《The Magpie King》


 The Rhyme of the Magpie King

    As sung in rowdy taverns across the city of Sonderport


    The Magpie King, the Magpie King


    He flies to all that shines


    He steals the merchants¡¯ golden cups


    And gulps down all their wine


    The merchants high are decked with wealth


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    With rubies, steel, and gold


    Their doors are locked, their stores are stocked


    With all that they can hold


    But in the night the Magpie stirs


    The thief is far too stealthy


    And nobody can sleep in peace


    As long as they are wealthy


    He picks the locks, he tricks the guards


    He sneaks past hound and sentry


    Not even magic locks prevent


    Our bird from gaining entry


    So, in the night the merchants high


    Will send aloft their prayer


    To have the stealthy Magpie King


    Entrapped in Armstrong¡¯s snare


    Three cheers now for our Magpie King


    They want him apprehended


    He steals from those who rob us blind


    Just as the gods intended

 Chapter 1

    Temple never interfered in other people¡¯s business. He hid silently in the shadows and let the tragedies and celebrations of others pass him by.


    Temple had never even been tempted to interfere in anything, but he had no personal rules against taking a moment to watch other people¡¯s actions. Especially when¡­ well, when ¡®other people¡¯ happened to be strangely captivating, and he found it hard to look away.


    Silently, he shifted his weight and crept forward on the support beam under the eaves of the timber frame house he was perched on, high above the street, from which he could see the silent group below.


    Three of Sonderport¡¯s Watchers, wearing their green and yellow uniform tabard over leather armour, were creeping through the alley below. An older man clutching a short sword, a tall, sinewy woman with short, greying hair, and the man who had first caught Temple¡¯s attention: he was tall, sturdy, broad-shouldered, and with short hair that shone like golden honey when the trio silently ducked under a window with a lamp on the sill.


    Temple quietly crept along the beam above and jumped onto the rooftop opposite, following the group below as they sneaked into the dark, narrow courtyard between houses. They stopped by the back entrance to one of the tenement buildings, a nondescript, two-storey timber frame house. Temple stayed on the roof above, hoping to get a better look at the younger man¡¯s face.


    Honey-hair seemed to be in charge because he silently directed the older man to the shadows nearby and the sinewy woman to the darkness by the corner to the alley back to Ninnian Street; the broad, main thoroughfare, lit by braziers during the night.


    Temple wrinkled his brows under his hood. As a matter of principle, he disliked the idea of Watchers lying in wait and being smart about their duties. Nonetheless, he stayed on the rooftop, still staring at the leader of the three, who now took up position by the door and tensed for something to happen.


    A loud knocking came from the other street where the main entrance to the house was, and someone shouted, ¡°This is the Watchers of Kaala palisade. Open up immediately!¡±


    That dismayed Temple further. Watchers shouldn¡¯t split up to lure people into ambushes. Watchers should just arrive noisily and blunder through their task, knowing their prey had escaped before the battle even began so that they had technically done their duty, but not risked themselves in the process.


    A moment later, the back door flew up and two large men ran out. The battle began when honey-hair by the door tripped the first runner over.


    Temple knew he could easily move away now ¨C nobody on the ground below him would notice him ¨C but for some reason, he kept sitting there, immovable, watching the fight.


    The honey-haired Watcher was a proficient combatant; he concentrated on keeping the fleeing men busy, evading attacks from both of them when the first man through the door quickly picked himself up. The older Watcher with the short sword soon joined him, holding the two engaged.


    It was mesmerising, watching honey-hair move. He was fast to dodge, surprisingly light on his feet, and decisive in his strikes when he saw an opening.


    The group of Watchers who had knocked on the door at the other side of the house were also clearly in battle with people still inside, judging from the shouts and sounds of things breaking from inside through the open back door.


    Suddenly, a third man came pelting through the back door with an unwieldy sack slung over his shoulder. He simply ducked and ran full-tilt out of there, barrelling through the battle at the door, knocking over the older Watcher and running into the darkness of the courtyard.


    ¡°Get the child!¡± honey-hair shouted, and Temple saw the tall woman, who had stayed in the background until now, throw herself forward, impacting with the fleeing man and his burden. They both fell over in the darkness, and Temple began moving back over the roof to the alleyway when he heard a child¡¯s piercing scream of pain over the sounds of the battles.


    As Temple reached the edge of the roof and could see down into the alley, he saw the man with the sack over his shoulder kick the Watcher viciously and pick himself up, clearly hurt if his sounds of discomfort were to be believed, but it seemed that fear of being apprehended trumped his pain, for he quickly turned and ran off in the direction of Ninnian Street. Moments later, with an air of grim determination even visible from the roof in the darkness, the Watcher picked herself up and darted off in pursuit.


    Temple couldn¡¯t stop himself. He ran along in the darkness, jumping effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop along the street, so he could see the spectacle unfold. He had an exhaustive practical knowledge of Sonderport and knew most of the wards and quarters from the sight of the rooftops and the lightless back alleys on the ground that were accommodating to a thief hiding.


    As he ran to keep up with the fleeing man and the sinewy Watcher who pursued him, Temple was acutely aware of the madness of his actions. He could have justified himself staying and staring at a handsome man brawling, but this had absolutely no justification.


    Below in the street, on the corner of a connecting alleyway leading out into the broader Ninnian Street, the Watcher managed to overtake the runner, pushing the man sideways into a wall so he collapsed with a subdued cry. In a flash, the woman threw herself on him and pummelled his jaw with a determination that was downright unsettling to see, even from the safety of the roof above. The thug was immediately knocked out and the Watcher began reaching for the bulky sack the thug had dropped when he fell.


    Out of pure instinct, Temple froze in his tracks and willed the darkworld to swallow him. The familiar chill enveloped him, everything around him took on the strange, dark sharpness, and the soft chorus of whispers just on the cusp of hearing assaulted his senses for a brief second before being customarily ignored. In the darkworld, he would stay unseen by any passers-by as long as he stayed still, and he could navigate more freely, manipulating the shadows to his advantage ¨C for as long as the darkworld allowed him access¡­ He usually had a few minutes before the otherworldly state spat him out again, so he had to make the best of it.


    Swiftly and casually, Temple drew shadowy handholds out of the wall of the building he was perched on and made his way down to a narrow wooden balcony with a half-rotted railing.


    Several meters down the street, clearly visible in the light from one of the braziers interspersed at regular intervals down Ninnian Street, the Watcher woman had cut open the large sack that the running man had been holding. A small boy dressed in torn trousers and a too-big shirt emerged from the confines of the burlap. From where Temple perched unseen in the shadows of the dilapidated balcony above, he couldn¡¯t see the boy¡¯s face, only his dark hair and narrow frame.


    The child reached out a hand towards the woman kneeling in front of him.


    The woman kneeling in front of him.


    The hand holding a knife.


    The knife that was handed to him by the man holding the woman down.


    Her tears and pleading gaze.


    The knife that bit her neck.


    The blood that was warm on his face.


    ¡­


    With a screeching gasp, Temple staggered forward, lost his balance, and suddenly found himself painfully on the ground below when the rotted railing easily gave way. Panicked at the insistent, horrific images and impressions that had just crowded all his senses out of nowhere, Temple scrambled backwards to seek the protection of the alley¡¯s shadows. He was still in the darkworld, he realised, but his impact with the ground, which had knocked the wind painfully out of him, was noisy, horrible, and downright unprofessional, but, with luck, hardly a second had passed while¡­ whatever it was had happened in his mind.


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    Down the street, the Watcher shot to her feet immediately, and quickly took a few steps towards him down the dark alley. It was clear she couldn''t see him, but her clenched hands were raised, and knuckledusters protected her fists. Temple had no doubt she would pursue him if the darkworld chose this particular moment to throw him out, and his eyes flickered back and forth as he stepped backwards silently, painfully, hoping to put distance between them.


    And then he saw them behind her. So did the boy apparently, because he turned to look at his Watcher saviour with fear in his bruised features.


    Three men, obvious street thugs, were approaching from the alley on the other side of Ninnian Street opposite this one. The moment they saw the child, visible in the light from the Ninnian Street brazier, they ran towards the alley at speed. The boy let out a piercing shriek, the Watcher turned and saw them approach, and immediately reacted ¨C running towards them to intercept their attack.


    ¡°Run to the palisade!¡± she shouted without looking at the boy, who immediately sprinted off, one of the three attackers veering off to pursue him down the street.


    The Watcher took a blow with a club to her arm that must have certainly broken it, and the second attacker came at her too.


    And suddenly, much to his surprise, Temple broke his only rule and got involved.


    It wasn¡¯t a conscious decision that made him sprint forward, out of the alley, to pursue the man running after the child. His body simply reacted, and he was hardly more than a spectator from inside the darkworld that thankfully still held him. He pushed himself and ran up to the thug, who didn¡¯t know he was being followed. Temple drew a tall step of shadow out of the ground in front of him in mid-sprint, using it to jump higher and land on the pursuer¡¯s back. The man crashed to the ground and lay still. Temple sprang up and ran back towards the Watcher, who was fighting for her life, trying to disengage to run or at least have a chance to counter the attacks.


    Temple hoped the darkworld would hold him just a few moments longer, knowing he wasn¡¯t fully invisible when he was moving inside the darkness. One of the men let himself be distracted by the dark blur that came at him when Temple dodged under his raised arm and tackled him to the ground with his momentum. At the same time, the darkworld spat him out. He rolled down the street and quickly managed to right himself.


    In the next second, the man he had felled made eye contact with him, picked himself off the ground in a panic, and ran, while the Watcher managed to punch the other, now equally distracted attacker. The knuckleduster did its work with the crunching sound of a jaw breaking, and the man went limp, sagging into a quiet pile in the street.


    The Watcher fell to her knee, panting and clutching her side where there was a deep stab wound, nestled in the place where her leather armour closed at her side. It spilt blood that was only partially soaked up by her clothes, but she seemed to forget her agony for a moment when she looked up and locked eyes with Temple.


    They stared at each other for a second, equally spooked.


    ¡°The boy¡­¡± she finally gasped and tried to get to her feet.


    Temple was poised to flee, but then he heard running feet from the direction the three thugs had just come. If whoever the Watchers were up against were well organised enough to send reinforcements once, maybe they were doing it again to make sure they got the boy? Cursing himself, Temple took hold of the woman, steadying her as well as he could without prodding her wound. He hauled her with him towards the Watcher palisade, several streets further down.


    Hopefully, he could get her somewhere she would be found by her compatriots before he was spotted.


    ¡°You¡­ you¡¯re the ¡­Magpie,¡± she said, gasping in pain as Temple pulled her along. ¡°Magpie King.¡±


    Temple didn¡¯t respond but just quickened the pace. If she was well enough to call him names, she was well enough to move faster.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡± she asked.


    From a side alley further down Ninnian Street, a small, bruised face poked around the corner. Temple nodded in that direction, and finally, the Watcher noticed the boy.


    Then he heard hasty steps from the direction of the palisade in front of them as well as the street behind them. He quickened his pace and looked over his shoulder. Behind them, honey-hair approached at a quick run.


    The boy emerged fully from the side street and shouted, ¡°Captain Armstrong!¡± in a happy voice, looking past them down the street.


    Temple froze for a fraction of a second. The man he had seen fight was gaining on them fast. Honey-hair was Gilbert Armstrong? Cursing in his mind, Temple quickly lowered the Watcher he was supporting to the ground.


    *


    In the light from a nearby street brazier, Gilbert saw the slim, nimble figure that had been hauling Milla along set her down as though she¡¯d suddenly become poisonous.


    The wiry figure was clad in black matte leather that hugged his strong, slender body. Nothing he wore was loose or shiny, though Gilbert had the impression of numerous, specially made tools secured to his person, painted black so as not to catch the light. A tight hood was drawn low over his forehead and a mask was drawn up to cover his nose and mouth. Either he was dark-skinned and of elven heritage or the area of the eyes was painted black, so he stayed a shadow in the dark. The only thing that had the power to draw him out of the darkness were his eyes, so pale grey that they appeared almost silvery when they caught the light from a nearby brazier for a second.


    He came to an abrupt stop, and they stood, staring transfixed at each other for a few heartbeats.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Gilbert said, and his voice broke the spell.


    The thief suddenly turned around and bolted, reaching a nearby alleyway in seconds. Gilbert ran after him, but when he turned the corner, the alley was dark and devoid of places where a full-grown man could possibly hide. Gilbert stopped, puzzled, and listened. He heard people approaching from the direction of the palisade and quickly checked to see that they were wearing Watcher tabards, but the alley was silent as if the thief had never been there.


    It didn¡¯t make any sense.


    He knew he should investigate, since the city¡¯s most famous career criminal, the thief only known as the Magpie King, was worth far more than any other criminal the Watchers of his palisade could hope to capture. But Milla was badly injured, and the boy she had risked her life to save was now looking up at him with scared eyes as he turned to glance at the pair.


    ¡°¡­Thank you,¡± Gilbert just mumbled at the darkness, thinking the thief could perhaps hear him. He wasn¡¯t getting his hopes up, though.


    The Magpie must have used illegal magic, Gilbert mused. Though it was odd, since not a single magical trace of the thief had ever been found.


    He helped Milla to her feet, telling her to stop whining so that she would get angry and hang in there, just as the reinforcements finally arrived. Far too late, but he¡¯d had to react the second they got the information, hoping to intercept the child before the kidnappers made it out of the city. It was never easy. He constantly had to prioritise and weigh one situation against the other. In this one, he had prioritised one kidnapped child over the safety of several Watchers; Milla and Fendan, who had lain in ambush with him at the back of the house and Sheridan, Ril and Neel, who had gone to the front door, hoping to make the kidnappers flee.


    Gilbert sighed and looked at the boy trudging along with himself and the Watcher reinforcements as they left.


    ¡°The Magpie King saved us,¡± the boy said timidly. ¡°He turned invisible and made everyone fall over.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Gilbert asked. ¡°You are very lucky to have seen that. Tell me all about it.¡±


    *


    ¡°¡­Thank you,¡± the Watcher said softly in the darkness, not more than a meter from where Temple stood pressed up against the wall, holding his breath, willing the darkworld to embrace him until the Watcher gave up and left. He didn¡¯t dare move, lest Captain Armstrong hear him.


    Finally, the Watcher turned away, no doubt to tend to the injured woman, and Temple slowly breathed out. He hurried up the wall of the dark alley, pulling out handholds by engrained habit, so he would be in complete darkness on the roof before the Watcher should chance to come back.


    He had never seen Captain Armstrong in person, but Temple knew the man had been assigned to catch him. He had a feeling Armstrong didn¡¯t prioritise this very highly, though.


    Temple got a good look at Armstrong¡¯s face when he stared down the alleyway. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, clean-shaven, and quite imposing so close up. There was something clear-cut about him, which contrasted with a messy scar on his eyebrow. His lips¨C Temple stopped himself, horrified at his reaction when he felt his body begin to respond despite his mad, self-imposed predicament.


    Now that he had made his escape, he also felt the pain of the embarrassing fall he suffered earlier when¡­ when whatever it was that assaulted his mind had happened.


    What the ever-living hells was it?


    It wasn¡¯t a vision, not a picture in his mind played out to his inner sight. It was as if a curtain had been torn aside violently and a memory had hidden behind it, which was now a part of who he was. But¡­ it couldn¡¯t be real. It couldn¡¯t be¡­


    No!


    Temple pushed the memory away. He wouldn¡¯t think about it. He had made a terrible error of judgement in interfering and that had resulted in being seen by Captain Armstrong. They had locked eyes, and although he hadn¡¯t seemed hostile, Temple assumed the Watcher had just been too surprised to react as he should.


    Armstrong¡¯s eyes were green. Green eyes, surprised, not hostile, and his short dark-honey hair looked like it might want to curl if it was allowed to grow a little longer. He could almost feel it on his fingers.


    No matter¡­ It couldn¡¯t matter. It never would.


    Temple was acutely aware of the phenomenal prize on his head, and Captain Armstrong would move far, far up the career ladder if he actually succeeded in capturing him. As soon as the captain of the Kaala ward palisade realised how close he had been, he would probably redouble his efforts.


    Everyone is guided by their greed¡­ a voice whispered deep inside Temple¡¯s mind, and he assumed that voice was his own.

 Chapter 2

    Five weeks later


    Gilbert Armstrong walked homeward in the darkness. He had just entered the district of Draggok Hill where he lived, close to Eastgate wall, a respectable place though by no means wealthy. Dawn was about three hours away and he preferred to be home in bed before sunrise. It was still too early for the city to begin waking up, and more or less too late for the rowdy or rough to still be up to their shenanigans. These few hours were the day¡¯s best in Gilbert¡¯s opinion.


    As he turned the corner to his street, he heard a gentle scraping sound, and something toppled over somewhere in an alleyway farther down the street. It was probably one of the city¡¯s cats on the prowl; they shared their schedule with the nightshift Watchers, after all.


    A thud sounded from down the alley. A thud and a subdued, pained gasp. Gilbert stopped to listen. It was definitely bigger than a cat, he decided, as he sighed and approached the darkness of the alley, where garbage boxes and sheds for the nightmen lined up.


    No moonlight or light from the street braziers reached this area and he stopped again, wondering if he had imagined it. But then there was the faintest rustling from the darkness, and Gilbert drew his lightstone from its pocket on his belt and gently tossed it into the air. The magical trinket hovered in mid-air and illuminated the entire area in bright, bluish light.


    The trash had been collected earlier in the night, but in the glaring light, he saw a booted foot sticking out from behind a wooden box. Ah, so probably some drunk, he thought per instinct. But then again, this was generally not the area where people passed out drunk in the street.


    ¡°Aya,¡± he whispered, and the lightstone fell sideways into his hand, plunging him into glaring darkness before he walked closer and threw it again, so it illuminated the figure on the ground behind the garbage boxes. There was a gasp of either pain or panic, and the prone figure feebly raised an arm to cover their face. Then they gasped again, tried to curl up, failed at that too, and then slumped anew, unmoving.


    Dark matte leather hugged the figure tightly. Nothing shone; no metal could clank, no material could creak, and nothing was loose on the belt. The difference from last time was that the hood and mask were off. He could see short, dark hair under the bracer-clad arm, and blood smeared on pale skin.


    ¡°Shit¡­¡± Gilbert mumbled quietly to himself, looking at the fallen Magpie King.


    He slowly approached and crouched down to move the man¡¯s arm away from his face. The thief gasped in pain at the movement and the eye that wasn¡¯t closed by a dark bruise flickered open for a second, eliminating the last doubt in Gilbert¡¯s mind that it might be some other highly specialised thief. The grey gaze was pained, glassy, unfocused, and the thief immediately slid back into unconsciousness.


    ¡°Aya,¡± Gilbert quickly whispered and the lightstone sprang to his ready hand, re-establishing the darkness he shared with an apparently severely wounded criminal.


    Turning him in would be so easy. Maybe he could even have a civilian friend do it, so they could share the reward that wouldn¡¯t be paid to a Watcher ¡­ although it would do wonders for his career to take credit for this. And the palisade would be given actual funding. They could patch up their gear, maybe hire in some more people, have a decent stock of healing tinctures for once, maybe even hire a priestess of Kaala, the goddess of fair fights the area took its name from¡­


    Gilbert sighed.


    In his mind, the decision had already been made, even though he cursed himself for it. So, life handed him opportunity in leather, and he squandered it just because the man had helped a sour, opinionated colleague who Gilbert didn¡¯t even get along with particularly well?


    ¡°I¡¯m an idiot¡­¡± the Watcher captain whispered to himself as he put his cape around the unconscious thief, hiding him as well as possible before lifting him. I¡¯m literally carrying fifty thousand gost right now¡­ his mind supplied as he made his way down the alley to his house as quietly as possible, hoping nobody would see him.


    *


    Gilbert had started with the armguards but evidently loosened the first one incorrectly because six lockpicks and three keys had tumbled from the leather¡¯s confines. That had set the tone of the undressing: slow and messy.


    As soon as he had the arm uncovered, Gilbert had mixed a knife¡¯s point of venom-ash powder in oil and cut a small gash on the thief¡¯s pale arm, so he could smear the sharp-smelling mixture into the wound. He saw it take effect and dull the pain, letting the unconscious man breathe a little easier as the whole of his broken body began to relax.


    The sun had only just risen over the houses to peek red-eyed into the office beyond the bedroom when Gilbert was done removing clothes and identifying injuries. The tight-fitting trousers, belt, jacket, and bracers were very carefully set aside, and he had been cautious not to trigger anything or peer too deeply into any of the myriad pockets. The few encounters with the Magpie King people had reported often ended with smoke suddenly enveloping the witnesses and the thief escaping into the shadows he came from, but judging from the amount of care and precision the man¡¯s clothes showed, there might easily be starker means of repelling foes hidden in one pocket or other.


    At the end of the undressing, he had a pile of different tools set aside. There was also a pouch with a round, flat, firm object in it. Gilbert decided that ignorance was bliss and just stashed it with the thief¡¯s clothes.


    Now, the illustrious criminal lay in the Watcher captain¡¯s bed, wearing nothing but his undershorts. He had a nasty wine-dark bruise down his left side and hip, and Gilbert felt rather certain that an impact like whatever had hit him probably cracked at least a couple of ribs too. Half the man¡¯s face was bruised and swollen, his lip torn up, and a deep gash ran from his ear to his forehead. It had bled intensely and took Gilbert a while to clean the blood to a point where he could see the extent of the damage.


    The left shoulder was dislocated, two fingers on the left hand were clearly broken, and a crossbow bolt with angry yellow fletching sat so far into the lean thigh muscle that it peeked out on the other side. The venom-ash seemed to still be effective, but the Magpie King¡¯s chest rose and fell unevenly with his ragged breath.


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    Gilbert quickly set to the task of preparing for the healing tincture. The tinctures were incredibly expensive and bought at the temple of Kaala, but it would save the thief several weeks, if not months, of healing and save Gilbert from having to hide the fact that the thieving legend of Sonderport was lying in his bed.


    The tincture would mend sinew and bones, but if joints were not in their sockets and bones were not set, they would grow together wrong. He didn¡¯t look forward to removing the crossbow bolt from the thief¡¯s thigh, but there was nothing for it.


    Gilbert sighed, mixed a new batch of venom-ash for when the agony woke the thief, and set to work.


    The shoulder snapped back into its socket with a sharp, wet smack and the man in the bed shot up, gasping in agony. With breath heaving in his chest and a bleary lack of hesitation, he desperately tried to fight Gilbert off with broken fingers. Gilbert grabbed him and pulled him close so he could isolate the newly-socketed arm and keep the thief as still as possible, so he didn¡¯t do more damage to his ribs.


    ¡°You are safe. I¡¯m a friend,¡± Gilbert said, holding the man whose futile and weak kicks made the bolt wobble in his thigh. It lasted for an intense moment before he wordlessly slipped back into unconsciousness.


    Gilbert very, very slowly released the breath he just realised he¡¯d been holding. He felt the same old helplessness he had felt years ago watching his wife fade away, although of course there was no comparison between the two. He shook his head, gently laid the man down on the bed again, and gave him a small dose of venom-ash. He waited until the drug had been absorbed and then took the thief¡¯s hand and looked at the askew fingers. He had worn half-gloves, but his long, slender fingers were painted black with ink, presumably so he had full mobility but stayed a shadow.


    The thief would be dependent on those digits for his work. It would be easy to cripple him, but also crushingly dishonest when he had just said he was a friend. Gilbert took a deep breath and drew the thief¡¯s fingers level, hoping to let the joints and bones glide into place. The drug was fortunately strong enough that the patient didn¡¯t wake.


    Next, the crossbow bolt. The yellow fletching was unknown to him, so likely it was from a private guardsman¡¯s weapon.


    In the cabinet in the corner, Gilbert got the small bottle of foul-smelling healing tincture and put it on the table by the bed. He found a blanket, folded it up under the thief¡¯s thigh and sharpened his razor. Then he stood looking at the man in the bed for a moment, gathering his courage.


    He had experienced tight and ugly situations in the field during his fifteen-year career as a Watcher and had seen some dreadful things in his time. But being the perpetrator of the damage needed for the thief to heal still required a bit of a run-up. It was somehow just too deliberate.


    But there was nothing for it, and he sat down with a pair of pliers and rested the razor at the edge of the wound, where the bolt stuck out. He let it bite the skin and, as the flesh parted for the steel and blood welled forth in sticky gushes onto the blanket, he gently tugged the tip of the bolt with the pliers. The fletched end of the projectile moved in concert with it, so the serrated metal tip was not going to fall off, it seemed. Quickly, Gilbert snipped the fletched end off of the bolt and then dragged the projectile the rest of the way through the wound and out the other side.


    It bled. Relentlessly. In dark gushes onto the blanket which didn¡¯t take that much liquid, so the blood dripped onto the bedclothes and seeped into the mattress. Heart pounding, he picked the thief up into a slumped sitting position, supported him against his shoulder, and tipped a bit of the thick-flowing tincture into his mouth. It stank. Like pus, iron, and cheese. And nothing happened. Gilbert tipped the small bottle again, and all of a sudden the thief bucked in his arms, gasping and fighting to fold himself over the side of both Gilbert and the bed. He spat up the tincture onto the floor and Gilbert¡¯s boots. The Magpie was gasping in pain and the fingers of his good hand squeezed Gilbert¡¯s knee almost painfully for a moment before he slumped in an unruly heap across his lap.


    Gilbert sat very, very still for a moment, before putting a hand on the slumped thief¡¯s neck. Nothing.


    ¡°Shit!¡± Gilbert exclaimed and flipped the thief onto his back in bed. ¡°Hey!¡± he shouted and shook the man; put a hand on his still chest. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡±


    When nothing happened, he picked him up into a sitting position and grabbed the wound on his thigh as hard as he could.


    The Magpie King drew a long, heaving breath that sounded like a scream and arched his back in Gilbert¡¯s arms. Then he slowly relaxed, breath fast and frantic in his chest, until he finally slumped back, unconscious.


    Gilbert had never actually seen anyone vomit up the nasty tincture, although everyone claimed it was a miracle they didn¡¯t, and he certainly had never seen anyone getting injured to a point of death by the stuff. It was supposed to pull you back from the brink of death, not kill you. He wondered if he had somehow bought a faulty one as he sat with the unconscious man in his arms and pressed a bloody hand to his chest to feel the heartbeat.


    It was there. Steady, slow, and rhythmic. Gilbert sighed in relief and then noticed that the blood had stopped welling forth from the thigh too. Slowly, the swelling was retreating from the wounds. He sat with a hand on the man¡¯s chest and watched as the damages painfully slowly mended themselves.


    As the bruise retreated, he saw the Magpie¡¯s face. It was unusual; too sharp-featured to be traditionally handsome, but hard to look away from nonetheless. The wound on his lip began to mend slowly and Gilbert put a finger on the cut to hold it together while it knit itself closed cleanly.


    He wasn¡¯t sure how long he sat like this, watching the thief¡¯s chest rise and fall with a finger on his mouth. He would live, that was certain. He would live.


    Exhaustion suddenly hit Gilbert hard, and he removed his finger from the lips of the stranger in his bed and gently laid him down. Then he slowly toed his tincture-vomited boots off and got up to go to the washroom and clean everything he could. Afterwards, he anxiously checked that the thief was still breathing as he boiled some water, washed the thief of blood, threw the bloody blanket into the iron stove and set it on fire. When this was over with, he would have to find some way to get rid of the mattress but that was a problem for later.


    The sounds of daytime came from the street; sounds that were normally a lullaby to keep a nocturnal Watcher asleep. Gilbert went and found some bread in the kitchen and leaned on the doorjamb to the bedroom, eating his meagre dinner and finally studying this rare creature that had eluded every single attempt at capture in the last decade as his legend grew. Well, evaded capture until now.


    He had sharp features, high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and dark eyebrows that contrasted with his pale skin.


