Chapter Text
"Gods, it stinks down here." Rakath slams through the door with a grunt, tossing himself into a rickety chair at the center of the underground pub and putting his boots up on the table. He's the last to arrive to this little impromptu staff meeting, and his comment elicits a few eyerolls from Rilsa and Marver, a cheerful slap on the shoulder from Harren. Even Laris, posted up quietly in the corner, giggles softly.
He ignores this reception with a casual smirk, folding his arms and fixing his eyes expectantly on Astele.
She looks up from the papers she's been studying to grin at him. "Yeah, yeah, I know,” she quips back. “You spend all your time at the fancy bank now, and hanging with us Undercity types is beneath you.” She spits casually on the floor next to his chair. “Keep talking yourself up and someone's gonna kick your arse one of these days. Undercity may not be leather and velvet, but at least we’ve moved on from the old sewer base with the river of shit running past our door."
Rakath wrinkles his nose at her. "You've got a wonderful way of putting things in perspective, Nine-Fingers," he says dryly. Tipping his head slightly forward, he indicates the papers in her hand. "Word from Remy, I take it?"
"Yeah. He and Ciara are gonna come along with us to knock over that smithy in Brampton. If they're proper impressed, they might ditch the Faithless and come join us. And that’ll be another gang in our pocket." She snorts. "Adreth'll be pleased; think the two of them were fucking a bit back."
She folds the letter up and stuffs it into the pouch on her hip, then carefully adjusts her collar. This new chestpiece still feels stiff as hell and it’s more than a little distracting, which hasn’t stopped her from wearing it almost every day anyway. Maybe it's stupid, but she made it to twenty-seven without ever having brand-new gear; she’s damn well gonna enjoy it. Feels like yet another sign that things are starting to turn her way.
"What's the plan, then, boss?" Rilsa asks, leaning forward on her stool next to the bar.
Astele walks to the center of the room, giving Rakath’s boots a friendly shove to the side to make room to spread the papers out on the table. "Standard protection racket job. Rilsa, you're gonna be on public relations duty on this one," she says. "Plan is to let Remy see how we work. So you pick him and Ciara up from Twin Songs, you get them to Brampton safely, and you make sure no one does anything stupid to put a bad taste in their mouth.”
Rilsa nods crisply, and Astele pivots her attention back to the dwarf at her elbow. “Rakath, you're gonna take the lead with Marver. Lead in gentle-like; make it clear we don’t like Jacob’s prices, and we want them lowered and protection money paid, and that Marver will be very displeased if that doesn't happen." She glances at the young human sitting with his arms crossed.
“Damn right I will,” Marver grunts with a nasty smile. Over the last decade, he has grown into a hulking brute of a man ("a club with eyes," Rilsa likes to call him when he's out of earshot), and the chair creaks under his weight as he shifts, leaning forward eagerly. “I’ll kick the old man’s teeth in, just watch me.”
Astele shrugs. "Might not come to that,” she says, her tone easy in spite of Marver’s threatening air. “Best case, he shits himself and pays up, and we all move on. But Jake’s a tough old bastard, so if he puts up a fight, we'll give him one. Harren, in that case you’ll bring a few of your boys and back Marver up, trash the place."
“What about me?” Laris asks.
Astele hesitates. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the young tiefling watching her intently, arms crossed.
“You’ll be with me, as usual,” she says slowly. “Keeping an eye on things.”
Laris scowls. “Stop babying me, Stella. Put me on Harren’s crew,” she says firmly. “I’m ready.”
Astele resists the sudden urge to flinch. Damn it, she thinks wearily. I can’t deal with this right now. She knows exactly what Laris is doing, asking the question in front of everyone. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Marver lean over and mutter something to Harren. But she avoids looking at him, or anyone.
“We’ll talk later, Laris,” she says curtly, trying to make the words sound casual, direct, incontrovertible. Just the way she’d talk to anyone else in the gang. “Everyone else - clear on the plan?”
There's a mumbled chorus of answers from around the room.
"Understood."
"Got it, boss."
"Thakk dath."
She nods crisply. "Good. Now get out of here, all of you. We move in two days; guessing you can all find ways to keep yourselves busy till then."
The room echoes suddenly with the sound of chairs scraping on the dirty wood floor as the ragtag group starts to straggle out of the room. Astele gathers up the papers from the table again, continuing to carefully avoid anyone’s eyeline, particularly Laris’s. She only looks up at the last moment, pausing halfway through shuffling her reports into a pile. "Rakath, wait a moment."
The dwarf stops with his hand on the doorframe, then turns around and crosses his arms, looking at her expectantly.
"I'm gonna need some cash," she tells him briskly. "This afternoon at the latest."
"From the gang's stocks?"
"Aye."
