you think?”

“That it suits you,” Ezra replied, and kissed him again. More heated this time, with a sweet slowness that only spurred Emmerich to grip his hands around the boy’s waist and hoist him into his lap. They had gone to bed already unclothed, and their kissing had awakened both of them, and now they slid against each other other with an awareness that pulled a gasp from Ezra and a low groan from Emmerich. He had insisted upon abstaining from such intimacy tonight, but Ezra seemed back to himself now, and in the proper mood.

“If I’m very careful, will you let me?” Emmerich implored, touching a hand to Ezra in such a way as to make what he was asking clear. There had been none of that their first night together, though Emmerich had sorely wanted it. But he could only remember the revolted look upon Archie’s face whenever he had suggested the same act. Emmerich could not have stood that same look coming from Ezra, and so he had not dared that first night and had rutted himself between Ezra’s thighs instead. But now…he thought that if any man would ever allow him that deepest familiarity, it would be Ezra.

And Ezra made a faint noise at the words and the touch, a strange union of a desirous moan and a release of excited breath.

“Yes,” he said, his voice thick and heady. “Oh, yes.”

So Emmerich pressed his hand forward against that intimate place and Ezra pressed back, his spine arching and shoulders twisting, lifting himself slightly on his knees to allow Emmerich a better reach. There was a jar of oil already on the bedside table, its purpose clear due to the nature of this establishment, and Emmerich made use of it well. A low sound welled and broke in Ezra’s throat as he did; his head tipped back and his unbound hand slid up his stomach to his chest, playing and stroking at his own chest as Emmerich worked at him with his fingers. And when he was loosened enough and Emmerich meant to breach him in the true way, they needed only a slight and careful arranging of themselves until Ezra was slowly settled in the cradle of Emmerich’s hips, and they were joined.

Ezra was quite eager in this way, made good use of his one good arm to brace himself o Emmerich’s chest while his knees and thighs did most of the work. The bed rocked with their weight, the bolts squealing in effort, and Ezra laughed breathlessly when Emmerich implored them to quiet down. They kissed, and kissed again, and Emmerich found himself crying out in a way he had always stifled deep within himself, a helpless sounds torn loose by Ezra’s eagerness, his touch, his trust. When Emerich could no longer bear it, he braced an arm ‘round Ezra’s back and rolled the boy beneath him, pinned him heavily to the mattress and heaved into him with great mindless thrusts, groaning with desperate need and feeling that part of Ezra hot and slick and siding between their bellies. Ezra’s cries matched his own, gasping and keening as they wrenched their completion from each other, reaching the sweetest height together and nearly at the same moment.

Ezra made a soft sound of protest when Emmerich left him, then gripped him tightly with his sound arm and pressed his face into Emmerich’s chest. Emmerich closed his own arms gently around the boy’s back, their skin damp and slick together, and held him close. His heartbeat slowly faded from a thundering clatter to a gentle pattering, and Ezra’s breathing likewise evened out. Emmerich moved his fingers over the nape of Ezra’s neck, stroking the dusting of hairs there that ran up into the thicker stuff on his head. Ezra hummed against him at the touch, sounding pleased.

“I did not hurt you?” Emmerich asked, because he could not help but worry. He had forgotten Ezra’s injured arm when he had pinned the boy beneath him and finished their passion together, but was now guiltily remembered of it.

“Mach dir keine Sorgen,” Ezra murmured, half in sleep. “Du warst sanft. Ich hatte keine Schmerzen.”

Emmerich smiled against the boy’s dampened hair. The wind gusted against the windows once again, setting the shutters to rattling and banging in their frame, and a hard rain began to sheet down on the roof above. Emmerich would have appreciated the noise of it a few minutes past, when it could have covered the eager noises of their desire, but he supposed the Thistledown was inured to such sounds. Though, perhaps, not those of two men together.

Sometime later—an hour, perhaps, or more—Ezra must have thought him asleep. Because Emmerich felt the boy stir beside him, turn beneath the arm that Emmerich had loosely draped around him, and then begin to speak.

“With Jasper, the fire came so fast and fierce—roared and consumed everything I had and burned itself out in me, left me hollow. There was nothing left.” Ezra’s voice came in less than a whisper, words that nearly had no sound to them at all. With his eyes closed, Emmerich strained to hear them through the sounds of the rain, and to keep his breathing even so as not to startle Ezra back into silence. A soft hand touched his face in the dark, and withdrew just as swiftly.

“This, for you…it came more slowly, but everything about you feeds it. It grows steadily, not wildly. It’s not taking who I am with it, scorching out my heart, making me black and cold. That’s how I’ve been since Jasper, only empty wastes inside my heart, where nothing grows and everything is ice. And I cannot thank you enough, nor repay you for how you have begun to warm me again. I can only give you a part of myself in turn, and hope it is enough. It is an unworthy offering, but it is all I have.”

Then Ezra kissed the corner of his mouth, settled his head back down against Emmerich’s shoulder, and lay still against him except for his breathing. And Emmerich was only glad Ezra had not kissed his cheek, for he would have found a wetness there that Emmerich did not want to explain.