    ¡­And in the moments it had taken Gilbert to get some food in the kitchen, the small black cat that sometimes came for a visit through the window to beg a snack or sleep near the stove had curled up on the thief¡¯s pillow. It began a greasy purr that nearly made the windowpanes rattle with its volume. Just getting near the cat had taken Gilbert months of snacks thrown. But he assumed it recognised one of its own.


    The same way every single detail of the Magpie¡¯s clothes was specially built to achieve silence, stealth, and efficiency, his entire body seemed to be tailored in the same manner. He was slender of build with sharp angles everywhere. He seemed to be made of muscle and bone alone, and just looking at his strong, nimble form made it clear that he would have no problem quietly hauling himself up a rope or sprinting and jumping and climbing for long stretches before becoming tired.


    His body was obviously as much a tool to him as the lockpicks in his armguard.


    Gilbert guessed the Magpie King to be in his late twenties. There was a single, silver hair in his short dark mane. Now that he was freshly bandaged and the worst of the agony was over despite the vomited-up tincture, he was¡­ fascinating as he lay under the blanket, relaxed and unworried as he slept. He was oddly beautiful, and Gilbert caught himself looking forward to seeing his silver eyes open.


    Then he gave himself a severe talking to and dragged his reading chair from the office to the bedroom, so he could recline and catch a nap. He placed a foot on the thief¡¯s mattress, so he would hopefully wake when the thief did. Before he wrapped himself up in a blanket, though, he put a hand on the thief¡¯s chest. To reassure himself of his heartbeat ¨C only to make sure his work wasn¡¯t in vain, of course.

 Chapter 3

    Temple slowly came to. It was bright all around him and something held him down. He wasn¡¯t home where it was dark, cool, and safe, and where he had armed his traps for protection before sleeping. Despite his sensible mind¡¯s protestations, he gasped for air and closed his eyes in the too-hot brightness.


    ¡°You¡¯re safe. Don¡¯t be afraid,¡± a warm, sleepy voice cut through his confusion. A hand rested gently on his shoulder. Bare skin. Temple opened his eyes and lifted his hands to repel the attack, but his whole body was aching and sluggish and barely obeyed.


    ¡°Shh, lie still. You¡¯re safe. I¡¯m not going to hurt you in any way. I won¡¯t turn you in.¡±


    He did as the voice said and laid still ¡­and then a portion of time vanished for him.


    When Temple slowly opened his eyes again, the light was less stark and painful and the sluggishness less prominent. He looked around. A bedroom with light-green walls. A cabinet, a clothes chest, a small table. A sword belt was hanging on a hook above the chest, the weapon resting in its scabbard.


    A man sat a little way off, curled up with a leg outstretched to rest on the bed. He was wrapped in a blanket and slept peacefully, head resting on the side of the chair. He still had some summer freckles on his tanned skin and was tall and well-muscled. Short, golden-brown hair and broad shoulders that barely seemed to fit the chair, although he looked comfortable enough. He was so familiar and yet not at all.


    Temple kept focusing on him until recognition and identity abruptly clicked together and he caught his breath in a sudden rush of fear. He quickly scanned the room. There was a door behind the Watcher captain and, beyond that, what looked like a hallway and an office. There was a window on the wall to his right, but the curtain was drawn, so he couldn¡¯t see how far up they were. But there was sunlight coming in, so no matter where he ran, he would be visible, and shadows would be scarce.


    Slowly, he tried sitting up, breathing quietly through the echo of pain in his side and leg. He slowly pulled the blanket aside with the hand that didn¡¯t ache. A further complication to his escape: he was clad only in his undershorts, and the hem was stained with dried blood.


    ¡°You have nothing to fear. I swear I will not turn you in or harm you in any way, Magpie,¡± the captain of the Kaala Wharf palisade said softly. He shifted slowly in his chair to face Temple as one would do near a frightened animal that might attack or run off at any moment. ¡°My name is Gilbert.¡±


    ¡°Armstrong,¡± Temple finished quietly. There was no point trying to feign ignorance. They had held each other¡¯s gaze before, and the Watcher had made it clear he recognised him.


    The Watcher was silent. ¡°All right,¡± he finally said with a hint of a smile in his voice. ¡°Are you hungry? Do you need some venom-ash? The loo?¡±


    Temple looked at the man who was staring back in return. ¡°Why is a Watcher captain not tallying his gost right now?¡± he asked and slowly tried to gain leverage to sit up. ¡°Why am I not in a drowning cage?¡±


    The Watcher slowly and wordlessly reached out, so Temple could take his hand for leverage. There was a small glimmer of challenge in the man¡¯s green eyes, and Temple took his hand in defiance of the apprehension he felt. This was wrong. All of it. Reality had tilted on its axis it seemed. Armstrong¡¯s hand was calloused from holding a sword, warm and large. Temple didn¡¯t want to let go.


    ¡°You know why,¡± Armstrong just said. ¡°I saw you when it happened. You got Milla to safety. She told me what you did.¡± Their eyes met and a strange sort of resonance swept through Temple¡¯s battered body. The touch of their hands seemed unreasonably familiar from just having looked at him once before when he had been dragging the wounded Watcher to safety.


    ¡°How were you hurt?¡± Armstrong asked. ¡°Do you remember?¡±


    The snarls of hounds and shouts of guardsmen resounded to his inner ear and his cheeks grew hot. It had been so unprofessional! It was such an easy theft to pull off, but suddenly his mind had rebelled against him and the mental image of the kneeling woman, the child¡¯s hand, the knife¡­ all of it had forcefully inserted itself into his thoughts until he had gasped audibly and fallen over in his fight to get back to reality.


    The sound and inattentiveness meant he had been spotted, and had needed to run; they had sounded the alarm and he had only escaped by hauling himself onto higher ground and changing direction like a madman; until they caught up again and he had to throw himself on the mercy of coincidence. That landed him the kiss of a solid wall at high speed and a bolt to the leg before he made his escape into the blessed shadows, where not even the hounds could follow.


    ¡°I must have slipped,¡± Temple just said, looking into Armstrong¡¯s eyes and letting go of his hand, so he could rest against the headboard of the bed.


    Armstrong huffed a small laugh. ¡°Slipped¡­ That¡¯s probably what happened.¡± He nodded and then got up and stretched, his back clicking, before pushing the chair over to the wall. He folded his blanket neatly and, while his attention was on his task, Temple looked around the room and tried to catch a better glimpse of the office beyond.


    ¡°You were pretty badly hurt, Magpie.¡±


    Temple looked back sharply.


    ¡°I think you even ¡­well, stopped breathing for a moment after I gave you a tincture.¡±


    ¡°Why am I not on my way to the cages, Watcher?¡± Temple demanded slowly. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°Want? What do I want?¡± Armstrong gave a little laugh.


    It sounded genuine to Temple¡¯s ears, which confused him. He didn¡¯t know how to respond, so he didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Sorry, nobody has asked what I want for years,¡± Armstrong said. ¡°I already got what I want,¡± he added dismissively.


    ¡°And what would that be?¡±


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    ¡°You¡¯re alive. I paid you back.¡± The Watcher captain shrugged and went to open the cabinet.


    Everything in there was neatly stacked and evenly folded, and he picked out some clothes and a belt and put them on the bed. ¡°I had to cut your trouser legs open because of the wound,¡± he said. ¡°But you can use this if you want. Or stay in bed and rest. You are welcome to stay until you are well again. Your clothes are there,¡± he nodded to the clothes chest next to the cabinet. ¡°Along with your hood and ¡­baggage.¡±


    ¡°And you will just let me go?¡± Temple asked suspiciously, watching for any sign of duplicity. ¡°When you of all people know what I¡¯m worth?¡±


    ¡°Oh, trust me, I¡¯m not impressed with my own intelligence right now, but yes, I will let you go.¡± Armstrong drew a deep breath and then nodded to himself. ¡°I¡¯ll make some tarbean tea and breakfast. The washroom is right there if you need it,¡± he pointed to the hallway. ¡°Kitchen is just down the hall. If you aren¡¯t feeling up to it, stay here and I can bring you food.¡±


    Temple¡¯s eyes flickered from the Watcher to the hallway and back. He seemed serious. But he couldn¡¯t be. It had to be a ruse of some kind. Some kind of ploy to track him to his home to ambush him there or¡­ or a truly mad figment of his own imagination. Perhaps he was actually dying from his wounds and was lying in a dirty alleyway, hiding behind the garbage boxes in the hopes of masking his scent from the hounds, desperately fantasising about a way out to make death less strenuous.


    Armstrong left the bedroom and the sounds of a metal stove being lit sounded while Temple still sat uncertain.


    Slowly, he swung his legs out of bed and tested if he could stand. The wound ached, but he could keep his balance if he made no sudden movements. He ran his hand down his ribs. There seemed to be a few odd indentations on the bones when his ink-painted fingers probed them, but it wasn¡¯t directly painful.


    First, he went and pulled a corner of the curtain aside. It was late afternoon, and the greenish glint of the roofing tiles on the house across from here made him quite certain they were in the district of Draggok Hill near Eastgate. He quickly surveyed the street below and the flats across the street. Nothing seemed amiss.


    Thoughtfully, he let the curtain drop and took the shirt from the pile of clothes. Good quality. Too big. The same for the grey trousers, but he put the clothes on anyway and secured them with the belt. Then he went to the clothes chest where his things were supposedly hidden; Glob¡¯s Eye, the diamond from last night¡¯s job, included.


    ¡®Supposedly¡¯ was the keyword. He slowly knelt by the chest, while keeping an ear out for sounds in the kitchen or footsteps in the hallway. The Watcher captain was still in the kitchen, and Temple gingerly opened the chest and found all his work gear lying neatly in a pile. He found the pouch that still contained the diamond. There were no smears of groping fingers on the precious stone when he checked it, so likely the Watcher hadn¡¯t touched it.


    He found his boots and put them on and then listened for the sounds in the kitchen. Armstrong was frying something, and a warm scent of butter, herbs, and cooking lizard meat reached his nostrils. Quickly and quietly, he hid Glob¡¯s Eye in the bottom of the cabinet, behind a box of socks.


    If this was some sort of bizarre setup, he wouldn¡¯t make it easy for them by walking around with the stolen goods on his person when they apprehended him. He could always come back for it later, or at least do his best to take the captain with him if he fell.


    With that out of the way, he scooped his work gear up, rolled the whole thing up in a bundle, and cast a glance at the weapon hanging on the wall. Then he went to the washroom and cleaned up, getting rid of the rest of the grease paint around his eyes, while keeping an ear on the kitchen. But the Watcher stayed there, apparently cooking. In defiance, Temple forced himself to take the time to shave too, feeling much more level afterwards.


    When he was done, he walked into the kitchen. The Watcher captain was scooping lizard meat onto fresh fried bitterleaf flatbreads on a large, green plate. There was warm sunlight in the kitchen, and everywhere shelves were holding well-used and mismatched kitchen utensils, as well as potted herbs that competed for the title of most aromatic. Temple didn¡¯t even bother having a kitchen at home, but this one was clearly a workspace that was often used. In the middle stood a table with four mismatched chairs.


    The whole thing had a deliberately chaotic, feminine feel that didn¡¯t fit the tall, broad-shouldered man who kept his clothes and everything else Temple had seen in his home neatly folded and organised.


    ¡°I have a feeling you will say no and assume I¡¯m trying to poison you, but there¡¯s enough for you too, if you want,¡± Armstrong said and put the plate on the table.


    ¡°I can¡¯t figure this out. What are you getting out of it? I suppose you would claim I could just leave when I want as well, and you wouldn¡¯t do anything about it.¡±


    ¡°Door is there, just down the hall,¡± Armstrong pointed. ¡°If you go right when you get out, this street joins Shishop Road two streets down, which leads you to Traid Port and Kaala Wharf beyond it. It should be easy to orient yourself from there if you don¡¯t know the area. Well, I know you¡¯re familiar with Kaala Wharf,¡± he added as he sat down at the table and poured a cup of black tarbean tea.


    A small flame of anger sparked in Temple¡¯s chest, and he looked around the kitchen and found a row of mugs ¨C colourful and mismatched, of course ¨C hanging on hooks near the stove. He threw the bundle of his work clothes on the table, picked up a cup, and sat down opposite the Watcher. He poured himself a cup and stared at Armstrong, who gave him a small, seemingly genuine smile that lit his face up and made little smile lines appear at his eyes. He reached behind him, fished an eating knife from a coloured clay jar, and offered it to Temple handle first.


    ¡°Now you proceed by arming me?¡± Temple gingerly took the slender blade. ¡°The same with letting the sword hang in there,¡± he nodded towards the bedroom. ¡°I¡¯m that little of a threat? Are you sure about that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had to deal with your shit for four years now, and I¡¯ve never known you to harm anyone,¡± Armstrong said and cut one of the fried flatbreads in half, scooped meat and chopped herbs back onto it, and began eating. ¡°If you¡¯d ever harmed a Watcher, though, I wouldn¡¯t have helped you,¡± he added when he finished chewing.


    ¡°So the life of one of the Watchers of your palisade is worth fifty thousand gost to you? Fifty thousand?¡± Temple demanded. The man was mad if he really thought so, and Gilbert Armstrong was not mad, as far as Temple knew.


    Armstrong had never stood a chance of catching the illustrious Magpie King, but he had always dealt harshly and efficiently with the area under his palisade. Even to a point of having been slightly annoying, when he cleared out a nest of high-end smugglers Temple had been working with temporarily and sent them all to the cages, even the merchant aristocrats ones among them. Temple still had the damned collection of strange historic sex toys made of kittle ivory and gold that they had asked him to procure, which he couldn¡¯t quite dump at Miss Kaia¡¯s feet and ask her to fence ¨C not without it getting categorically awkward.


    ¡°I understand why you wear a mask,¡± Armstrong said with a small grin. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen so expressive a face on a criminal. Whatever it was on your mind just now, it must have been on the annoying side. But yes, a Watcher of my palisade is worth fifty thousand.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the only one who thinks so!¡± Temple exclaimed, feeling outmanoeuvred by the man¡¯s comment and angry because of it.


    He put the eating knife down and got to his feet, ignoring the echo of pain in his body. He marched to the door and was a bit surprised to find it had a perfectly simple lock that he would be able to pick in a matter of seconds, and probably already had a skeleton key for. Not that he needed it; the key was in the lock.


    Despite his best efforts, Temple didn¡¯t see a single Watcher lurking in the area when he emerged on the street. Though he went to one of his temporary safe houses, so he could rest and assess the situation before potentially bringing any of them home, he remained unobserved for all he knew.


    It didn¡¯t make any sense. Gilbert Armstrong had to have tricked him somehow.

 Chapter 4

    Three weeks later


    Temple woke with a gasp. He registered that he was in his dark, quiet, undisturbed home ¨C that he was safe ¨C but that was all a realisation at the back of his mind.


    At the forefront of his thoughts were still the heated images of the dream, and he couldn¡¯t and wouldn¡¯t keep the powerful impressions back. He could still almost feel the Watcher captain¡¯s large hand on his cock, stroking him in perfect rhythm with the ride, while Armstrong¡¯s other hand locked around the back of his neck. It was possessive, domineering, and reassuring at the same time, while Temple¡¯s hands explored the Watcher¡¯s chest, revelling in the feeling of hot, firm skin under his fingers.


    Heart thundering in his chest, Temple desperately unbuttoned his undershorts and pleasured himself to the echo of the dream¡¯s sensations and the Watcher¡¯s warm voice saying, ¡®Come for me, Magpie,¡¯ in a pleading or commanding tone, he wasn¡¯t sure which; but he willingly obeyed and didn¡¯t bother trying to hold back a cry of lust at his release.


    Afterwards, he lay panting in the warm darkness, just as stunned at the madness of the reaction this time as the previous ones. The damned Watcher kept invading his dreams in the most heated ways possible.


    He could vividly recall the man to his inner gaze, as easily as he visualised a lock he was picking or an illegal mage-trap he was dispelling. He could see the small smile that drew lines at Armstrong¡¯s green eyes, his broad shoulders, the scar that parted one eyebrow, the calm, carefully measured way he moved when trying to convey his good intentions and prevent Temple from fleeing¡­


    It had seemed so sincere. Kind.


    It had been twenty-one days, and there hadn¡¯t been the shadow of a reaction anywhere, although Temple had watched fervently for it. He had spent several, long hours each night hugging the shadows and monitoring the Kaala Wharf palisade and its captain¡¯s comings and goings. Then he had changed tactics and gone back to Armstrong¡¯s home to keep it under surveillance when he knew the Watcher was at work. It would be an easy place for the Watchers to catch a thief returning out of puzzlement, but again, despite repeated nights of careful vigil, there was nobody there to apprehend him.


    One late night, he had broken into the house opposite Armstrong¡¯s and sat concealed behind the curtains of the attic window, staring into the Watcher captain¡¯s bedroom window. Armstrong came home late in the morning, clearly tired, judging from his movements and how he rubbed his face. When he hung his weapon belt on the hook in the bedroom, he seemed relieved. He spent time out of sight in what Temple knew to be the kitchen and then, later on, went to the washroom, rummaged around in the office, and went to the bedroom with a book in hand.


    Then he stripped down to his undershorts, threw his clothes on the chair he had slept in when Temple woke up, stretched his long, strong body and ¡­drew the curtains closed.


    In the end, Temple had simply gone back when Armstrong was at work, opened the old, simple lock in the street with a skeleton key that worked for almost all worn, two-pronged locks with nary a metal ward, and done the same to the door to Armstrong¡¯s flat, after having listened at the neighbouring one and heard nothing.


    He had spent about half an hour rummaging around in the tidy office and retrieving his diamond, which had apparently lain undiscovered behind the socks since it was placed there. There was nothing of note that he needed at the moment in the office. He had looked for any orders or papers detailing special authority given to the Kaala Wharf palisade to apprehend thieves, but nothing interesting came of it.


    In the end, he shrugged and left unchallenged.


    He had sold the Glob¡¯s Eye diamond to Miss Kaia and could turn his back on the whole thing. She had told him a rumour that the original architect¡¯s plans of Spenbell Estate, the historic home of the High Merchant, second only to the Harbour Master in importance, would be going on display at the university. She suggested he might be interested in them, and he was but¡­


    It solved nothing. Evidently. ¡­Because here he was, in the dark, fingers sticky with absolutely confused lust.


    It had to be a form of madness he was suffering from because of the uncertainty. Was Armstrong trying to con him into revealing himself? What kind of game was he playing? How clever was he really?


    And the only way he could think of to shed light on the matter was to pressure Armstrong for reactions.


    *


    ¡°Nah, I¡¯m just saying, it¡¯s an odd one and the men are having their balls shrivel up with fear,¡± Sheridan reported as they walked to the house of the apprehended murderer, Tann Barlik, up in the district of Urod Circle, just a ten-minute walk north from their palisade.


    ¡°Well, in that case, I guess I¡¯ll assign Milla, Nell, Eline, and Josefine to the task if balls are being problematic,¡± Gilbert commented acerbically. ¡°At least they know what part of the anatomy to apply to problem-solving.¡±


    ¡°I hear you, captain; I said something similar of the sort, but to be fair, you weren¡¯t there when it happened. It hit Ril right in the eye when he bent down to look in. Just came straight out of the lock and hit him. And then the whispering began. Almost gave me the shits, sir.¡±


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    ¡°How is Ril?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know yet, but Neel and Jans took him to Margan Elfslayer¡¯s Hospital, and he was still screaming when they left. I mean, no wonder, what with a dart in his bloody eye. That was when I decided to get you. The rest of the gents are still there, at least I hope so. You know, keeping an eye.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± Gilbert muttered. The night was only halfway through and already things were cracking at the seams. So, a normal night in Sonderport, really. ¡°What was the whisper business about?¡± he inquired of the younger officer.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Sheridan looked a bit shamefaced, but bravely ploughed on, ¡°they were sort of just on the cusp of hearing, you know? The voices. Like if dirty oil could speak inside the mind.¡±


    Gilbert stopped in his tracks for dual reasons. One was the notion of dirty, talkative oil and the other was the sight of the godsdamned Magpie!


    For days, he had been getting little glimpses of the man and feeling eyes on him at odd hours. The Magpie King was following him ¨C that was a certainty ¨C but why? Why the hells would he do this when Gilbert knew who he was? Did he have some sort of death wish? Or worse, did he have anything to do with the Barlik-murders?


    But then why let himself be seen so clumsily? The only explanation was that he intended Gilbert to see him. Just now, he was lounging casually against a wall, arms crossed, just watching them walk down the street towards him.


    He stood at the entrance to a side street, illuminated by a brazier in the road. He was dressed in good quality clothes, tight-fitting dark trousers, a green shirt, and a white vest. He had a leather bag slung over his shoulder and looked perfectly relaxed. He could easily just be a random civilian, lounging around in a not-terrible neighbourhood while waiting for someone, even though the hour was a bit late.


    ¡°Captain?¡± Sheridan asked.


    Gilbert stared pointedly at the Magpie, who looked back with his grey eyes, now untouched by grease paint, and Gilbert knew that the second he turned around to answer Sheridan, the second he even blinked, the legendary thief of Sonderport would have melted back into the shadows and vanished.


    He sighed and gestured resignedly with his arms and walked on, ignoring the thief. ¡°Sure, what was that about the whispering, Sergeant?¡±


    ¡°Well, it was creepy, and we all heard it. There¡¯s definitely some sort of wrongness about that place and I don¡¯t think anyone else is in the mood for peeping inside, to be honest, sir.¡±


    ¡°I understand that, but that¡¯s what we get paid to, and we need to go over the evidence before the trial next week. It¡¯s not really a question of comfort¡ª¡± He stopped in his tracks when they turned the corner to the cul-de-sac and the house came into view. Although there was nothing, in particular, to see that he could register, Gilbert felt the wrongness of the place deep in his bones. This was definitely not normal, as if a thick, nasty smell clung to the narrow, normal, two-story house. And somewhere deep inside his mind, he felt the whispering.


    It wasn¡¯t words that were spoken, it was ¡­intentions, and the intentions were ugly and violent and excited about being so. The two Watchers, Fendan and Fuseridge, who had been left here were standing at the corner as far away as they could get and still be said to be at the house. They both looked relieved to see them, and curiously, in an otherwise busy city, this little part of the street was quiet and deserted.


    Gilbert stood for a moment, unsure of what to do. They could break the door in, but if Barlik had trapped it¡­ He didn¡¯t want to put his people at undue risk. Conversely, he didn¡¯t want to be told that traps were his problem if he went to the main office and requested the assistance of a city-approved mage. Gilbert sighed. This job¡­


    And then the whispering suddenly exploded in intensity for a few, sanity-killing seconds; a rush of dark, hideous wants hitting him like a tidal wave of ugly hunger ¨C and then it vanished. Panting and wide-eyed, Gilbert looked at the others around him. Sheridan was doubled over and had lost his helmet. The other two Watchers had lost breakfast and mind respectively, judging by the screaming.


    Gilbert¡¯s fingers trembled when he put a hand on the screaming man¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Calm down, Fendan. We¡¯re fine.¡±


    ¡°Respectfully, Captain, this is not how fine feels!¡± the Watcher snapped vehemently.


    ¡°All right, all right. I agree with you,¡± Gilbert said. This was beyond what could be handled by the Watchers. This was ¡­something else. But he was still proud of his people that they stood their ground, and none had bolted. Maybe one of the priesthoods could handle it, or perhaps a mage? Something white moved at the corner of his eye. He sucked in his breath and turned his gaze, hand going to his weapon.


    The Magpie King. He was standing close by, staring at the fa?ade of the house, a look of awed repulsion painted on his expressive face. He started violently and spun around to turn his silver stare at Gilbert, and then looked around as if it surprised him to be caught out in the open.


    Gilbert smiled. And the smile became a wolf grin. He quickly closed the gap between them and embraced the thief, holding him close to his green and yellow uniform tabard.


    ¡°What the hells are you doing here?¡± he whispered in the Magpie¡¯s ear.


    The thief lifted his head to look up at him. ¡°Returning your clothes,¡± he said softly.


    ¡°Right¡­¡± Gilbert turned towards the house and broke the embrace, holding the thief tightly by the shoulder instead. The Magpie didn¡¯t resist him, which surprised him. He looked at the three other Watchers. Sheridan was picking up his helmet, Fendan was staring blankly into space, and Fuseridge was still spitting.


    ¡°Right,¡± the Magpie confirmed. ¡°What did you just do?¡±


    ¡°I was going to ask you the same. But since you are here, would you mind terribly giving me a hand?¡± Gilbert asked conversationally and squeezed the thief¡¯s shoulder.


    The Magpie turned and looked at him with deep bewilderment and concern obvious on his face. The man was either a fantastic actor and should be teaching at BardArt, or he would be the easiest person to interrogate in the entire history of crime if he ever got caught.


    ¡°What do you think I can help you with, Armstrong?¡± he asked quietly.


    Sheridan put his helmet back on and was now staring at them. Fendan was coming to as well, staring at the newcomer.


    ¡°I think you can get into places without using the door and disarm traps so others can enter. What do you say, Magpie? Mags?¡± he whispered and squeezed the thief¡¯s shoulder again, knowing that the nimble thief could run for it at any second the moment he let go. ¡°Boys,¡± he said loudly at the three Watchers, who all looked at the thief in his grip. ¡°We are in luck. This is my good friend, Mags; he¡¯s a locksmith, and he¡¯s going to help us get in safely. Aren¡¯t you, Mags?¡± he asked and looked at his ¡®good friend¡¯ with a big grin.


    Served him right for being a nosy bird, whatever it was that he was up to. At least now he¡¯d be making himself useful.


    The Magpie was looking at the three guardsmen who were now aware of his presence, and Gilbert could almost feel how his heart sped up being stared at like this. And then the thief said, ¡°Of course, I¡¯m happy to help, Gilbert,¡± and took a step forward towards the house.

 Chapter 5

    Temple looked at the house that had just¡­ screamed at him? It had felt strange, awful, terrifying, and familiar. And then Armstrong was there, taking advantage of his confusion, his big hand resting on Temple¡¯s shoulder. Warm, threatening¡­ he wasn¡¯t sure.


    With the Watchers staring at him, he forcefully shook the sensations off and scanned the house to have an excuse to look away. He became aware of five other obvious ways of gaining entry into the building, aside from the main door.


    There were two large, shuttered windows on the ground floor. There was a small window on the upper floor that he could reach from a ledge on the nearby house. A shutter under the eaves of the roof indicated a small window there, reachable with a hook and rope from above. The other houses all had roof hatches to air out the attic space, so he felt safe assuming this house did too. And, finally, there was the option of entry from below.


    The district of Urod Circle was the third to be built to expand Sonderport back in the time before the Upheaval, back when magic was legal and freely available. Back then, the newly planned city expansions were fully supplied with sewer tunnels, drilled by magic into the bedrock the city rested on. So, although houses had sometimes been rebuilt, the tunnels were there and accessible by those who knew the night side of Sonderport. Navigating the sewer-tunnels wasn¡¯t his favourite means of transportation, but if it got the job done, so be it, and he had never yet encountered anyone lunatic enough to booby-trap their shitter.


    ¡°I will need to know what you know of the house, Gilbert, old friend. What have you been dealing with?¡± Temple asked, not expecting much.


    ¡°This is Tann Barlik¡¯s house,¡± Armstrong said and then supplied no more information.


    Temple didn¡¯t know what to say, so he just stared at the man. He shouldn¡¯t have done that, though, because it made him look at the uniform tabard, the protective leather shirt visible underneath, and one of Armstrong¡¯s soft, white shirts under that, similar to the one in Temple¡¯s bag. The soft material laid itself over the muscles of his arms as if it enjoyed touching him.


    Temple had desperately wanted to sniff it, the shirt he¡¯d borrowed. To take a deep breath and hope the Watcher¡¯s smell was in it, but he had forced himself not to. It was too much. Too ridiculous. Too foreign to him. But now he stood looking at the man¡¯s chest because he knew what he looked like stripped down to his undershorts, and his imagination wouldn¡¯t shut up.