Rakath's nostrils flare as he exhales. "Right. Talk to that new boy I hired. The way things are going at the Counting House, I can't be spending all my time juggling our coin. Uktar, his name is. I've put him in charge of our coffers. Tell him how much you need and he'll have it for you - two hours, tops." He raises an eyebrow. "What is it you need cash that quick for?"
She shrugs. "Business expenses," she says casually. "On your way out, tell Laris to wait for me by the ladder. Need to sort things out with her."
Rakath squints at her, his lip quirking in a subtle smirk. "Seems she’s getting tired of you keeping her idle," he comments, a slight edge in his tone. “Think she’s ready for the big leagues?”
"That is my decision, not yours," Astele answers, too sharply. “And I’ll make it when I’m damn well ready.”
"Right you are, Nine-Fingers," Rakath says smartly, and turns and stalks out of the room.
It's been a long time since Astele was last in Bloomridge. Nearly ten years.
Astonishing, then, how the sure rhythm of her steps stutters for a moment as she emerges onto the street, as if someone has struck a stunner blow to the base of her spine. Everywhere she looks, the shadows are familiar, remnants of the days when she was small enough to hide within them. The trees in the park are taking on their early-fall colors, and she shivers involuntarily at the chill in the air, just crisp enough to remind her of how dangerous a sign that used to be. Winter coming were words with a death knell, once.
But things are different now. She’s different. The cold barely penetrates her armor or the dark navy cloak draped around her shoulders. Her boots, black and shining, make satisfying thumps on the cobblestones, mixing with the steady clink of the heavy pouch of gold on her hip.
Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a quick, furtive movement, the flicker of glinting eyes peering from an alleyway.
Pickpocket, she thinks with a crooked grin, and waits to see if the gold will tempt him. But he doesn’t make a move on her; nobody does, though she catches more familiar silhouettes here and there. Perhaps some of them recognize her by face, or by the ring she always wears now on her left hand, or maybe they can simply tell she’s not someone to mess with anymore. Most people give her a wide berth these days.
Well, everyone but Laris. She’s always been different.
She scowls, rubbing the back of her neck and glaring down at the cobblestones. Laris… she thinks wearily, the thought inescapable at the back of her mind. What the fuck am I going to do about Laris? Dug myself a hell of a hole…
She comes to a halt in front of Elerrathin’s Home and just looks at it for a long time. Funny, she remembers it being bigger, but maybe it's just that she used to feel smaller. These days, the Home looks worn around the edges, with the hole in the roof of the porch that's never been patched and the ivy so thick on the walls that the brick beneath is barely visible. But it's vibrant, too, in the way that the Lower City so rarely is, the way that Astele knows Jaheira has cultivated so deliberately. A place full of life.
Her jaw twitches as she looks at those ivy-colored walls, and thinks of the dank Undercity base where she'll be returning. That's home now, she reminds herself. This isn't home. This is business.
She raps on the door. There's a short pause before it slides open, revealing Rion's dark eyes on the other side, and the silence hangs as the two young women look at each other. A strange thing, meeting Rion eye to eye now, when she looks very much as she did when Astele was ten.
"Well," Rion says warily, studying Astele's expression, and then her armor. She shows little interest in the pouch of money, but her eyes do linger on the dagger on Astele's hip. "Look what the cat dragged in."
"Hello, Rion," Astele says. "I'm here to talk to Jaheira."
Rion purses her lips. "Not even a how-are-you?" she says dryly.
"Didn't hear one from you either," Astele shoots back. She can feel her hackles already raising, and with effort she battles the defensiveness back down. I've got nothing to prove here. Not anymore. "But all right. How are you?"
"Much the same as always," Rion admits slowly. "Mum's busy. A few more kids drifting through."
Astele's expression softens slightly. "Yeah, I heard about that," she says, trying to sound careless, as if it was local gossip, and not a carefully managed bit of spy work from one of her Bloomridge associates. "Holding down the fort all right?"
Rion snorts softly. "Keeping busy," she says shortly. "Look... what d'you want, Astele?"
Astele raises an eyebrow at her. "No chance I'm just here to say hello? Old time's sake?"
Rion just looks at her steadily. Her expression is calm, but Astele can see the paleness of her knuckles gripping the doorframe. "Look, I'm not saying I'm not glad to see you're still alive, Stella," she says more quietly. "But if you're here to cause trouble... take more of the kids..."
"No," Astele says, too sharply. She scowls, folding her arms across her chest. "Look, I'm here to talk business with Jaheira, that's all. No trouble - I promise."
Rion sighs. "Wait, then. I'll tell her you're here," she says, and shuts the door in Astele's face.
When Astele enters the study, she finds Jaheira not at the desk, but standing next to the window, looking out at the small creek that runs behind the house. There are more plants here than when Astele was here last; the tree that occupies the center of the room has grown so that its leaves are crushed against the vaulted ceiling, and every shelf has pots of violently multicolored flowers, wide-leafed ferns, crawling vines. Mushrooms, too, which are new. Jord's influence, no doubt.