#

In the morning, when they awoke side by side in the bed with early greyish light hazy about them, Emmerich rolled over and kissed Ezra slow and deep and lingering—the only answer he could give for what Ezra had spoken to him in the night.

It is enough, he thought, as Ezra made soft noises and smiled against his mouth, tangling his fingers in Emmerich’s sleep-matted hair. It is more than enough; it is more than I ever dared to ask for from anyone. All I want is you by my side, and here you are. Never leave me, and I will be content with that for all of my life.

When they finally parted, Ezra was prettily flushed and roused, as was Emmerich himself. He did not mind at all to take the boy in hand and please him, and Ezra was eager to do the same in turn. They were both quick to finish, and afterwards Ezra sighed contentedly and settled back into the pillows, the sheet tangled about his legs. Emmerich sat up, turned his own legs off the edge of the bed, ran the fingers of his clean hand through his hair to smooth it down.

“Shall we find some breakfast?” Ezra offered from where he reclined in the pillows, tossing his own ruffled and damp hair back from his face. “Or perhaps you ought to find it, and bring it back. I’m afraid I may move slowly and with quite a telling gait this morning.” He grinned then, mischievous but with his eyes downcast in a nearly shy manner, and Emmerich could only draw him close and kiss him soundly for it. He would have liked nothing more than to slip back into the bed and join with Ezra again, to taste his skin and feel the heat and sweetness of him, to learn all his desires and wants one by one and give them to him as well as he could. But he had begotten of an idea late in the night, in the time that he had lain awake after Ezra’s private confession to him, and meant to follow it through this morning.

So he broke from Ezra and rose from the bed, naked and unmindful of it, except for the way Ezra’s eyes tracked him about the room. He picked up his clothes and one boot from the floor, brought them back to the bed so he could dress at Ezra’s side. The boy touched him softly, running gentle fingers over Emmerich’s neck as he sat buttoning his shirt and pulling on his trousers. The other boot had made its way to somewhere unknown, and before launching a search for it Emmerich leaned back over his shoulder and found Ezra's mouth again, enjoying the boy's soft chuckle and the light caress of his hands down his arms.

“Wo ist mein Stiefel?” Emmerich asked into Ezra’s mouth, and received a light nip for the inquiry.

“Ich weiβ nicht. Unter dem Bett?”

It was indeed beneath the bed. Ezra kept himself molded warmly against Emmerich as he leant forward to search out the wayward boot and then pull it on, his cheek pressed hotly to Emmerich’s shoulder. It was so very new to Emmerich, this overt and gentle affection from another man, having someone who wanted to touch him and remain in his company even if they were not sating each other’s lust. Ezra only seemed to desire contact with him, a closeness and a familiarity that spoke of something much deeper. They had not had any proper time to speak at length after their first night together, as Ezra had been spirited away from him, but perhaps it had been fortuitous in a way. Emmerich knew he would have only voiced more of his doubts, harmed Ezra with more ill-planned words, rather than...having this. Carrying on as though they had long been lovers, comfortable together and...happy.

He was loath to tear himself away from that comforting touch, but he was trying to dress himself and leave, and his holster and coat were hung near the door. He reluctantly rose to his feet. Ezra’s arms slid from his body like a too-large shirt, and he relaxed back into the bed with a soft sigh. As Emmerich crossed the room he caught sight of the small vanity and mirror, and paused at the sight of his reflection. Even with its spots and loss of silvering, he could clearly see the blossoming bruise on the side of his face from being thrown into the ice house wall, and the thick stubble that was growing in along his jaw. He ran his hand across it, considering the razor he had brought with him from the print house.

“Oh, do keep it,” Ezra said from the bed. When Emmerich glanced to him, he had his sound arm curled about his legs and his cheek down atop his knees, watching Emmerich sideways. “It fits you well. The color, especially.”

The hair of his beard had always grown in a lighter golden-copper than the stuff that grew on his head. It was not an unappealing look for his face, and did hide some of the bruising that had formed. So Emmerich left his beard and instead crossed the room back to Ezra to lean over the bed and kiss him once more, drawing another satisfied noise from him.

“I will bring you breakfast,” Emmerich promised, when they reluctantly parted. “If you can only wait a while, as I have something to do this morning in the city proper.”

“Oh?” said Ezra, now flushed a charming pink, and leaning forward again over his knees. “You wouldn’t like my company?”

“Not for this.” Emmerich combed fingers through his hair, attempting to arrange it somewhat properly upon his head. “But I promise I will tell you of it if it bears any fruit, which it may not.”

“All right.” Ezra’s smile was agreeable, and wholly trusting. “I’ll look forward to hearing of it.”

“And what will you do with your morning?” Emmerich teased, and Ezra pinched the back of his leg in reply.

“Rest my aches,” he said. “My arm has been broken, you know, and the rest of me is somewhat worn out. Some large man lay vigorously atop me for much of the night.”

