Broken Guns

[translations at end of chapter]

Emmerich could tell at once that Ezra and Archie were an uncomfortable match, a pair as unmixable as oil and water. He had never seen Ezra go so rigidly cold and suspicious upon encountering another person, and the way he and Archie shook hands was both reticent and unyielding. Archie seemed blithely oblivious to it at first, as was his way, but began to wither under Ezra’s hard eyes and severe demeanor. Perhaps this was a bit of the man that Kegg’s crew had all known finally showing through, the man they had both reviled and somewhat feared. The man that Emmerich considered himself to have never met.

Emmerich had brought Archie out of St Redglass and back to the Thistledown despite the other man’s protests, not wanting any others to overhear the conversation they were to have. Emmerich did not trust any men of the constabulary but Archie, and if he admitted to having knowledge of a crime he was more likely than not to be accused of it himself despite any protests to the contrary. Archie would hear him out, and then could relay the information back to the constabulary without Emmerich’s name being involved.

On the way back across the river Emmerich had stopped to purchase the promised breakfast for Ezra in the form of a pasty, as well as one for himself. Archie declined the offer of one. Upon their entry to the brothel itself, Emmerich spotted Imogen had requested her go upstairs to fetch Ezra and deliver his breakfast, and he had appeared only a minute or so later with his half-eaten pasty in hand, looking quite put-together despite the sling on his arm. Now they were stood in the back room of the Thistledown, the one in which Emmerich had first overheard Bartho and his companions speaking of the illegal shipment of arms arriving to the close. They were alone, and were sure to be left so after Emmerich had requested to Imogen that they not be disturbed there.

Ezra had not questioned Emmerich showing up with a man of the CC in tow. Even though at the constabulary Archie had removed his telling helmet and capelet with the obvious white crosses upon them and donned Emmerich’s dingy coat instead in order to traverse through the south bank of the river that was more intolerant of a man of his occupation, the uniform beneath was still rather unmistakable. Now that they were all introduced properly, Ezra pulled Emmerich aside while Archie shed Emmerich’s coat and placed it gingerly upon the back of a chair, then stood uncomfortably in the center of the room and looked about in clear distaste.

"You’ve had relations with him, haven’t you," Ezra said, in a tone that was marked with no jealousy, only a sort of puzzlement. After all, Archie was a Clergy Constable, quite different than the usual types of men that might have tossed a coin down for a quick rub or suck from a poor immigrant boy in a grimy back-alley.

"How did you arrive at that conclusion," said Emmerich, loathe to either deny or confirm Ezra’s words. One would be a lie, and the other simply shameful. It was also not the question Emmerich had expected upon bringing back a constable, and he was unprepared for it.

"It’s the way he looks at you," Ezra said. "When you aren’t looking. It’s a look that’s quite unmistakable. One of yearning."

"He may yearn for one thing from me, but certainly not all things," Emmerich said. "We had an understanding, him and I. A business arrangement, if you would like to think of it in that way."

"I would not." Ezra sounded scandalized. He laid a hand firmly upon Emmerich’s arm, gripped him with care. "Emery…you should not either."

"And why is that?"

Ezra’s mouth quavered oddly. "Because you are not a whore, Emmerich."

"He was the only one who never paid me for it," Emmerich said, and Ezra went white in the face. "And we are friends. But no, he did not ever care for me. Not in that way."

Ezra made a small sound that Emmerich heard strong disbelief in. But he could not bring himself to consider that Archie wanted from him what Ezra seemed to think, now or ever. And even if it were true, Emmerich no longer wanted such things from Archie. He had been given so very little from the other man, as he had only come to realize, and he now knew he would never return to Archie in that manner no matter what befell of his relationship with Ezra. As difficult as it was to believe, he knew now he deserved better.

Ezra’s hand suddenly came down in the small of his back, an intimate touch, and Emmerich thought that Archie must be watching them. He would have bade Ezra stop, if he had thought that he was doing so out of a misguided sense of possessiveness, of showing Archie that he had lost Emmerich’s affections—but he sensed none of that. When Emmerich glanced to Ezra, he received only a gentle smile and a light caress up to his shoulders, a warm palm spreading just below the base of his neck. And he understood, with a clarity that nearly pulled the breath from him, that the touch had very little to do with Archie at all. Ezra simply wanted to touch him, and had.

Emmerich could have kissed Ezra down against to the table right there, but managed instead to simply move his hand atop Ezra’s fingers where they rested on the whorled wood. He had not thought he could feel any more affection for this man more until this moment, and now he threatened to overflow with it. Ezra even seemed to sense it, for he wrapped his good arm around Emmerich’s shoulders, pulled him close and allowed Emmerich a long moment to collect himself in the safe warmth of Ezra’s shirtfront.

When they parted, Emmerich could not help but to favor Ezra with a gentle quick kiss. Ezra caught him, made it longer and truer. That was yet another thing that Archie had never permitted, had considered wholly improper between men, and at the edge of his vision Emmerich could see the astonishment in the constable's face at witnessing such a thing. When Archie realized Emmerich was looking, his cheeks reddened and he turned away.

"Shall we give him a show?" Ezra murmured heatedly into Emmerich’s ear, but his tone was too mirthful to take as anything but a jest.

"I believe it would stop his poor heart," Emmerich replied, nudging his forehead to Ezra’s temple, placing a soft kiss on his cheek, and then reluctantly parting from him. "Business."

"Oh," said Ezra, sighing with false bereavement. Then he continued on in a tone loud enough for Archie to certainly hear, "Yes, that. I suppose we rather should take this task in hand first."

Emmerich laughed despite himself, and though he attempted to give Ezra a disapproving look, he was afraid it only appeared both smitten and amused. He was helplessly gone for this man in the whirls of passion and true affection, he knew it all too deeply, and perhaps…perhaps that was all right. Perhaps he could allow himself this, perhaps not all would end if he and Ezra remained together, remained partners, remained lovers.

With little subtlety, Archie cleared his throat. "If you’re quite done, then."

"Yes, Archie, we shan’t go at it before your eyes quite yet," Ezra said, with a wicked grin sent Emmerich's way. Emmerich pinched him for it this time, but true annoyance would still not come.
"Constable Livensy," Archie corrected him stiffly, and Ezra mock-bowed at him—or perhaps it was a true gentleman’s bow, Emmerich was of no position to know.

"Of course," Ezra said pleasantly. "Constable Livensy."

"If we could perhaps talk of why you’ve dragged me to this...this hovel," Archie said, glancing around the dim and musty room and tightening his mouth into a disapproving line. Ezra rolled his eyes but said nothing, allowing Emmerich to answer.

"We know what happened at the Prince and Rose," Emmerich began, and felt Ezra clutch at his sleeve, behind his elbow so that Archie would not see. "As we were there."

"God’s spit," Archie said, scowling with furious intent. "I should have known."

"Well, perhaps you’ve also heard of some other recent crimes," Emmerich went on, touching a hand to Ezra’s hip to reassure him and feeling the fingers twisted into his shirt loosen slightly. "We’ve information on them as well."

"Is this a confession, Mandelbrauss?" Archie said darkly. "If so, the constabulary is by far the better—"

"My God, man, of course not!" Ezra spoke up unexpectedly, and Emmerich startled and turned to him. "We know who was responsible. And we intend to tell you."

"I….see," Archie said, astonishment clear in his countenance. Emmerich could not help smiling at Ezra’s quick cottoning on to his own plan. Of course, this alignment of thought was precisely why Ezra had always said they should continue on working together, as partners and companions, and now perhaps lovers as well. Emmerich was not so opposed as he once had been. Rather, it made more sense than anything else ever had in his lifetime. It was still a risk and brought him a deep nervousness, but perhaps it was something worth the danger. Certainly there would be something inextricably missing from his life were they to part, and Emmerich had been fully truthful about never having this much fortune in his life before encountering Ezra.

"And that doesn’t interest you beyond two single words?" Ezra needled, and Emmerich touched at his elbow. "What I mean to say it, weren’t you hassling Emmerich some days ago about the perpetrators of the crime?"

"I was indeed," Archie said, his gaze turning to Emmerich. "And he swore he knew not a thing at the time."

"A man can learn new things, Constable Livensy," Ezra bared his teeth in something only vaguely resembling a smile, and more like the predatory snarl of a wolf.

"Do you speak for yourself still, or is this your new interpreter?" Archie said, turning to Emmerich while still managing to slip in a scornful look towards Ezra.

"I have no issue with his words to you so far," replied Emmerich. "I do find it questionable that we come to a Clergy Constable with information regarding a crime and receive only a question of own character in turn."

"For the sake of heaven, you know I’ve no alternate agenda here," said Archie crossly. "I only suspect you of having one."