Astele comes to a halt in the middle of the room, in front of the desk and empty chair. She waits for a few moments while the silence stretches, resisting the urge to scuff her boot against the wooden floor. She stands square-shouldered and steady, her eyes fixed on the back of Jaheira's head. The auburn hair is shot through with grey these days, her frame a little slimmer, the shoulders... not hunched exactly, but braced, as if holding up an invisible weight.
Eight years, Astele thinks suddenly. Eight years it's been since I last stood here. Nearly four, since we last spoke.
"So," Jaheira says at last, without turning around. "You are here to talk 'business,' hm?"
"That's right."
"The criminal boss come to parlay with the Harper, is it?"
Something in the older woman's tone feels like a blow, even though her words are steady, soft even. Astele shrugs, not flinching from it. "Not quite the big boss yet," she says coolly. "Getting there, though."
"Mm. Yes, I have heard the rumors. Little Calimshan and Twin Songs dancing to your tune. The Counting House in your pocket. You have been busy." Jaheira turns from the window, meeting Astele's eyes steadily. Deeper lines around her eyes now, her lips a little thinner, a little paler.
"It surprises me every time, you know," she goes on, half to herself. "I do not know why it should - time passes for us all. And yet it seems every time I turn around, one of you is older than I expect..." She trails off into silence, cocks her head slightly to the side, and then shrugs, jerking a hand towards her desk. "Will you sit down... Nine-Fingers Keene?"
"No need." Astele shakes her head, resisting the urge to shift her weight, one leg to the other. "Not here for long, I expect. Just came to drop this off." She reaches to her belt, unhooks the sack hanging from it and tosses it onto the desk next to the sheaf of papers there. The gold within clinks loudly against itself, a little waterfall of coins.
Jaheira peers at the money bag warily for a moment. "And what is this?" she asks.
"Five hundred gold or thereabouts." Again, Astele feels around for that casual tone, the way she's heard Rakath talk to customers at the bank. Just five hundred gold. Barely worth mentioning; not like I grew up scrounging coppers out of street grates. Pocket change. Five hundred gold. "Heard you've taken on a new set of kids; thought it might come in handy."
Jaheira's expression is carefully controlled, but Astele can see her nostrils dilate with a sudden inhalation. "Five hundred," she says carefully. "That is generous indeed. And where did you come by this five hundred gold - or thereabouts - that you so charitably offer?"
Astele shrugs. "Couldn't say for sure," she says, tone equally even. "Got plenty of ventures rolling forward, these days; a little of this, little of that. Jobs that need doing."
"Mmhm." Jaheira grunts, low in her throat, her eyes narrowing. "You bring your blood money to me, to take it off your hands."
For a moment, Astele blinks, taken legitimately off-guard. "What?"
"You must have known I would not accept this."
"What? No--" Astele sputters. She takes a step back, catches her hands lifting defensively and thrusts them behind her back. "No," she says, more firmly, getting hold of herself after the moment of surprise. "It's a gift, Jaheira. I meant what I said. I heard that you--"
"And I have listened to every word you have told me, all these years, Astele. You have made it very clear the life you wish to lead - and I am no fool. I know where such gold comes from, and I know what it buys."
"No, you don't!" Astele snaps. Gods damn it, four years later and it's still all just the same. Everything I say comes out wrong. She sucks in a breath between her teeth, hisses it out heavily. "You don't know anything about us, about what we do. Is it so impossible I really just wanted you to have it? That I--" Involuntarily, she looks away, studying a crack in the wood of one of the bookshelves. "That I haven't forgotten where I came from?"
Jaheira looks at her with an expression almost of pity. "It does not matter whether you have forgotten or not, Nine-Fingers. You walk the edge of a knife that would gladly stab you in the back; you truck with the city's thugs. Unless you are a fool - and I know that you are not - you have no room for idle acts of kindness.”
In spite of herself, Astele stiffens. Boy, she thinks bitterly. Wouldn’t Laris be surprised to hear this, after the fight we had this morning?
The young tiefling had flared with stung pride at Astele, after their meeting in the Undercity. You’re too nice to me, she’d snapped, while the rest of the gang listened to the conflagration from shadowy corners. Like you think I'm gonna fall apart like glass. I know how to do the job! I'm not a kid any more, Stella!
Exactly the sort of thing Astele herself used to say. Infuriating to be on the other end of it.
No, you’re not, she had wanted to shout back. But you still don’t know what it’s like to kill someone, to put a knife to their throat and press down. You still don’t know, because I do, and I’m holding it off from you with all my might…
But what’s the fucking point? Laris doesn’t want her kindness anymore, and Jaheira thinks she lost it all anyway…
Jaheira is still watching her, unaware of the maelstrom raging in her head. “Tell me true, Nine-Fingers,” she says sharply. “What is it you mean to buy with this coin?"