    ¡°Mags?¡±


    ¡°Gilbert?¡±


    ¡°What else do you need?¡±


    ¡°Who is Tann Barlik?¡± Temple immediately realised this was a bad question when he felt the weight of four Watchers¡¯ gaze on him. He backed away. It was almost too much. He had lived the last twenty-five years in fear of being seen by anyone, and especially by Watchers, and here he was: having a chat with them.


    Armstrong must have seen his apprehension because he put his arm around Temple¡¯s shoulders, but not hard or threatening like before. It was a light, almost gentle touch. ¡°You don¡¯t get out much, huh?¡± he said with a small smile.


    ¡°No, I¡¯ve been busy locksmithing, Gilbert,¡± Temple said and noticed the elder of the three Watchers sniggering softly under his bushy, grey moustache. At him or his captain, Temple couldn¡¯t say. ¡°So, who is Tann Barlik?¡±


    ¡°Alright, the short version,¡± Armstrong said. ¡°He kidnapped and murdered seven women over a seven-day period and seems to have used their blood to write messages on the walls of the districts of Urod, Kaala, and Draggok. And then he turned himself in on the eighth day.¡±


    ¡°Right in our palisade and everything, and he emptied a bucket of blood over himself, cackling like a lunatic,¡± the youngest of the three supplied. ¡°That¡¯s why this is our palisade¡¯s problem and not Urod, see. Even though they have fifteen more people employed.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Sargent Sheridan. That sums it up,¡± Armstrong said. ¡°Barlik¡¯s awaiting trial next week and will for sure go to the drowning cages, but we need to know as much about him as possible to make sure there aren¡¯t other victims or any accomplices. And so, we need to get into his house. Or rather, the house of a distant relative of his, which is why we didn¡¯t connect it to him until earlier this evening. But one of my people was hit by a dart to the eye when he looked in the keyhole, and¡­ well, you heard the thing that just happened yourself.¡±


    ¡°Alright, well, I suppose he would prepare primarily for access via the ground floor, so¡­¡± Temple reluctantly shrugged free of Armstrong¡¯s grip and found a stone in the street. He took a few steps closer to the house to test if whatever it had done before was going to repeat itself, and then threw the stone, smashing the windowpane of the small window upstairs. He could have easily opened it with his tools, but he hadn¡¯t brought them ¨C and he couldn¡¯t risk seeming too capable with four Watchers breathing down his neck.


    Captain Armstrong cleared his throat pointedly, and Temple turned to hang his bag over the Watcher¡¯s shoulder. ¡°That cough still bothering you, Gilbert, old friend?¡± he asked.


    Armstrong gave a fake smile, but with a genuine one lurking under it, and then shook his head in disbelief. ¡°I hate it when random civilians vandalise citizens¡¯ property,¡± he commented.


    ¡°Oh, right, yeah, that¡¯s ¡­terrible. Damn those random civilians,¡± Temple said with a shrug.


    The old Watcher sniggered again, as Temple looked at the house and pointed to the ledge that would give him access to the Barlik house. ¡°I can get in through there, but I will need a ladder or a lift. It¡¯s far too high off the ground to reach,¡± he lied, feeling silly since it was just a running jump and easy to find perch when he hauled himself up. But it seemed to have been a good judgement call because none of the Watchers that surrounded him flinched.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you a hand,¡± Armstrong said, ¡°Fendan, hand him the lamp.¡±


    The old Watcher handed Temple the lantern nearby and stepped back. ¡°Braver man than me,¡± the moustached Watcher just said and touched a finger to his helmet.


    Temple felt Gilbert¡¯s hand on his shoulder again, leading him towards the house. He took a position to help Temple up. The three other Watchers were standing at a safe distance.


    ¡°Please, Magpie,¡± Armstrong whispered. ¡°Don¡¯t disturb anything in there. I need the information.¡±


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    ¡°Why would I do that? I don¡¯t have any interest in this, save that you now owe me a favour,¡± Temple whispered back.


    ¡°Not a big favour.¡±


    ¡°Depends on the number of traps, I would say. My time and expertise are usually paid for in diamonds.¡±


    ¡°Not voluntary diamonds,¡± Armstrong pointed out under his breath and held his folded hands out to lift Temple up.


    ¡°Swear that the amnesty still holds,¡± Temple demanded quietly.


    ¡°I swear on my dead wife¡¯s name, I won¡¯t turn you in, and I won¡¯t willingly harm you,¡± he said.


    Temple put a foot in his hands. ¡°Give me a good lift so I don¡¯t look too competent, Gilbert.¡±


    The lift he received was more than adequate and certainly made him look neither competent nor elegant, he suspected. It was absolutely galling to his sense of professionalism. But those were the rules. ¡­At least as long as he insisted on getting close to a Watcher who knew who he was.


    Up on the ledge, Temple very slowly edged his way over to the broken window with the lantern, trying to make his knees seem wobbly, but not sure if he succeeded. Then he looked into the house of the murderer he hadn¡¯t heard of.


    The rock he had thrown was lying on the floor of the empty first-floor room and, though nothing was amiss, everything was amiss. There was something here, dormant, silent, observing like a snoozing cat with an eye half-open, and there was a thick smell that hung in the too-still air inside, waiting to envelop him.


    He looked down at the Watcher. The man appeared almost hopeful, and Temple sighed inwardly. Then he carefully observed and tested the window frame for any traps before he gingerly reached in through the hole and unhooked the window latch. Then he slowly let the window swing up and crawled inside. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least now, he only had to worry about the house observing him.


    He felt naked without his tools, his work-gear, but very carefully checked for traps and anyone alive on the upper floor. There were two rooms save the one he climbed into, all silent and empty of furniture. He made his way up the ladder to the attic where he had to crouch to go to the window hatch, and he opened it and saw the four Watchers observing the fa?ade. He quickly made his way to the stairs down ¨C and was glad he knew what he was doing.


    The stairs were riddled with tripwires and loose boards that would injure someone stepping on them unawares. He purposefully disarmed the wires and stomped the boards to crack them, making his way along the bannister.


    He kept disarming traps, nasty like the dart to the eye, but not fatal, until he had reached the narrow hallway with the two windows and the door to the outside. He lifted the lamp and the shadows seemed oily and reluctant to move in response to the light. From here, there was a curved doorway to the dining room. The smell ¨C thick, organic and personal ¨C had been continually crowding his senses and seemed to originate from there, but the shadows beyond the doorway seemed even more reluctant to leave, and he couldn¡¯t glean anything inside from his careful perch at the stairs.


    The door had been trapped, and he hoped it was mechanical so that the charge was spent and it could be handled quickly. If it was thaumaturgical in nature, it would take a bit longer to diffuse. Very slowly, keeping an eye on the dark doorway to the dining room, Temple edged toward the door to the outside, checking the windows, ceiling, and floor.


    The windows had tripwires placed where anyone entering through there would step, which would clip a sammit-silk wire and earn them a falling rock to the head. Carefully, he triggered the trap and sidestepped, letting the rock fall with a thud.


    Immediately, he heard Armstrong¡¯s voice from outside, ¡°What¡¯s going on in there? Mags?¡±


    ¡°Give me a moment. You wanted to not get injured on entry, right? Or did I misinterpret?¡± Temple called back.


    ¡°Humour is really healthy in tense situations, Mags,¡± came the reply, seemingly from the other side of the window, and Temple smiled to himself. He imagined he could almost feel the man¡¯s body heat through the boards and a pane of glass.


    He shook his head and looked at the lock that had injured the Watcher. It was magical, the trap, for certain, because there was no mechanical anything attached to the lock. He sighed and waved the lantern in front of the lock to see if it reacted on both sides or only from the outside. Nothing happened, so he could safely go and disarm the rock trap on the other window.


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s changed, right?¡± he asked in a loud voice, before tripping the trap. ¡°You still don¡¯t want injured Watchers?¡±


    ¡°Ehm, no. No, thank you. Carry on,¡± Armstrong called from outside.


    Temple triggered the mechanism and the stone fell from its perch with a loud thud. ¡°Remember those things I¡¯m normally paid in?¡± he asked the Watcher on the other side of the wall.


    ¡°Some kind of rock, right? I¡¯ll get you some rocks for your trouble, I¡¯m sure the Kaala palisade can finance that.¡±


    ¡°You better at least paint them in some very pretty patterns first, Armstrong,¡± Temple commented, certain he had heard a small smile in the other man¡¯s voice. ¡°Now quiet please, I have to concentrate,¡± he said and froze.


    He was working. And chatting at the same time? Angry and shocked, he quickly turned the wick down on the lamp and closed the storm lid, plunging himself into darkness where he stood with his back to the outside wall, staring into the shadowy dining room.


    Gently, he gave in and let himself melt into the darkness. Normally, the sensation was safe, calming, knowing he could not be seen but could see pathways of magic and awareness woven through the world at sharp and strange angles.


    But this time, the darkness looked back at him.


    On the end wall of the dining room before him, the entire wall was painted with an enormous eye. The paint had dripped, making it seem like it was melting hideously, and instead of a pupil, there was a handprint with fingers that seemed to wiggle like worms as he looked at them.


    Temple clenched his teeth to not say a word and tore his gaze away. He quickly scanned the door and saw a single strand of power reaching from the eye to the door. With a sense of disgust, he reached down and snapped the strand, which dissipated in his hands and forcefully evicted him from the darkness, as if he had been kicked.


    Knees trembling, Temple fumbled for the lamp and tore open the storm lid, shedding the golden light around him. Now, the light easily penetrated the living room darkness.


    The dining table was the only piece of furniture, and the eye with the hand for a pupil was painted at the end wall, but it was now stationary and devoid of awful life. There were buckets underneath it, everywhere under the table, and holes seemed to be drilled through the tabletop. There were leather straps attached to it, to keep someone tied down. The straps were caked with dried blood.


    Temple stood still, trying to get himself under control. His hands were trembling and his heart pounded in his chest so fiercely, it almost felt like he had to fight it to stand still.


    Ever since he was a child, the darkness had kept him safe, kept him unseen. Whenever he let himself slide into it, he had access to magic ¨C could touch it and rearrange it, if not create it himself ¨C and he remained unseen. Now, the darkness itself had noticed him.


    He shuddered and clenched his hands. He felt betrayed by the darkness and didn¡¯t know how to respond.


    ¡°Mags? Are you still there?¡± came Armstrong¡¯s voice from the other side of the wall.


    A thin laugh forced itself from Temple¡¯s lips. ¡°You don¡¯t take orders well, do you, Watcher?¡± he asked, voice trembling a little. He was grateful the man had spoken; it focussed him and calmed his spiralling feelings.


    ¡°You¡¯re not alright in there, are you?¡± Armstrong asked in a low voice. He sounded ¡­worried?


    ¡°I¡¯m fine! Fine!¡± Temple exclaimed and pulled a lockpick from the secret pocket in his belt. It took just a few moments to open the front door¡¯s lock, but he didn¡¯t like turning his back on the painted eye, however stationary it seemed now.


    He drew a deep breath as he put the lockpick away and opened the door, shimmying outside quickly, and taking a deep breath of air not permeated with blood and foul intent.


    Armstrong was immediately next to him and put a hand on his arm, startling him at the touch.


    ¡°Careful. I haven¡¯t checked the dining room yet. It¡¯s ugly in there,¡± Temple said.


    ¡°I can smell that.¡±


    ¡°You owe me, Watcher. You really owe me!¡±


    ¡°I can tell,¡± he said calmly, holding Temple¡¯s gaze. ¡°Thank you.¡± Then he gestured to the other Watchers to stay back for a while and pushed the door open all the way. ¡°Any corpses?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. But let me check the dining room for traps before you go in,¡± Temple added tiredly.

 Chapter 6

    The thief was almost squirming, and though it had been almost an hour, he had yet to calm down and do more than pretend to be drinking, changing out his glasses with the persons¡¯ sitting next to him whenever something directed their attention elsewhere. Gilbert only noticed because he was too fascinated by the man to ever fully look away.


    He was puzzled as to why the thief had accepted the invitation. For that matter, he was also puzzled why the Magpie had stuck around long enough to get invited in the first place. Or why the hells he even accepted disarming the traps for them. The Magpie could have torn free of Gilbert¡¯s grip and vanished, just as he had done every other time someone had gotten close to him in the last decade of his career that Gilbert knew of. He was just thankful Milla wasn¡¯t here. There was a chance she would recognise him by his silver eyes.


    But the Magpie was stubbornly sitting there at their table at The Blind Eye, a tavern at the western wall of Draggok Hill where the Watchers from all nearby districts tended to congregate. The beer was cellar-cold, and dinner was served at daybreak after the night watch ended. The after-hours beer was traditional after a tough night. The talk had been subdued at first, everyone shaken at the sheer amount of blood rotting in the buckets under the table, worried about Ril who would surely lose his eye, and then grateful to ¡®Mags¡¯ once everyone recalled how many traps had been disarmed.


    The Magpie King had just mumbled something at them, almost smiled, and clearly not known what to do with himself when all the Watchers toasted his efforts, including Watchers from other palisades than their own. And then someone at the Urod Circle table began singing the Magpie King song and everyone joined in, except the actual Magpie King, who looked even less comfortable, but now with a decidedly exasperated touch.


    Frankly, it was hilarious.


    But the legendary master thief of Sonderport had stewed enough and it was time to figure out why he put himself through this discomfort voluntarily.


    Gilbert got up and touched the thief¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Give me a hand,¡± he said and went to the bar, hoping the Magpie would follow. He paid for a round for the Kaala table, asked for the key to the upstairs mezzanine, and gestured for the thief to follow.


    The narrow upstairs meeting room ran the length of the taproom and faced the alley along the city wall, which meant the room was in perpetual shadow. The light from the taproom shone through narrow windows near the ceiling and gave a golden tint to the grey half-light in the room. There was a balcony and Gilbert went to unlock the door before putting the key on the table. He stood aside, placing himself near the wall, so the Magpie had access to both exits unhindered.


    The thief stood at the door to the taproom stairs. Cautiously, he finally came in, closing the door behind him.


    The noise of the taproom dimmed.


    "We should talk,¡± Gilbert said. ¡°I figured you would be more comfortable with more than one exit." He saw the thief nod slowly and his grey gaze held Gilbert¡¯s.


    ¡°That¡¯s kind of you.¡± The Magpie King narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ¡°What do you want, Watcher?¡±


    Gilbert laughed softly. ¡°You know that¡¯s the second time you¡¯ve asked me that, right?¡±


    Gilbert quickly raised his hands in an apologetic gesture when the thief took a few steps closer and his dark brows drew together like a sudden thundercloud, frustration radiating from him like heat from a forge.


    ¡°How did you find me to begin with? Why did you help me? Why didn¡¯t you turn me in tonight? How long is this amnesty going to last? What are you up to!¡± the thief hissed, hands clenched.


    ¡°Why have you been following me?¡± Gilbert countered calmly. ¡°Why did you agree to go into the house? Why did you stick around afterwards? Why did you agree to come here? Don¡¯t you just love that Magpie-song?¡±


    ¡°That stupid name is not my doing! It has nothing to do with me,¡± the thief said with emphasis and pointed at Gilbert as he stomped closer, almost close enough that Gilbert could reach out and touch the man.


    The silver eyes were furious, and the pale cheeks had a bit of colour now. It reminded Gilbert of having pressed a finger to his lip as it healed. He was the reason there was no scar. Actually, he was most likely the reason the thief was even alive right now. He¡¯d had free-roam of his strong, wiry body while he lay there, unconscious in his bed¡­ and that was definitely not something he should be thinking about right now.


    ¡°Look,¡± Gilbert said and slowly lowered his hands, taking a step back to lean against the wall. ¡°I¡¯m not your enemy. Let¡¯s just have a calm conversation, alright?¡±


    ¡°Sure, you are not my enemy, but for how long? How long is this bizarre reprieve going to last?¡± the thief demanded, retreating a bit and lowering his hand too.


    ¡°Forever, if you tell me what to call you.¡± The words left his mouth without permission before he could stop them. It was a potentially dangerous promise, but now it was a fact. The thief was still bristling with distrust and Gilbert kept a grin in check. ¡°I understand that mentioning a certain bird in your presence isn¡¯t welcome, so give me an alternative?¡±


    The thief looked at him for a long while, tense shoulders gradually lowering. ¡°Temple,¡± he said.


    Puzzled, Gilbert looked at him.


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    ¡°My name is Temple. That¡¯s all you get, Watcher.¡±


    ¡°Gilbert,¡± he insisted. ¡°Please? Let¡¯s be civil to each other.¡±


    ¡°Fine, Gilbert. Now tell me how you planned what happened at the house. Why did you do that to me? What did you do?¡± the thief asked and went to lean on the doorframe to the balcony, arms crossed, long fingers curling around his upper arms, too tense to be casual.


    ¡°I¡­ what? What do you mean? ¡­Please don¡¯t think I had anything to do with the murders. Or harming one of my own people. The absolute only reason I can¡¯t get rid of that case is because I am ¨C for some reason ¨C the only one Barlik will talk to. Crazy-talk to, if I¡¯m being precise. I have nothing to do with him, his murders, or his house.¡±


    ¡°Oh no, Gilbert, did I offend you?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Temple, you did,¡± he confirmed. ¡°But I did notice that you seemed ¡­uncomfortable when you opened the door for me back at the house,¡± Gilbert said in as calm and soothing a tone as he could. ¡°What happened to you in there?¡±


    Temple¡¯s inner struggle was plain on his features, even though he looked away as it raged. It was oddly soothing to know the man wouldn¡¯t be able to lie. And incredibly strange to know that a criminal of his magnitude hadn¡¯t picked up the skill to hide his thoughts. Was he from a comfortable background, surrounded by people he trusted? Something about that assumption seemed powerfully unlikely, considering how skittish and suspicious he was.


    Temple finally looked up, having lost the battle against his distrustfulness. ¡°I was seen,¡± he said softly, and there was a distinct note of fear in his voice. ¡°Something in there saw me.¡±


    ¡°There was an accomplice in there?¡± Gilbert asked, not quite sure what to make of the statement.


    ¡°No. Not something living in that sense.¡± Temple obviously searched for a better explanation, his long hands clenching and relaxing in turn. ¡°The darkness was alive.¡± He looked away, seeming a bit exasperated with himself.


    ¡°Like magic?¡± Gilbert asked.


    ¡°Sort of. Maybe.¡± The thief shrugged his slender shoulders.


    ¡°I thought you couldn¡¯t be tracked with magic or scryed upon?¡± Gilbert realised his mistake the second he spoke the question. Temple¡¯s eyes grew wary and heated again, and he stared furiously at him.


    ¡°What have you had to scry with, Watcher?¡± he snapped. ¡°I¡¯m a professional. I don¡¯t leave anything behind.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Gilbert held his hands up again, feeling like he was back to the beginning once more.


    Everything with this man was like trying to coax a wild cat to trust you. Scraps of lizard meat only went so far. No matter how hungry the cat was, self-preservation was the first order of business.


    ¡°The Office of the Nine granted the funds for licenced magical assistance. It was just after the Office decided to wipe you off on me, so about four years ago. The mage claimed he could track you on things you had touched when you stole some document or other, but it didn¡¯t work. He claimed he made contact with you, but that there was just nothing to see for some reason. He couldn¡¯t track you.¡±


    Temple seemed to relax a little, but his long fingers tightened around his upper arms. ¡°What are you up to, Gilbert?¡± he finally asked. ¡°You of all people know exactly what I¡¯m worth. Are you really surprised that I¡¯m ready to run?¡±


    ¡­Fair enough. Most people would probably not let a fortune of this size go, Gilbert thought. ¡°I¡¯m not up to anything. You¡¯re the one who¡¯s been following me, remember? Why were you at the house today?¡± he asked gently.


    ¡°To figure out what you are up to. Again, Gilbert, I know my worth. What you did does not make sense.¡± It was an antagonistic couple of sentences, but some of the venom had finally gone out of him.


    ¡°Alright. But then, try to flip that around for a moment. I would have had nobody qualified to help us tonight if you hadn¡¯t been there. If I hadn¡¯t repaid your kindness with the same coin, my people would have been even more injured than was the case; some maybe even dead,¡± he said slowly.


    Temple pushed away from the doorframe and came closer, cautious, holding Gilbert¡¯s gaze. Very, very slowly, he reached out and placed one hand first, then the other on the wall on either side of Gilbert¡¯s head and stood there, an arm¡¯s length from him.


    Gilbert couldn¡¯t move, afraid to startle the thief and have him run off forever. Temple was not quite as tall as him, so the thief slowly raised himself on tiptoe to bring them at eye height. Gilbert could feel the ghost of his breath on his skin, and then the thief¡¯s gaze flicked to his lips and back up again a split second later. He didn¡¯t dare move or speak. He tried desperately to control his furiously beating heart and fast breath.


    Very, very slowly, Temple bent his arms, bringing their faces closer¡­ and then the hot tip of his tongue quickly licked Gilbert¡¯s lower lip, then the upper, making him gasp. His entire body quickened in exquisite attention, while he still fought not to make any sudden moves.


    Temple retreated a little, pupils so large that the silver was just a thin ring of colour. Gilbert dared a tiny nod of his head and the thief leaned closer again, head tilted a little to the side, until their lips were so close but just exactly not touching.


    The hesitation was maddening, erotic and enticing, and Gilbert fought to remain still despite his frantic heartbeat, while he felt Temple¡¯s warm, excited breath mingle with his own. Then finally, after an eternity of almost painful arousal, their lips met in a soft, gasping touch. It was only for a few moments before Temple withdrew a little, breathless.


    Gilbert slowly reached up and put a hand on the thief¡¯s cheek. ¡°Please don¡¯t run,¡± he said softly.


    Temple quickly grabbed his hand and pushed it to lie around the back of his neck. Gilbert happily held him as directed. Then Temple¡¯s hands grabbed his hips and their lips met again with a hunger Gilbert had never felt before. His entire body ached with longing, and he pulled the thief as close as he could be, tasting his hot, eager tongue.


    He had no idea how long they had been pressing close to each other, lost in the kiss, when a crash of splintering mugs sounded from the taproom, and Temple jumped away, eyes wide. There was a short second of silence but then laughter and talking carried on from downstairs.


    ¡°Don¡¯t run,¡± Gilbert repeated, still winded and almost dizzy from the kiss. He held out his hand, palm up to be as unintimidating as possible.


    Temple retreated, taking a deep breath.


    There was a look of both awe and terror in his eyes, and Gilbert knew it wasn¡¯t likely that he would stay. ¡°Give me a way to contact you. Please. Don¡¯t just vanish,¡± he said softly.


    ¡°There is no way to contact me,¡± he said, slowly walking backwards towards the door to the stairs.


    ¡°Then¡­ don¡¯t stop following me,¡± Gilbert said, suddenly exasperated.


    ¡°I¡¯ll think about it.¡± Temple stared at him, eyes wide, clearly shocked. Then he quickly threw something onto the table, turned, and ran down the stairs; presumably back to the shadows he came from.


    It didn¡¯t make sense to run after him. Temple was fleeing, just like he did last time. But at least this time, they had gotten a lot closer.


    Temple¡­


    Gilbert leaned his head back on the wall and exhaled. His erection was downright painful, and his hands were trembling. No doubt his arousal would be obvious, so he needed a moment to get himself together before going back down. When his breath finally calmed down a little, he noticed what Temple had thrown on the table and barked a laugh. His coin purse.


    Served him right for kissing a thief.

 Chapter 7

    There were more people gathered at the central docks today than Temple had ever seen before. All the commercial ship traffic was being rerouted to the eastern docks. Glob and Crusher, Sonderport¡¯s two boulder-giants, had raised the Chain blocking the inner harbour entrance so that no ship could leave or enter. People milled about everywhere, hoping for a good view of the cage crane at the end of Burned Bridge Pier. It seemed everyone in Sonderport wanted to see Tann Barlik die, Temple included. He often went up here to watch the executions ¨C to remind himself of what was at stake.


    From his perch on the cliffs high above the eastern dock, hidden behind a half-burned wall ¨C although nobody was likely to spot him from this distance ¨C Temple could follow the action of several groups of pickpockets working the crowd in teams. One thief distracted the mark, another picked their valuables, and others handed the loot down the line away from the throng, so nobody got caught with incriminating goods on them. It was smooth, quick, elegant, and almost never provoked suspicion. Coin was always best, because you didn¡¯t have to run it by a fence, and a crowd like this would have plenty of beer money on hand. Plenty, at least for petty pickpockets.


    Temple had never worked with a group, and he had no illusions that it made things easier. Having others around meant there was someone to tell on you to save their own hide when they got caught. Safety in numbers was a myth. Betrayal in numbers was probably closer to the truth.


    Although he remembered having lifted coin purses as a child, he had graduated to lockpicking his way into private flats shortly after Miss Kaia give him his first lockpicks. That was just after¡­ no. He wasn¡¯t sure. He was just a street urchin. There was nothing before that. Something lurked at the edge of his thoughts, and he pushed it away, watching the cage hanging on a chain from the crane. It was covered by a black cloth now, and the criminal was in there, stewing in the knowledge of his quickly-approaching death.


    As soon as Temple found himself looking for Gilbert in the crowd, he forcefully stopped himself. Gilbert was busy being a part of the system that put people in drowning cages. The fact that Temple had told him about the darkness observing him was insane. Having kissed him was insane. Reckless. Stupid. And wanting him closer still was equally suicidal.


    Temple gasped, suddenly horrified at himself. Wanting the Watcher for a quick fuck was completely permissible. The problem was that he wanted more than that. He didn¡¯t know what that more was, because there was no space for anyone in his life. It was too risky. It was impossible. The Watcher wouldn¡¯t want that either. But the impulse was there ¨C to reach for something more ¨C and it shook him to his core.


    Down at the pier, the black cover was drawn, and the murderer had a chance to speak before the cage was lowered and the man was drowned. But Temple didn¡¯t pay attention to either.


    *


    ¡°Captain¡­¡±


    Gilbert looked up from the papers he was close to drowning in.


    Sargent Sheridan made a little grimace. ¡°Sorry, Captain. We¡¯ve got another one. East Urod Circle, near Grove Door gate.¡±


    Gilbert sighed. ¡°¡­Alright, what is the great message this time?¡±


    Sheridan smartly found his wax tablet. ¡°It said, ¡®A place in the darkness to those who prepare¡¯, Captain,¡± he reported, clearly satisfied with his effort. ¡°Oh, and that eye with a handprint in it. But the blood was all dried on this one, so I guess it¡¯s at least a day old.¡±


    ¡°Put it on the board.¡± Gilbert gestured to the rough map of the city districts, drawn on a wooden board and propped against the wall of his office at the Kaala palisade. He looked at the little slips of paper of all the texts they had found all over the city. It held inspirational quotes like, ¡®Darkness travels the bridge¡¯, ¡®The temple of darkness awakens¡¯ and, ¡®Honour the bridge to the darkness¡¯. Gilbert tiredly rubbed his eyes.


    The texts were scribbled on the walls across the districts, from the slums of Wallsen in the north to merchant aristocrat houses in the heart of Old Town. All of them were written in blood, all of them were perpetrated with no witnesses, and they had begun cropping up the day after Tann Barlik was executed.


    ¡­And just like Barlik, the perpetrators of the murders that gave them their paint to write with came to the Kaala palisade to turn themselves over. This time, however, to Gilbert specifically. They all knew his name.


    It had been almost three weeks now, and six lunatics had shown up. He had tried everything from asking nicely, starving them, threatening them and even a beating he was definitely not proud of when he had lost his temper because he had barely slept for days. But they only rambled happily on about the darkness and didn¡¯t come close to explaining what the hells that had to do with him.


    The closest thing Gilbert got was one man who screamed, ¡°You! You will build the bridge that will bring the darkness home,¡± and then proceeded to thank him profusely, almost like a religious chant.


    It was downright unnerving, and the people under his command, not to mention his superiors, were not necessarily far from blaming him. For having done ¡­something he shouldn¡¯t have, if not the murders themselves.


    He had called in extra personnel, and every other palisade in the city had taken on patrol duties to try to catch someone in the act. ¡­Of killing someone, of draining them of blood to write with, or of actually writing ¨C at this point, Gilbert didn¡¯t care. Any kind of breakthrough would help.


