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The acrid smell of salt and shit wafts over the streets from the nearby Chionthar. It’s so dark in this part of the city tonight that Karlach can barely see her hand in front of her face. Now, she is a part of that dark too. Gortash had told her to wear a black cloak to blend into her surroundings. “For better or worse, my dear, you stand out like a cardinal among common sparrows,” he had said, and if she could, she would have blushed.
It's not only dark, but it’s so quiet here that the only sound Karlach can hear is her own footsteps, and Gortash’s, thirty paces ahead of her. Nine-Fingers had insisted that the two of them gather on neutral ground for their very first meeting. She picked an abandoned warehouse in a deserted part of town – a part of town that no gang has had any interest in for a dozen years or so, not since a fire burned most everything down and drove out all the business, legitimate or otherwise. Gortash agreed to Nine-Fingers’ demand, in exchange for a demand of his own. He asked that they both come alone, and she agreed. Although, of course, he decided to bring along Karlach anyway. “You can’t trust these Guild people,” he explained. “Mark my words. She’ll have her own people there, hiding in the rafters or someplace.”
As they approach the warehouse, Gortash pauses, turns his head to the side, and nods once. Karlach recognizes the signal, and she hurries to the back of the building, sticking to the shadows, and remembers Gortash’s instructions: “In the back, you’ll find a broken window above some colorfully worded graffiti. Climb through there, and directly ahead of you, there will be a staircase. There’s enough room underneath it for you to hide. Stay there, and if Nine-Fingers or any of her lackeys try something, you know what to do, don’t you, my lovely bodyguard.”
She follows his instructions to the letter, and settles into the nook behind the staircase. From her vantage point, she can see everything clearly. In the center of the warehouse is a simple wooden table with two chairs. Nine-Fingers is sitting there already, fiddling with a lantern, which she places to her left on the table. It casts large shadows around the empty, open space.
Although she’s never seen Nine-Fingers in person, Karlach has certainly heard things, whispers and rumors, and her heart pounds at the sight of her. She worries what this ruthless woman might do to Gortash, but she reminds herself to have faith in her friend.
Gortash saunters through the front doors and looks around the place. A droplet of water leaks from one of the many holes in the scorched ceiling onto his shoulder. He looks up, scrunching his nose in annoyance.
“Charming,” he mutters.
“Put that out,” Nine-Fingers says to him, referring to the cigarette he’s holding. He glances towards where he knows Karlach is hidden and subtly rolls his eyes. She suppresses a laugh. It wouldn’t do to give herself away right at the start. Gortash takes one last, pointedly long drag of his cigarette, its embers smoldering in the dark, before flicking it to the floor and stepping on it.
“Better?” he asks.
“Much. Never liked the smell of those things.”
Karlach isn’t exactly sure what she was expecting from Nine-Fingers. Something grandiose, perhaps. Striking. She certainly wasn’t expecting her to be wearing a faded shirt and a simple brown leather jerkin. As Gortash sits across from her, Karlach notices how he shines in comparison, wearing a green silk doublet with golden embroidery and matching green shoes with golden tassels. His many golden earrings and rings only add to the effect, glinting in the lamplight. He looks sophisticated, cultured, Karlach thinks. Handsome, even.
“Nine-Fingers Keene,” he says, with a clap for emphasis that echoes around the room. “It is truly an honor to meet you. Frankly, I don’t know why we didn’t do this years ago. I know I’ve sent enough letters. I was beginning to think you didn’t like me. Isn’t that foolish.”
“What do you want, Gortash?” she asks.
“I admire a woman who cuts to the chase. But first, tell me why are we chatting in this godsawful place? We could have been enjoying a drink in my offices, if you had taken me up on my invitation. The chairs would have been considerably more comfortable, that much is certain. But, to make up for it, I’ve brought you a gift.” Gortash takes a bottle of whisky out from his satchel, along with two shot glasses, and places them on the table. “Our long-awaited rendezvous deserves a proper toast, after all.”
“Let’s just talk, yeah?”
Gortash rubs his chin in thought. “As you wish, Guildmaster. I’ll speak plainly then. You’re losing your war with the Knights of the Shield.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here just to tell me that I’m shit at my job.”
“Oh, come now. Let’s not play coy. If you weren’t losing the war, you wouldn’t have asked to meet, now would you?”
She breathes out a short, irritated sigh. “I’m going to ask you again. What do you want?”
“Let’s be allies.”
“Oh, that’s funny. Got any other jokes?”
“The Knights are shutting down your fighting rings. They’re killing off your smugglers and replacing them with their own. They’re taking away your clients. But I can help you, Astele. I can loan you a hundred men, and provide your own soldiers with better weapons to fight with. What do you think?”
Nine-Fingers stands up. Karlach grips the handle of the knife she keeps sheathed in her belt. She can see Gortash begin to twist his rings around his fingers. A nervous tic.
“You really want to know what I think, Gortash? I think you’re a smarmy prick with an overpriced haircut.” He smirks, and Nine-Fingers begins to circle the table, slowly.
