Chapter 134: There is Bad Luck, And There is This luck

The spear stopped a short distance from Rook’s chest. Beside the man holding it, the woman kept her sword level with his stomach. Neither seemed interested in lowering their weapon.

“You’re the bastard he said would come. Didn’t think you’d get here this early.”

Rook looked from the spearman to the woman. Her eyes moved over the torn front of his coat, lingering where Gascoigne’s shot had gone through it.

“I didn’t think he’d get here alive.”

So Gascoigne had arrived before him and found time to tell the guards a story. Judging by their expressions, Rook had not been particularly sympathetic in it. The man could shoot someone, take their companion, and still arrive early enough to complain about the inconvenience.

“I don’t want trouble. I’m here to get what’s mine.”

“The woman?”

“She has a name. Mara.”

“Doesn’t mean shit to me. Turn around.”

Rook glanced past her. The narrow opening led between two rows of sharpened stakes and through the damaged gate, where people were carrying timber toward a section of wall supported by heavy beams. Nobody inside appeared eager to come out and ask why four Reapers had cornered someone at the entrance.

“Under Reaper law, you can’t deny me entry to a functioning Bastion without cause.”

“Reaper law can suck my balls.”

The spearman turned toward her, followed by the man with the bandaged foot. Rook’s gaze dropped briefly before returning to her face. Her expression tightened as she noticed all three of them looking.

“It’s a figure of speech. Stop fucking looking at me.”

The fourth guard gave a quiet cough and stepped back toward the barricade, apparently deciding someone needed to watch the road. The woman adjusted her grip on the sword and returned her attention to Rook.

“Whatever rules you’re used to, don’t expect to wave them around here. Things are tense enough without you coming through the gate looking for Gascoigne.”

“What things?”

The spearman cut in before she could answer. He kept his weapon directed at Rook while speaking to her.

“Don’t tell him anything. He doesn’t need to know.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Then tell him to leave.”

“I already did.”

Rook waited until they finished, although keeping his mouth shut required enough effort to make his jaw ache. Gascoigne was somewhere beyond them with Mara, and these two had decided the important question was which of them ought to tell him to fuck off.

“I’ve crossed a sea, a road full of Abominations, and a bridge that should have fucking ended considerably sooner than it did. Then your friend shot me. You’ll understand if I’m reluctant to turn around because someone with a repaired spear tells me to.”

The spearman’s hands tightened. Rook noticed the movement, along with the short step the woman took to give herself more room. The injured man held his hooked blade close to his hip, positioned to catch the scythe while the other two attacked.

They were tired, and their equipment had seen better days, but that did not make fighting them sensible. Rook had already wasted too much time getting here. He could spend more of it pulling these idiots apart, or he could convince them to let Mara settle the matter before Gascoigne decided to move her somewhere else.

“You’ve heard what he said. Now let me inside and ask her whether she wants to see me.”

“You and what army?”

Rook took a slow breath and shifted the lantern clear of his leg. He had asked, explained himself, and offered them a way to avoid this. That was more effort than he usually put into being reasonable.

“Fine. For anyone who bothers asking afterward, I requested entry peacefully.”

He flicked the scythe outward, bringing its edge clear of his coat. The woman shifted her weight, the spear moved closer, and a familiar voice called from inside the gate.

“Rook? What the fuck are you doing here?”

He kept his eyes on the weapons while trying to place the voice somewhere else. For a moment, he wondered whether the gunshot had done something to his head that the blood had failed to repair. Then Vyre stepped around a timber cart, looking far too pleased to be standing in a damaged Bastion surrounded by exhausted people.

His coat was dusty and his boots muddy, but his expression had changed very little. Rook remembered it from every occasion on which the bastard had arrived just in time to steal a Cull someone else had worked for. Vyre stopped beside the woman and looked him over.

“Well, you look awful.”

There were people Rook would have preferred to meet. Most people, really, but seeing a familiar face from the Eleventh on the wrong side of the chasm brought an unexpected easing in his chest. He immediately disliked that too.

“What are you doing here?”

“I asked first.”