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    So far, they knew that the murderers had nothing in common. They lived all over the place, held different jobs, didn¡¯t know each other, and had varying levels of income. None were reported to be unstable in any way prior to committing a murder for no apparent reason. The same was true of the victims they knew of, who were attacks of opportunity, as if the perpetrator just went for a walk, found someone to kill, and then did. Some were bled clumsily in back alleys, some murderers had done it at home, and all of them then set out with a bucket full of blood to paint their message on a wall with brushes, old socks, their hands¡­ whatever they had access to.


    Then they walked off to the Kaala palisade to ask for Gilbert Armstrong...


    Gilbert sighed. Sunrise was two hours away and he had been working all day and night ¨C and the night before ¨C coordinating several Watcher teams investigating the murders and writing-sites in the city, hoping to spot some sort of connection. He¡¯d had a brief nap around noon, but other than that¡­ he couldn¡¯t even remember the last time he had a real meal.


    ¡°I¡¯m going home, Sargent. I need sleep,¡± Gilbert stated and got up.


    ¡°Good call, Captain.¡± Sheridan put his helmet on and tucked his tablet away. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t go alone.¡±


    ¡°Wrong. I absolutely should. I can get lucky and get killed by a lunatic on the way. Maybe my blood will be used for writing ¡®Blah blah darkness bridge darkness blah¡¯, and all my troubles will be over.¡± He buckled on his weapon, threw his uniform tabard on his chair, and lit a lantern to bring.


    He intended to go as direct a route as possible, and that meant ink-dark alleyways.


    ¡°See you tomorrow, Sheridan,¡± he said, gave the young sergeant a warning look when he seemed prepared to argue, and then left the palisade.


    The city was still quiet, with only a few pedestrians going to work early. A gentle, cool breeze blew in from the ocean and made breathing easier.


    It was a few days since he had been home and he looked forward to lying in his own bed. Purposefully, he took every shortcut he knew through alleys and courtyards between houses where no braziers shone, holding his lantern up.


    ¡°Watcher?¡±


    It was a soft whisper, just on the cusp of hearing, but close to him in the narrow, dark alley. He spun around and reached for his weapon.


    ¡°Gods!¡± he exclaimed, heart beating furiously when he saw Temple, hands held up in a placating gesture.


    He was dressed as he had been the first time they locked eyes. Black, matte leather clinging to his wiry frame. Nothing he wore was loose or shiny. The tight hood was drawn low over his forehead, the mask drawn over his nose and mouth. The long fingers and the area of his eyes were painted black, so only his pale eyes separated him from the darkness. ¡­From the darkness that Gilbert could have sworn he had just lit up with his lantern as he passed.


    ¡°You are in trouble, right?¡± Temple asked hesitantly.


    Gilbert barked out a laugh that sounded obscenely loud in the deserted alley. ¡°That¡¯s a word for it.¡±


    ¡°Because of those people with the ¡­blood in the buckets. From the house?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Gilbert confirmed solemnly. ¡°Those are the ones. Whatever darkness observed you¡­¡± He stopped himself and watched the thief¡¯s eyes open wide. It looked like fear. Well, it was fear. The Magpie King couldn¡¯t hide his feelings. ¡°You told me the darkness was alive¡­¡± Gilbert said softly. He had forgotten that detail in the madness of Barlik and those who continued the man¡¯s work, and he very slowly reached out to put a hand on the thief¡¯s arm, hoping it would seem calming.


    But Temple nimbly stepped away. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. ¡°There isn¡¯t time. Do you know Bartok¡¯s Lane?¡± he asked, searching Gilbert¡¯s gaze intently.


    ¡°Bartok¡¯s Lane?¡± he frowned, confused, and then gestured in a northern direction. ¡°A side street of Docket Way ¡­three streets over?¡±


    He thought for a moment that the thief must have almost smiled under the mask, but then Temple just nodded. ¡°Run there, now. As fast as you can. I will meet you there.¡±


    ¡°Wait, why?¡± This time, Gilbert¡¯s hand shot out on reflex to stop the thief, and he was surprised when he just stood still and didn¡¯t fight the hand on his arm.


    Then he quickly twisted in the grip, so Gilbert had to let go, and stepped closer so their faces were almost close enough for a kiss. ¡°I just saw one. With a bucket. With blood on his jacket. He was going up the street. I don¡¯t know where he is now.¡±


    ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡±


    ¡°Your turn to trust me, Gilbert,¡± the thief said sharply and withdrew a few paces.


    The calculation was short and precise and lasted less than a second in Gilbert¡¯s mind. Then he turned and sprinted in the direction of Bartok¡¯s Lane. Several times now, he had asked a thief with an absolute fortune on his head to disregard the danger and get closer, always closer; to a Watcher no less. Asked him for his trust. Been angry at his refusal to believe that someone wasn¡¯t going to act on their greed.


    He might be running straight into an ambush right now, yes. But the thief could also just have walked right up to him a minute ago and slit his throat from behind, and he wouldn¡¯t have known what hit him. Gilbert quickened his pace.


    *


    It took Temple¡¯s mind a few seconds to snap to and make his body move since the fast, strong, surefooted pace of the Watcher running down the alley was rather pleasant to observe. There was a kind of underplayed strength to his movements, and this was ¡­satisfying.


    Temple clenched his teeth, annoyed with himself, and let the darkness embrace him again, so he could reach the mental anchors he had set to help himself scale the wall in the darkworld. It would spit him out again in a few moments, so he had to be on the other side of the building before he found himself back in conventional reality, holding on to a handhold that only existed in the darkworld and plummeting to his death. He reached the other side of the building and sprinted for the next street, keeping to the shadows as far as possible.


    He didn¡¯t need the darkness for the next exit between streets, and he shimmied into Bartok¡¯s Lane and stood in the shadows of the quiet lane. Nobody was near, and from the other end of the lane, he thought he heard running feet. He had been going in a direct line, but Gilbert was fast and would gain on him soon.


    Cursing in his mind, he sprinted the length of the dark street, looking down all the connecting side alleys. Finally, he heard the scrape of a bucket on the ground and saw a faint, flickering glow from a lantern or candle down one narrow lane.


    Gilbert was approaching fast, so Temple exhaled, forcing his breath to still and silently approached to look down the alley. The light moved, and he caught a glimpse of someone holding a lantern up to the wall to see better. Something was written there, but Temple didn¡¯t stay. He silently ran out on Bartok¡¯s Lane and gestured for Gilbert in the dark.


    He was hit with a beam of light from the lantern that would give the Watcher away, and he sent Gilbert an annoyed look that he hoped the man understood. Then he signalled to be quiet and pointed down the alley where the painter was.


    Quickly, Temple let himself fall into the darkworld again, feeling the familiar cold and hearing the familiar faint whispers, intending to run ahead of the painter to direct his attention if needed. He hadn¡¯t even thought of it, but Gilbert sucked in his breath in shock. Silently, Temple got to higher ground ahead of the Watcher, and heard him mutter behind him:


    ¡°No fucking wonder we never caught you.¡±

 Chapter 8

    Gilbert tried to calm his breathing after the thief melted into the shadows. He didn¡¯t understand it. It had seemed to his eyes as if¡­ as if the man had stepped back into nothingness. As if reality for a short moment was a backcloth on a stage, and the thief had stepped nimbly through the unseen opening down the middle. Gilbert had a feeling he was still there, somehow, but just occupying another part of what was visible and tangible.


    Forcefully, he tore himself away from staring at the shadow where the thief disappeared.


    Ahead was a side alley, branching out from the narrow lane, and he saw a light flicker there. Slowly, he approached the mouth of the alley, just a narrow space between two houses where people threw their waste of all kinds. The funk was sharp and wasn¡¯t helped by the addition of fresh blood, smeared all over the clay wall of a timber frame house.


    The painter stood with a lantern, regarding his work critically. He looked to be in his early thirties, well-kept and groomed, wearing a loose coat and good-quality boots.


    Gilbert quickly scanned the area. He could probably get closer to the man, but he would have to move fast. The moment the painter turned, he would likely run, and he would have to chase him down.


    He did his best to sneak closer, getting to within five meters of him unobserved.


    The painter nodded, satisfied with his work, and made to turn around, as Gilbert tensed for the chase. Then the painter suddenly froze in his tracks and spun around, turning his back on the Watcher in the shadows, searching the darkness with his lantern held high.


    The shadows melted away, oily and reluctant, and Temple stepped towards the painter ¡­who gasped, dropped his lantern to the ground, and fell to his knees, arms up in front of him as if in prayer.


    ¡°Silver-eyed darkness, grant me your mercy!¡± the painter exclaimed, voice trembling either with fear or some other turbulent emotion. Gilbert couldn¡¯t tell, but he saw the deeply puzzled look in Temple¡¯s eyes. The thief¡¯s gaze flickered to him as he moved closer, and then back to the kneeling man.


    Gilbert grabbed the kneeling man in a chokehold and dragged him to his feet.


    The painter froze in surprise, but then struggled and kicked. Gilbert just tightened his hold for a moment, threatening to choke the man unconscious. ¡°Stand still!¡± he hissed in the prisoner¡¯s ear, trying hard to keep weeks of frustration in check.


    Gilbert quickly looked at Temple, who was staring at him, almost shocked.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Gilbert demanded of the painter, who had stopped struggling quite as much with the threat of the chokehold.


    ¡°The messenger of the high priests,¡± the painter gasped, hands still fighting against Gilbert¡¯s grip. ¡°The temple is waking, and the darkness reclaims its rightful place.¡± Suddenly, the painter grew limp in Gilbert¡¯s grip and began to fall, only held aloft by his arms. Instinctively, he followed, so he wouldn¡¯t kill the man accidentally, and then the painter bucked against him while squirming and screaming, ¡°Great darkness, I give myself to you!¡±


    A warm wave hit Gilbert¡¯s arms, rushing forth with enough force to be felt as stark pressure against his skin.


    ¡°No, no!¡± he exclaimed, but the painter had opened his jugular somehow and the torrent of blood made his grip slippery. ¡°Gods damn you!¡± he yelled and let the man down on the dirty ground, so he could try to stop the bleeding. The man was already white as a funeral dress and, for a moment, Gilbert thought he was beyond vision already as he desperately pressed on the wound.


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    Then he realised the man was staring at Temple, reaching a blood-stained hand out to him.


    ¡°No! Who do you work for?¡± Gilbert barked, grabbing the man¡¯s face and forcing him to look at him. ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Highest¡­ Dark¡­¡± the painter said weakly as the fierce flow of blood became a calmer river, flowing forth from the small but deep cut that Gilbert tried to staunch. ¡°Rakkos¡­¡± he whispered and turned his head in Temple¡¯s direction, though Gilbert doubted if he still saw this world.


    Then the painter expired, surrounded by his scribbles, the thief he had kneeled to, and a very frustrated Watcher.


    Gilbert stayed, looking at the dead man on the ground for a while before he slowly turned his head and stared at the writing on the wall. Then he turned to look at the Magpie King, whose gaze was glued to the dead man, eyes huge in shock. His chest was rising and falling at a frantic pace, and his hands were clenched.


    ¡°Temple?¡± Gilbert asked gently.


    The thief started violently and stared at him. Then he blinked and looked away, clearly fighting to get a grip on himself. He took a step away from Gilbert and the corpse on the ground, and for a second, Gilbert was quite certain he would run.


    ¡°You have blood all over,¡± Temple finally said, not looking up. His voice was trembling audibly.


    Gilbert looked down at himself. His sleeve and chest were soaked through hideously and he felt the blood begin to cool and dry and grow sticky. He looked down at the dead man and noticed a metal band on his finger, sitting like a ring on the middle joint. On the inside of the ring was a sharp, short blade. A quick jab at his own neck had been all it took. The vein had opened up to the small slicing motion as if it had longed for its freedom.


    Slowly, he got to his feet and looked at the thief. ¡°Have you read what he wrote?¡± he asked and watched Temple tear his gaze away from the corpse with obvious difficulty.


    He looked at the message blankly and then finally looked at Gilbert again. ¡°The temple of darkness awakens?¡± He shrugged, obviously confused about the question.


    ¡°Temple,¡± Gilbert said, ¡°why did you step out of the shadows just before I got to him?¡± he added and watched the thief clench his hands. He knew he should apologise, quickly, before Temple felt under attack and ran. Before he could do anything, the emotions in the thief¡¯s eyes condensed into anger and he stepped closer, so they were only separated by the dead man on the ground.


    ¡°You think I had something to do with this!¡± he spat. ¡°I gave up my cover because an empty barrel rolling down the street would make less noise than you did. It¡¯s a wonder he didn¡¯t flee immediately. And I was only doing any of this, putting myself in danger, because I wanted to help you! I didn¡¯t know I would find you that quickly, I didn¡¯t even have high hopes that I would at all. You are welcome!¡± He retreated a few steps.


    Gilbert took a deep breath, feeling the stench of the blood in his nostrils as he tried to calm down. The thief was right. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said. ¡°You did all that. I know.¡± He sighed, suddenly hit by a wave of exhaustion. He lifted his hand to rub his eyes, but the dead man¡¯s blood would be all over his face if he did that. Slowly, he stepped away from the corpse, creating more distance from the thief as well. ¡°Look, I will have to go back to the palisade and get people here. And I really need sleep. But please, meet with me tonight? You see things that I don¡¯t.¡±


    Temple stood completely still for a while, gaze fixed on the corpse, fear in his eyes. ¡°No,¡± he said finally and shook his head slightly.


    A hot flower of anger unfolded its petals in Gilbert¡¯s chest, and he took a deep breath to calm himself. ¡°I¡¯m not planning an ambush,¡± he said as quietly as he could. ¡°I gave you my word.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and it doesn¡¯t matter. Do what you must here and come meet me immediately. Alone. Unarmed. At The Maskerade in Old Town. Enter through the blue door on Vencana Road and give them your name to be let in.¡± Gilbert opened his mouth to say something, but Temple stopped him, ¡°It¡¯s that or nothing. I can¡¯t keep letting you control the surroundings. I won¡¯t.¡± He backed away a few paces down the alley, keeping his eyes on Gilbert. ¡°I can¡¯t help you anyway. I don¡¯t even know what I was thinking.¡±


    ¡°I will be there as soon as I can.¡± Gilbert looked at the thief who kept retreating, feeling like he had just been very rude, but unsure exactly how or why.


    Temple nodded and turned silently, walking down the alley until the darkness quickly swallowed him just as before, as if reality had given up on showing him.

 Chapter 9

    After having sent Watchers to retrieve the corpse from the alley and log the text, Gilbert had quickly washed and put on fresh clothes. The icy well water in the small washroom at the palisade had done much to quicken him. A brief examination had revealed that the painter wore the sash of those employed in the house of the High Merchant, the Harbour Master¡¯s second in command.


    By now, having walked to Old Town which he rarely ever visited, he felt almost awake again as he was let into the brothel The Maskerade. The establishment was quite famous and catered to a clientele of much greater means than a Watcher.


    The very explicit nature of a place like a high-end brothel seemed ¡­very unlike Temple as Gilbert knew him. Quiet, skittish, careful. Consummate professional. Slow to trust.


    The meeting in the alley had kept replaying itself in his mind all morning. He¡¯d been a fool earlier, making it sound like he thought the Magpie was somehow responsible, but his instinct told him that¡­ he was involved. Maybe without knowing it. Something about this entire bizarre business seemed connected. The painter¡¯s reaction today had been too open and specific to Temple to be meaningless. But Temple had reacted with puzzlement and fear. And he had definitely not been comfortable or happy seeing the painter die.


    Ever since they met, Gilbert had been amused at how easy the master thief of Sonderport was to read. He had to trust that what he was reading was true.


    When he had entered the brothel, he had given his name and, as Temple had said, he was expected. Then he had been asked to disarm himself, remove his boots and socks, and choose a half-mask from a wall with at least a hundred of them in varying levels of intricacy. He chose the least crazy one he could find: a ginger cat, beautifully painted. The doorkeeper, a tall, strong woman with a no-nonsense gaze, had claimed it was ¡®house policy¡¯.


    When she guided Gilbert through a slightly sloping corridor to reach the main house, she instructed him to walk in the middle, where a broad groove allowed water to flow continually, almost covering his feet. The cool water was curiously refreshing, and the odd experience shook him out of his reverie. At the back of his mind, he mused that this was probably why Temple wanted them to talk here. Everything was new, and Gilbert was the one at a disadvantage.


    The brothel proper was nearly overwhelming. The rich but tasteful d¨¦cor was a surprise, the thick carpets under his bare feet pleasant, and although it was midmorning and the establishment was presumably not running at full speed, the workers, men and women both, were handsome, healthy, and came in all shapes, sizes, and species. Some were catering to their masked clients in small, cosy bar areas or escorting them to rooms.


    When the doorkeeper finally stopped by an intricately carved door and knocked a quick signal, Gilbert had to actively remind himself why he was there. Temple opened the door. He held a mask of a colourful bird to his face and stepped aside for Gilbert to enter. Some coin changed hands and Temple nodded at the rather stone-faced doorkeeper before he closed and locked the door. Then he threw his mask on a side table by the door and looked at Gilbert with a small smile. ¡°Cat. I¡¯m a little surprised.¡±


    ¡°The least lavish,¡± Gilbert explained and took the mask off. The room had two soft-looking sofas and a table in one corner with a small bar cabinet, holding several exotic-looking bottles and glasses. There was a large, four-poster bed with heavy red hangings. The walls had open shelves holding an assortment of objects one would expect to find at a brothel. Near the sofas was a washstand with an ornate mirror hanging over it.


    He looked at Temple, who was wearing dark trousers and a loose-fitting shirt. He looked calmer, more at ease than Gilbert had seen him before, and there was a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. Then Gilbert¡¯s gaze went to the thief¡¯s feet which were also bare, and he realised he had missed that sight. Long, slender feet with a dusting of dark hairs at the ankle, where the buttons keeping his trousers tight had been opened. He longed to run his hand up the strong, sinewy legs that he had only ever touched to remove the crossbow bolt.


    He tore his gaze away with difficulty. ¡°Alright,¡± he shook his head. ¡°I assume you chose this place to rattle me?¡±


    ¡°Are you rattled, Gilbert?¡± Temple asked with a small smile and went to sit down cross-legged on one of the sofas.


    Gilbert sat down on the other sofa and the smile in the corner of Temple¡¯s mouth got more pronounced. ¡°So you are actually comfortable smiling in my presence?¡± he couldn¡¯t help asking.


    ¡°Absolutely. I¡¯m not surrounded by Watchers or lying in pain, near-naked in a stranger¡¯s bed.¡± He sat back, calm and relaxed, slender hands resting on his knees. ¡°I suppose it¡¯s up to you to trust I didn¡¯t ask you here to ambush you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you are going to ambush me. And I don¡¯t think you had anything to do with the madman and his wall writing. The way you reacted to him wasn¡¯t guilty. Not at all. I¡¯m sorry I made it sound like I was suspicious.¡±


    Temple gave him a scrutinising look and then frowned. ¡°I broke into a house on your orders, and you accused me of being in league with the murderer, and then I wanted to tell you of the painter, and you accused me of ¡­something. I¡¯m not sure. But,¡± he held up a hand to stop Gilbert from interrupting, ¡°you picked me up, even though you knew who I was, and you never attempted to hold me back, though I accused you of planning that. And then you did it again at the bar and took my comfort into consideration, and I fled.¡±


    Gilbert nodded and smiled at Temple. ¡°It seems to me like we can either go our separate ways or just trust we aren¡¯t trying to harm each other.¡±


    Temple nodded and then got to his feet and moved over to Gilbert¡¯s sofa, seating himself cross-legged, facing him. ¡°You don¡¯t mind, do you?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no. Not at all.¡± He couldn¡¯t help smiling. He was still tired, but it was a faint memory, and being this close to the thief was quickening all his senses. He slowly turned and sat cross-legged like Temple, their knees touching.


    ¡°So, ask your questions,¡± Temple said. ¡°And tell me what¡¯s going on.¡±


    ¡°Ehm¡­¡± Gilbert couldn¡¯t hold back a laugh. ¡°Right. When you distracted him so I could get close without being noticed, he kneeled to you. Do you have any idea why?¡±


    The thief shook his head and two small lines appeared between his dark brows. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said quietly, seemingly unnerved.


    ¡°What about the message on the wall, then? There have been some of them that talk about the temple, whatever it means. Not just this one. Did you understand any of it?¡±


    ¡°No, Gilbert, because a temple and being named Temple are two different things. And besides, you don¡¯t even know if it¡¯s my actual name. You only told me the amnesty was forever if I told you what to call me!¡±


    ¡°Are you really that sassy?¡± Gilbert laughed. ¡°Alright, fine, fine.¡± He held his hands up in a gesture that was rapidly beginning to register with him as his Temple-soothing gesture, either against his fear, distrust, or anger. ¡°Then what about the one he said he worked for? Rakkos?¡±


    Temple made an exasperated gesture with his hands. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Watcher. I don¡¯t know what it means!¡± he exclaimed, but this time, there was more than just denial in his voice and face.


    ¡°Look, I¡¯m not accusing you of knowing anything about Rakkos,¡± Gilbert said calmingly, watching for the reaction he had seen twice now. And there it was in the thief¡¯s expressive face and mannerisms: fear. ¡°Rakkos¡­ what did he call it? Rakkos, the highest dark?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± Temple snapped forcefully.


    ¡°Peace,¡± he said calmingly. ¡°It¡¯s alright. But are you sure, because every time I say that name, you flinch? I¡¯m not saying you¡¯re lying; I don¡¯t think you are, but something is happening, right here,¡± he slowly reached out and touched the thief¡¯s forehead, ¡°and here,¡± he said and let a finger glide over his shoulder, gently pressing down on it.


    ¡°It¡¯s just an ugly name with a bad taste. That¡¯s all. And you are a danger to me. I can¡¯t help you!¡± Temple exclaimed, and Gilbert felt he was seconds from storming off.


    He reached out to calmly put his hands on the thief¡¯s shoulder and felt Temple freeze under his touch. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to get you angry. If you remember something or learn something, will you tell me?¡± he asked evenly, and let his hands gently begin to caress the tense shoulders.


    Temple stared down at his folded legs for a while, but the tension in his shoulders diminished slowly. Then he finally looked up. ¡°That depends on what I remember,¡± he said softly.


    ¡°That was a very, very honest answer,¡± Gilbert grinned and allowed his hands to strengthen their grip a little to help loosen up tense muscles, while his thumbs caressed the collarbones with each touch.


    Temple looked up at him, a touch of annoyance in his gaze. ¡°This didn¡¯t go particularly well.¡±


    ¡°I think it went exceptionally well. We¡¯re both still talking.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on, but ever since that house, it¡¯s felt like¡­ some kind of odd resonance. But I just can¡¯t hear it fully.¡± Temple shook his head, clearly aware that it was a vague description at best, but then he leaned into Gilbert¡¯s touch and closed his eyes with a small sigh.


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    Gilbert smiled to himself and let his fingers slowly work towards the back of his neck, warming up the muscles. Then Temple¡¯s hands, fingers still painted black with ink, slid over to caress Gilbert¡¯s knees, then his thighs. Then Temple opened his grey eyes and smiled as his thumbs caressed Gilbert¡¯s erection, making him gasp for breath.


    Temple pushed closer to let his lips softly touch Gilbert¡¯s before he retreated again. There was a look in his eyes, somewhere between challenge and question, and Gilbert laughed. ¡°You don¡¯t have to ask permission for anything,¡± he stated and pulled the thief closer with a hand at the back of his neck.


    ¡°Good,¡± Temple whispered and let his hands grip Gilbert¡¯s hips, guiding him to turn on the sofa and lean on the backrest.


    He did as instructed, but pulled Temple into a greedy kiss, gasping through the warmth when the thief¡¯s hands went exploring. Suddenly desperate, he tore at Temple¡¯s shirt, forcing them to break the kiss to pull it over his head so he could finally, finally touch his skin unhindered.


    A shiver of delight ran through him when he let his hands slide from Temple¡¯s strong, slender shoulders and down over the corded muscles of his chest. He let his fingers scratch through the dark hairs, down the hard muscles of the stomach, enjoying access to his warm skin. Temple held still, his hands stroking the front of Gilbert¡¯s trousers. His head was tilted back in delight and his eyes closed. He was a work of perfection and, suddenly, Gilbert realised something.


    For all the strange self-confidence he had displayed here, in a brothel, it didn¡¯t change the fact that Temple didn¡¯t trust people. Gilbert couldn¡¯t imagine there was much chance he invited intimacy with anyone beyond a quick, impersonal fuck. It didn¡¯t change Gilbert¡¯s lust or passion, but the intimacy suddenly felt like a rare victory, and he put his arm around the thief, leaning him back a bit so he could kiss his neck, collarbone, and chest.


    Temple put his arms around Gilbert¡¯s neck and leaned back in the embrace, giving the Watcher room to let his hands slide down over his backside, which drew a moan of pleasure from him, as Gilbert let his tongue explore a nipple that instantly hardened at the touch. Temple gasped, and his fingers tightened their grip. When Gilbert kissed his way back up, Temple met him in a kiss that felt almost desperate, and he began tearing at the Watcher¡¯s shirt, which didn¡¯t give quickly enough, and the kiss ended with a frustrated growl that made Gilbert laugh.


    ¡°Undress, damn it!¡± Temple demanded and then grinned, but when their eyes met, he seemed to grow self-conscious.


    Quickly, Gilbert got out of his shirt, threw it on the floor, and put his arms around Temple before the self-consciousness had time to settle. The feeling of skin to skin made him gasp, and when Temple leaned against him with a soft sigh, it felt like something between them, something cold, snapped and vanished.


    For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then Gilbert slowly let his hands slide up to Temple¡¯s face and kissed him softly. ¡°I want you so much that it actually hurts,¡± he said. ¡°And I don¡¯t want to hurry.¡±


    Temple nipped his lip quickly. ¡°I agree. We should take it slow. But I want you inside of me first.¡±


    *


    The effect of Temple¡¯s words was hot and immediate. Gilbert¡¯s pupils dilated and his hands slid down to Temple¡¯s hips, pressing them together where it mattered. Then he pushed him off the sofa and they both got to their feet. ¡°Undress. Now,¡± was all Temple said but they desperately reached for each other¡¯s trouser buttons, grinning at each other.


    He had already felt Gilbert¡¯s hard cock when he shamelessly groped him earlier, but as soon as they were naked, Temple couldn¡¯t look away. He was breathless, and his fingers trembled when he reached for it to gently run a finger up the hard length. He heard Gilbert gasp for breath and quickly looked up to see him close his eyes, lips parted slightly. It was incredibly arousing to observe Gilbert give himself over to the pleasure as his fingers gently caressed his large member.


    Gilbert seemed to force himself back to awareness. He resolutely pulled Temple down to straddle him as he sat back down on the sofa, one hand wandering to where Temple wanted it the most and the other on the small of his back to hold him close.


    Temple stretched to reach the small flask on the side table, which he had made sure was within reach when he arrived, and poured oil into his hand. His breath was fast in his chest, and he couldn¡¯t wait to see the Watcher¡¯s long, thick cock slick and ready.


    Gilbert held out two fingers for Temple to pour oil on. Then he oiled his fingers and held Temple close, but gasped deliciously when Temple began to massage him slowly and rhythmically.


    ¡°I dreamt of this,¡± Temple said softly, almost scared when he realised he had said it out loud.


    ¡°I did too.¡± Gilbert slowly let his oiled finger trail in between his buttocks. ¡°I¡¯ve had dreams of watching you pleasure yourself, or riding me, or begging me to fuck you.¡± His finger began to softly circle the entrance and press gently to be let in.


    Temple sighed softly in pleasure. ¡°I dreamed of tasting your cock or begging you to fuck me,¡± he whispered while his hands worked. One massaging Gilbert¡¯s balls, the other slicking his cock up. His breath was fast in his throat, and he subtly tightened his grip when Gilbert¡¯s finger found entry, working back and forth slowly while his other hand held him steady.