"I should think it wouldn’t matter, as long as those who committed murder were caught," said Ezra, with a pointed smirk. Ezra did not like constables, Emmerich recalled, since as a child he had often tried to escape his lessons and been dragged home by them, so perhaps his attitude towards Archie was something he would have done with any man from the CC. And not simply because he did not like how Archie had treated Emmerich in the past.

"Well, naturally I must take an interest in any lead presented to me," Archie said gruffly. "Who are those that you believe committed the murders?"

"Johan Staard," Ezra said promptly.

"And the men under him," Emmerich finished. Clavel was dead, according to Thomme and Uxilord, and therefore no longer worth mentioning.

"Oh, right, yes, only the right-hand man to one of those murdered," Archie said. "Who now runs their crews himself—what a convenient man to pin such an act upon. There’s hardly a way to go after him, not with the number of men he has at his employ. Certainly it’s not worth pursuing over the murders of two men who were outlaws themselves."

"You’ll find those crews greatly reduced in number these days," Ezra said. "A certain ice house in Grand Faire should be investigated. Hasten Lane, I believe. Wasn’t it, Emmerich?"

"It was," Emmerich said, unclear how Ezra even knew such a thing, as he had been taken to the place in such a damaged and harried state. Perhaps he had been there before, when Kegg had still been alive. But then it surely would have been one of the places they would have checked for any traces of Staard or Clavel’s men when he and Emmerich had been trying to hunt them down.

"And how would you know this?" Archie said, then sighed and waved his hand. "No, I don’t wish to know. I’m not sure I even want to know what will be found there."

"Those crews are broken and scattered, Archie, I assure you," Emmerich said. "Many dead, many wounded. After everything, I would not give you information that would place you in any harm. Clavel is dead as well."

"Oh," Archie said slowly. "Well. That is...certainly interesting information."

"Unknown to the Constabulary, I’d wager." Ezra spoke up again, through Emmerich wished he wouldn’t. He seemed to only be antagonizing Archie out of the sheer delight of it. "And even if the victims themselves were outlaws, does the CC intend to allow murderers to roam free in the streets of the north bank? Pennygrand is so very close to Grand Faire and Highcarriage, surely the local residents aren’t keen on having such a violent crime gone unsolved in their neighborhoods."

"What sort of wretched snakesman have you taken up with here, Mandelbrauss?" Archie said, but there was no vigor in it. He rather seemed to think Ezra had made a point, and sighed deeply. "The murders have been a concern in those neighborhoods. It’s no secret that it was done by those who flaunt the Order, but that it occurred in such a place as a traveler’s inn worries folk that otherwise wouldn’t have need for concern."

"Staard and his men won’t be difficult to locate, now," Ezra said, while Emmerich spent a moment wondering if Archie was truly aware that the Prince and Rose was not just a simple inn. It pretended to be so to fool the constabulary, but the deception appeared so obvious he could not imagine it being so effective. "It’s a problem with a solution that we have personally brought to you, Constable Livensy."

"We’ve no idea where these men are, and you have not provided me that information," Archie said. "I can’t very well rouse an entire fleet of constables to send them half-cocked throughout the city without an idea of where to go or what they might stumble upon."

"I’m sure an institute as industrious and thorough as the Clergy Constabulary was working tirelessly to chronicle all the hideouts and warehouses used by such large and infamous crews such as the ones headed by Kegg and Allister," Ezra said, near sweetly. "And that it would be of little difficulty to send several constables to each to search for a small contingency of wounded and scattered men." He paused, and then, "or do I underestimate the efficiency and power of Order law?"

"Ezra," Emmerich mouthed harshly over Archie’s shoulder when Archie turned away to stare at Ezra. But Ezra only remained smiling, with something close to innocence in his expression. Archie’s ire, in contrast, seemed to be rising with every word from Ezra’s mouth, and yet he seemed aware that his agitated responses looked irrational against Ezra’s calm demeanor.

"I am sure the constabulary will want to look into this matter," Archie said, with an air of resignation. "I would be in the right to assume you both wish to be anonymous sources of this information?"

"Yes, Archie, thank you," Emmerich said, and Archie turned about to face him. "I would hope that our full arrangement still stands," Emmerich added, while Ezra grimaced behind Archie’s shoulder and looked away. "That you do not mention me to the Constabulary, as I will not mention the type of...indulgences we had in each other."

"And...that arrangement, in itself?" Archie said, and his quick but telling glance over Emmerich’s body ensured that Emmerich would not misunderstand.

Emmerich shook his head. "That is over now. I’ve a proper lover. You’ve long had a wife. There should be no need for that arrangement."

"Yes…" Archie spoke slowly. "No need. Of course."

Ezra’s eyes had returned to meet Emmerich’s now, bright and intent from behind Archie’s shoulder. Emmerich only hoped he had not given Ezra more cause to goad Archie by ending that aspect of their association, but Ezra said nothing of it.
"Well, then, gentlemen," Archie said, glancing back and forth between them both. "If this is all you intended to speak to me about, I believe our business here is concluded." He looked especially eager to depart this building, and had since he arrived. But Emmerich noticed a small cluster of women watching them curiously from around the front of the stair, and no doubt that was unsettling the constable even further. His dress was unmistakable, and men of the CC did not come this far south of the river. Those who did were often found floundering in the river sludge or slink back across Moxmill bridge with their uniforms pelted with mud and rotted food and other unsavory matter. They were not welcome, and no one knew it better than the constables themselves.

"Concluded, indeed," Ezra said, and held out his hand in a perfectly polite gesture that Archie could not reject. Emmerich watched the handshake with some amusement, though he still felt some aggravation for Ezra and some pity for Archie. "I do hope the constabulary does manage to track down these unsavory characters, for the safety of the city."

"If it’s deemed worthy of taking action with," Archie said, but the tone of his voice had a tenacity to it that Emmerich found reassuring. Archie was not going to simply cast this off as a frivolous piece of information, whatever opinion he might have formed of Ezra.

"Well met, Constable Livensy," Ezra said just as he dropped Archie’s hand, a fairly insufferable grin upon his face.

"And yourself," Archie replied grudgingly, and it could not possibly be sincere. Ezra however seemed to have warmed to the meeting quite a lot, delighting in how he could aggravate Archie in the most effective ways possible.

"You’ll tell us of any developments that may arise, then," Emmerich said, and Archie gave a curt nod.

"I shall." He turned about to leave the room, adjusting his collar at his neck as he did so. Emmerich almost inquired if he wished the use of Emmerich’s coat again to traverse his way back to the north bank, but doubted Archie would accept the offer. The women crowding at the stair had disappeared now, but Emmerich could still see the false confidence set in Archie’s shoulders as he move through the entryway. He paused at the door and glanced back.

"That beard, Mandelbrauss," he said, looking Emmerich over once more. "Strange on you."

"He can't grow one of his own," Emmerich muttered to Ezra, who laughed and turned away when Archie turned a sharp eye on him.

"Good day, Constable," Ezra called out then, loud enough that anyone nearby within the building would be likely to hear. Archie immediately flushed a dull red and shoved out into the street, full now of a misting rain. They watched him pass by the grimy windows, hunkered against the weather and casting his head suspiciously about him as he darted quickly down the street.

Emmerich turned to Ezra then, and fully expected the wide and handsome grin that was upon the other man’s face.

"‘A proper lover’," Ezra said, moving closer with a brightness in his eyes. "I like the sound of that very much. And I like to hear that you won’t be allowing that man to mistreat you as he has."

Emmerich took Ezra by the hand, picked up his coat in the other. "Upstairs, for a moment, if we could."

"Naturally," replied Ezra, and the expression on his face told Emmerich that he perhaps expected to be flung down on a bed and stripped of his own clothing, or perhaps kissed for a very long time. Even if any of that occurred, Emmerich had something else in mind to take care of beforehand.

They retreated upstairs to their attic room, Emmerich leading the way. When they were alone in side with the door shut behind them, he took Ezra by the sides of his face, both drenched in fondness and frustration for his lover, cradling him and yet with some strong urge to shake the brazenness from him.

"You are such... ein Halunke," Emmerich said, at a lost for proper words not in his own tongue. "Ein kleiner verschmitzter Halunke. Was that necessary, to behave so to Archie?"

"Ich weiß, bin ich." Ezra grinned at him. "It was effective, was it not? Constable Livensy will return to the constabulary so irritated by my words that he either needs to either live up to them or disprove them. His sort of attitude is not difficult to decipher; even I know the best way to spur him to action, to work his hardest to convince his superiors that our information is worth pursuing. It’s the way of most men who become policemen."

Ezra placed his hands on top of Emmerich’s then, drew them down so they lay against his shoulders. "Either way, it will get us what we want. The CC will begin a search for whatever scraps of Staard and his men survive, and likely find them, and they’ll discover the rest at the ice house. Seeing as so many of them died in the street I’m surprised your constable had not yet heard of the place."