The woman looked between them without lowering her sword. Whatever she had expected to happen at the gate, it apparently did not include Vyre greeting their unwelcome visitor.

“You know him?”

“Of course I know him. That’s Rook. The one I told you about a few days ago. Grumpy old bastard. Carries his belongings in a coffin. Can’t Cull.”

The spearman examined Rook again, and recognition settled across his face. He somehow managed to make it look less flattering than the suspicion it replaced.

“Oh. This one.”

“Yes, this one. Wonderful to see my reputation travelled more comfortably than I did.”

The woman kept her attention on the scythe. Vyre’s introduction had apparently given her another objection rather than a reason to put her sword away.

“That’s another reason to keep him outside. We have enough problems.”

“What problems?”

Vyre glanced at the guards before looking back at Rook. He seemed more interested in bringing him into the conversation than in explaining why everyone else wanted him gone.

“Well, the Manager’s here.”

“Which Manager?”

“Ours. The Eleventh. She brought me and a few others to…”

Rook turned around and started down the road. The spear left his chest, and nobody attempted to stop him now. Behind him, Vyre broke off whatever explanation he had been about to give.

“Wait. Where are you going?”

Rook kept walking. There were coincidences, unfortunate coincidences, and whatever vindictive arrangement the Underworld had made specifically for him. He had spent three hundred years unable to Cull, finally awakened an Imprint, and discovered that it was the one ability guaranteed to attract his Manager’s attention.

Staying away from her had been a perfectly reasonable plan. The Eleventh lay beyond the forest, the mountain, the chasm, the Hollow Road, and a considerable amount of other miserable terrain. There were more Bastions in the Underworld than he had known existed, yet she had managed to be waiting at the very next fucking gate.

“Ain’t nobody got time for this shit.”

“You just arrived.”

“And now I’m leaving. Try to enjoy the novelty. I’m too old for this crap.”

“Would you stop for a moment?”

Rook lengthened his stride instead. Mara was inside, Gascoigne was inside, and so was someone capable of making Gascoigne’s opinions about Brands considerably less relevant. The Manager could handle him. She could keep Mara safe without Rook having to spend the following weeks being summoned, examined, questioned, and asked to demonstrate precisely what he could do with his blood.

She would make the whole process sound helpful, too. The Manager was kind, which was part of the problem. It was difficult to tell someone to leave him the fuck alone when she could explain, patiently and in considerable detail, why doing so would be irresponsible.

Vyre caught up and stepped beside him. His boots scraped over the road as he matched Rook’s longer stride.

“You know this place is dangerous, right?”

“I noticed the welcoming committee.”

“I mean out there. We spotted a couple of Seventh Ranks on the way in.”

Rook stopped and looked toward the trees. Two Seventh Ranks, perhaps more if those were only the ones Vyre’s group had noticed. He thought of the feline carrying them across the land, the pale creature swallowing him, and how quickly something that large could reach a man travelling on foot.

Then he continued walking. Vyre caught his shoulder before he had taken more than a few steps.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“An extensive list. You’re currently on it.”

“You’d rather walk back into that forest than spend five minutes talking to me?”

“Put like that, it barely sounds like a choice.”

Vyre moved in front of him. His smile had begun to fade, and this time he made no attempt to match Rook’s pace. Rook would have to shove him aside to keep going.

“Rook. What happened?”

Rook looked past him toward the gate. Three of the guards were still watching, while the fourth faced the road again, apparently satisfied that whatever this was, it no longer threatened the entrance. None of them seemed inclined to help Vyre move.

“Do you remember Mara?”

“The woman travelling with you?”

“Yes.”

Vyre’s gaze shifted toward Rook’s wrist. He looked around him, then down the empty road, and his expression changed as he noticed what was missing.

“Travelling with you. Where’s the chain?”

“She broke the contract.”

Vyre continued studying him. Rook could already see the questions forming and had no intention of standing there while the bastard worked through all of them.

“She’s inside. Find her and take her to the Manager. Tell her to bring Mara back to the Eleventh when you leave.”

“Wasn’t she determined to find Yama?”

“She was.”

“And you agreed to take her.”

“I’m making a different arrangement.”