    Not letting go of him, Temple leaned closer for a breathless kiss. When it ended, they held each other¡¯s gaze, each feeling the heaving and fast breath in the other¡¯s chest. Temple just sat there, hands closed tightly on Gilbert¡¯s cock and balls, while the Watcher¡¯s fingers teased and slow-fucked him, close to driving him to the brink.


    ¡°No, stop,¡± he gasped and leaned closer to bite the Watcher¡¯s ear, pushing lustfully back against his fingers. ¡°Stop. I can¡¯t¡­¡±


    He felt the laughter in the other man¡¯s chest more than he heard it, and Gilbert slowly withdrew his fingers, placing his strong hands on Temple¡¯s buttocks. He had to grip the Watcher¡¯s shoulder with one hand while he slowly lifted himself up, guiding the man¡¯s cock with the other as they held each other¡¯s gaze. Gilbert¡¯s breath was warm and fervent against his skin, and his member jerked in Temple¡¯s grip.


    ¡°Slowly,¡± Gilbert whispered.


    Temple just gave a strangled gasp as the Watcher¡¯s hot cock slid between his buttocks and slowly, slowly, Gilbert lowered him onto it so the thick tip was inside him, the strong grip forcing him not to hurry.


    He gave a strangled cry at the delight of the invasion, and Gilbert tightened his grip and looked at him with an expression of pure lust.


    ¡°Can I trust you not to move?¡± the Watcher asked, short of breath.


    Temple barely recognised the whimpering sound as his own voice, but the promise of pleasure that had invaded him was almost too much to bear.


    ¡°Can I trust you not to move?¡± Gilbert repeated, a smile in his breathless voice.


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± he finally managed, and the Watcher released his grip.


    He let his hands slide up Temple¡¯s sides to his chest, thumbs slowly caressing his nipples, which made him give a strangled moan. There was nothing he would rather do than impale himself fully on the Watcher¡¯s cock and have him stoke Temple¡¯s own while he rode him, but that was clearly not permitted right now. He felt the Watcher¡¯s hands slide back down to caress his thighs, muscles tense and holding perfectly still.


    ¡°You are magnificent,¡± Gilbert said softly, and his hands wandered up to gently caress Temple¡¯s cock.


    If he opened his mouth now, he wouldn¡¯t be able to say anything coherent, but the words and the touches warmed him. He didn¡¯t know how to reciprocate, but he had a feeling the Watcher knew when their eyes met. Then Gilbert¡¯s large hands came to rest on Temple¡¯s hips in a firm grip, and he slowly pressed him down to sit on his thick member.


    Temple tightened his grip on his muscular shoulders and moaned in pleasure when he was finally impaled, connected, united in lust with a man who had always been both honest and decent towards him.


    ¡°Slowly,¡± Gilbert reminded him again, but it was hardly more than a gasped moan now. The hands holding Temple¡¯s hips trembled slightly.


    Being denied the right to move, only being able to sit there and feel the throbbing member inside him, was incredibly erotic. Temple had never felt anything like it. His breath was heaving, and he was sure he would come within a few seconds if the Watcher let him move or caressed his cock. His hands slowly went from Gilbert¡¯s shoulders and scratched their way down through the light-brown hairs of his muscular chest, over his hard abdominal muscles.


    Gilbert grinned at him, green eyes fevered with lust, and then one of his hands gripped the back of Temple¡¯s neck. ¡°You wanted this when we kissed at the bar.¡± He looked at Temple as if for permission.


    ¡°Harder, please,¡± Temple pleaded. ¡°Harder. I can¡¯t¡­¡± When the Watcher tightened his grip, controlling Temple¡¯s body with a hand on his hip and the back of his neck, Temple gave a wordless cry and his hands tightened on Gilbert¡¯s sides, digging desperately into his flesh.


    ¡°Do it. Ride me.¡± The grip on his hip lessened and with a whimper, Temple finally raised himself up and then took the Watcher¡¯s thick cock again in a moaning, feverish rhythm that couldn¡¯t continue for long.


    And then Gilbert laid his large hand on Temple¡¯s cock and began to stroke him, gently at first, but he quickly tightened his grip, staring greedily at him. ¡°Let me see you,¡± he panted. ¡°Don¡¯t hold back. Look at me.¡±


    Temple quickened the pace, the Watcher¡¯s cock sliding in and out of him, and the large hand on his own member caressed him to a point of madness. But it was the look of fierce hunger in Gilbert¡¯s eyes when they looked at each other that finally made his pleasure climax, and he surrendered fully to the joy of it, waves and waves of pleasure crashing through him, while he clung to the Watcher¡¯s shoulders as if the maelstrom would tear him under if he didn¡¯t.


    And then, just as the waves began to recede, Gilbert held him close, thrust into him hard for the last time, and then pulled out with a wordless cry as his hot seed spilt all over Temple¡¯s backside.


    They clung to each other, panting, hot and sticky for a long time, neither moving.


    Then, a warm, close, intimate eternity later, when their breath was returning to normal, Temple slumped even more and let his lips rest on Gilbert¡¯s neck, where he could feel the pulse hammering. He sighed with pleasure when the Watcher¡¯s hand gently caressed the back of his neck, and as he slowly became more aware of his surroundings, he found himself pressing gentle kisses to Gilbert¡¯s throat. He¡¯d never had anything that could compare to this in intensity and pleasure. He had only ever experienced quick chance meetings where the kisses meant nothing, and release was all there was.


    ¡­Not that these kisses meant anything, he reminded himself, and forcibly disentangled from the warm and safe embrace.


    ¡°Wait.¡± Gilbert grabbed his arm as he got up and looked up at him seriously. ¡°We¡¯re not done with each other, are we?¡±


    It felt like doing violence on himself when he forced his voice not to reply, but he also knew that the damned Watcher could see that, because he smiled tentatively, as if he was hopeful. Maybe? He let go of Temple¡¯s arm with a gentle caress.


    ¡°Meet me again,¡± Gilbert said quietly. ¡°Tomorrow, the day after, whenever suits you.¡±


    Temple nodded noncommittally, heart thundering in his chest, and quickly walked over to the washstand, wrung out a cloth in the warm water, and threw it to the Watcher before he cleaned himself up too. Then he went to find his undershorts on the floor and began to get dressed. A repeat? He wanted it. Gilbert wanted it. He pulled his trousers on and looked for his shirt. Why shouldn¡¯t they repeat this? It had¡­ he was still¡­ It would definitely figure as a very warm fantasy the second he tried to sleep; he knew it. He looked at the Watcher, who was pulling on his undershorts.


    But then, if they did repeat it, what would happen? How did this work?


    Gilbert hid a grin and pulled his trousers on. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to, ehm, worry you. We can meet anywhere you feel comfortable, but I would really like to meet you again,¡± he said, finding his shirt on the floor and pulling it on. He looked almost presentable again, if a little fevered still. ¡°Maybe you can just let me know? You know where to find me,¡± he said softly. Then he smiled and caressed Temple¡¯s arm lightly as he walked past and left the room.


    Temple exhaled heavily. He thought he would be happy being left alone, but he wasn¡¯t. And he had no idea what to do with that fact.

 Chapter 10

    It was maddening. It was the seventh night since their encounter at The Maskerade and every time Temple didn¡¯t directly focus on something, his thoughts wandered to the memory of the Watcher¡¯s strong body, the heat on Temple¡¯s skin when he spilt his seed, and the sight of his big hand firmly wrapped around Temple¡¯s cock.


    He had been fighting the thoughts and the dreams ever since Gilbert left the brothel.


    It was only supposed to be that one time. Then they could move on because Temple had never had a second fuck with anyone. He couldn¡¯t even really justify classifying this as ¡®a fuck¡¯. It had felt so completely different from anything he¡¯d ever experienced before. The embrace afterwards had shifted something. The warmth he¡¯d seen in Gilbert¡¯s eyes¡­


    He bit his lip under the mask, so he didn¡¯t huff audibly in frustration. Staying stealthy with a raging hard-on and your thoughts on a handsome man¡¯s firm body and kind eyes wasn¡¯t a feat he was professional enough to handle at the moment. And he hated himself for it.


    He normally spent at least four or five hours each night on exercise, making sure he continually knew the city¡¯s nooks and crannies, that his body stayed strong and agile, and that his footsteps remained silent. The disciplined exercises were the only reason he had escaped Merchant Irene¡¯s guards the night Gilbert had found him; because he was capable of seeking refuge on higher ground, knew where to find purchase, and knew which roofs and gangplanks could support his weight. He had also successfully deployed some stink bombs that had thrown the hounds off.


    But if Gilbert hadn¡¯t found him, he was quite sure he would eventually have been captured, even though his last conscious thought had been to hide in the garbage to mask his scent.


    Now, however, because of Gilbert, he had spent the last seven nights looking for murderous writers of dubious temple-quotes ¨C even though he dreaded finding any ¨C and getting wise to the powers behind the Watcher palisades that might try to pin the murders on Gilbert or take his job from him. So far, Temple had added a few ugly pieces of evidence to his pile of blackmail material, just in case anyone would think to threaten Gilbert.


    ¡­And that fact, in and of itself, spoke volumes of his madness.


    Then there was the name¡­ The name Gilbert had kept repeating to test Temple¡¯s reaction, which kept insinuating itself into his thoughts in the oiliest manner possible, like an ugly stain on his mind or the crater when a tooth was pulled and the tongue couldn¡¯t stay away from it.


    Rakkos. It echoed in his thoughts, and he pushed it away, suddenly terrified it would stay and become a cacophony that called forth the images. Of the young woman. Of the child¡¯s hand, holding the knife¡­


    Trembling at his core, Temple gave up. He was useless. He wouldn¡¯t be any help to anyone. He needed¡­ Needed¡­


    He couldn¡¯t finish the sentence in his thoughts, but his body reacted on his mind¡¯s behalf. It quickly and quietly steered him in the direction of the nearest of his safe houses, a cold little flat where he kept supplies for emergencies. It didn¡¯t matter. As long as he could wash, change, and get back on the street with the early risers in time to wait for Gilbert to leave the palisade¡­


    It was madness, and he knew it. But the hope of seeing the Watcher again in a few hours quickened his step and made his heart beat faster. His thoughts stilled as he moved, and this time Temple didn¡¯t question it.


    *


    When Gilbert saw movement in the dark mouth of an alleyway as he walked homeward, he cursed himself for a split second that he had let the last few days of peace get to him. No further madmen had turned themselves over after that glorious morning at the brothel and, although he fully expected the madness to start up again, there had not been this long of a break since Barlik had been captured.


    But the man who stepped out of the shadow into the flickering light of a nearby street brazier was Temple, not a crazed painter. He was dressed as a civilian again, like he had been when they were at the brothel, and Gilbert instantly felt a stab of envy towards the cape that wrapped around his strong, slender shoulders. Temple looked at him with a hopeful gaze he was unable to hide, and Gilbert grinned at the raw reaction.


    ¡°You missed me too?¡± Gilbert asked and could have sworn Temple¡¯s pale cheeks blushed slightly.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been out looking for more painters,¡± he answered in an obvious attempt to misdirect.


    Gilbert just nodded and couldn¡¯t stop smiling. ¡°Tell me more about it on the way?¡± he asked.


    Temple finally smiled a little and looked away as he began walking, and they made their way towards Gilbert¡¯s home.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you ever take the same way home?¡± Temple asked finally.


    ¡°Have you been¨C¡± Gilbert stopped himself from making it sound like an attack before he risked scaring the thief off. ¡°Why did you follow me and not talk to me?¡± he finally settled for.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you have followed me if you could?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Gilbert stated and stopped in his tracks. He looked up and down the street, blessedly dark and deserted in the hour before dawn, and slowly reached out to put his arm around Temple¡¯s waist. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have kept my distance,¡± he said, wondering if there would be resistance, but Temple just relaxed into the embrace with his whole body, arms around him, biting Gilbert¡¯s lip as a playful test before he kissed him fiercely, a low hum of pleasure in his throat.


    It felt like coming home after a long, painful absence. Like a sense of safety that was restored. The wait had been nearly endless, and every single time he wasn¡¯t buried under heaps of work, Gilbert¡¯s mind had happily skipped to burning hot memories of Temple¡¯s supple body, his narrow hips, lean muscles, and perfect backside. The miracle of watching him sweaty and pleading just before his climax, controlling his movements with a firm grip on his magnificent cock¡­ the look of otherworldly pleasure on his face had been almost too much to bear, and Gilbert¡¯s entire being longed to experience that intimacy, that closeness again. The kiss was like a blessing, promising it.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    He heard Temple¡¯s soft sigh as they both slowly came back to reality in the dirty alley.


    ¡°Come home with me. Fast?¡± Gilbert whispered, smiling.


    ¡°As if you could keep up, Watcher¡­¡± Temple gave a big, easy smile and leaned back a bit in the embrace.


    Gilbert looked at him, stunned. It was the first true, relaxed, happy smile the Magpie King had given him, and he felt immensely proud of himself for having earned it. He knew he was grinning from ear to ear, and he had to steal a kiss and taste Temple¡¯s lips before he ran off. It was a smiling kiss and they both laughed softly to end it.


    ¡°Are you saying I¡¯m slow?¡± Gilbert asked, for clarification.


    ¡°Not at all,¡± Temple dismissed with emphasis. ¡°I¡¯m saying you don¡¯t know the city well enough.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s even worse!¡± Gilbert grinned and pinched Temple¡¯s backside, making him laugh.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯ll be true until you prove me wrong,¡± he stated.


    ¡°Fine. I will race you there. But no magic allowed.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± Temple said, pressing into the embrace. ¡°And when I win, you will bend me over that chair you slept in and fuck me hard and fast this time,¡± he whispered, breath hot on Gilbert¡¯s ear.


    Gilbert gasped. ¡°Agreed. But when I win, you will lie naked on my bed and accept what¡¯s coming to you without moving until I tell you to.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Temple whispered breathlessly. And then they stepped away from each other, hands still clasping for a few seconds until, as by unspoken agreement, they both let go and sprinted down the street.


    *


    In the breathless moments after their release, they simply slumped over in bed, clinging to each other, gasping for breath. When they slowly came to, sweaty and sticky, feeling the joy of their closeness, skin to skin, a tired, breathless, smiling kiss followed. Gilbert drew Temple as close as he could come and felt the man¡¯s lean, strong arms around him too. He reached out to draw the blanket over them both, and then they stayed like that for a while, calming down, heart to heart, until Temple finally stirred.


    Gilbert had a feeling the Magpie was forcing himself to move and tried to catch his gaze in the morning light, streaming in through the window neither of them had bothered to curtain when they came in earlier, panting and horny and desperate to touch each other.


    Temple, however, seemed to consciously avoid his gaze as he scooped up his undershorts from the floor and pulled them on, back turned.


    Gilbert¡¯s heart suddenly thundered for another reason than lust or happiness. This felt like a turning point, and he was afraid to do it wrong and push Temple away. Very slowly, he sat up in bed and held out a hand, palm up. ¡°I won¡¯t stop you if you prefer to leave, but I was hoping you would stay. I¡¯m still not done with you. And I think it¡¯s the same the other way around. Or am I wrong?¡± he asked, careful to pose it as an actual question. Temple wasn¡¯t used to company, that was glaringly obvious by now. Any attempt to hold him back would likely meet with resistance.


    Temple slowly turned around, and the hostility Gilbert had halfway expected was absent. He was puzzled and uncertain, but not spooked. ¡°Why?¡± he just asked.


    Gilbert smiled, surprised when Temple tentatively reached out and took his hand. ¡°Because I was hoping to wake up with you. I was hoping to see you eat. At least some dinner before you leave, if not breakfast tomorrow.¡± He slowly closed his hand around Temple¡¯s, letting his thumb gently caress the inside of his wrist.


    Then Temple abruptly sputtered a laugh, which took him by surprise. ¡°See me eat? How exactly do you think I¡¯ll do it?¡±


    Gilbert grinned and tried to pull him gently towards him, a small, subtle movement, and was surprised again when Temple gradually allowed himself to be pulled back to the bed, sitting down. ¡°I have no idea,¡± Gilbert admitted. ¡°So far, I don¡¯t even know if you can eat.¡±


    ¡°If I stay¡­¡± Temple faltered, and small twin lines appeared between his dark brows. He slowly followed when Gilbert dragged him closer until he was lounging across his chest. ¡°What are we supposed to do until dinner? We can¡¯t fuck all the time.¡±


    ¡°We could¡­ have a conversation?¡±


    Temple looked at him blankly, and Gilbert was not sure how to deal with it. Had Temple never had a single moment of pillow-talk? Not a single lover who wanted him to stay? Who wanted to feel his lean body close and enjoy the sight of his expressive face and explore his strange, exciting, challenging mannerisms that were so thoroughly his own? Had nobody wanted to fight for it to get to know him better?


    ¡°A conversation?¡± Gilbert repeated. ¡°I could ask you things or tell you things about me. You could ask about me if there was anything you wanted to know. Or we could just talk about¡­ our favourite memories, books, our opinion on¡­ I don¡¯t know, soft cheese?¡± he shrugged, daunted by the half-panicked, half-clueless look in the thief¡¯s eyes.


    Fortunately, the soft cheese made Temple chuckle as Gilbert had hoped, and he put his arms around his lean form and turned in bed, inelegantly dragging the thief with him. Temple stayed in bed next to him, staring into his eyes directly, as if trying to crack a difficult code or solve a puzzle that utterly escaped him.


    ¡°Why do you want to see me eat?¡± Temple finally asked, clearly trying to understand.


    ¡°I imagine it¡¯s quite erotic. The thought of you¡­ sustaining yourself? Maybe I just want to see you suck something.¡± He shrugged, and they both simultaneously burst out laughing.


    Temple kissed him while shimmying out of his undershorts again and then got under the blanket with him. Gilbert smiled, deeply satisfied with the situation.


    ¡°What¡¯s that face you are making?¡± Temple asked with a smile.


    ¡°Smug pride, mostly,¡± Gilbert explained.


    ¡°At what?¡±


    ¡°Everything. But also that you just smiled at me. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen anything more gratifying.¡±


    *


    When Temple awoke, there was a brief moment of panic sweeping through his chest in a cold wave. He thought he¡¯d just heard a metallic screech and the echo of it lingered in his mind. He didn¡¯t know where he was. But then he did. Because he¡¯d had this exact experience once before. Only this time, he remembered how he had gotten here, running and jumping and exerting himself to get here as fast as he could to get naked with the Watcher.


    Gloriously naked. His body was already miles ahead of him and ready for Gilbert to touch him, but Gilbert wasn¡¯t there. Slowly, Temple looked around the neat bedroom, listening for sounds in the well-kept flat where everything had its exact place, except in the kitchen. It was twilight outside, and the place was swathed in bluish half-light.


    From the kitchen, he heard a steady, rhythmic breath and a faint bubbling petering out.


    Frowning in puzzlement, Temple slowly pushed the blanket aside and got up, stepping on the worn, wooden floor planks close to the wall, so they wouldn¡¯t creak and give him away. Quickly and soundlessly, he made his way to the corridor where he could peek around the doorframe into the kitchen.


    A lamp was lit, casting a soft golden glow over the room. Gilbert, wearing only his undershorts, was on the floor near the stove, doing push-ups. Quick, precise, steady pushes, the muscles of his arms and shoulders bulging with each dip of his strong body. A percolator had been taken off the heat on the stove; that was the screeching sound that had woken him. The scent of the tarbean tea reached Temple¡¯s nostrils, and the sight of the Watcher quickened his entire body and educated him on the benefits of staying the night.


    Gilbert still didn¡¯t appear to have noticed him, so he took a few moments more to enjoy the sight of the muscles of his back, shifting deliciously as he dipped and rose. Temple felt a big smile spread on his face and stepped back into the narrow hall a couple of steps, to let the floorboards creak. Gilbert froze mid-push and looked at him, a naughty, enticing, and beautiful smile spreading instantly on his face when Temple leaned on the doorframe, not bothering to hide his naked arousal.


    ¡°Thank the gods,¡± Gilbert said, still smiling, but with an awed tone in his voice. ¡°I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°I think I see what you mean about staying for breakfast,¡± Temple said, a smug grin on his face.

 Chapter 11

    Month 2


    Having Temple stay for breakfast was something Gilbert easily got used to.


    Over the last couple of weeks, the thief had slowly thawed and seemed to finally allow himself to stay without inner struggle. Gilbert became steadily more convinced that he should stay. Much more long-term than just a couple of nights a week. And now he had tried to edge towards it by asking him to stay for his weekly day off.


    Waking up with Temple sprawled possessively across him and the sleeping thief¡¯s hand grabbing his balls was exactly the way Gilbert wanted to start his day off. He smiled from ear to ear, not daring to move, lest he disturb his sleeping lover. He was in love. Terribly in love, in fact, and it was glorious.


    There were still so many things he wanted to know about Temple, but the closer they grew, the more Gilbert came to understand how severely someone must have damaged Temple at some point. Trust was a very, very slow and difficult process, and it seemed like he wasn¡¯t sure about a lot of things that Gilbert would take for granted, such as wanting your lover to spend the night and that food consisting of more than dried meat, pli-berries, and bread was delicious. It still made Gilbert grin to himself when he thought of the blank expression on Temple¡¯s beautiful, intriguing face when confronted with completely ordinary fruits and vegetables.


    Perhaps he stole because he had no idea what else to do? He didn¡¯t seem¡­ greedy. Gilbert would have expected that from the Magpie King before he had actually met him. Why risk your life on the most insane heists if you didn¡¯t revel in the payment? Temple had clearly been comfortable at the brothel, and maybe he even went there for sex, but Gilbert still expected a higher level of enjoyment of the finer things in life from the royalty of theft.


    He didn¡¯t know what had led Temple here, to where he was in life, but every day felt like a small victory if Temple smiled at him or claimed his right to him in some way. Like the hand that now twitched gently and the little lines between his brows that showed he was about to wake.


    ¡°Mmmmmm¡­¡± Temple hummed, stretching in Gilbert¡¯s embrace before his hand blessedly wandered back where it came from.


    ¡°Mmmmm?¡± Gilbert asked.


    Temple smiled, still with his eyes closed. ¡°Mhm,¡± he confirmed and let his fingers explore.


    *


    It was a lazy, pleasured couple of hours later when they finally got up to make breakfast in the evening. Having a conversation over a meal was something Temple struggled to do in the beginning, but he was getting better at considering meals a social occasion.


    ¡°Did you mean what you said at the Barlik house?¡± Temple asked suddenly, turning a serious, grey stare in Gilbert¡¯s direction.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ ages ago. What did I say?¡±


    ¡°You swore by your dead wife¡¯s name,¡± Temple said while scooping meat onto a slice of roasted farn-root. ¡°Is it just a figure of speech I don¡¯t know?¡±


    Gilbert took a deep breath and Temple abruptly snapped to attention. His eyes widened and he dropped the food back onto his plate.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said quickly, a touch of flustered panic in his gaze. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have asked.¡±


    Gilbert smiled at him. ¡°No, I¡¯m glad you asked, actually¡­¡± He smiled reassuringly at the shirtless thief at his table while he searched for the words. ¡°It¡¯s an important part of me and I¡¯ve been wondering how to tell you. I want you to know this about me. And, well¡­ you know, the sentence, ¡®by the way, I was married for four years, but she died¡¯, doesn¡¯t really insert itself easily into conversations.¡±


    Temple nodded slowly, clearly not sure what to say or how to navigate the conversation.


    ¡°Nia was a court mage. We met through work. And I lost her about four and a half years ago now. She fell ill with a sickness nobody could cure. I paid the priestesses of Merea to help her, but they claimed she was cursed and they couldn¡¯t lift it. I did everything I could to get qualified magical help, but nobody was able to do anything. And so I watched her fade away in the course of a few weeks.¡± He looked at Temple who was staring at him ¨C for the first time ever ¨C with an actually unreadable expression. It seemed like so many emotions were fighting for dominance that it was impossible to pinpoint the right one.


    Gilbert quickly reached out and put a hand on top of Temple¡¯s before he thought to run away. Temple flinched, but then just nodded and looked away.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I don¡¯t mind telling you,¡± he said. ¡°I loved her. I found the one who cursed her. She was avenged. And she would be furious at me if I let her stand in the way of something new. We talked about that even before we got married. Besides, her death is the reason I was assigned to your case.¡± Gilbert got up and dragged a chair over, so he could sit next to Temple, not opposite to him.


    Temple looked at him with a touch of something cautious in his gaze, and Gilbert slowly reached out again. Smilingly, he pulled him closer and closer until he had to move, and he slid over to straddle Gilbert in the chair.


    ¡°Have you lost someone?¡± Gilbert asked gently, as carefully as he could.


    ¡°No.¡± The answer was immediate, and Temple just shook his head.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Gilbert said. If he pressured him, the Magpie would fly away without hesitation, he was certain.


    ¡°Assigned to my case?¡± Temple finally ventured, seeming to feel more at ease now.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t particularly mindful of my safety back then, in the year just after I lost her. I threw myself at some rather suicidal things and somehow lived through it. So the Office of the Eighth decided I should throw myself at you.¡±


    ¡°You did,¡± Temple just stated.


    Gilbert laughed and, finally, the warmth came back into the thief¡¯s grey gaze, and he pressed himself close, arms around Gilbert¡¯s neck.


    ¡°Did you ever get close to catching me?¡±


    ¡°No. It didn¡¯t take a lot of investigating to realise that you never hurt anyone, so I decided to prioritise getting rid of those who did. A rich Merchant Aristocrat who loses a diamond, that¡¯s a small part of their wealth gone, whereas lives are impossible to substitute. Fortunately, the Law of the Palisades at no point states that investigating theft is part of the Watchers¡¯ duties. That falls to private companies or Freelancers. The law lists robbery, but not thieving, so I am well within my rights to ignore your case.¡±


    Finally, a smile spread on Temple¡¯s lips. ¡°That is very neat and tidy.¡±


    ¡°Yes. And true.¡± Gilbert¡¯s hands went exploring to caress his backside. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to interrupt your breakfast.¡±


    ¡°Originally, I remember you just wanted me to stay for breakfast to watch me suck something¡­¡± Temple stated, a promise in his gaze.


    ¡°I said that, didn¡¯t I? I guess I have to stay true to that statement. I don¡¯t want you to think I¡¯m not trustworthy.¡±


    *


    Month 2


    Temple ran a finger over a jagged scar down Gilbert¡¯s left side thoughtfully. Then he seemed to realise what he was doing and lifted himself up to look. He stared at the line in the skin with a wrinkle between his brows, caught between puzzled and uncertain.


    ¡°What happened?¡± he asked, fingers caressing the scar again, carefully this time, while he stared intently at Gilbert to gauge his reaction.


    ¡°This will surprise you,¡± Gilbert began, grinning, ¡°but not everyone is happy to see the Watchers.¡±


    Temple didn¡¯t smile. He turned his gaze to the scar again, still with wrinkled brows. Then he pushed Gilbert over on his side with his back turned.


    ¡°How did I not notice this before?¡± he asked softly, seemingly to himself, running his hands from the two most severe scars on Gilbert''s back to minor injuries he had sustained through the years.


    Gilbert turned over and took Temple¡¯s hands, pulling him closer so he could kiss his lips quickly.


    ¡°People want you dead. You can die,¡± Temple said softly, a tiny quiver in his voice as though the realisation was new and awful to him. He looked up and their eyes met.


    It was the first time Gilbert had seen his own fear mirrored in someone¡¯s eyes. The fear of being helpless when someone you love is torn away from you. It was real and raw and echoed through him painfully, teasing memories to the surface he didn¡¯t want to revisit right now.


    ¡°Like everyone else, yes, I can die. But they are scars for a reason.¡±


    ¡°Are you bragging?¡± Temple demanded, almost angry.