"It’s not exactly his area of the city," Emmerich said. "Ezra, do you truly think that will be the end of it? That the constabulary will simply clean up what we could not finish ourselves?"

"We did well, considering we are only two men. Two men who have assets to call upon. Such as a man who owns a print house. The women of the Thistledown. A constable. If we can have the law itself rid us of Staard, why shouldn’t we? There is nothing lost in that, and it would be a truly legal method." Ezra closed his fingers more tightly about Emmerich’s own, the pale grey of his eyes searching deeply into Emmerich’s. "Emery, I know you are used to being alone, to going unnoticed and unsupported. But the greater the number of allies we have, the greater power we have and the greater reach we have."

"You talk as if we’re building an empire of our own," Emmerich said.

"And why shouldn’t we?" Ezra’s tone was light, but Emmerich heard no insincerity within it. Such a thought sobered him, and yet there was a spark of excitement in the prospect. That they could even say such a thing, and not as an unachievable fantasy, was wondrous and strange.

"Well, if we are to, I believe I know our next step in it. We’ve to meet Thomme and Uxilord at the Prince and Rose today," Emmerich reminded Ezra, who sighed good-naturedly.

"Yes, of course. Those two were certainly a surprise, weren’t they?" He slanted a sly smile at Emmerich.

"Indeed." Their hands were still clasped together on top of Ezra’s shoulders, and Emmerich slid them down until one of their entangled pair of fingers rested above Ezra’s heart. They would be out from the relatively privacy of the Thistledown in mere minutes, so Emmerich took the time to kiss Ezra thoroughly and carefully. There was a strange taste and smell about him; one of chemicals and sharp alcohol, and Emmerich frowned at his lover when he ended the kiss.

"Ezra, have you taken more of the ether?"

"The surgeon left me with some, in case of pain." Ezra spoke carefully, did not quite look at Emmerich. "I may have...partaken in a small amount while you were off fetching your constable."

"Ezra," Emmerich sighed. "You need your wits about you!"

"I’m fully bewitted, Emmerich, trust me," Ezra said, though he did move to cradle his injured arm in its sling. Perhaps this did explain some of Ezra’s more overt behavior when Archie had been present; he had not been in full grasp of his faculties. But he certainly was not in such a far gone state as he had been the previous day, and if he had needed the medicine...

"You were truly in pain?" Emmerich touched a careful hand to the sling, though he knew it was far from the only place Ezra had been injured. He had well seen the bruises and cuts covering Ezra’s skin as he had bathed him the day before. It was simply the broken arm that was the most obvious outside of his clothes.

"Enough. It’s not the arm so much as most everything else. They left little of me untouched, dragging me across the city and throwing me down that pit. I feel as though I’ve more bruises and aches than I did yesterday. I’m not...accustomed to it," Ezra said, a faint color rising on his cheeks. "I suppose a stronger man such as yourself would not need such bolstering."

"You’re far more than strong enough," Emmerich told him, and kissed him once more, gently. "I don’t begrudge you the medicine, if you needed it. Shall we go?"

"Hmm," Ezra agreed, and looked about the room, at his coat which hung on the back of a chair. Then, in a lower voice, "I cannot put my coat on."

So Emmerich helped to hang his own coat over Ezra’s shoulders, which was larger that Ezra’s own and more unlikely to slide off his narrow frame. Emmerich was all right going without; he had endured a large amount of cold in his life and had grown up in a colder place than this damp island country. Then together they departed the Thistledown and headed north of the river.

#

Returning to the Prince and Rose struck Emmerich as strange—they had not come this near to the place since the night all of their troubles had begun. It sat on its corner in Pennygrand, looking as it always had through a light rain that had begun to fall, as unassuming as though no murders had taken place within its doors only a little time ago. How many days has passed, Emmerich had lost count of. More than a week, and less than two. He had never been good with dates, and he knew his numbers even more poorly than his letters.

Passing into the front door was even stranger. Men sat about at tables that Emmerich had last seen overturned on the scuffle that had ensued after Allister and Kegg had been killed, women wound their way about the room in practiced ease as they served ale in less than modest clothes, strained smiles upon their faces as they checked the bottom of each emptied mug for a coin left at the bottom of it. At the stairs, one woman led a man up to the rooms on the first floor, his hand brazenly on the back of her skirt.

Emmerich had never been comfortable with the secondary trade that the Prince and Rose did under its pretense of being a traveler’s inn and pub, but had forcibly inured himself to it after so much time spent there with Allister’s crew. He had not enjoyed time spent in any of the disguised brothels that were scattered throughout the city. But now in each of these women he saw Vena, Innogen, Miss Ingsbel, Franny and Katharine and Ruth, and in some ways Lilin and himself. They had so little choice, all of them, and he truly wished that there could be some other way. But even with all the money he and Ezra possessed, they could not buy every covey in the city a better life.

Emmerich rented them a room, while Ezra tucked himself into a shadowed corner at a table—they were both certain Ezra would be recognized by the proprietor as one of Kegg’s trusted men, which might stir up some unwanted trouble, but Emmerich had always been unnoticed and overlooked in Allister’s crew and was unlikely to be remembered. And the man did not give him even a second glance as Emmerich requested a room for the night and paid for it, with the appearance of having to nearly hand over his last coin to do so. His lack of coat and battered appearance added to his downtrodden and unfortunate look—a purposeful one, as they wanted no unwanted attention from any who might think him someone worth robbing.

Then Emmerich went up to the room alone, and waited there. Ezra would remain downstairs, waiting for Thomme and Uxilord. Emmerich forced himself to sit still at the small table near the clouded window, sharply aware of the room just across the hall. Its door had been closed when he had arrived on the first floor, occupied by someone else. Perhaps the woman and the man he had seen climbing the stairs just before. An overwhelming curiosity had overtaken him, a desire to try the handle and see if he could get a glimpse into the room within, and yet he had fought it down and passed the door by.

It was only an ordinary room, but it was where had had met Ezra for the first time, where he had last seen Allister alive and heard the last few words he had ever spoken to Emmerich, before Thomme and Uxilord had come to shove the chest beneath the bed. It was the room where he had climbed out a window on a moonless night, just after throwing a small fortune down to a boy he had barely met. The room where his life had changed, and certainly for the better. Emmerich remembered well the worn and faded rose-patterned wallpaper of the room—this room had only some repeating artful flourish beneath its stains, markings that had perhaps been purple once.

Emmerich took his new set of pepperbox pistols out and placed them on the table, to distract himself by admiring the make and detail of them. He ran his fingers down the ornate silver scrollwork of the barrels, the detail of the grips. Neither was loaded, though he had a few bullets on him and Ezra had shown him how to do so, Emmerich had never fired these pistols before and did not have a sense of them. He ought to practice with them first, and perhaps name them. Ezra’s own was the Lutreole, even the bulldog had had a name, so certainly these deserved a proper one of their own.

When a knock in a certain pattern came at the door of the room, Emmerich holstered one pistol and put the other in the back of his trousers, and went to open the door. Only Uxilord stood outside it, and Emmerich allowed him in. He and Ezra had decided this, that they would separate the men in simple caution at first. They would evaluate individually, and if Ezra found Thomme suspicious he would not bring him upstairs. Likewise, if Emmerich found Uxilord suspect, he would not allow Ezra and Thomme inside if or when they knocked upon the door.

"I’ve no weapon," Uxilord assured him as Emmerich felt about his lanky body for one, careful of the plasters that still bound his arm, more clumsy and rough than the work of the surgeon who had set Ezra’s injury. "Your friend downstairs already made sure of that. Anyway, I ain’t to do much damage with me good arm all swaddled up like this."

"You understand our caution," Emmerich said to him, and Uxilord nodded readily.

"Oh, aye, lad. After all, last time you lads seen us we was shooting at you," he said.

"And us at you."

"Then p’raps it can be called even between us?" Uxilord suggested, and Emmerich found no argument with that. He truly did not think Thomme or Uxilord were clever enough to be deceiving or euchering them in some fashion, despite the precautions he and Ezra were taking for this meeting.They had always been the most palatable of Allister’s crew, asides.

"Sit, then," Emmerich said, nodding towards the table. There were only two chairs at it, but the window behind it had a deep enough sill at the right height for two men to sit comfortably shoulder-to-shoulder, and that was where Uxilord placed himself. Emmerich remained standing, halfway between the door and the table, watching and waiting.

Uxilord did not carry himself like a man who had any plans to do anything unsavory at all—he glanced around the room with an unconcerned curiosity, gnawed at a loose thread dangling from his coat sleeve, hawked up a generous amount of thick green substance and spat it on the floor, then rubbed at his nose with a deep and viscous sniff.

"Catarrhal," he told Emmerich, who only stared at him, uncomprehending of the word. "Me head’s all inflammated, they tell me."