Astele's heart thunders in her ears. Though she stands on flat ground, she has the strange sense of an avalanche slipping out from under her feet, and she clenches her fists behind her back to steady herself. "Fine," she says tightly. Fine. This is just who I am now to you. And Laris is following me into the pit and I can't stop any of it. Fine. Blood money it is, then. "Things are going my way, down below, and they're starting to speed up. Sooner or later, the dam's gonna break; there's a war coming for the Undercity, and I aim to end it on top. Maybe it's worth five hundred gold to have an in with the Harpers,” she says flatly. “Good blades who know their way around the shadows."
She watches as Jaheira's expression eases, the wariness fading to reveal the sadness beneath it. "I see," she says quietly. "I suppose it was only a matter of time." She rests her hand for a moment on the fat sack of gold, feeling the coins shifting within it. Then she presses her palm forward so the bag flops onto its side towards Astele. "I will not take your money, Nine-Fingers. The Harpers do not take sides; we serve the balance only. As for myself... I will not have my children's meals bought with blood money, however hefty the purse."
Jaheira draws back, turns away and looks toward the window again, hesitating only a moment before her gaze leaves Astele's. "It is still not too late to choose another path, cub," she says quietly. "But I will not follow you down this one."
Astele's fingers fist into the bag, yanking it up from the desk. "Yeah. Right," she says hoarsely, turning away and stepping towards the door. Need to get out, before I say something we'll both regret. "Don't know why I even bothered."
The air feels colder when she steps outside again. Damn it. Damn, damn, damn, damn. She realizes she's shaking, her fingers trembling as she stuffs the bag of money back under her cloak.
Well. There it is. I tried, she tells herself bitterly. My good deed for the month shot down the sewers. She sets her jaw, pulling the cloak tightly around herself and striding off down the street. Fuck it. Fuck all of them, anyway. I know where I'm going. What does it matter if they don't come along?
She's on the point of turning off Bloomridge's main street, back into the shadows, when she stops abruptly, sighting another familiar face through the crowd. A tall, muscular half-orc, pink hair tinted faintly coral in the evening light, is bustling along towards Elerrathin's Home, holding the hands of two young half-elven children with dark hair and big dark eyes.
He spots her about the same time she sees him, and he halts in the middle of the street so abruptly that someone behind him almost knocks into his back. "Astele!" he says, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead. "Malar's mark, what are you doing here?"
Astele blinks. “Jord!” She could almost swear he’s pleased to see her, and the realization is so unexpected that for a moment it stops her in her tracks, the burst of resentment forgotten. "Oh, you know," she says, brilliantly. "Just... a stop by the old home front."
"Well, gods... I hardly recognized you." Jord grins. "You've grown a good bit."
"Could say the same for you," Astele answers. Her shoulders are relaxing, the tension for a moment broken. She and Jord were more or less of an age when she was a regular visitor to Elerrathin's, and while they never talked much, she always considered him a decent sort. It's a relief, she supposes, to know at least one bridge hasn't been entirely burnt. "These the two new ones? Heard the Home had some new arrivals."
"They are indeed." Jord looks down at the two children; the girl, slightly older, is staring up at Astele with a defiant air, while her brother has tucked himself more warily behind Jord's trouser leg. "This is Lissa and Rogir. The latest nestlings under Mother's wing." He releases Rogir's hand to ruffle the boy's hair gently. "We're just back from the market, picking up some new clothes for them."
Astele nods, only half-listening, chewing the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. Then, after a moment, she crouches down until she is at eye level with Lissa.
She recognizes the way the child squares off at the unexpected motion, the way the dark eyes narrow warily. A street kid, for sure, she thinks. Got that hungry look about her, too.
"Lissa, huh?" she says, in a voice softer than her usual snap.
"Yeah," the girl says cautiously.
"Hi, Lissa. I'm Astele. Listen... I wonder if you could do me a favor."
The wary look deepens, drawing lines at the corners of Lissa's mouth. "What sorta favor?"
"Well..." Astele looks around, then pulls the sack of gold from under her cloak. "Listen - I think you and your brother have a good gig going, stopping in with Jaheira. And I think that deserves celebrating. You and Rogir and all your new brothers and sisters. What do you say to that?"
"Sounds nice," Lissa says cautiously.
"Good." Astele shoves the sack of gold into her hands; it's so heavy that the girl totters slightly to one side with the weight. "You take this, then, you and your brother, and you tell Rion you want to have the best party anyone ever had."
Before Lissa can respond, she stands up briskly and turns, her cloak whipping around her in the movement. Behind her, she can hear Jord calling out to her in surprise, but she doesn't look back, just lets herself melt back into the shadows.