    ¡°No. I¡¯m just saying that I am careful, and I only got wounded, not killed, because of that. I¡¯ve been a Watcher for sixteen years now and nobody has managed to kill me yet.¡±


    The look on Temple¡¯s face told him he shouldn¡¯t have added the ¡®yet¡¯. It was suddenly both daunting and a very warm gift to be the object of his scepticism. To know that Temple feared for his safety meant that he was dear to him. Gilbert couldn¡¯t keep a smile off his face and gently put his hands on Temple¡¯s face. ¡°I found you wounded and helpless, I saw you almost die, I had to cut your thigh up to pull out a crossbow bolt. Your fingers and ribs and probably hipbone too were broken. You don¡¯t lead a quiet life yourself,¡± he said, careful not to let it sound like an accusation.


    Temple looked away briefly, clearly self-conscious, perhaps even hiding something he didn¡¯t want Gilbert to see.


    Gilbert''s first impulse was to just ask, but he stopped himself and kissed Temple softly. The thief relented and lay down again, fingers tentatively returning to their caressing of the scar at Gilbert''s side.


    *


    Sex had never mattered to Temple before. It had always been impersonal with nothing but physical pleasure exchanged. No closeness. No names. It had sated him physically, but never like this. Never his mind, his feelings, never given him a sense of warmth that permeated everything.


    Temple had always been the only one in his life who could get hurt, and if he died then that was it. He couldn¡¯t mourn anyone because there was nobody to lose. Perhaps Miss Kaia, but losing her would primarily mean he would lose his fence and comfortable access to the Maskerade brothel. She had been kind to him in her own way when he was a child but he had no illusions that she had done it for his sake alone and knew he could ultimately replace what she provided him.


    But now everything had been turned on its head and Temple didn¡¯t know how to navigate the sudden onslaught of feelings this new situation brought.


    He should really just get out of bed and go home, hide, seek safety before he got even more stuck, before he had even more to lose, before Gilbert refused to let him go or forgot his promise of amnesty. This couldn¡¯t last, anyway.


    It couldn¡¯t last. But that was good. Wasn¡¯t it? So maybe he could in fact tell Gilbert everything. Tell him of the darkness that whispered in his dreams and felt so much closer when he worked in the darkworld. Tell him of the strange waking dream of the woman being killed that had thrown Temple from his perch that first night he saw Gilbert, and of the fear that gripped him at the thought of losing him. But then again, why bother if he would lose him anyway? If only they could keep this closeness, if he could stay in this warm confidence with Gilbert''s fingers caressing an old scar running down Temple''s hip. When would Gilbert forget his promise? When would he tire of this?


    ¡°Temple?¡± There was laughter in Gilbert''s voice and his eyes were almost impossibly green in the warm midday light shining through the curtains.


    Temple just nodded when he felt Gilbert''s hands on his face and gave in to the soft kiss pressed to his lips.


    ¡°You are fiercely overthinking everything right now,¡± Gilbert grinned. ¡°We are both alive and well. There is no particular reason that should change. Is there?¡±


    ¡°No. No, of course not.¡± Temple shook his head, trying to regain control of his expression so he didn¡¯t too obviously show Gilbert all his fear and uncertainty. Meeting his gaze was difficult and reassuring at the same time but then Temple realised that whatever would happen wouldn¡¯t happen now. He still had the now.


    He wanted to tell Gilbert that he had never felt this kind of fear before, that he didn¡¯t know what to do about it, that he knew this couldn¡¯t last, that he wished it could. But the words wouldn¡¯t shape themselves and besides, he couldn¡¯t begin to figure out what the consequences would be. So he stayed silent and pushed Gilbert over on his back, running his fingers down the watcher¡¯s strong chest, letting out a sigh as his fingers caressed their way down along the blond hairs running from his chest down his stomach.


    Gilbert put his hands on Temple''s face and it looked like he had something to say, too. But he settled for pulling Temple close and kissing him in a way that made him feel alive and safe and happy as the worry melted from his mind.


    He had this right now. As soon as Gilbert showed signs of boredom or indifference, Temple would flee and never return. Gilbert didn¡¯t know where he lived and couldn¡¯t follow him through the shadows, let alone the darkworld.


    Temple was safe.


    *


    Month 3


    At times, it felt like someone had just left the flat when Gilbert came home. It was an odd sensation, especially because he knew it wasn¡¯t Temple. Or¡­ at least it would make no sense if it were since he could always just rummage to his heart¡¯s content when he was here. Not that he did. Gilbert assumed there was a touch of uncertainty to it, as if Temple still weren¡¯t completely sure he was welcome. Maybe he did feel like he had to break in to rummage?


    Still, as he walked around, pretending to himself that he wasn¡¯t checking for an intruder, Gilbert couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something odd was happening. He was unable, however, to find the slightest thing amiss, and in the end, he let it go, promising himself to find some way to ask Temple if he had been here.


    Asking that kind of question would probably be possible now, he thought, as he began to prepare a meal. Temple had slowly changed. He was much less skittish, and Gilbert had to be less careful with him.


    Just like the small black cat that sometimes jumped in through his window to beg a snack and a warm corner near the stove to sleep in, however, Temple left when he felt like it, usually staying away for a few days before returning.


    It made him think of when the cat had jumped straight up on Temple¡¯s pillow the first time they met each other, and the thought made him smile. Life was honestly a lot better, warmer, and fuller when you were in love. He felt as if he could breathe again, after having held his breath for several long, stale years since Nia died.


    He took a moment to look around in the kitchen that had felt like a mausoleum in her honour for the first year after her death. He had heard her voice so clearly when he¡¯d been sitting here, still and hollow inside, unable to do anything but keep himself in check so that the gaping empty space she had left in his life didn¡¯t swallow him. But slowly, he had found his pace again.


    In the beginning, he just hid away in his work, filed unreasonable amounts of paperwork, requested funds through the official bureaucracy ¨C which was a process that famously took years ¨C and organised Watcher training and coordination with the other palisades. He began unravelling crimes nobody who valued their lives had gotten near, but since he didn¡¯t, he had thrown himself at them.


    Slowly, the emptiness had lessened, Nia¡¯s voice had gotten fainter, and the kitchen itself had gradually become a small island of something chaotic in his life that he valued and added to. A place where he remembered her sweet fierceness with the joy she deserved.


    He still loved Nia, but she would have been appalled if he had let himself break apart. Or refused to fall in love again. He smiled as he worked on cutting the ingredients for the meal. Temple would be here soon. He had a knack for showing up at mealtime.


    There was a quick knock on the door, and he heard Temple¡¯s loud footsteps. He always stomped when entering, as if making sure not to sneak. It was a little odd, but Gilbert had accepted it as a show of good faith that the Magpie King didn¡¯t want to surprise him.


    He turned to find the thief leaning casually on the doorframe. There was no trace of dark grease paint around his eyes and his fingers were free of ink. The weather had gotten colder, and he wore a dark-green jacket over grey trousers that wrapped beautifully around his strong, slender frame. In the last few months, his dark hair had grown a bit, and now it was long enough to have been tousled a little by the wind. Gilbert smiled at him because he couldn¡¯t help it, and gestured for him to come closer.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Temple put down a bucket of water he had brought from the well, then he set his bag on the kitchen table and approached for a warm kiss. ¡°I have something for you,¡± he said afterwards. ¡°Because you make me cook. So I will make you pick a lock.¡±


    Gilbert barked a laugh. ¡°Well, that¡¯ll improve my usefulness as a Watcher¡­¡±


    ¡°I agree,¡± Temple said, suppressing a smile, and shrugged out of his jacket.


    Then Gilbert grabbed him around the waist and manoeuvred him to the stove, placing himself behind the thief, arms around him.


    Temple leaned back in the embrace and rested his head on Gilbert¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You know this is going to be a disaster, right? Again.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that,¡± Gilbert admonished. ¡°You¡¯ve improved immensely in the last month.¡±


    ¡°I no longer set things on fire¡­¡±


    ¡°See. Immense improvement!¡±


    ¡°¡­Quite as often,¡± Temple added, but Gilbert felt the silent laughter in his body and held him close with a big grin on his face.


    ¡°So, I already did all the boring bits and cut out the vegetables; all you have to do is cook it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a brave man, Gilbert¡­¡± Temple commented. ¡°I don¡¯t even know what that is.¡± He pointed to a small bowl with prepared ingredients.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s shrimp. You¡¯re joking, right?¡±


    ¡°But they¡¯re grey.¡± Temple reached out and hesitantly poked one of the cleaned shrimps with the tip of his finger.


    ¡°They aren¡¯t cooked yet.¡±


    ¡°Shrimp isn¡¯t a vegetable. You¡¯re cheating me.¡±


    ¡°Just cook the meal. Don¡¯t be scared. I¡¯m not letting go of you.¡± Gilbert tightened his grip on Temple and felt him shake his head.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re getting away with this¡­¡± he muttered, but there was a happy smile in his voice.


    *


    Month 4


    Temple silently inhaled and stilled his breath as he let the darkworld embrace him. Here in the silence, he saw the guards pass by under his perch in the rafters, hounds held tightly leashed, and lanterns held high. The beasts grew a little uneasy and pulled at their leashes, but couldn¡¯t pinpoint him. When they had passed by on their rounds of the luxurious library at the College of Fine Bardic Arts, Temple slowly breathed again and continued on his way.


    Good. According to his meticulous preparations, it would be at least twenty-three minutes before the guards returned, so he was not in a hurry. He was satisfied he had chosen this spot to meet the patrol since only one of the three often-overlapping patrols went through here and the rafters took him out of the hounds¡¯ immediate range.


    The architect¡¯s drawing of the library had shown the row of narrow, ornately-framed windows decorating the wall between the accessible library and the closed collection. He had opted for this way, rather than having to fight the locks on the doors that were likely to be far more intricate than a hasp on a window seven metres above the inlaid stone floor. He also hadn¡¯t been able to confirm or deny it, but stories circulated that parts of the library were protected by the creations of a dwarven mage-smith, now centuries in her grave.


    Silently, he made his way, sneaking, crouched along the narrow rafters until he got as close as he could get to the windows. It was a long jump, but he could make it.


    The windows formed a lovely pattern and had been made by an expert glacier and silversmith, the material cut to catch the light in a rainbow effect during the day across both library sections.


    He hadn¡¯t been able to find out what mechanism locked them, nor if they even opened, since one drawing indicated they did and another that they didn¡¯t, and the long-dead architect hadn¡¯t bothered dating either of them. He squinted in the darkness and then shook his head. He was too far away to be certain, so he let the darkworld swallow him again, willed a handgrip forth from the wall above the windows, and jumped.


    He grabbed the handhold with one hand and landed feet-first with a soft thud against the wall. He held himself steady while his free hand searched the window frame. It took his probing fingers a long moment, but a small latch was hidden in the intricate metal work, and he gently pried at it, finally letting the window swing slightly sidewards on small, elegant, hidden hinges that hadn¡¯t had any exercise for literal centuries. He quickly stopped its motion, held onto the window frame, and let the darkworld dissipate. It would have spat him out in a few seconds anyway.


    Temple reached into one of his many secret pockets and pulled out a small vial of oil to lubricate the hinges. He smirked to himself under the mask as he did so, though, and his thoughts flitted off to Gilbert for a moment before he stoppered the small vial again and slipped it back into its pocket. The narrow window swung open on silent hinges now, and he listened intently for a moment, staring into the darkness of the closed library.


    A predictable labyrinth of shelves wound through the long, high-ceilinged room. The tall, narrow windows let in no light since he had deliberately chosen a night where no moons were visible. This section of the old library had stood since before the Upheaval and had remained unburned in the first and third Elven Wars, because someone who understood and wrote Kaian, the language of the elves, had written ¡®House of Words¡¯ on the building¡¯s fa?ade, and the elven forces had spared it. At least that was how the legend went. Whether it was true, Temple had no idea. But the building was old, and almost felt alive with the accumulated magic of centuries.


    Temple kept hanging on to the wall, waiting silently for a chance to slip into the darkworld again, so he could see what he was up against.


    Finally, the darkness let him in again, embracing him in its chill whispers, and he silently observed the room, looking for signs of magic. And nearly let go of the wall in shock! The entire end of the room farthest from him was one big, knotted mess of all kinds of magical signatures. It shone in a rainbow of mad, living, clashing colours, and Temple was surprised the spells were not at odds and had soured each other. Some of the reality-changing force-works he could see were centuries old, for certain, and somehow later mages had managed to add to them.


    Temple smiled under his mask before very slowly twisting himself through the window¡¯s narrow opening, creatively having to bend and twist his body around to gain entry. Finally, he was through, but he didn¡¯t let himself drop down just yet.


    He checked the surroundings thoroughly. The floor was clear, and there was a table nearby that would serve as an easy perch to get onto the shelves and gain an overview of the situation.


    Temple dropped silently down, breaking his fall and controlling his momentum with a forward roll. He stood still in the dark library, listening for any movement before he quickly shimmied up to get to higher ground on top of the shelves.


    He smiled. It was nice to have a challenge.


    *


    28 hours later


    Temple waited in the cold drizzle that had begun just before dawn. He felt icy cold, but not because of the rain. Today, Gilbert would realise what he was doing. Temple would see to it. And then it would be over. The warmth they had shared. If he managed to escape, it would be over.


    It was two hours past sunrise when the Watcher turned the corner to his street. Temple tensed. The delay probably meant that Gilbert had been told about the theft, and he would know Temple was to blame when he saw his black fingers. The ink just didn¡¯t scrub off, and Temple had refused to try. His heart still pounded as he watched Gilbert approach, watched him stop in his tracks for a second when he spotted him.


    This was probably the most important moment and¡­ Temple had an escape route planned. The Watcher, faced with the undeniable proof that he was routinely fucking a thief, would finally crumble and give in. He wouldn¡¯t be able to stay kind this time, Temple was certain of it. And it hurt. There was a cold pit somewhere in his chest that seemed to grow bigger knowing what he knew.


    Gilbert came close to where Temple stood on the stairs to his home. He seemed a little wary as he scrutinised Temple¡¯s face. Then he smiled quickly. It seemed genuine.


    ¡°We should probably talk,¡± he concluded and gestured for Temple to go up the stairs, but Temple just went inside to the inner stairwell and stood to the side, so Gilbert could pass, unwilling to turn his back to the Watcher. Gilbert looked at him for a moment, hurt, and then walked inside, shutting the door to the street quietly.


    ¡°You think it changes something, don¡¯t you?¡± Gilbert asked softly and very slowly reached out, a typical Gilbert-gesture, to touch Temple¡¯s arm.


    Temple moved away from the touch. ¡°Doesn¡¯t it?¡± he asked, puzzled.


    ¡°You are here. So no. I haven¡¯t forgotten who you are.¡± Gilbert grinned all of a sudden. ¡°Honestly, I was dealing with you long before we met. The only thing that has changed is that you now compensate me for the trouble by being here.¡±


    A hot flame ignited in him, threatening to sweep the darkness away for a moment. But Temple fought to hold onto the emptiness. Nobody was that forgiving.


    Gilbert must have read the feeling, however, because a small, angry line showed between his brows. ¡°Come on!¡± He put a large hand on the door, barring Temple¡¯s exit. His voice was suddenly harsh. ¡°You still think I¡¯m going to turn you in. You still actually think I am going to betray you and get you killed. You think I forgot who you are. Do you have any kind of idea how insulting your distrust is? Go upstairs now, you belong here!¡± He pointed angrily up the stairs.


    Temple fought to understand him. Gilbert wanted him here. He wanted to shout at him, here. Gilbert thought he belonged here? Before he could think anything through or figure out how to react, Gilbert simply took a quick step closer, bent down, and swept Temple over his shoulder in one easy movement, one strong arm wrapped tightly around his thighs.


    Temple gasped, unable to move with shock as Gilbert walked up the stairs with a spring in his step. Temple¡¯s bag began to slide, and he desperately grabbed for it, sputtering, ¡°Wait¡­ You can¡¯t¡­¡±


    ¡°I can and I did. And I will kiss you until you finally fucking understand it!¡± Gilbert stated, unlocking the door after calmly rummaging for the key in his belt. ¡°Throw your bag,¡± he demanded when they were inside, and Gilbert had locked the door behind them. When Temple was slow to comply, Gilbert swatted his behind quickly. ¡°Just get rid of the damned bag,¡± he said, clearly grinning.


    ¡°You¡¯re insane,¡± Temple protested, feeling a laugh gathering in the spot where the cold darkness had been growing ever since he made it back from the university yesterday.


    ¡°If I am, it¡¯s your fault¡­¡± Gilbert laughed, still carrying Temple and now wrestling with the thief¡¯s shoes one-handed.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Temple asked, smiling, and pinched Gilbert¡¯s backside.


    He laughed. ¡°I don¡¯t want shoes in the bed. Just help me out.¡±


    Temple toed his shoes off, and Gilbert kicked them away and carried him into the bedroom, where he finally threw him on the bed. Immediately, he pinned his arms down, leaning in over him.


    Temple¡¯s pulse quickened. Having Gilbert¡¯s bulk pressing down on him was delicious at any time, but now that there was still a bit of anger in him, making the grip on his arms tighter¡­ He knew his arousal was obvious as he looked into Gilbert¡¯s green eyes.


    Quickly, Gilbert toed his boots off without letting go of Temple¡¯s arms. Then he straddled him, holding the thief down with his entire weight, their hips grinding together when he leaned forward for an aggressive kiss that left Temple winded.


    ¡°At some point in our not-too-far future, we will have to talk about who we are and what we do,¡± Gilbert said sternly. ¡°But not until I am certain you understand how important you are to me, and that your importance cannot be translated into money of any amount.¡±


    They looked at each other for a silent moment, Temple¡¯s mind working hard to figure out the emotions and reactions. ¡°¡­I hurt you?¡± Temple asked slowly.


    ¡°Yes. I think you hurt both of us,¡± Gilbert said. Temple tried to sit up, but Gilbert leaned towards him, holding him down. ¡°No, thief. I want you right here, in my bed, where I know you aren¡¯t running away from me. And you are going to stay here until you tell me that you trust me. Understand?¡± Gilbert lifted Temple¡¯s arms up over his head in bed and held them there with one hand. Gilbert wasn¡¯t forcing him; it was a statement, not an attack. Temple could break free, but he didn¡¯t try.


    Did he trust him? Well, no. He had just assumed Gilbert would crack and attempt to turn him in; be furious at the theft. He hadn¡¯t trusted him. Not at all. He felt his frown developing and knew his face was far too easy for the Watcher to read. He had been so sure of what would happen. He had gone there to force it to end.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been alone for a long time, haven¡¯t you?¡± Gilbert asked gently.


    Temple couldn¡¯t answer. No words formed in his mind. And then Gilbert just smiled and let his free hand wander down Temple¡¯s chest, unbuttoning his jacket. To his trousers, unbuttoning them too with slow movements. Then he leaned forward, tightening his grip on Temple¡¯s wrists and kissed his neck softly, drawing a small gasp from his throat.


    ¡°How about you shout ¡®I trust you¡¯ every time I make you come from now on? Then you can slowly edge your way towards believing it,¡± Gilbert said, not just for fun.


    Temple nodded silently, feeling shaken inside without knowing how to put words on it, and met Gilbert halfway in a soft kiss. He wanted to ask ¡®what will you shout when I make you come?¡¯, but he wasn¡¯t brave enough to hear the answer.


    *


    2 hours later


    Temple stirred from his half-slumber, feeling warm, cosy, and pleasantly lazy. He looked at Gilbert who slept in the cool autumn daylight, an arm still firmly wrapped around Temple¡¯s waist. His short light brown hair shone like honey just as that first night and Temple let his ink-stained fingers softly glide through it.


    I trust you. He had actually said it. He had done as Gilbert asked and let that be the prayer of his climax. It scared him. But this closeness; if the price was trust¡­


    There was still a thing left to do, though. They weren¡¯t done yet.


    Temple pressed a soft kiss to Gilbert¡¯s lips, ran his fingertips through the hair of his muscular chest, and watched him slowly come to. Then he nearly melted at the sleepy smile he received.


    ¡°Is it evening already?¡± Gilbert asked drowsily.


    ¡°No, just midday.¡± Temple raised himself on his elbow, but Gilbert reached out and pulled him flush to his chest as he rolled over onto his back.


    ¡°Then why are you awake?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I¡­ I have something for you. I suppose.¡± Temple sat up, and the fast motion seemed to snap the Watcher into wakefulness. Temple freed himself and got out of bed. Then he grinned. ¡°No, Gilbert, I¡¯m not running away. I¡¯m naked.¡±


    Gilbert finally grinned back, a little guiltily. ¡°¡­Not something you should change anytime soon,¡± he just smiled.


    Temple went to the corridor and picked his bag up before going back to bed. He sat down next to Gilbert, so they were shoulder to shoulder, and pulled out the supple leather folder. He put it in Gilbert¡¯s lap. ¡°For you, I suppose.¡±


    Gilbert looked at him, puzzled, and then opened the folder to see the intricate drawing on the first sheet of waxed paper. He seemed to grow more silent and still as he looked at the architect''s drawing, not moving a muscle.


    Finally, after a long silence, he licked his lips and looked up. ¡°The plans of Spenbell Estate, I assume. A seven-hundred-year-old architect¡¯s drawing,¡± he said, voice soft. ¡°Stolen yesterday from the closed collection of the library of BardArt, where it was kept under strict security measures, including but not limited to mage-smith locks, mechanical and poisonous traps, and a magical guardian, as I was told. Which were legal because they were legal when they were installed before the Upheaval, and besides, nobody apparently knows how to dispel them today.¡±


    ¡°Flattery will get you¨C¡± Temple cut the sentence short when he saw Gilbert¡¯s still-shocked expression. ¡°Well, let¡¯s discuss that later,¡± he mumbled, worry rising in his chest again.


    Gilbert shook his head in disbelief and then turned his body in bed to look at him. A warm smile spread on his lips. He gently folded the drawings up in their cover and held it up. ¡°Why did you bring this?¡± he asked.


    Temple looked at him, at the way the smile lit up his eyes. He shrugged. ¡°You can take it back. I¡¯m done with it. Make up some story about how you got it back? Maybe that will help your career after the whole painter thing.¡±


    Gilbert still smiled at him, put the folder in the bag, and threw it on the floor. Then he gently put his hands on Temple¡¯s face, thumbs caressing his cheeks. ¡°Why did you bring it?¡± he repeated.


    ¡°I just told you,¡± Temple said, squirming a little and wishing he didn¡¯t. But he couldn¡¯t look away.


    ¡°If you really, really thought that I was going to finally break and turn you in, then why would you bring incriminating evidence with you?¡± Gilbert asked gently. ¡°Temple, don¡¯t,¡± he pleaded when he felt the thief¡¯s body tense for flight. ¡°Please. Stay with me.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Suddenly, Gilbert¡¯s arms pulled him closer in an embrace that was both warm and awkward, because they were seated next to each other. In the end, Gilbert grinned and pulled Temple down with him to lie on the bed, not letting him go.


    Temple¡¯s mind was working furiously at an explanation for his actions and continually drawing a blank, so he let himself be moved around without objections. Then Gilbert slowly leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to his lips.


    Temple¡¯s hands moved without permission and drew Gilbert close for a second kiss, and they ended up just staring at each other.


    ¡°You should take it,¡± Temple finally said. ¡°As compensation.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Gilbert said. ¡°I really don¡¯t need more attention on me. What will you get for it?¡±


    ¡°Ehm¡­ I¡­ A collector will easily pay eight thousand gost for it, so I will start by demanding five and a half, be told I will get four, and leave with four thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight.¡±


    Gilbert gave him a mystified look. ¡°That¡¯s an insane sum. And a very precise calculation.¡±


    Temple shrugged. He knew Miss Kaia. He would end up tipping her two gost, one for a flamboyant drink and another for her smile, just to annoy her.


    ¡°Alright, then¡­¡± Gilbert said. ¡°Take that money and give it to a good cause, then. Or open a whole army of orphanages yourself.¡±


    Temple sucked in his breath in sudden fear. ¡°I don¡¯t get involved!¡± he stated hotly. ¡°I never get involved!¡±


    ¡°Wh¨C¡± Gilbert stopped himself before he got started. ¡°Alright. Then steal it back?¡±


    Temple stared into his warm, green eyes. There were little dots of amber and gold in them, and he searched intently for the solution to the strange statement in the colours.


    ¡°I mean, break in and put it back,¡± Gilbert clarified with a smile. ¡°Just¡­ don¡¯t get caught.¡±


    ¡°I have never ¡®broken in¡¯ anywhere in my life! I don¡¯t break anything! I¡¯m a professional, not a thug!¡± Temple stated sharply. ¡°I¡­¡±


    He wanted to say something more about his professionalism, about how ¡®stealing things back¡¯ wasn¡¯t remotely in his interest, and¡­ and he wanted to give a good reason why he had brought the damned drawings to begin with. To force the Watcher to recognise him for the thief he was? But Gilbert was looking at him, studying his face the way he did that let him somehow read everything Temple felt and thought.


    ¡°Thank you for bringing the drawings,¡± Gilbert just said, letting a hand caress Temple¡¯s shoulder quietly.


    They lay there for a long while, just looking at each other.


    Then Gilbert finally smiled. ¡°So¡­ what will flattery get me?¡±


    *


    Month 5


    The small, metallic sound as the lock finally shifted and moved the locking bar, so that the mechanism sprang up, was almost as satisfying as watching Temple say, ¡®I trust you¡¯, and Gilbert couldn¡¯t keep a triumphant exclamation back.


    Temple had been sitting curled up in the chair with a book, and he immediately snapped to attention with a start. Then he smiled. ¡°Did you get it?¡±


    Gilbert held the open padlock up with a grin on his face. ¡°I went through eight tools before finding the right ones, but I¡¯m beginning to see what you mean about navigating the wards.¡±


    Temple got to his bare feet, stretched luxuriously, and then came over to the table in the office, where a wealth of tools laid spread out. He smiled. ¡°Well done. I¡¯ll have to build you a new one, then.¡±


    ¡°You have a smug streak, you know that?¡± Gilbert grinned.


    Temple just raised an eyebrow sceptically. ¡°If I do, it¡¯s nothing compared to the man who puts out my kitchen fires,¡± he claimed, crossing his arms.


    ¡°Alright, fair, there might be a little bit of smugness there.¡± Gilbert got to his feet. He really intended to just go to the kitchen and make some tea to celebrate, but Temple was there, and it was funny to see him be sceptical, so he couldn¡¯t help but put his arms around him. ¡°It¡¯s been weeks since the last kitchen fires,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m not even sure I will get a chance to be smug again. But you can just keep making new locks.¡±


    ¡°Well, you can give me harder recipes?¡± Temple asked.


    ¡°Mhm.¡± Gilbert stole a quick kiss. ¡°Do you want tea?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± Temple put his arms around him and leaned in, resting his head on his shoulder.


    Gilbert felt him relax into the embrace, his nimble body pressing against him, and he smiled, caressing the back of his neck, running his fingers into his hair. It was so satisfying when he gave in like this, especially thinking about how scared and skittish he used to be. In the last couple of months, gradually watching him begin to smile, joke, be bossy on occasion¡­ it felt like a gift. And it made Gilbert wonder if he had ever been close to anyone.


    ¡°Temple?¡± he asked softly. ¡°Has anyone ever taken care of you?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Temple mumbled almost sleepily, lips caressing Gilbert¡¯s neck. ¡°I take care of myself every day.¡±


    Gilbert pulled back a little to look at him. ¡°You¡¯re kidding, right?¡±


    ¡°Hm, what?¡± Temple asked, seemingly coming back from his relaxed reverie.


    Gilbert saw the confused look in his eyes. ¡°I love you, and I''m so sorry you had to give that reply,¡± he said softly.


    And he knew it was a mistake the second the words left his lips.


    Temple jerked back as if he¡¯d been struck and stared at Gilbert as if he had just betrayed him. Then he turned around and looked at the chair he had been sitting in, eyes wild as though he¡¯d just woken up in a nightmare, and then he took a step back, staring at Gilbert as if he were a stranger. The breath was visibly fast in his chest.


    ¡°Temple, please¡­¡± Gilbert held out his hand, palm up, just as he had done so many times in the beginning.