"Ah," Emmerich said, still with very little idea of what the man was speaking of. It was clear they did not know how to speak to one another at all, now that Emmerich was no longer the quiet and unappreciated errand boy he had been for the entirety of their acquaintance. This was not even a true reverse of the former roles—before, they had worked together under Allister. Now, Uxilord and Thomme wished to be in his employ. His and Ezra’s.

The knocking pattern came again after only another minute or so, and Emmerich rose to allow Thomme and Ezra through the door. Uxilord, in his opinion, meant absolutely no harm and was sincere in his stated want of a new employer. Clearly Ezra believed the same of Thomme. Emmerich met Ezra’s eyes as he followed Thomme inside the room, and there was nothing but understanding that passed wordlessly between them. Emmerich closed the door behind them, wishing there was a bolt to throw. But such a thing was rare in a place like this.

Thomme joined Uxilord, the man who was unexpectedly his brother, in his seat at the sill. That left the chairs for himself and Ezra, which they took. Beyond the panes of the windows, the rain had begun to come in earnest now, hammering upon the glass and resonating on the roof far above them. The streets were dark and empty except for a few unfortunate souls scuttling about to find shelter.

"Now," said Ezra, in a tone that Emmerich had never heard him use before—one that was deeper than usual and undeniably composed. "As you expressed yesterday, the two of you are seeking simple employment with us, as an alternative to your former situation."

"That’s the way of it," Uxilord said. "We’d prefer it, if ‘twere possible, of the nature o’ the work to be...how shall we say, Rufus? Less exciting."

"You mean, you’d prefer simple runners’ work. Errands, taking messages. Tasks that would not require one to be armed," said Ezra, and Uxilord nodded.

"Aye, just so. O’ course, we’re willin’ for anything, but there’s likely to be others who are better fitted to...such skills. As it were."

"The pay would be less," was Ezra’s rejoinder.

"Naturally," said Uxilord. "But what’s the use in riches if oneself can’t say alive to spend it?"

A crooked smile tugged at Ezra’s mouth. He seemed about to say something else, when a loud resounding series of thumps came at the door. It startled them all, even the stolid Thomme who reacted noticeably with a surprised grunt, but Ezra simply flicked his eyes in that direction. Perhaps his nerves were still calmed by the ether.

"Mein Gott, was ist jetzt los?" Emmerich muttered, drawing his hands down his face.

"Answer the door, Emery," Ezra said through a chuckle. "I’m certain it shan’t kill you. I’ll continue entertaining our guests here for the moment." He waved his good arm carelessly towards Thomme and Uxilord, who were now engaged in some muttered conversation of their own.

"Perhaps one of these days someone who does mean to harm us will knock, precisely for the lack of our expectation," Emmerich grumbled, but he rose to his feet and did as Ezra bade. He did make certain to pull out one of his new pistols as he went, though it was not loaded. Simply having the weapon in hand gave him a certain security.

"Keiner ist Zuhause!" Emmerich spoke upon reaching the door, but he threw it open and greeted the visitor with the pistol held aloft but not aimed; pointed towards the ceiling instead.

"Oi!" The man on the other side jumped back, shielding his face with both his arms at once. Emmerich saw the dirtied reddish coat and even dirtier brown hair, and suspicious familiarity came over him. He knew this man, but from where? He associated the aspects of him, somehow, with water.

"I ain’t meaning you no harm, am I?" said the man, still cowering behind his arms and taking steps back into the hallway, boards creaking beneath his feet.

"And I am not aiming at you, am I?" Emmerich replied. "Lower your arms."

The man did so, revealing a grimy face with a hooked nose that had a deep scar nicked in one side of it. This did not make him any more or less familiar. But Emmerich knew he had seen this man before.

"Who are you?"

"M’name is Bartholomew Genter. Bartho, if you please, sir," said the man, and Emmerich faltered at being addressed so. He did not think he had ever been called sir in his life. But hearing the man’s name immediately recalled to him why he knew him.

"I know you." Emmerich raised the pistol again, only distantly aware that it was unloaded still. "You were at the canals, you—" Emmerich had a sudden image take form in his mind, the shape of a man in a red coat firing an unwieldy pistol at the rooftops above, and his absence from the scene once all had calmed. "I did not think you had survived." He also remembered how this man had spoken of Ezra at the Thistledown, as a traitor, and that he knew him as being part of Kegg’s crew.

"Hit me head on the boat engine, I did," Bartho said, nodding. "Fell out the boat, ended up driftin’ down the canal unnoticed, too dazed to climb out for myself. Fair sure it kept me alive, no one shot at me at all. After I done floated in the water a while, some of them Norrbygd boys fished me out for questioning. Thought I might know about who took that crate of arms. Thought we was all working together, that you’d been guarding us three on the boat, see. Told ‘em we wasn’t, but that I recognized one of you." Bartho inclined his head into the room, clearly towards Ezra. "Told ‘em I could find you. Finally did, following them two unawares." This time, his eyes went towards Thomme and Uxilord.

Emmerich raised the pistol again, dearly wishing he had thought to load it.

"No, wait!" Bartho held up his hands. "Not like that. It’s not the guns they’re after, nor your lives. They’re Norrbygders, see."

Emmerich knew little of the place, other than it was to the north and full of snow and cold. Ezra perhaps knew more—he was the one who had recognized the markings on the guns, knew the name of some far northern fishing company whose employees sometimes made extra coin with shipping downmarket wares. He wished Ezra was here beside him now, to understand why Bartho repeating this land of origin should mean something.

"And what is that, to us?" Emmerich said instead.

"Well, I thought...being a foreigner yourself, you’d know the hardship of coming to an Order land without no resources nor friends to fall upon," Bartho said with a shrug. "P’raps not, then."

"Wait," Emmerich said. "What, exactly, do they want from us?"

"Well, they sent me as some sort of, how’d you say, messenger of good word, a—a go-between, of sorts—"

"Emissary?" Emmerich suggested, rather astonished that this man who had clearly lived most of his life here spoke his own tongue with less competence than Emmerich did. Ezra had several times assured him that despite his accent Emmerich had an excellent grasp of the language, but he could never be sure if Ezra was simply telling him an untrue kindness. Perhaps he had been sincere after all.

"That might be it," Bartho agreed readily. "They weren’t so sure you’d have anything to do with them, seeing the way they set upon us in the canals."

"I assume they’ve a reason for that."

"They heard about the shipment, same as me and my boys, same as you. They wanted the cargo. They’re only trying to make their way here, same as all us."

"They fired upon us," Emmerich said darkly.

"And on me s’well, but then they done and pulled me out the river. They killed my men, my friends, but it weren’t out of no ill will on their part. And we fired back at them; killed a few of them too. None of that day was personal on any account. You and your man didn’t know us from any other in the street, did you?"

"No," Emmerich admitted. "We only wanted the cargo as well."

"And it’s been heard you used those pistols to take on one of them powerful downmarket crews in the city, nearly killed half of them," Bartho said. He lowered his voice then, leaned nearer to Emmerich, bringing the stench of fish and the rookeries with him. "Also heard it was you who done killed Allister and Kegg in the first place."

"That second part isn’t the truth." Emmerich leaned back away from Bartho, voice sharp. "I know you don’t think much of Ezra, and believe he’s a traitor. But Kegg and Allister’s own men betrayed them, we only caught the blame for it. Ezra had no hand in it."

"I’ve no quarrel with the boy," Bartho said, but he sounded nervous. Emmerich became aware that he had moved to block the doorway, to loom over Bartho like a threatening storm cloud with a pistol gripped in his hand. It was only sometimes that he became aware of how large a man he was compared to some others, and that perhaps the pistol was not even necessary for intimidating others. If he simply looked threatening, he would not have to act so. Emmerich did not stand that much taller than Bartho and yet was at least twice as broad, his body strong and muscled from the years of working the close, while Bartho was rather soft and thin beneath the coat.

"Good," Emmerich said, easing back somewhat. He still kept one arm braced in the doorway, though the pistol he lowered to his side. "You understand you come at an inconvenient time. We’re currently occupied with some important business."

"Cert’nly, cert’nly," Bartho spoke hurriedly. "I only didn’t want to miss the chance to speak with you, seeing as them Norrbygd folks are so close by and all."

"Close by?"

"They’re right just down the street, ‘n’fact, at the Halved Apple."

Emmerich became of a strong mind that the Halved Apple was the same pub he and Ezra had spent some time in the day after the murders of Kegg and Allister, staying near to the Prince and Rose as the least likely place they would be searched for. It was a place far too close to them now for comfort.

"You’ve got a pack of men from Norrbygd waiting just down the street?" Emmerich said, a sharp alarm washing through him and raising the hairs upon his arms and neck.

"Two men, two women," Bartho said, nodding. "One of them lasses is a wicked shot, got some kind of long-barreled gun that can hit a mark at two hundred paces, exactly where she wants it. Make a few of those shots every minute, she can."