“The Guild has run this city for generations, and now it is my privilege to carry on its legacy. But these past years, I’ve had to watch your influence spread over this city – my city – like fucking herpes. And from what I hear, you’re moving up in the world. Might even be in line for a lordship soon. I’m surprised you even want to slum it with us at the Guild.”
“Nothing would bring me greater honor.”
Nine-Fingers nods. “I’m not going to stand here and pretend that I’m some kind of saint, but I’ve heard things about you, Enver Gortash. Things I…” Her voice grows quiet as she says, “Things I struggle to believe, even.”
She comes around the corner of the table and stands beside Gortash, looking down into his face, searching. Karlach taps the hilt of her knife anxiously. She should get in there. This is the time when a bodyguard comes in handy. When the enemy gets too close.
“The Guild has always protected the city,” Nine-Fingers continues. “But I just don’t know who I should be protecting it from. The Knights of the Shield, or you.”
Suddenly, she steps behind Gortash’s chair and grips him by the hair, yanking his head back and pointing a dagger at his throat. He lets his arm drop to his side and waves two fingers, a hand signal that Karlach knows is meant for her. “Stand down,” it says, but, as always, she lets her heart lead.
“Take your hands off him, you fucker!” she cries as she rushes towards Nine-Fingers, knife in hand, hoping to tackle her to the ground, stab her in the abdomen, make her bleed for daring to hurt her friend.
“Stand down, Karlach!” Gortash shouts, and she stumbles to a halt.
“But – ” Karlach can’t help the way her voice breaks. If she says another word, she knows she’ll cry.
“Let the adults handle this, my dear,” he says, and Karlach takes a step back, breathing hard.
“I told you to come alone,” Nine-Fingers snarls. “I knew I was right not to trust you. You think I wouldn’t know that you have dealings with the Knights? I hear everything, Gortash. How can I be sure you won’t betray me to them? Give me one good reason not to slice your throat right now.”
Karlach is going to lose her friend and fail at her job all at once. He is going to die, and it will be all her fault. But Gortash somehow seems unbothered. He’s even smiling.
“I am no friend to the Knights,” he says evenly. “They’ve been making things quite difficult for me as well. Even stole seventy-five boxes of my merchandise the other night, which they know is superior to their own. You can check that fact quite easily, I should think. You’ve heard the age-old adage. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
“I don’t like that word. Doesn’t suit us.”
“Friend?” he asks. She nods.
“I’ve got another word for you, then,” he says. “Peace.”
Nine-Fingers breathes a short, sardonic laugh before slicing his cheek. It’s a shallow cut, but still he yelps in at the surprise of it.
“That’s for not listening when I told you not to bring anyone. Don’t do that again, or there will be consequences.”
Gortash presses a hand to his cheek, blood spilling over his fingers and dripping onto his clothes. Nine-Fingers twists off the cap of the whisky bottle.
“To peace, with the Guild,” she says before taking a swig. “And war with the Knights. Don’t make me regret this.”
She takes the bottle with her as she leaves.
“Bitch,” Gortash mutters once she’s gone. “She’s absolutely ruined my best doublet.”
Karlach rushes to his side, getting on her knees beside him to take a closer look at the cut on his face. “Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry, boss. There aren’t any words for how sorry I am. I could have lost you.”
“What the hells do I pay you for, hmm?” he snaps.
“To – to protect you.”
“Is that what you think? I pay you to follow orders. I had it under control. Weren’t you paying attention when I gave the signal telling you to stay put?”
“Well – yeah – but – ”
“Stupid little girl,” he seethes as he stands up, nearly knocking his chair over as he does so. “What use are you if you won’t obey.”
Karlach feels the tears pricking behind her eyes. She tries to stop them, but before she can, they’re falling freely down her face. For a moment, Gortash looks at her with something almost like disgust. But then his face softens. He takes her by the shoulders and helps her to stand.
“It’s alright, my girl,” he says, with a tenderness she’s never heard in him before. “I understand.”
So close to him like this, with his arms around her, Karlach notices how good he smells. Like vanilla. So unlike the boys she ruts with. He’s broader than they are. Thicker too. The boys her age are all so lanky. Inches from his face like this, she can see the stubble on his chin. He can even grow hair on his face. She almost wants to reach out and touch it.
He takes out a handkerchief and cups her jaw, dabbing at her face to soak up the tears. It isn’t right that he should be so nice to her. She’s failed him. She almost got him killed. She should be tending to him, not the other way around. She lifts her hand to take the handkerchief from him, intending to press it to his cheek to stop the bleeding. But he grabs her wrist, squeezing tightly.
“Boss,” Karlach whines. “You’re hurting me.”
“Don’t let it happen again,” he says, his voice all at once cold and unforgiving. “When I tell you to do something, you do it, without any questions and without hesitation. Or else…" He looks her dead in the eye and takes a deep breath in. "You and I will need to have a much more serious conversation. Understood?”
She nods quickly, and he lets her go. “I am sorry if your feelings are hurt,” he adds, running a hand through his hair boyishly. “It’s that damned Guildmaster who’s got me on edge. Nothing to do with you, really. Come, I’ll buy us something to eat.”
He smiles at her and winks, and it’s like the sun coming out after a hard rain. She smiles too, and when he offers her his arm, she takes it.