    ¡°I can¡¯t¡­¡± Temple took another step back. Then another. ¡°I can¡¯t control it!¡±


    ¡°No, please. Temple, you are¡­ Just calm down,¡± Gilbert said as quietly as he could muster, but this reaction felt completely off, and it was scaring him. He took a step towards the thief who still stared at him with wild eyes.


    And then Temple turned and ran towards the door, tore it open, and disappeared.


    ¡°No!¡± Gilbert ran after him into the dark stairwell. ¡°Stop!¡±


    But the stairwell was quiet and gloomy, and Temple didn¡¯t respond. Heart beating frantically, Gilbert put a hand on the bannister and one on the wall and ran down, hoping the thief was hidden in the darkness and could be caught, but he ran all the way to the dark street unchallenged and stood there, barefoot in the icy rain, breath heaving in his throat. He¡¯d been an idiot. He had been so careful to keep words of love out of it at all times, so he didn¡¯t scare him, didn¡¯t make him feel trapped and out of his depth.


    It was ridiculous, though. Because every time Temple had moaned ¡®I trust you¡¯, Gilbert would bet his life he was actually saying ¡®I love you¡¯. Why was he not allowed to say it then? Why!


    And then the pain and fear of loss turned to hot fury in a matter of seconds. ¡°Come back when you are done being a coward!¡± he bellowed down the empty night-clad street.


    But nobody answered him.

 Chapter 12

    Temple sat on the floor in the corner beside his bed in the absolute darkness of his home, legs drawn up, one arm hugging his knees, the other draped over his head. It was so familiar. He¡¯d sat like this as a child, in the darkness, biting his lip until he tasted blood, arms tight around himself to be as small as possible and limit the shaking, so nobody would hear him or see him.


    He had sat like this after¡­ after it happened. After¡­ He couldn¡¯t reach the memories; they were too far back. Too dark to grasp. He only remembered being alone after it happened back then. The first place he had gone to was the docks. He had hidden in the attic of a storeroom. He had sat there, shaking, trying not to make a sound. He couldn¡¯t move.


    He couldn¡¯t move.


    He wished Gilbert were here. More than anything else in the world, he wanted Gilbert¡¯s arms around him right now, and that sent a shockwave of agony through his entire body. He gasped, but his lungs refused to work for a while until he finally managed to suck in a pained gulp of air. He couldn¡¯t think about him.


    He had lost Gilbert.


    Something had happened. Something inside his mind, inside his chest, had happened. Gilbert¡¯s words had sparked a fierce joy for a second before it snapped, like when the drawbridge of Harbour-watch Bastion opened up with a thud. It was real, and he had felt it coming for weeks now, months, while he smiled for the first time in his life and chatted and cooked food with Gilbert¡¯s arms around him and was happy. He had let all the warmth and happiness swallow the part of his mind that knew a threat was coming. The part of him that ignored the image of the kneeling woman and the child slitting her throat.


    He bit his lip afresh in punishment of himself and closed his eyes in the darkness, and the small point of pain became an anchor he could focus on. He couldn¡¯t think about Gilbert. His words had¨C


    Temple tightened the grip around himself and tried to let his mind go blank, tried to concentrate on the wounds under his feet from his panicked, shoeless flight across the rain-slick nightscape of Sonderport. He couldn¡¯t stop shaking; it was a miracle he had managed to dodge and skip all his traps when he came home considering how his body shook.


    The rain-wet clothes hung icily on him, and the cold had seeped deep into his bones, just as the living darkness had seeped into him when he was a child.


    He gasped for breath. It was true. He knew it. But he had never realised it consciously before. It had somehow hidden itself from him for years. Until Gilbert said¡­


    I love you.


    And the words had melted something in his chest and in the same instant, he had felt an old, angry, hideous connection awaken inside and bridge a gap within his mind he hadn¡¯t even known existed. It felt like the echo of a terrible, screeching sound that had torn him open and claws had dug deep into his soul and teeth sunk into the back of his neck. He was its plaything whether he wanted to be or not. He had never felt so utterly alone and helpless in his entire life.


    If he hadn¡¯t fled from Gilbert, the darkness that had found him would have burst forth. Wouldn¡¯t it? It would have flowed forth inside his mind as it had done once already when it had held Temple¡¯s hand from inside, closed it around the knife, and slit the woman¡¯s throat. He had looked out his own eyes, but in the same manner as when he saw the executions down on the pier far below him: as a passenger, a passive spectator that had no power to change anything.


    He couldn¡¯t fight it.


    He was alone. Just as he had always been. Alone with the living darkness staring at him.


    *


    Gilbert opened the door to his home and was immediately struck by the silence and emptiness inside.


    It almost felt like a death. Like bereavement.


    It was very close to unbearable, and Gilbert was constantly torn between his anger and his grief. Anger at being found less important than Temple¡¯s fear, and grief at the knowledge that he would likely not see him again. He had no means of locating him.


    He didn¡¯t know what to do with himself. On the one hand, he wanted to be home in case Temple came back, and on the other, sitting around to feel the crushing absence of him was so close to the emptiness Nia had left behind when she died that he couldn¡¯t truly bear it. So he worked. Then he walked around the city for hours each day. Went home only to catch a few hours of exhausted sleep if he could; when he tried, he mostly just lay in bed, feeling how empty it was.


    Outside in the street, people walked past ¨C chatted, yelled, and lived their lives in the sunshine. He had to pick himself up. At least continue the semblance of life. So Gilbert forced himself to make a cup of tarbean tea. That was normal. He had to eat, too. But the thought of cooking just made Temple¡¯s absence even more pronounced, and he ended up just chewing a piece of half-dry bread.


    He should never have said it.


    To his inner gaze, he kept seeing Temple¡¯s panic when the thoughtless words left his lips. It was a raw and immediate reaction, and then Temple had turned his gaze away, knowing how readable he was. It was fear. He was so terrified of having someone close that he would rather sprint off on bare feet than accept one more second with Gilbert¡¯s arms around him.


    Usually, this chain of thoughts flared his anger and kept the sorrow down, so he at least had a chance to sleep, pretending he hated Temple for his cowardice. Pretending he could dismiss him from his life and heart. But today, one week since Temple fled, Gilbert just couldn¡¯t find the anger. The empty pain inside hadn¡¯t lessened; it still sat there like a cold rock in his chest that made breathing cumbersome.


    He didn¡¯t understand it. Temple had been opening up more and more. Warm, caring in his own odd way with all the little gestures he did that told Gilbert that he appreciated him. Like how he stomped when he entered, or how he brought locks for him to pick that he had certainly spent hours making.


    Gilbert missed him with all his body and mind. He missed their closeness and the little lines between Temple¡¯s brows that always showed up just before he awoke as if the process of leaving his dreamlands was just a tad offensive to him. He missed the little smile in the corner of his mouth when Gilbert made him eat some food he¡¯d never tried before and he liked it.


    Actually, almost all foods were news to Temple, though he wasn¡¯t a picky eater¡­ How was that even possible? How had he gone his whole life not finding any food he found delicious?


    If Temple wasn¡¯t back by tomorrow, Gilbert thought to himself, he would give up on him. This was far too painful. Temple was too damaged. It had been foolish to fall for him to begin with.


    He had said ¡®I can¡¯t control it¡¯. Gilbert wasn¡¯t sure what he had meant. Maybe it was just the closeness between them? The intensity?


    Curse the fact that he had respected Temple¡¯s constant need to retreat, to run away instead of insisting on knowing more about him! If he had known where the thief lived, he could have marched over there and gotten him back, forced him to see reason, cornered him, scared him, abused his trust, and taken his privacy from him. Privacy was probably the only thing Temple possessed that he could rely on. And here he sat, expecting Temple to let go of his only source of security after just a few months¡­


    Gilbert sighed and rubbed his face. He hadn¡¯t put words on it before, but all this time he had been competing with Temple¡¯s privacy and sense of safety for the title of most important in his life. He had tried to give him space to come and go. He hadn¡¯t expected miracles, but he¡¯d still achieved a good amount of them.


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    The first time Temple stayed the night. The first time he agreed to try to cook, clearly finding it a ridiculous endeavour at first. When he suggested they stay in bed and have a conversation. They had ended up talking about the rights and wrongs of the penal system of all things, which hadn¡¯t been something he¡¯d ever imagined discussing while being naked under the covers with a delicious and opinionated partner and an autumn storm brewing outside the window.


    The memories made Gilbert smile, but then they turned around and stung his heart with a force that made him gasp for breath.


    If he¡¯s not back here before I go to bed tomorrow, I will let him go¡­


    But Gilbert had thought that every single day since Temple fled. And he knew he would give him years to come back if that was what it took.


    *


    ¡°Captain? There¡¯s a visitor asking for you,¡± Sargent Sheridan said, and Gilbert cringed on instinct.


    ¡°What kind of visitor?¡± he asked, hoping it wouldn¡¯t be another lunatic ready to empty a bucket of blood over himself and surrender amid a stream of esoteric ramblings. ¡­Hoping that it would be Temple, but Sheridan would have said ¡®your friend¡¯ or ¡®the locksmith¡¯, so¡­


    ¡°He says he¡¯s from the Spenbell Estate and that the High Merchant has sent him with an important message.¡± Sheridan shrugged, puzzled.


    Gilbert sighed. More politics. Probably it was some sort of threat about not having found the slightest hint of the mastermind to blame for the whole insane string of wall painter murders. Probably because the man who cut his own throat while Gilbert was subduing him had been employed there.


    Well¡­ he hadn¡¯t honestly expected to keep his job for this long¡­ ¡°Throw him in here, Sargent,¡± he said, shaking his head. He should feel combative, nervous, aggressive, wary ¨C anything. But he didn¡¯t have room for more emotions, so he just got up and leaned on his desk.


    The man shown into his office was somewhere in his late fifties, lean and tall and dressed in a very well-tailored suit of clothes befitting a functionary of the High Merchant. His hair had been dark but was now mostly silver, and his blue eyes were clear and piercing. He held a leather folder that reminded Gilbert of the one wrapped around the drawings of the High Merchant¡¯s estate that Temple had shown him. Recalling that day, which he had taken as a sign of Temple¡¯s love, felt like a stab to the chest.


    ¡°Who are you and why are you here?¡± he demanded, more harshly than intended.


    The elderly man smiled and gave a slight bow. ¡°A pleasure to meet you, Captain Armstrong. I hear your name mentioned often, and only in the most revered of tones,¡± he said in a pleasant voice and sat down uninvited in a chair within the small but meticulously neat office. ¡°You seem to be a man who knows that everything has its place,¡± the visitor commented as he looked around.


    ¡°That¡¯s a poor answer to ¡®why are you here¡¯,¡± Gilbert pointed out.


    The man smiled pleasantly. ¡°Arguably. I¡¯m here to ask you a simple question on the High Merchant¡¯s behalf, Captain Armstrong. I shall not take much of your time, because you have important work to do,¡± he stated, calm and confident.


    ¡°Is that so?¡± Gilbert crossed his arms. He was used to dealing with the merchant aristocracy, and it was always an entitled and craven experience. Even their servants felt they could give orders to lowly Watchers. He was surprised the man had asked to see him, rather than just forcing his way in and waving people aside who stood in his way.


    ¡°Tell me, Captain, if you were to cross a bridge, what would you prefer it was made of; fear and sadness or love and joy?¡± the man asked, completely unfazed.


    Gilbert stared at him blankly. If it was a metaphor for something, he didn¡¯t get it, but he did quickly study the man¡¯s long fingers for a ring similar to the one the painter had worn. Several of the madmen who turned themselves in after committing their murders had called him a bridge, and he never managed to figure out what the hells they meant.


    The High Merchant¡¯s employee merely responded with a small smile, put the folder he had brought in his lap, and held up his hands. ¡°As you can see, Captain Armstrong, I am not about to kill myself as that unfortunate man did.¡± He took the folder and held it out. ¡°I believe you will find this enlightening. I understand you spoke to several historians at the university about Rakkos, and they gave you very little. Well there,¡± he nodded at the folder, ¡°you will find the details of the Eye of Greed.¡±


    Gilbert reached out for the folder reluctantly. ¡°And why does the High Merchant assist the investigation, exactly?¡±


    ¡°Why, what a silly question, Captain,¡± the man admonished. ¡°The High Merchant is of course quite distraught at the knowledge that a man in his employ did such a terrible thing. He asked me to put together a folio to assist you in locating the mind behind the crimes.¡± He stood up and gave a small bow. ¡°Perhaps we will see each other again. Have a good day, Captain Armstrong.¡± He turned to leave.


    Gilbert looked down at the folder in his hand, nonplussed, and then up again to stop the man. But he had already left. Annoyed, he ran the few steps to the door and looked into the main room of the palisade, but all he found was Sheridan and a patrol group that had just come in.


    ¡°Where the fuck did he go!¡± he demanded loudly, but they all just stared blankly at him.


    *


    Temple didn¡¯t know how much time had passed. But he began to notice that the pain in his feet was not dissipating. Not that he had moved much, had he? How many times had he gone to drink from his stores of well water? Had he eaten? ¡­He had kept a lamp lit for a long time now. But he wasn¡¯t sure how much lamp oil had been left in the jug to begin with, so he couldn¡¯t use that as a measure. What had he been doing?


    He had mostly just sat there, hiding, hoping the ¡­darkness wouldn¡¯t find him. Then he had gone to look at the things in his home, as though they were anchors, keeping him from drifting off. He had gone to the workshop where he built his traps and locks and just sat there, in the corner, realising how happy he had been building more and more difficult locks for Gilbert to fight. He had felt proud of both Gilbert and himself for it. It felt like he had given something of himself, and that Gilbert had accepted it, made it a part of who he was. It had felt special. Sacred, in a way.


    When, later, he had been standing there, staring into the darkness in the small pantry that mainly held a bit of dried meat and some crackers, he realised how appalled Gilbert would have been at Temple¡¯s food choices. Terrified at having thought of Gilbert, as if it had called attention to him and brought him into danger, Temple had searched his mind for the darkness that had been watching him from across the bridge it formed to him. He¡¯d searched his mind for memories, but this time, it was much harder to reach the woman, whose opened jugular had covered him in blood, the gaping wound like a mouth, vomiting up the red fluid.


    Like the painter in the alleyway. The madman that had kneeled to him. ¡®Silver-eyed darkness, grant me your mercy¡¯, the painter had said. The first line in the Litany of Greed that he had known by heart. He had known¡­ by heart? But then Gilbert had been there and lessened the madness. That was the only reason he hadn¡¯t fled. Because Gilbert had always been kind. Always been truthful.


    Temple wasn¡¯t sure how much time had passed, but he found himself sitting by one of the wardrobes where he kept his earnings. He wasn¡¯t sure why he was here or how long he had been sitting here, but his thoughts rested on Gilbert, not on the darkness or the blood or the pain.


    Gilbert had never lied to him. He had only been angry when Temple didn¡¯t trust him. That was his only price. The only thing he wasn¡¯t willing to compromise. And Temple had kept running away, openly distrusting him at every turn, and kept questioning his motives.


    Slowly, Temple got to his feet. There were several points of pain when he put weight on his soles. He must have gotten hurt running here barefoot and not consciously noticed. Running away from Gilbert. Again.


    His mind resting on Gilbert had warmed him, kept thoughts of the darkness away, but now he froze, realising that he had probably managed to lose Gilbert. No, the darkness had made him lose him. The godsdamned darkness that kept stealing things from him: the darkness that had been his constant companion, just out of reach, as far back as he could remember, so he had to hide away and feel nothing, say nothing, never get involved. He never got involved with anything. He never dared to trust anyone. He was empty.


    Sudden anger flared in his chest. How long had he lived like this? The darkness had been so close for so long, looking over his shoulder, and it was only at the Barlik house that he actually held its gaze in the hideous drawing of the eye with the handprint for a pupil. That was why it was so damned familiar! He had just been too much of a coward to look at it. The Eye of Greed had seen him again.


    ¡°Rakkos,¡± he said in a whisper. ¡°Rakkos,¡± he repeated, louder, angrier. Somehow, Rakkos was the darkness, and that darkness had cost him his love ¨C it had cost him Gilbert. The only person who had always been kind and caring and protective towards him, and only asked to be trusted in return.


    The anger sat like a warmth inside him as he stomped off, stepping over the trigger in the floor that would impale a careless snooper, the thin silken tripwire that would trigger a volley of poisoned darts, and several other of the traps he had all over his home because he lived with the solitude the darkness forced upon him. He couldn¡¯t be involved. He couldn¡¯t love anyone. The darkness was constantly in the way.


    Decisively, he lit the lamps and candles on the way to the washroom and then undressed with angry movements, pouring water into the washbowl. He stank, and he was very sure the wounds under his feet still had splinters in them. He had to fix it all. He had to fix everything. He had to let Gilbert know that¡­ that he was done being a coward!


    Temple halted in his tracks. That was what Gilbert had said. There was still hope. He had said to come back. Temple knew only one way to show him his trust, and he would do everything he could to make Gilbert understand that¡­ he loved him too.


    Then he could just hope that Gilbert hadn¡¯t changed his mind.

 Chapter 13

    Temple desperately wanted to go meet Gilbert when he left the palisade because there would be others there and Gilbert couldn¡¯t just start yelling at him. But he knew it was cowardly, and Gilbert had specifically said he should return when he was done being a coward, so¡­


    He drew a deep breath to still his thundering heart. He was scared. Terrified, actually. What if Gilbert just took a look at him and told him to go away? What if it was over and he was tired of it? Maybe he had simply carried on and forgotten him? That scared him far worse than the darkness ever had.


    Temple clenched his fists and fought to control his breathing. He had been sitting on the stairs partway up to Gilbert¡¯s place in the pre-dawn darkness, but now he jumped to his feet again and stood there for a while, not knowing what to do with himself. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other to let the pain where he¡¯d had to dig for shards and splinters in his feet occupy his thoughts, when he saw Gilbert turn the corner.


    Temple froze. His heart thundered in his chest, and he felt almost nauseous with fear. The second Gilbert saw him, the Watcher sprinted towards him, reaching the stairs a few seconds later. He ran up the steps and before Temple could react, Gilbert had his arms around him and hauled him into the darkness of the stairwell, where he pressed him up against the wall. The kiss that followed was rough, furious, demanding, and Gilbert held his face while he pinned him in place with his body.


    The kiss turned hot and possessive and overwhelming, and Temple barely had time to react before Gilbert let go and withdrew. ¡°If you ever fucking do that to me again, I will not forgive you! Do you understand?¡± he shouted furiously. ¡°Do you have any idea what you put me through?¡±


    Temple gasped and looked away, overwhelmed by his anger. He searched desperately for something to say or do, but he didn¡¯t know what, so he just kept standing there.


    ¡°You are going to tell me exactly what the hells went through your mind and why you keep running away from me! Are you scared of me? Have I given you any reason to fear me? Did I abuse your trust? Look at me!¡±


    Temple clenched his shaking hands and slowly, tentatively, looked up, very, very careful not to look at the door as though he wanted to flee, even though looking for escape routes was his instinct. He just had to live through this.


    The only light came from a window further up the stairs, so Gilbert was painted in grey and silver nuances. Temple didn¡¯t need light to see his anger, though. He met Gilbert¡¯s dark gaze and then his eyes flickered away, scared by the intensity.


    Gilbert didn¡¯t move but, finally, he relaxed his angry stance a little and Temple looked at him again, a little braver this time. Gilbert slowly reached out to open the door to the outside stairs and let it swing wide open. ¡°I love you,¡± he said quietly, not moving.


    Temple didn¡¯t know what to say or do, so he just nodded.


    ¡°I love you,¡± Gilbert repeated and took a step back, so it would be even easier for Temple to flee out the door. ¡°I love you, and when you run from me, you hurt me more than I think you realise. Because I want you. I want to share my life with you. When you are ready,¡± he added.


    Temple nodded again. He wasn¡¯t sure if he could even speak. Maybe he had gotten through it? He wasn¡¯t sure.


    Finally, Gilbert huffed a little laugh. ¡°I love you with all your strangeness. But please, please, don¡¯t¨C¡°


    ¡°I¡¯m done running away!¡± Temple finally managed, almost scared of his own voice. But he could move again, so he quickly grabbed Gilbert¡¯s hand and took a few steps out the door, dragging him along.


    ¡°Wh¨C¡°


    ¡°Come with me. Please,¡± Temple said and took another step.


    ¡°Where to?¡± Gilbert asked.


    ¡°My home.¡±


    ¡°Your home,¡± Gilbert repeated gently.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how else¡­¡± Temple faltered. ¡°If I do this, I will¡­¡± He wasn¡¯t sure how to explain it, so it didn¡¯t seem insincere or worthless. He desperately searched his mind for some kind of way to make Gilbert understand what this meant to him. He looked up and saw Gilbert staring at him with a small smile in the corner of his mouth. ¡°¡­Gods damn it,¡± Temple sighed. Gilbert could read him as if he had somehow spoken his chaos aloud, and it was humiliating when he was trying to finally make things right.


    Gilbert stepped closer and calmly put an arm around him. Gratefully, Temple gave in and leaned against him, letting his warmth seep into him and slowly dispel the terror he had felt for the last week and a half.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about everything,¡± Temple whispered.


    ¡°I¡¯ve missed you,¡± Gilbert just responded.


    Finally, Temple freed himself from the embrace and stepped back. If he didn¡¯t go through with it, he wasn¡¯t sure he would ever get the courage to try again.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Gilbert reached out and drew him close again. ¡°Are you sure? I love you, and I don¡¯t want you to think there is a price to it. You can even run away; just please, please promise me you will come back. I don¡¯t want to take something from you that you are not ready to give.¡±


    ¡°I promise,¡± Temple said. ¡°But I¡¯m done running. Now come with me.¡± He was happy to see Gilbert nod and follow.


    *


    Temple didn¡¯t say anything on the way. There was a touch of something grim and determined in his face that made Gilbert think he wasn¡¯t exactly at ease with this, as though he was battling his instincts. The moment Gilbert knew where to find him, he would have lost his last shield against the world. His impulse was always to flee when he felt cornered, but this time, he had actually returned for the fight and seemed determined to see it through.


    It was probably the biggest compliment Gilbert had ever gotten, but he also wasn¡¯t sure if he should accept it. Temple had looked terrified when Gilbert shouted at him, and though he would gladly have kept shouting at anyone else that had hurt him that badly, he had forced himself to stop. He didn¡¯t think the thief would have run again, but it felt as if he were close to doing actual damage to Temple, who was determined to force himself to stay and weather the blows. For a few seconds, it had felt close to abuse and Gilbert¡¯s anger had immediately ended.


    They made their way to the eastern docks and came to a dilapidated building, leaning on the easternmost cliffside in perpetual shadow from the plateau above. Temple unlocked the door with a key and took him upstairs to the attic of the empty house, where a hatch in the ceiling led to an upwards tunnel through the cliffside above. A sturdy, knotted rope was hanging down from the dark.


    Temple looked expectantly at him.


    ¡°This leads up to the plateau? To the Burning?¡± Gilbert asked doubtfully, referring to the city district that had been up there, but which had burned down one night about fifty years ago and had never been rebuilt. Supposedly, the spirits of those that died in the blaze still roamed the high plateau. ¡°You live there?¡±


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    Temple nodded, and then he shrugged. ¡°I have other access points, but I don¡¯t feel comfortable leaving by Eastgate and waving at the Watchers there every time I go back and forth.¡±


    Gilbert tugged the rope. The tunnel itself was quite narrow. ¡°Alright,¡± he said and began climbing in the dark. ¡°Isn¡¯t the Burning supposed to be haunted?¡± he asked, hearing Temple below him as he hauled himself up.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Well, yes. I¡¯m haunting it.¡±


    Gilbert laughed at the matter-of-fact tone. ¡°That sounds cumbersome,¡± he commented. ¡°So the ghost-lights and smoke and sounds the stories speak of are really you?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I set up green-flames if anyone goes near; and if I can¡¯t scare them off, I drug them and carry them away. It¡¯s quite annoying, but luckily, I don¡¯t have to do it very often. The house we¡¯ll emerge in is one of the sites where I drop people,¡± he explained. ¡°You should be nine or ten knots from the hatch now. Mind your head.¡±


    Gilbert felt the space above him with one hand and, shortly after, felt rough planks against his fingertips. He pushed, and a ray of sunlight hit him square in the face.


    The Burning was truly desolate, he learned when they emerged into the village of burned-out houses, like skeletons, built upon the plateau overlooking the city. The pair stood in what had been a large house, among the burned and charred remains of the walls and support pillars were placed about a dozen, creepily draped, human-sized mannequins as one would find in a tailor¡¯s workshop. The heads were different kinds of deformed-looking stuffed cloth bags.


    On the horizon, a bright orange sunrise made the sea blaze golden, but the dolls were still incredibly disturbing and lopsided. The breeze from the ocean that toyed with the fabric draped over them made the things seem like they were constantly on the verge of moving. Temple shut the trapdoor and kicked some debris over it. Then he stood still, staring emptily at the ground.


    His silence was telling, and Gilbert turned to look at him. ¡°I want to know everything about you,¡± he said softly, ¡°¡­that you are willing to tell. There is no rush. You don¡¯t have to do this. We can just go home. Now I know the area and that¡¯s more than enough. You don¡¯t have to prove anything.¡±


    ¡°You know where to find me now.¡± Temple looked up at him, grey gaze serious. ¡°Nobody has ever known before.¡±


    ¡°Nobody?¡± It seemed ¡­terrifying. That he hadn¡¯t had one, single person to lean on ever.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡± Temple faltered, clearly not sure how to phrase it. ¡°I¡¯m scared because I want you to know it,¡± he said, frowning. Then he shook his head to dismiss the thought and reached out to take Gilbert¡¯s hand.


    They walked through the burned-out desolation of the debris-filled streets that had wound through the tiny town up here. Finally, Temple stopped, though Gilbert couldn¡¯t see any entrances anywhere.


    ¡°Let me just disarm some traps¡­¡± he said and pushed a blackened board away to reveal a set of stairs, leading into what would have been a cellar under the house they stood inside. Or rather the burned-out skeleton of it.


    Temple¡¯s home was both exceptionally impressive and incredibly desolate. The underground complex was large and sprawling, seeming to combine and link the various cellars under the entire plateau village into one large place, with concealed air vents and chimneys. It must have taken years to set up, requiring a lot of specialised knowledge.


    The first room they entered was a large, empty, and dark space that led to a well-stocked workshop through a barely visible door, where several more or less incomprehensible projects were in progress. There was a large room full of overflowing bookshelves, and a full forge accessible down a long corridor with several vents to the upstairs. A room was locked by a door that simply looked like fallen debris; it turned out to be halfway open to the elements and full of plants. Another room held materials for working with leather and cloth and wood. The last room was a spacious bedroom with a large bed and a wall lined with wardrobes of all kinds of make and sizes.


    And all the way through, Temple would stop him at the entrance to each new room and spend several minutes disarming a myriad of different traps, powerfully displaying how jealously he guarded his safety and solitude.


    Gilbert was still trying to absorb all the details of what this place told him about the thief. Although there was a lonely atmosphere to everything, Temple clearly had a well-organised life here. The materials for his different crafts were meticulously ordered, and so was everything else. Well, except for the appalling pantry that explained why he had scoffed at the concept of cooking. It seemed Temple had never learned to enjoy a meal before they met.


    The traps were many and varied, but none had been lethal so far. Some worked in concert with each other to exacerbate the effects of one poison or another until an attacker would be extremely hard-pressed to continue. But an intruder capable of learning from their mistakes would be able to leave alive to threaten Temple¡¯s privacy again in the future.


    On the one hand, this mercy surprised him, but on the other¡­ he had seen the horror in Temple¡¯s eyes when the painter had died right in front of him. Though using violence would have been an easy feat for him, since he could probably sneak up on anybody, the Magpie King had never harmed anyone, neither guard, hound, nor resident. Violence seemed to be appalling to him.