Emmerich had not been aware he had been shooting at women in the fight in the canals—or, at least, he hoped the Norrbygd women had not been present there. He had no qualms about bringing armed and willing women into such a fight under their own advantage, but to shoot at any woman himself...he did not even like to shoot at men. He doubted Ezra had the same hesitations; his lover would likely shoot at everyone equally if they were doing so to him.

"I’ll have to speak with my...partner, about all this," Emmerich said, unsure of using the word but liking it well enough once it had passed his lips. Ezra was his partner, and he was Ezra’s. It was something to call each other that was not revealing of their true relationship, and yet still bound them together unmistakably. He especially wished Bartho to know that a move against Ezra, even a word of ill-intent towards him, was a move against Emmerich as well.

"I’ll go back and tell them Norrbygd folk that you’re considerin’ the offer then, shall I?" said Bartho hurriedly.

"Do so. You’ve rooms there?"

"We do."

"Then we’ll come to you if we find it worth our time."

Perhaps that was not the wisest decision, but Emmerich could think of no other and Ezra was not free to council with at the moment. They were at least aware of the Norrbygders location now, as they were of his and Ezra’s, and if their offer was sincere they would remain at the Halved Apple. If Ezra did not agree with Emmerich on what he had decided, the Norrbygders could be easy enough to avoid or...deal with in other ways, as unpleasant as that seemed to Emmerich.

Emmerich shut the door on Bartho then, and listened through it for a moment as the man’s footsteps slowly trudged away towards the stairs and began to clomp down them. Emmerich then returned to the table and regained his chair at Ezra’s side. Ezra glanced up and caught his eye with a questioning look, edged with some concern.

Emmerich gave a subtle pass of his hand, spoke "später" beneath his breath, and Ezra gave him a minute nod.

"Our apologies, gentlemen," he said then, leaning upon the small table with his good arm, his shoulders straight and back set; a pose far more fit for a banking clerk or governor than a man heading a conference between criminals. "Now, we were going to speak about some possible opportunities for the two of you to find with us?"

#

Thomme and Uxilord were unexpectedly accepting to everything that Ezra said to them—Emmerich found himself mostly remaining quiet throughout the conversation, though Ezra looked to him often as though for approval or support, which he gave in subtle touches to his back or leg beneath the table. They were sitting close enough that he did not think Thomme or Uxilord could notice even if they were more sharp-eyed men. Despite Emmerich being the one who had worked with Thomme and Uxilord for the past years, Ezra was more skilled at negotiating a situation such as this, and had dealt with these men in a similar way before. As business.

But as Ezra and Emmerich did not know what they particularly planned to do next, whether they would gather a crew or strike out on their own, they could not outright promise Thomme and Uxilord work. Work was all these men wanted; steady and fairly paid, if illegal, and they were not the sort to be able to start their own downmarket business. They required orders and instructions to function, and that suited them. They were followers, which Emmerich had always believed himself to be as well. In the past weeks he had been shown otherwise, especially in these recent days.

He and Ezra were a force, something rising from the scattered ashes of what had been Kegg and Allister’s crews, men who had burned themselves in the fire they had tried to trap Emmerich and Ezra in. They had connections, allies, both legal and illegal, and knowledge that they could both use to their advantage or exploit to the detriment of others. Emmerich’s years spent in Allister’s crew, unnoticed and treated as unimportant, had served him far better than he had even thought. He had overheard things, learned things that no one had minded voicing in front of him. Several of Allister’s men, he knew, believed he could hardly speak their language.

This was why Emmerich had refused to underestimate Thomme and Uxilord at the start of this meeting, although they truly were what they appeared on the outside. Simple men with simple wants and simple skills, none of which was without use or merit. They would make good working men, the same as they had for Allister. It was now his and Ezra’s choice to make if they would need such men. But after Ezra’s earlier hinting that they could build an empire of their own, Emmerich was beginning to believe that his lover’s mind was aimed on exactly such a thing.

But if they did so, they could never allow others to know of their personal proclivities that had been called perversion by the Order, writ into the Aggrieves as unforgivable sin. Though, it was strange that of the many laws of the charter that were broken by those around them, it was this particular one which would mark both him and Ezra as the worst sinners, looked down on by even their fellow malefactors. That he could either kill a man or love one, and receive the same punishment under the law. If they were to truly make some sort of business for themselves out of this, they would rarely not be under scrutiny. As had happened to Allister and Kegg, the men who worked beneath them had perceived weakness in them, and exploited it. His and Ezra’s relationship could never be known.

Thomme and Uxilord clearly saw them as nothing more than two men working closely together, and Emmerich caught no suspicion from them as to the true nature of their relationship. But these were not the most observant of men. Others might be. He and Ezra would always have to be careful, to be wary of everyone around them, cautious of when and where they expressed their proclivities for the rest of their lives. Even if was not with each other.

But he knew, as he felt as he had always known since the day he met Ezra, that they would not be leaving each other. And if they were to truly do what they were beginning here in this room, then Emmerich ought to throw his full confidence into the matter. If he intended to put a stop to their fraternization, there had been many opportunities before now, and they had become so entangled with one another’s lives that to pull themselves apart now might nearly be impossible. It would certainly wound Ezra in a way Emmerich did not wish to. He had called the man his proper lover, aloud and before a witness. It was only fear that kept his doubts and reluctances captive and bound so tightly inside him that he could not free them.

But he had already made his decision long ago, and it was time that he behaved as such.

Beside him, Ezra had concisely explained to Thomme and Uxilord, with far more eloquence, that they were currently speculative about their needs and if they would be inclusive to what Thomme and Uxilord had to offer as hired men. It was not how Emmerich would have thought to present their undecided future, but it was far shrewder. Words such as ‘uncertain’ or ‘unsure’ or were not ones to use when speaking to men who were accustomed to following assured and outspoken leaders who could not belay any hesitation in their actions.

"We understand that, aye," Uxilord said, while Thomme nodded thickly in agreement. Much like Emerich, he had said close to nothing during the entire conversation. "We only ask that you think of us, should you have need."

"You know of a location in which to find us already, but where might we find you if we do have want of your services?"

"27 Leftpeter Street," Uxilord said promptly. "In Dialford, across from the pub."

"Ah," said Ezra. "Yes, I know the place."

The four of them shook each other’s hands then, the business concluded. Thomme and Uxilord departed first, and Emmerich watched from the window as the two men left the Prince and Rose and dashed into shelter from the rain into the eaves across the street, then slowly made their way southward, deeper into Pennygrand. From here, he could also see the public house that he and Emmerich had spent time in the day after Kegg and Allister’s murders, though it was at enough distance through the rain that he could not read the sign above the door to see if it was indeed the Halved Apple. Reading it without such obstructions would have been difficult enough for him at best, near impossible at worst.

"Well then," came Ezra’s voice, and Emmerich turned to see him waiting patiently by the door, a hand upon the knob. "Shall we return to the Thistledown?"

Emmerich thought of Bartho and the Norrbygders just down the street, but knew he and Ezra needed to have a very involved discussion of them before acting. Thomme and Uxilord had been familiar to them both, but these folk were strangers, and ones that they had encountered before only under hostile conditions. They would need much more consideration over what to do, or even if they should do anything. Emmerich was sure Ezra would want to act, it was only in which way he favored. If he would consider them a danger or an asset.

"Yes," Emmerich said. "And on the way, I’ll tell you of what the man at the door wanted."
#

"There’s no such gun as that," Ezra scoffed as they entered the front doors of the Thistledown together, a grey and murky twilight falling about them as they shook the sludge from the rain off their clothes. The rain had dried up to an irritating drizzle, but the streets remained soupy with mud and water. "That Bartho must be addled in his head to concoct such a story."

"Well, that’s what the man said," Emmerich replied as they made their way through the clouds of steam coming from the wash tubs and into the small den beyond the stairs, unoccupied as it often was. Men who came here had other things in mind than sitting about and talking. "A long pistol and hits an exact mark at two hundred paces, several times a minute."

Ezra only clucked his tongue this time and pulled a face. "He ought to have thought up a better prevarication than that."

"I don’t believe it was a lie that they want to join with us—work with us, for us, something of the sort. They don’t even know we’ve the money from Allister and Kegg’s deal, they seem to be mainly impressed by what happened at the canals, and the ice house." Emmerich pulled out a chair at one of the tables and sat himself in it, while Ezra lowered himself more carefully into one across from him, mindful of his arm and the other injuries hidden beneath his clothes.

"We’re gathering quite an eager following for ourselves, aren't we?" Ezra spoke with a wicked grin and leaned forward, placing a hand on Emmerich’s knee beneath the table—far too telling in public for Emmerich’s comfort, even if the room around them was empty. Perhaps Ezra needed some reminding of why he was out on the streets in the first place. Emmerich placed his boot one of the cross-sections of the chair Ezra sat upon, and pushed both it and him back along the floor with a shriek of wood. Ezra clutched at the table to keep his balance, gave Emmerich a look of consternation and perhaps some irritance.