Emmerich had to kiss him again, which quickly became playful nips and bites at each other until Ezra pushed him away, laughing and saying, “go away, or you won’t leave this bed for half the day.”

As that was true, Emmerich made himself part from his lover, don his holster and coat, and quit the Thistledown entirely to head back north of the river.

#

Emmerich had never been to the Clergy Constabulary building itself, but he knew just where it was—in the heart of the city, near the Bascilican Houses and not very far from the missionary schools. Most of his prior crimes had never required him being hauled here for booking, rather warranting simple arrests on sight and being dragged off for a few nights spent shivering in the Brokens; a somber brick fortress with a cold muddy yard that was not fit for the finery of the St Redglass district and instead sat in the outskirts of neighboring Highcarriage.

But the constabulary was in the finest part of the city, where streets were neatly cobbled and clean, buildings rose in majestic stonework and wrought iron around him, and the smell of sewers was hardly noticeable. A lingering fog still curled around the streetlamps and hitching posts, but it was late enough in the morning that the weak wintery sun had dispersed most of it. Fine fancy carriages drawn by handsome blinkered horses clopped past, as well as the motorized jerry-carts trundling along with goods bound for the Sussebury Faire market.

The streets held few people, but those Emmerich did pass were well-dressed gentlemen and ladies—mostly gentlemen in tailored clothes hurrying on their way to work. Emmerich turned a few disapproving heads, but ignored them. A missionary crew in full regalia passed by him, three women and four men in clean lines of black and white. The tall dark woman in front with the broadsword strapped to her back threw him a curious glance, as did the man at her side wearing the bright silver brooch marking him as their captain.

Emmerich knew he looked a sight here in his dirtied and bloodied coat, unshaven and wearing clothes that had not been cleaned for a week, and perhaps he would have once felt like a speck of grime among the pristine streets and buildings and citizens of St Redglass. But if he had learned anything truly from his time with Ezra, it was that equality was not in appearance, but in heart. He was no better or worse than most of the people here, even if they were clad in fineries and held respectable occupations and did not lay with those who shared the same parts between their legs. None of that truly mattered.

Emmerich sketched a light bow towards the group, and the woman with the sword seemed to determine him both harmless and amusing by returning him a faint smile. They moved along down the street, towards the Bascilican Houses themselves, and for a moment Emmerich watched them wistfully. There would always be a part of him that yearned to be a part of that, but for so many reasons it was pure impossibility.

The constabulary itself was a monolith of intricate bluish brickwork and black window frames, wide slate-grey steps leading to an imposing set of doors, also in black, with the striking white cross painted across them. Banners of the Order flew above the entryway, rippling and snapping in the chill wind. Emmerich spent only a moment standing in the street before the steps before mounting them, moving into the colder shadow of the entryway. The handles of the door were of brass, and clunked heavily as Emmerich pulled at the one on the right and heaved it open.

He did not know if Archie would be here—Emmerich knew his patrol patterns well, but could only guess as to times when he was actually present within the constabulary. He had aimed to arrive here some minutes before Archie was due in Grand Faire, hoping that the man would indeed be here before beginning his patrol duty.

Luck favored him. The hall within was striking and imposing both in its continuing blue stone, the far wall hung with long black banners with the white constabulary cross upon them, a deep mahogany floor that shone with fresh polish, and touches of brass in the moldings and railing of the stairs that led up to a first story at the left of the hall. At the right wall was a heavy wooden counter with a long row of bookcases behind, filled with heavy leather tomes. A doorway behind led elsewhere, and though open Emmerich could not see beyond it. Two men in constable uniform, though missing the accoutrements of patrol duty, busied themselves behind it, one attending to a short line of people clearly waiting to voice some complaint, and the other upon a rather rickety ladder retrieving a ledger from a high shelf.

Further along down the hall near the stairs, three more men in their full patrol kit spoke quietly together. Even with his back turned, Emmerich clearly recognized Archie’s straw-colored hair poking out from beneath the heavy helmet’s brim. He was only just trying to think up a way to get the man’s attention without also drawing the eyes and ears of the entire constabulary, when Archie happened to turn about, perhaps intending to head towards the doors to go on his patrol. He spotted Emmerich at once, and immediately charged across the hall to him as though he meant to run him down and bear him down to the floor. He did seize upon Emmerich’s shoulders, but only to propel him into a corner of the hall.

“Emmerich!” Archie exclaimed in a hiss, knocking his helmet askew in his exuberance to attempt to steer Emmerich somewhere out of sight. His eyes darted about the hall, as if expecting every member of the CC to suddenly come down upon them both, condemning them for their past acts together. Several other of the constables had noticed Emmerich’s presence, likely because of his unkempt appearance and Archie’s less than subtle behavior, but seemed more curious than concerned about him. “What are you doing he—“

“You wanted to know what I’d heard about what happened at the Prince and Rose,” Emmerich said, and Archie fell silent, mouth agape. “Well. I’ve come to tell you.”