Emmerich kept his voice low as he spoke. "We’re not alone and safe here like we are at the print house." It was a reminder for himself as well as Ezra.

"We’re not alone or safe anywhere," Ezra said, but he remained at the distance Emmerich had placed him. "Also, I would be surprised if there was a single soul working beneath this roof who didn’t know of the pleasure we take in each other. Do you not remember last night?"

"I remember it." Emmerich face burned at doing so. He had not cared in the passion of the moment, the loud and unmistakable noises they had pulled from each other, but now in daylight it seemed a foolhardy thing to have done.

Ezra’s face turned to one of a gentler consideration, and though it looked for a moment as though he might reach for Emmerich, he refrained. "They’ll say nothing. After all, these women break the law the same as we do, only in different ways. They would not be helping themselves to turn the CC onto us...and I hardly think they care what we do."

"There are still the patrons here," Emmerich pointed out, even though no such person was about.

"Fairly put." Ezra leaned back in his chair, the glint of his smile bright in the dim of the room. While Emmerich was fortunate enough to have all his own teeth, they were rather crooked and a few discolored. Ezra had been gifted with quite fine rows of ivory-colored teeth, one pair distinctly longer and sharper than the others to give him a more devilish look when he smiled. Emmerich also remembered the feel of those teeth dragging against his skin and sinking into his shoulders, his neck, his thighs, and shuddered with a deep and inappropriate pleasure.

"We should not even discuss this in public," he hurried to say, shifting in his chair with some discomfort. "Rather, Bartho and these Norrbygd folk."

"Ah, yes. Them and the impossible gun."

"Is such a thing truly unheard of? Perhaps in Norrbygd such a thing has been invented."
"Well, naturally there have been firearms that can shoot at long ranges for many years," Ezra said loftily. "But they’re unwieldy, they’re erratic, they don’t hit precise marks. And they take at least half a minute to reload, perhaps more. I could accept one aspect of this described gun, but not all of them at once in a single weapon. It seems a trick, to entice us out into an ambush or a fight."

"Well, they are waiting in Pennygrand at a pub," Emmerich said. "They could have set upon us at the Prince and Rose, as they knew we were there. That man Bartho’s been tracking us down at their behest. Perhaps his story has its falsities, but I think much of the tale is true. That they’re simply trying to make their way here, as we are. And that they could use whatever assistance we could give them."

"And, an alliance with them could be...beneficial?" Ezra said in a tone that belied any credence to the matter . "Why should it be, if they are so dismally desperate on their own, what advantages would they bring to us? Wouldn’t they simply be a burden to our survival?"

"Oh, Ezra. You talk as though this were some merger of businesses, not a group of living people. They do poorly here not because of some inner weakness, but because there is little else for foreigners here to do than to fail miserably in any legal and proper endeavor they attempt, and then resort to the same sort of life that both you and I found ourselves in."

"Mmh." Ezra passed a hand over his eyes. "I suppose that was something of my father talking," he conceded, a slight frown touching upon his boyish features. He glanced towards the grimy windows, alight with the greasy glow of lamps from the street. Then, "Emery. You believe this is worth considering?"

"I do."

"Then we will."

"Yes? Just like that?"

"Yes, because you say so." Ezra touched Emmerich upon the knee, and Emmerich allowed it this time. "I trust you, and I certainly owe you my life, and you have never led us astray before. You...understand people better than I do. If you say we ought to council with these northern folk, perhaps work with them...I would be a fool to object to the consideration. I do reserve my right to object later, however, should I find reason."

"Of course," Emmerich said, full up of an intense and strange ache for this man before him. "I would expect nothing else."

Ezra grinned at him then. "Then let us meet these snow-men from the north."

"And women."

"And women," Ezra acceded good-naturedly. He got to his feet and gave his hand to Emmerich, who took it. "But not tonight."

"Not tonight," Emmerich agreed. It seemed they had done quite enough for one day. Emmerich did not think he could hold any useful thoughts together in his head for much longer, nor did he have the physical will to confront a group of people who may or may not intend harm against them. If their story was true, and Bartho had relayed Emmerich’s message correctly, they would be waiting there for whenever Ezra and Emmerich chose to come to them.

"Since you won’t allow us contact in public, I think we ought to go upstairs so that we might be allowed to touch one another as freely as possible." Ezra sidled closer to him, capturing Emmerich’s hand with both his own and looking at him with a meaning in his eyes. And then he laughed, seeing Emmerich’s expression. "I only mean to lie in bed with one another, hold each other. I couldn’t take another of last night, not with how I ache today. You were gentle, have no concern of that, it’s only everything else that pains me. I would rather take no more ether."

"Then, let’s to bed," Emmerich said, putting a hand to Ezra’s shoulder. "I would like very much to simply be in it with you, nothing else. I think that is a thing that proper lovers can do as well."

Ezra favored him with a brilliant smile, and together they took to the stairs.

#

The Halved Apple was indeed that same public house he and Ezra had sheltered in the day after Kegg and Allister’s murders, sharing game pie and carrying with them satchels full of the money from the deal gone awry. A heavy wooden sign on a post hung above the pub door, the one Emmerich had not bothered to read it before. He rarely bothered with such a tedious effort unless necessary, but as they passed beneath it and through the doors he picked out a few of the letters that he knew, and remembered with some warmth that Ezra had promised to teach him the rest.

The air inside was dim and damp, and Ezra and Emmerich stood just inside the doors and glanced about the place, which was fair crowded at this time of day. Most were eating and drinking together, though Emmerich caught sight of a few tables of gambling taking place in the furthest corners, with lookouts keeping their eyes on the door. Pennnygrand was a common patrol for constables looking to extinguish some milder sins, hence the Prince and Rose disguising its true nature as a brothel beneath the veneer of a traveler’s inn, and the Halved Apple clearly operating as a flash house. There might even be more constables about than usual, if Archie had spurred the constabulary into a search for Staard and his remaining men.

"There, in that corner," Emmerich said after he had cast his eyes about for several moments, and spotting that dingy rust-red coat of Bartho’s. The man sat at a table with four others, two men and two women like he had spoken of, all of them looking rather downtrodden and tired as they sipped at tin mugs of ale. All possessed varying shades of blond hair; one man had a beard while the other was younger and clean-shaven, and Emmerich could see only one of the women, her hair in a thick plait draped over her shoulder. The other was blocked by Bartho’s head and shoulders, as he sat with his back to the door.

Ezra stepped forward, either to see them better or to directly approach, but Emmerich did not like the obviousness of it.

"Wait." He caught Ezra by his uninjured arm. "Bartho spoke of four, and we see four with him, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t more of them, spread out in this room somewhere."

"You are getting better at this." Ezra grinned at him. "I wonder which of the women has our fabled gun? Perhaps they’ve stashed her elsewhere, to keep an eye and a target on us."

"I don’t see any other women in here," Emmerich said, glancing about again.

"Disguises, my good man." Ezra clapped him on the shoulder. "Always possible. So, would you like to approach them, or should I? One of us should remain here, just at first."

"I spoke with Bartho before," Emmerich said. "Perhaps it should be myself." He also still didn’t quite trust Bartho’s attitude about Ezra, not until the man had a chance to prove that he had no ill-will towards him.

"Then I’ll remain here and watch. Approach, if I find it safe enough to do so. You’ll know if I don’t."

Emmerich expected he would. "Don’t take too long with it. I won’t know what to say to them, not as well as you would. I need you."

For a moment Ezra’s expression became full of the enraptured fondness that often prefaced his intent to kiss Emmerich, and Emmerich prepared himself to hold Ezra back if he tried. But he did not, only smiled and gave Emmerich a bolstering and wholly appropriate touch to his arm. "You’ll do perfectly fine."

Emmerich nodded, clasping Ezra on the shoulder for a moment and holding firmly, though careful not to trouble any of his injuries. He knew fairly well where they were, and he had helped Ezra wash himself again this morning, which had reacquainted him with the map of his lover’s body, the brutal mountains and rivers and valleys that had been inscribed upon it by violent hands.

He left Ezra’s side then, and Ezra seemed to melt back into the shadows near the door as Emmerich moved away from him. He felt the weight of his new pistols intently, one in his holster and the other in his coat pocket. As he wound his way past tables of low-voiced roughened men, the five people at the table he was approaching seemed to become aware of his intent. First one pair of eyes settled upon him, then two, then Bartho straightened up and turned about in his chair.

"Ah, you’ve come!" he exclaimed, clearly delighted for more than one reason. His immediate look about the table suggested to Emmerich that the Norrbgyders might not have believed he had truly found the people they were looking for, or that he had convinced them to meet.

"You are man from the canals? The man that was the ice house?" said the bearded man, his voice perhaps more thickly accented than Ezra’s own and his grasp of language tenuous. Emmerich faulted him for neither—that he even spoke so well was testament to effort and fair intelligence.

"One of them," Emmerich said. He could now see the fourth of the Norrbygders, a young woman about the age of the beardless man, lodged between him and the older woman with the long braid. Between them, he wondered who was the owner of the gun Ezra had been so incredulous of.

"I told you I’d found ‘em," said Bartho, still looking eagerly about as though for some sort of accolade, although he was instead getting a rather irked look from the woman with the braid. None of them seemed to be overtly pleased with him, which endeared them to Emmerich in some small way. They had only been using Bartho to find himself and Ezra after all, and had no loyalties to him.

In a sudden unexpected burst of motion, the only empty chair to the immediate right of the older woman jerked out from the table. Emmerich could only think that she had kicked it out with her foot. Her gaze was fixed upon him, light eyes shrewd and wary. These folk did not trust him, and had no reason to, but like Thomme and Uxilord they wanted something. Something they believed he and Ezra might be able to give them. While he was not as adept at spotting weapons concealed upon a person as Ezra was, he did not believe any of them armed. Their hands were all visible upon the table, either wrapped about mugs of ale or fiddling together in clear uncertainty. None of their posture betrayed that they were conscious of a weapon hidden within their clothing.

Emmerich sat, despite being intensely unfond of putting his back to the room at large and to the door of the pub. He would never forget Allister’s words that warned of doing so, to never turn away from a door or another man. Allister himself might be alive still had he heeded his own advice. The only reason Emmerich took the seat was because he knew Ezra was there, watching and assessing, and that he would never allow any harm to come to Emmerich that he could prevent.

"I am called Emmerich," he said, as he figured giving his name was a harmless offering of confidence. "My companion is Ezra. It was us that you encountered at the canals, and any losses you suffered there were nothing we wished nor planned for. I hope this is understood between us."

The man with the thick golden beard nodded. "It is," he said. "We do not look for you for a….revenge. We look because you best us. And kill many others."

Emmerich did not feel particularly proud of what had happened at the ice house--he had done it only because he was so desperate to have Ezra back, to keep him unharmed. But if it made these folk see him and Ezra as something to admire, that at least was safer than being considered a threat.

Before any more could be said, the bearded man and older woman suddenly raised their eyes past Emmerich’s shoulder, attention fastened on something behind him. That was when a chair shrieked across the wooden floor and shoved up to the table, and Ezra dropped himself down into it. Emmerich startled, as he had not expected it, and tried to hide his uncontrolled movement inside a mimicry of a cough. Clearly Ezra had found the situation safe enough to approach and join in.

"Good day to you," Ezra said to the gathered group, with an unexpected air of conviviality. "I expect you all knew there were two of us, from your friend here." He leaned around Emmerich’s back to clap his hand upon Bartho’s shoulder, though he looked at the Norrbygd woman as he spoke.

"She does not speak much of this tongue," said the bearded man. "I speak the best here."

Ezra sent the man a cursory glance, then turned back to the woman he had first addressed.

"And where is it you’ve come from? Norrbygd, certainly, but how is it you’ve come to...reside in the Kingshore?"

"Defect from Öggwollrog Company," said the woman, with a blunt finality in an even stronger accent, though she appeared surprised Ezra had continued to speak to her. The bearded man also, but he did not seem angry nor frustrated at being ignored. "Not pay enough. Overwork. And too dangerous to smuggle other goods that make better money. So, we leave."

"We think it safest here," put in the bearded fellow. "So many others like us, from places other than this, who are not so welcome."

"Immigrants," Emmerich said, and all eyes turned to him. "We understand."

"Ah," said the man. "Yes."

"And are you still after weapons?" Ezra inquired.

"No. Have our own. Wanted cargo only to sell, for money. Apology for boat," said the woman, adding the last after a brief pause.

Ezra grinned. "Wasn’t our boat," he said, and glanced to Bartho.

"I told ya we wasn’t working together then," Bartho said.

"No one’s said we’re working together now." Ezra’s tone grew colder, though Emmerich was not sure if these people who did not know him well could tell such a thing. It occurred to Emmerich that though he himself had never met Bartho before all this, that Ezra must have crossed paths with him before. For Bartho to have had such an opinion of him as he had stated at the Thistledown, it was unlikely they had never met in person. Ezra would then also have an opinion of him.

"Ah. Yes. Well," Bartho said, and wrung thin fingers together. "We was hopin’—"

"Perhaps you could allow these people to say for themselves what they want," said Ezra, and Bartho quailed and went silent. Interestingly, this only seemed to make the four Norrbygders more intrigued by Ezra and, to some extent, Emmerich.

"Job," said the older woman with the braid. "Living. Safe. What we want."

Ezra smiled, a true one that showed well his handsomeness. "What we all want, isn’t it," he said. "Though, if you are looking for the first two from us, we cannot guarantee the last."

"Hmm," said the woman. "Honest man."

"Perhaps in words I am," replied Ezra. The Norrbygd woman laughed, a startling loud and unexpected sound that welled from deep within her chest.

"This man, I like him," she said. "Good words." She glanced then to Emmerich. "This one, few words. Also like."

Perhaps Ezra had correctly identified her as the leader of this group, as the bearded fellow nodded as if in agreement. The young woman and man did nothing. While all four of them shared similar features and coloring, Emmerich thought that those two were perhaps related. The shape of their brows and noses were very alike. And they were equally silent.

The bearded man suddenly gestured to the younger man and woman, and then to the older woman. "Gerbiorn and Linnea Ekdahl. Hintriika Jernborg." Then to himself, "Magnus Alfesson."

"Well met," Ezra said, without any of the mockery that he had spoken those same words to Archie with. His demeanor, as Emmerich had always noticed, changed dependant upon with whom he spoke. Archie, he had clearly not cared about impressing nor befriending. Thomme and Uxilord he had treated as men that might work under him, carrying himself with clear authority. These Norrbygders, he behaved as though they were to become friends rather than associates. Though he claimed Emmerich was the better between them at observing and understanding people, Ezra certainly knew how to adapt himself into the most apt countenance for various folk. Emmerich wondered if perhaps ignoring the bearded fellow, Magnus, who had tried to take the focus of the conversation had been Ezra’s way of testing them, to see if there would be an objection to whom Ezra had chosen to address. There had not been.

The younger man and woman, Gerbiorn and Linnea, had remained silent for this entire time, and the latter flinched when Ezra suddenly turned his attention to them.

"Do they speak?" Emmerich said, and Magnus shook his head.

"They do not know your language."

"And I, unfortunately, do not know yours. What of others? Parlez-vous Fraçaun? Loquerisne Omane?" He glanced slyly at Emmerich before adding, "Sprechen Sie Deute?"

Each question returned him nothing but quiet uncomprehending stares from Gerbiorn and Linnea, while Magnus shook his head.

"Ah, well," Ezra said then. "Perhaps we can teach each other in future. That is, if you find yourselves wanting to truly ally with us."

"Ally," said Magnus curiously. "Not work?"

"You would work. But you seem to have some sort of connections of your own. You knew about the cargo coming in with the Frand."

"We watch. Listen," said Hintriika. "That is how we know."

"But you knew where and from whom to do so. Sources of information like that are valuable, and you could bring those to us. If you work with us, it would be at a higher level than some others that we employ."

"Hm." Hintriika had a glint in her eye that reminded Emmerich strongly of Ezra, one of a certain roguishness. "This, acceptable."

#

They did not spend much more time conversing with the Norrbygders, but they parted with the intention of meeting again. Ezra seemed quite bolstered by the entire conversation, and in Emmerich’s own opinion it seemed to have gone well. He found nothing unsavory about them, and they seemed a more intelligent lot than Thomme and Uxilord. Ezra’s intention of allying with them seemed a very purposeful term, placed them all on a more equal ground right at the start. There truly seemed to be no resentment over the men that Ezra and Emmerich had killed at the canals, though the four of them were all that remained of those who had defected the Öggwollrog Company.

As they crossed from Pennygrand into the edges of Little Faire, where the cobblestones began to disappear into well-trodden muck, Emmerich became aware of a change in the atmosphere of the wide street they had just entered into. The general flow of the crowd moved all in one direction, at a faster pace than usual, and an excitement seemed to run through everyone that passed by them. Somewhere much further down the street, there was shouting and a general small commotion that seemed to be centered about a certain building.

"What is this about, do you think?" Emmerich said, and Ezra gave a lazy shrug. But there was a sharp interest in his eyes, and neither he nor Emmerich moved to continue on their way. Emmerich moved a few paces down the street, and Ezra came with him.

What looked like a small grouping or gang of newspaper boys nearby caught Emmerich’s eye, all clustered around together in a small huddle and speaking in excited voices over one another. Suddenly they all broke apart and rushed down the street towards the commotion happening at the far end. One of the boys dodged a costermonger’s cart and knocked into Ezra’s side, nearly sending himself sprawling across the muddy ground before Emmerich and Ezra’s feet.

"Hey, boy!" Ezra snagged the child by the back of his coat with his good hand. "What’s all this about?

The boy was red-faced with excitement, and bounced upon the balls of his feet against Ezra’s restraining grip. "Just down the street, sir! The constables have surrounded a shop and are forcing men out! They found those criminals what murdered them men at the Prince and Rose. I bet they’ll hang them!"

And then the boy was off, free of Ezra’s hold and scampering down the street with the rest of the curious crowd in the streets. Above their heads, Emmerich could see the unmistakable black painted wagon of the constabulary meant to transport apprehended prisoners several blocks further down, and the bob of many white-crossed helmets about it.

Ezra looked to Emmerich with a wild grin. "You man came through," he said.

Emmerich let out a long exhalation that trembled as it left his throat. He had expected he could trust in Archie, but there had been no certainty that the constabulary would be able to track down Staard and his remaining men, and this soon moreover. Those in the downmarket never went to those of the law to resolve any...issues that might arise between conflicting crews. It was an unspoken knowledge that such a thing was cowardly, only a weakling’s way out of a situation he could not handle. This would be one thing Emmerich and Ezra would take no claim for having a hand in, not to anyone.

"Shall we go see for ourselves?" Ezra asked then.

"No," Emmerich replied, after a moment. "I don’t need to see it. You go, if you wish."

"No." Ezra threaded his arm through Emmerich’s in a comradely manner, elbows loosely linked. "It was only if you wanted. I would rather never see that man again for the rest of my life."

"Though, we do owe him for one thing," Emmerich admitted, and Ezra looked at him in puzzlement. "Bringing us together."

Ezra chuckled. "That is true indeed. Let us go have a drink in his name, then. In tribute to his memory and his service to us."

"Oh, I do wish I could kiss you right now." Emmerich jostled his shoulder lightly into Ezra’s with fondness, but not allowing himself to meet Ezra’s eyes in concern that he might follow through with his desire.

Another laugh from Ezra, full and merry. "Then, shall we drink, or go to bed?"

"Both. In that order." He took a glance at his lover and found a boyish joy in his face, and found that in this moment he had no room in himself for anything else but perfect relief and happiness.

"Mm. Whatever you desire." Ezra’s eyes glinted with some mischief, and locked their arms more firmly together as they turned and walked away from the sounds of excitement and the strict shouting of constables down the street.

#

"I’ve been considering what you said," Ezra said, sometime after his breath and wits had both returned to him. They lay together in their bed in the attic room of the Thistledown, blankets tossed about them and the air heavy with the smell of sweat and sex. After much cajoling on Ezra’s part, Emmerich had allowed Ezra to crawl atop him and arrange himself upon his cock, whilst pinning Emmerich’s arms down firm to the bed so that he would at least cause Ezra the least amount of further injury. The deep bruises and cuts that still colored his lover brought an ache to Emmerich’s chest and stirred an anger in his that was aimless and wholly unresolvable; the men responsible were dead, or gone, or now headed to prison, and Ezra would heal in time.

"And what is it that I said?" Emmerich asked, shifting to face him more full in the bed. He knew Ezra had entered a truly serious state of conversation when his cock brushed against Ezra’s bare thigh, and Ezra took no notice of it.

"About lending money to Luca, to pay his debts," said Ezra, quite unexpectedly. "It would be far safer for him, and that print house...I feel it would be a shame to lose that as an asset and a potential disguise for...other business. We’re no longer in danger at all from those we took the money from—it truly is ours to do as we please with now. And we can set a reasonable rate for his repayment of the loan."

"Ezra, I spoke of that long ago." So long ago he could not remember when. He had been certain it was something Ezra would never bring up again, and was unsure if he should ever do so himself. After all, Luca was not even truly his friend. But he had grown much fonder of Vena, and helping one would be helping the other.

"Well, it took me that long to think properly of it. Emmerich—" Ezra turned himself over, touched his hand to the side of Emmerich’s face. "I want us to always consider each other’s words fairly and reasonably. We are equal in this. I know I rather brushed it off as foolish before, and for that I apologize. I believe you were right in suggesting it, I was...not ready to listen. And perhaps selfish."

Emmerich kissed him fiercely in response, startling Ezra into a warm laugh and then a deep moan. He felt Ezra’s eagerness rising against his own leg, but they were not quite finished conversing yet, and Emmerich pulled back from him.

"Then this is to be our business?" he inquired. "Lending out money, calculating interest...are we to be a bank?"

"More than that." Ezra traced fingers along the side of Emmerich’s neck. "Far more than that. We could be everything."

"An empire." It was only half a question, and Ezra gave a sharp smile at the words and put his hands firmly to the sides of Emmerich’s face.

"Yes. Precisely. We have people coming to us, respecting us already for what we’ve done in this city. We have assets and allies in many forms. We know of contacts and sources of goods from our time spent with Allister and Kegg, how to obtain things that there’s a demand for in the downmarket. We have money, enough to lend out and collect interest and payments on. We have...everything we could need to become very powerful men. Perhaps even beyond the Kingshore. And there are things we could do with such power. Good things."

A certain sharp spark ran up Emmerich’s spine, an unexpected excitement at Ezra’s words. Perhaps there was too much of Ezra in him now, that such words would thrill him rather than terrify him with the fear of his ineptitude, as they would have a month ago. "Such as?"

"Such as those of the Thistledown. If we’re to employ former members of Allister’s crew and those we hardly know from Norrbygd, surely we could give our own friends more gainful employment as well. Wouldn’t it be better if Vena and Lilin and all the others there no longer had to do the sort of work they do now?"

"Yes," Emmerich breathed. "Yes, it would."

Ezra stroked his face gently. "I thought you would like that."

"You know a great many things that I like," replied Emmerich, and Ezra laughed and pressed a soft kiss to him.

"Then we are agreed?" he asked.

Emmerich could not hold back a smile. "I suppose there is no one else I would rather try to build an illegal empire with. Nor is there anyone else I would believe capable of doing so."

"I was thinking the very same." Ezra kissed him again, deeper and slower and with far less restraint. Even still, Emmerich pulled away again, and Ezra gave a half-frustrated, half-fond breathless laugh.

"There’s something else, then?"

"We need something to call ourselves."

"Oh, yes," Ezra said, with the air of someone who had no idea what was being meant. His eyes were quite focused on Emmerich’s mouth.

"I mean, one name. A surname for us together. For business."

"And what is the reason for one name, to appear as brothers?" Ezra pulled a face when Emmerich nodded. "And that looks less strange if someone catches us in bed together."

"So, they don’t catch us. They cannot, because it would be the end of everything. But we can appear close that way, to call ourselves brothers, closer than simply friends. A constant pair…who do anything for each other."

Ezra looked at him, quite serious. "That is the truth, isn’t it. Though many already know we are not, and we hardly look alike."

"Nor do Uxilord and Thomme, yet they’ve insisted they’re true kin," said Emmerich, and Ezra laughed.

"So, do I become Ezra Mandelbrauss?" he said. "As I have no name of my own left to offer. But I hardly speak passable enough Deute for that name to seem true to me."

"You’re decent enough with it. But I was thinking something entirely new, to both of us," Emmerich said, though there was a certain strange intrigue in Ezra adopting Emmerich’s name for himself. Still, it would be better if they both took something new. A new name with their new beginning.

But little was coming to mind, and Ezra seemed just as empty of ideas. For several minutes there was only thoughtful quiet between them.

"I never thought it would be so difficult to choose a name for oneself," Ezra said at last, and laughed. "Though perhaps it’s why I didn’t try when I lost my own, never used anything cleverer than ‘Smith’."

"It should mean something," Emmerich said. "As long as we’re able to choose it ourselves, there ought to be a meaning to it."

"The Prince and Rose," said Ezra at once. "Where we met."

"Prince and Rose," Emmerich repeated, already liking the sound of the two words. Perhaps not in that order, but—

"Roseprince," Ezra said, just before Emmerich could offer the same.

Not to be completely outdone, Emmerich countered with "Rozeprince," giving the first word the sounds more suited to his home tongue. Ezra and Emmerich Rozeprince. The Rozeprince brothers. The name felt as right as anything, a warm and believable skin to slip into.

"Perfect," Ezra said and grinned at him, a wide smile that showed very well just how young and beautiful he was. Emmerich pressed his own mouth against that smile, urging Ezra’s lips apart and savoring the warmth of his lover’s mouth. Ezra sifted his fingers through Emmerich’s hair and guided them both back down to the bed, chest to chest, and heart to heart. Zusammen.