    At the entrance to the bedroom, Gilbert stood still until Temple said, ¡°Last one,¡± and took a long step over some invisible barrier in the floor between the row of wardrobes and the bed. He disarmed a trap somewhere in the corner of the shadowy end wall.


    ¡°What was that one, then?¡± Gilbert asked and approached slowly.


    ¡°That one¡­¡± Temple gestured to the wall behind him. ¡°It shoots a metal spear at whoever steps there.¡± He pointed to the floor where Gilbert was moments from stepping. Then he smiled when Gilbert froze. ¡°Well, right now, it would hit and kill me first, and then probably hurt you a bit, but not much else,¡± he said. ¡°But it¡¯s disarmed. You can go wherever you want now.¡±


    Gilbert looked to his right at the bed and then wrinkled his brow. ¡°Why are you protecting a row of wardrobes with lethal force and not the bed you sleep in?¡±


    Temple stared at him blankly for a moment. Then he opened the latch of the wardrobe nearest to the end wall, followed by the four others as he approached and passed Gilbert. After that, he silently stood aside and watched him.


    Gilbert stared. And stared. And then he sat down on the end of the bed and kept staring, not able to fully process the sight of that much wealth in one place.


    Every wardrobe was reinforced with metal bars on the inside and stacked halfway up with gold ingots below. Above, it was lined with all kinds of jewellery and precious stones, richly decorated books, lavishly painted wooden tablets, what looked like¡­ a collection of gold and ivory sex toys, bolts of jewelled, gold-woven cloth, and various statuettes in precious metals. A large shelf was full of what looked like meticulously kept folders with different papers and small items.


    Finally, Gilbert¡¯s brain woke up again. ¡°Temple,¡± he said.


    ¡°Yes?¡± came the hesitant, wary answer.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t spend all this at once, because that will literally cause an inflation that will leave people homeless and cause abject, city-wide misery,¡± Gilbert said blankly.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Temple looked at all of it and shrugged, ¡°I don¡¯t spend it. I just sort of put in a new wardrobe when I need it.¡±


    Gilbert stared at him. ¡°Then why do you steal things?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t just steal things, I¡­ well¡­¡± He pointed to the row of folders and then carelessly closed the wardrobes again.


    ¡°Well?¡± Gilbert asked, confused.


    ¡°Blackmail. In case I need it. Or I can sell it. All the items are non-commissioned things that I will funnel onto the market when it makes sense and then melt the gost down.¡± He closed the last wardrobe and leaned his back on it, self-consciously crossing his arms as he avoided Gilbert¡¯s gaze.


    Gilbert got to his feet and slowly approached him, holding out his hands in the Temple-calming gesture. It drew a little smile from the thief, who pushed off the wardrobe and came closer.


    ¡°Gilbert, I have nowhere left to run but that corner,¡± he nodded at the corner between the bed and the end wall a few metres away. ¡°You don¡¯t have to take care not to aggravate me.¡±


    ¡°Aggravate isn¡¯t the right word,¡± he grinned and gently pulled Temple close. ¡°It¡¯s more like¡­ I don¡¯t want you to think I¡¯m attacking you in any way.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that. You wouldn¡¯t be here if I thought that.¡±


    ¡°Or if you did, you wouldn¡¯t have disarmed the last trap?¡± he nodded to the spot on the floor that held the unseen pressure plate, which would trigger the lethal trap.


    Temple grinned. ¡°That would perhaps be a bit too elaborate a way to dispose of you after five months of near-constant opportunity, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Gilbert smiled. He still had so many questions. But they could wait. Temple had the Watcher¡¯s arms around him and softly bit his lip to tease him, and the entire world seemed to fall into place again, beginning to mend itself. The last of the fear and grief he had been through in the last ten days evaporated, and he happily followed when Temple dragged him to the bed.


    ¡°The first time I admitted to myself that I wanted you, I woke up from a dream about you and was ready to come,¡± Temple whispered between kisses, breath fast in his chest as his nimble fingers quickly unbuckled Gilbert¡¯s sword belt, tossing the weapon on the ground.


    ¡°Right here in this bed?¡± Gilbert asked, pushing Temple¡¯s jacket open and vest off and pulling at his shirt to get his hands flat on his skin.


    The ¡°yes,¡± Temple gave him was almost just a moan, and Gilbert gently pushed him onto the bed and climbed after him, stealing a kiss.


    ¡°Tell me all about the dream, then,¡± he insisted.

 Chapter 14

    They lay together after their lovemaking, sated and smiling at each other in the light from the flickering lamp on the wall above the bedside table.


    The light was golden on Gilbert¡¯s skin and Temple languidly let his hands travel up his sides, smiling happily.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to say you trust me,¡± Gilbert smiled. ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to say you love me,¡± Temple said.


    ¡°What if I want to?¡±


    ¡°What if I want to?¡± Temple repeated cheekily, and then laughed and rolled his eyes at how inane the conversation was.


    Gilbert laughed too. ¡°You have a sassy streak, you know that?¡± he asked, hand caressing Temple¡¯s backside.


    ¡°What would you like me to say when I come, then, if I don¡¯t have to say that I trust you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, I suppose we could trade if you are comfortable with that?¡±


    Temple felt a stab of worry, and Gilbert must have seen it because he immediately pressed a kiss to his lips.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to,¡± Gilbert said swiftly. ¡°You don¡¯t have to.¡±


    ¡°I can say it. Why shouldn¡¯t I?¡±


    Gilbert smiled at him, and the worry melted away almost instantly. Throwing some true words at him wasn¡¯t any more permanent than handing him his life and safety. He could handle it, Temple thought, not nervous.


    ¡°When I ran¡­¡± Temple began and then stopped. This wasn¡¯t what he had intended to say. This was something completely different. He wrinkled his brows.


    Gilbert softly ran a finger down his forehead. ¡°What thought is that?¡± he asked.


    ¡°There¡¯s something I have to tell you. But I don¡¯t even know if I can,¡± Temple said before he could stop himself, but then the words began forming in his mind. The thought of not having to fight the darkness alone was so alluring. If he could just put words on it all, maybe he could find out how he should fight it.


    Then he felt Gilbert¡¯s thumb gently caress his cheek, and realised he had been silent for a while.


    ¡°I won¡¯t judge you or get angry at you if that¡¯s what you are worried about,¡± Gilbert said.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t.¡± The thought hadn¡¯t even occurred to him, and he smiled, which made Gilbert smile back. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to tell it,¡± he explained.


    ¡°Start wherever your thoughts are. We can put it all in order afterwards.¡±


    ¡°The darkness is Rakkos and I know its songs. I knew its songs. As a child¡­¡± Temple froze and stared into the murk beyond the lamp. It was too easy, somehow. This wasn¡¯t something he was meant to tell anyone, but he also didn¡¯t want to stop. The floodgates were opened and more words were crowding his mind to be let loose. ¡°I knew so many things about it. I worshipped it. Because¡­ the woman taught me. I think. I don¡¯t think I was the only child there, but I¡¯m not sure. I was still small when it happened. I remember the man who held her down. He had a hand in her hair and said he wouldn¡¯t kill her if I gave in as I was supposed to, and then I did. I gave in and the darkness took me. And it used my hands to kill her. It¡­ it used my hands. And I couldn¡¯t stop it.¡± Temple stared at Gilbert, shocked.


    None of this had been conscious thought that found its way to his lips. He didn¡¯t know he knew this, and he stared into Gilbert¡¯s worried eyes, more surprised than scared at what had just happened.


    Gilbert just held him, ran his fingers softly through Temple¡¯s short hair, and didn¡¯t say anything. Feeling his warmth, his solid presence next to him, was calming. ¡°I didn¡¯t know that I knew,¡± Temple finally said.


    ¡°If you want, maybe you should keep talking? I can ask you questions if that helps?¡± Gilbert asked calmly.


    Temple just nodded. He had no idea what exactly was happening in his mind, but having Gilbert as his anchor rather than his customary loneliness and isolation felt like a blessing that held the horror at bay. ¡°It¡¯s all so far away in time. I¡¯m separated from it by so many years of silence,¡± he said quietly.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen you vanish into the shadows. Is that why? How are you able to do that?¡± Gilbert asked, voice calm and gentle.


    Temple tried to look back, but everything was so blurry. He had trained himself for years to avoid any thoughts of the darkness so it didn¡¯t notice him, but it had lingered with him and imparted its gift to him. The access to the darkworld. ¡°I think¡­ I think I may have stolen it. Or it stayed with me. I think I broke something, and the darkness couldn¡¯t stay. Then I ran. I remember being terrified and in pain when the sun rose. I didn¡¯t know what it was! I didn¡¯t know what the sun was.¡± He looked imploringly at Gilbert. ¡°That¡¯s mad, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°No, not if you were a small kid all alone who had never seen sunlight. Then fear would be a perfectly reasonable response, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been quiet and alone for so long.¡± Temple frowned, trying to navigate the maze of his feelings that were all rushing to the surface all at once.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t alone anymore,¡± Gilbert just said and brushed his lips softly against Temple¡¯s.


    Temple smiled.


    ¡°Do you remember the ¡­painter?¡± Gilbert asked carefully, obviously scanning Temple¡¯s eyes for any sign of distress. When Temple just nodded, he continued, ¡°He said something like ¡®I surrender myself to you¡¯ or something like that when he died. And he seemed to almost recognise you¡­¡±


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    A myriad of emotions swam to the surface and Temple was about to snap and push Gilbert away, just as always, when it dawned on him that he didn¡¯t have to. He rolled over on his back, staring into the familiar ceiling blankly. Gilbert grabbed some pillows to lean against and then dragged him into a half-sitting position. For a few seconds, he was a ragdoll in the Watcher¡¯s grip, and then he suddenly sputtered to life with a laugh. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°I want you close,¡± Gilbert grinned. ¡°I don¡¯t care that you aren¡¯t making it easy on me.¡±


    ¡°I was just trying to sort my thoughts out.¡±


    ¡°Sort away, I¡¯ll just flop you around a bit in the meantime.¡± Gilbert propped him up against the pillows, and he did nothing to help, just laughing silently all the while at the absurdity.


    Finally, laughing, Gilbert had manoeuvred him in place so he rested on the pillows with Gilbert¡¯s arm under his head.


    ¡°Done thinking?¡± Gilbert laughed.


    ¡°I am. The painter kneeled to me because he thought I¨C He must have sensed the darkness on me. I think it has been attached to me since I fled. But just not really able to reach me. And then¡­¡± Temple sat up in bed and Gilbert did the same, putting a hand on Temple¡¯s arm gently. ¡°When you said¨C¡±


    ¡°Go on,¡± Gilbert prompted calmingly when Temple faltered. ¡°What did I say?¡±


    ¡°You said I love you, and I felt the same, but that made something snap back in place that should have never happened. And now you are in danger because I wanted to fight. I put you in danger. I didn¡¯t give you a choice.¡±


    Gilbert quickly reached out and held him close, tightening his grip. ¡°Stop, stop squirming! I consent. To the whole thing. If I¡¯m in danger, then so are you and we will fix it together. Temple!¡±


    His name was shouted, a short, sharp command that made him freeze in Gilbert''s grip.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want you near it,¡± Temple exclaimed hotly. ¡°Let me go. This is my problem.¡±


    ¡°Are you serious?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Gilbert still held him close and refused to budge, and now he studied Temple¡¯s eyes thoroughly until Temple felt his cheeks heat and looked away. ¡°I¡¯m not going to let you handle this alone when I just told you I love you,¡± Gilbert said slowly. ¡°¡­Frankly, you are very close to insulting me right now.¡±


    Temple bit his lip and looked up again. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to do this¡­¡±


    ¡°I know. Me neither, but you didn¡¯t get me into trouble. I¡¯m already involved. I didn¡¯t tell you about the High Merchant yet, so stop concluding all kinds of things without inviting me to the party.¡±


    Temple laid still, regarding the Watcher in his bed carefully. ¡°High Merchant?¡± he asked slowly.


    ¡°About five days ago, the High Merchant sent a representative to the palisade to give me a folder of papers on Rakkos. Or rather, the Eye of Greed. Can I tell you what I read?¡±


    Temple nodded reluctantly. He didn¡¯t want to hear it, but he had to. He had to know the extent of the damage.


    ¡°Rakkos was a young but powerful god, consort to Merea in the beginning, apparently. But he stole from her and, though she forgave him, he ended up stealing the goddess herself and plunging the living world and the godrealms into darkness after the Upheaval. The other powers united against him and freed Merea, but from then on, she banished him to some place called The Ethereal, where he supposedly floats around in grey nothingness, petrified and unable to do anything. ¡­The stories of the gods are always a bit dim, but, well, Rakkos is a banished god of darkness and greed, only able to influence the living realms through people or priests who seek him out specifically,¡± Gilbert related.


    It felt familiar, but the rage in the story was missing, the rage on behalf of the banished one who would wake and bring possession and strength to his faithful. Temple felt suddenly bone-weary and sad. It was too much. He didn¡¯t know how to fight it all, and more knowledge just felt like extra weight when he had so deftly spent the last twenty-some years not carrying knowledge, memory, or connection to anything. ¡°You are not done, are you?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No, not yet,¡± Gilbert said softly. ¡°Apparently, there have been some priestesses of Merea who have worried that the god still has followers, and some mad theologian who has been dead for about a century wrote a sort of manual on how to wake an exiled god. Whatever magic they are doing, would it be completely crazy to suppose you were in the hands of some outdated cultists once, as a child?¡±


    ¡°Wait, so you think¡­ that it was just something that happened back then? That it¡¯s maybe just some remnant of an old spell or something?¡± Temple asked, halfway hopeful.


    Gilbert pressed his lips together in a gesture Temple hadn¡¯t seen before. But it looked to mean disappointment incoming because he shook his head. ¡°I hope so. But honestly, it was about as fishy as it gets, the whole thing. There are many things I¡¯ve been wondering about. The messenger who gave me this information asked me about a bridge,¡± he said, and Temple started and looked at him. ¡°What was that reaction?¡± Gilbert asked. ¡°Several of the lunatics have called me a bridge. I¡¯ve gotten used to just considering it mad-speak for ¡­ I don¡¯t know, some kind of insult.¡±


    ¡°It just felt¡ª¡± Temple stopped himself.


    Gilbert put a hand on Temple¡¯s face and let his thumb caress him until Temple began to slowly melt, looking into his eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t think there is anything that should not be said in this conversation. If you felt something, please tell me. I think it¡¯s about time we talked this through,¡± he said softly.


    Temple sighed. ¡°It was like a snap, just before I ran from you. It felt like a connection had finally formed that had been building for a long time. But it was just a feeling. I could have imagined it.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Gilbert said. ¡°Do you believe that?¡±


    ¡°What did the man say about a bridge?¡± Temple asked, unwilling to answer.


    ¡°He asked if I would rather cross one of sorrow or love. And he asked it like it wasn¡¯t an insane question. He also didn¡¯t give his name and he disappeared from a room with four people in it without being seen. I have no idea what all this means, but he obviously wanted me to ask questions. Like what the hells is the High Merchant¡¯s interest in all this?¡±


    Temple sighed. ¡°He should be busy playing with his new safe¡­¡± he mumbled and rubbed his face on Gilbert¡¯s shoulder, which made him laugh.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°Nothing. I just heard the High Merchant had acquired a new safe that¡¯s supposed to be uncrackable. That was the reason I procured the drawings for Spenbell Estate, to see if there might be some hints as to the easiest way in,¡± Temple shrugged tiredly. ¡°That¡¯s all I know about him.¡±


    ¡°Alright, so if we decide to shamelessly jump to conclusions for a moment, does that sound like ¡­bait to you? How to catch a bored thief who wants to prove himself?¡±


    ¡°What? Why me?¡±


    ¡°Temple¡­ they even bow to you.¡± Gilbert looked at him as if he were missing something obvious.


    ¡°No! Stop blaming me!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not. But coincidences work to a certain point and then become a pattern. This is a pattern and I think you already know it. If they want you back, having you voluntarily go to a group of crazies who worship greed to rob them¡­¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s mad.¡±


    ¡°Nope. Madness is what happens when you think writing poetry on the wall with your own shit is a good and sensible move; I¡¯ve had to go to Margan Elfslayer¡¯s Hospital on official business, so trust me on this. This is just something that happens. I understand that it¡¯s ¡­it¡¯s terrifying. But it¡¯s happening and we need to fight back a lot smarter before whatever they want happens.¡±


    ¡°We should find out, then. We could¡­ You could introduce me to the High Merchant as a specialist to protect his properties better and we see what he does? If you are accompanied by a smattering of your people, they cannot just attack you. Us.¡±


    ¡°Possibly. What are you hoping to learn?¡±


    ¡°If he has any of those symbols? Whether he reacts to me. I don¡¯t have any way of meeting him, other than sneaking in.¡±


    ¡°Alright, but we will plan this carefully.¡±


    ¡°Carefully? Really? Because getting the codes and magical defences and secret entrances for high-end thefts is usually just about kicking in the door and improvising¡­¡±


    ¡°Ohh, you have a sense of humour now?¡± Gilbert laughed.

 Chapter 15

    Gilbert was honestly not surprised that Temple didn¡¯t have a dining table and that his pantry was the saddest sight he had seen in a long while. And Temple had known exactly how he would feel about that, judging from the suppressed grin on his face when he opened the door to the paltry arrangement. Dried meat. Crackers. A bag of salt. About fifty bottles of water. And that was it. How he hadn¡¯t fallen to pieces years ago was downright mysterious. But then, sitting on the bed, only half-dressed, and watching Temple eat after another round of warm, loving intimacy, knowing he was only here because Temple trusted him¡­ it made Gilbert grin happily and reach out for him again.


    ¡°You think I¡¯m terrible, don¡¯t you?¡± Temple asked with a smile, letting himself be dragged closer.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Gilbert nodded. ¡°I think you are awful.¡± He took the sad, half-eaten cracker from Temple¡¯s hand and put his arms around him.


    There was a smile on his lips when Temple leaned close and took a warm kiss, and then leaned back to look at him.


    And then in an instant, he froze, eyes wide and fearful.


    Gilbert opened his mouth to ask, but Temple, panicked, clamped a hand over it to silence him.


    ¡°Someone is here,¡± he whispered, clearly terrified. ¡°And all my traps are down.¡±


    Before Gilbert could do anything, Temple jumped silently away from him and ran to the corner by the wardrobes to arm the spear trap, his eyes darting back and forth and his chest moving with a heaving breath. And then Gilbert heard it too. From the entrance room, two workshops away, a voice sounded, clearly not trying to mask their presence. ¡°Find him. Let¡¯s bring the temple home.¡± And several footsteps followed.


    Swearing silently under his breath, Gilbert got to his feet, buckling on his weapon, and watched Temple run to a small chest of clothes, pulling a black shirt on to match his dark trousers. He stood for a few precious seconds, clearly close to panic, and Gilbert caught him.


    ¡°Arm what traps you can on your way out and hide in the darkness. Get out of here. Warn the Watchers and get them here. The closest palisade is Pier Ward. Do you understand?¡± he whispered, and then added, ¡°I will distract them so you can run.¡±


    ¡°No. No¡­¡±


    ¡°Hide, now. Do as I tell you,¡± Gilbert said gently and let the thief go.


    Temple took a few steps backwards and then seemed to let himself fall into the darkness. Gilbert waited a few seconds, intending to let Temple arm the traps in the next room, but abruptly, Temple seemed to jump out of the shadows again, eyes even wilder.


    ¡°It¡¯s all wrong. The darkworld is alive. It¡¯s all wrong,¡± he said, breath wild and heaving, as the sound of several people walking down through the next room could be heard.


    And then, from beyond the workshop, a loud voice called, ¡°Temple. Come out. It¡¯s time, and you know it.¡±


    And then they emerged into the bedroom. Five tall men dressed in white, bloody handprints on their chests, an eye drawn around it in red that had soaked and dripped into the fabric. They wore white masks to conceal their faces ¨C and they attacked silently. Gilbert saw more of them in the corridor beyond as he drew his weapon and dodged a fist swinging at him. He tried to manoeuvre himself in front of Temple to protect him until he snapped out of his wide-eyed panic. But the thief had nowhere to run because of him.


    Normally, Gilbert would never have dreamt of wielding a weapon against an unarmed opponent, but more of the white-clad people were coming, and he didn¡¯t see a way out of there. So he did as much damage to them as he could, aiming to incapacitate as many as possible to improve his and Temple¡¯s chances.


    As he fought, he finally saw Temple snap out of his panic and vanish, and at least Gilbert took comfort in that¡­ until Temple emerged again seconds later, behind the man he was fighting, viciously kicking the back of the white-clad opponent¡¯s knee before falling back into the darkness.


    Gilbert fought on, but it was a losing battle, and he knew it. And then one too many ganged up on him and he couldn¡¯t dodge them all. The first blow hit his back, and then someone else took advantage of his split-second of pain and jumped in to harm him. In the end, punches and kicks began landing hot and fast, and he had nowhere to run.


    Then a fist impacted with his jaw, and the last thing he saw was Temple jumping out of his shadow to hang on to the back of the man who had struck him, sending him crashing to his knees while Temple punched the side of his face, panic gone and replaced by fury.


    Then everything faded, and Gilbert slid into the darkness.


    *


    Temple¡¯s mind was a screaming, pleading mess though no words reached his bleeding lips. He was barely hanging on to consciousness, fighting not to let go even though everything hurt and burned. It had gone wrong so quickly, and even the darkworld that had sheltered him for so long was suddenly hostile, whispering and touching him when he fell into it as if it was a living entity that had awoken. When he had finally realised that Gilbert was going to die and begun to fight in desperation, the darkworld had almost stuck to him, as if reluctant to let him go, eager to let him drag it back into the real world.


    He blinked the blood out of his eyes. He must have been hit over the head. He couldn¡¯t feel where the wound was, because everything hurt. He was being dragged along by two of the white-clad people who had firm grips on his arms. His feet were stumbling along, legs carrying him on instinct. In front of him, Gilbert was coming too, dragged along as well, and Temple could see his hands were bound behind him.


    Temple wanted to twist and kick, but his body still wasn¡¯t taking orders. And then the people carrying him stopped. They had reached the entrance that he kept empty, hoping an intruder would think it was just a basement and overlook the entrance to the rest of his home.


    It was spacious and unfurnished, and sunlight streamed down from the stairs to the plateau. And it was packed with white-clad people with the Eye of Greed painted on their chests and white masks covering their faces. Men and women, all busy meticulously drawing a white and red circle on the ground, setting up islands of black candles and various bones, cups, piles of gold, knives, jewellery, and other ritual items.


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    At the centre of the circle being drawn stood a tall man with silver hair and piercing blue eyes. Temple blinked, any thoughts of resistance gone, overwhelmed at how familiar he was. The man turned from supervising the circle and smiled when he saw them.


    Gilbert had clearly gotten his bearings, because he began straining violently against the men holding him, headbutting one of them with the back of his head. He managed to kick the other over the knee, and others streamed at the three of them to assist in subduing him.


    Temple knew his attempt would probably be feeble and useless, but he had to try again, so he let himself fall into the darkworld ¡­which promptly embraced him for a second and then spat him out, the people holding him grabbing for him, shocked, and held him tighter. One raised his arm to strike, but the tall man in the middle of the circle called out, ¡°Do not harm the temple!¡± in a loud and imperious voice.


    The man about to strike lowered his hand. One of the people holding Gilbert kicked the back of his knees viciously to bring him down, while another drew a knife and held it to Gilbert¡¯s throat, hand in his hair.


    ¡°No, stop!¡± Temple yelled desperately. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt him. Please. Please!¡±


    The tall man held up his hand in a superior gesture. ¡°No shouting. Captain Armstrong will not be harmed. Everyone here owes him a debt of gratitude. We would not be here today if not for his help.¡± He signalled to the man holding the knife to remove it and was immediately obeyed.


    ¡°The High Merchant¡¯s lackey¡­¡± Gilbert said, spitting blood from a cracked lip. ¡°What is it you think I¡¯ve done for you?¡±


    ¡°You have been the bridge that the High Darkness crosses,¡± came the response in a sombre tone.


    ¡°No, fuck you!¡± Gilbert exploded, straining against his captors. ¡°I¡¯ve heard that nonsense for months from madmen and lunatics!¡±


    The tall man gave an overbearing little laugh. ¡°From good people of the faith, not lunatics. You will have to trust it when you hear it from the High Merchant, won¡¯t you?¡± he asked and gave a symbolic little bow before he gestured for the people to drag Temple closer.


    The man was so familiar. Temple couldn¡¯t ignore the voice that reverberated through him and shook memories loose, still vague and strange.


    ¡°We have been looking for the temple for twenty-two years now. And then you showed up, Armstrong, and he became visible, more and more, until the High Darkness had a solid bridge to cross. So I will leave you with your life and let the Darkness decide your fate when he gets here. Now, do be quiet,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯ve looked forward to seeing my favourite child.¡± He gestured to a white-clad person, who came forward when Gilbert began to shout furiously, boxing his ear, which made him gasp, and gagging him with a piece of cloth.


    The panic in Temple faded. It was all his fault. He had given in. He had let his guard down. He had wanted things he couldn¡¯t have. Gilbert would die and it would be his fault. He had even taken the traps down, so the attackers didn¡¯t suffer any damage in forcing their way into his home. It was as good as an invitation.


    He didn¡¯t struggle when the tall man gestured to have him brought closer. The Rakkos worshippers simply lifted and placed him in the middle of the circle. He didn¡¯t struggle. There were at least twenty people in the small space, several guarding Gilbert, holding him in place even though he struggled fiercely, several still building the circle, some standing guard all around the room, others acting as lookouts on the steps up to the plateau.


    He just lifted his gaze to look at the man who regarded him almost kindly and put a hand on his cheek, as one would do with a child.


    ¡°Little Temple,¡± he said. ¡°What has happened to you? You were always the best among all the children. So diligent, so devoted to Rakkos. You knew the Litany by heart before you were five and you followed the seven precepts with such fervour. Why did it go so wrong?¡± he asked as if he truly didn¡¯t understand.


    But Temple did. Things slowly fell into place. ¡°It went wrong because you would have killed me,¡± he said.


    ¡°Nonsense! You would have taken your place of honour in the Hall of Night. You were consecrated and your soul would simply have left. It isn¡¯t death, it¡¯s an honour. It¡¯s what you were born to do.¡±


    ¡°What was her name?¡± Temple asked quietly, remembering the woman who had died by his hand, regardless of who had been steering it.


    ¡°Who?¡± the tall man asked, nonplussed.


    ¡°The woman whose lifeblood hit you in waves!¡± Temple shouted in sudden anger. ¡°Her name!¡±


    The tall man shrugged. ¡°Who?¡± he asked, looking at Temple with confusion in his gaze. ¡°¡­Oh, the one who minded the children? Who I was forced to use as leverage when you decided to flee your destiny? Is that the one?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t even remember. Her death meant nothing,¡± Temple said blankly.


    ¡°Her death meant everything, you little shit!¡± the tall man exclaimed, suddenly furious, and slapped Temple¡¯s face hard enough to make him stagger. ¡°Her death meant you fled, choosing your own petty terror over greed. Over duty. Over faith! You betrayed me. But now you make amends.¡± He stepped out of the circle, giving him an angry, warning look as he took up position in what Temple registered as the place for the celebrant of the ritual. He wasn¡¯t sure how he knew this, but it was knowledge, nonetheless. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡± The tall man nodded as if coming to terms with a disappointment. ¡°You will stay and fulfil your destiny this time. The High Dark will not be denied. If you try to escape, your lover dies,¡± he said calmly.


    ¡°You said he would live,¡± Temple said quietly. ¡°You said he was owed a debt of gratitude.¡±


    ¡°Oh, he is. And I said he would live until the Darkness comes and it can decide his fate. But if I have to break a promise to make you do the only thing you were born to do, then so be it. I will slit his throat myself.¡±


    Temple turned and looked at Gilbert. There was nothing he could do. They couldn¡¯t fight their way out. There was nothing ¨C no place to hide or escape to. The darkworld that had always let him in was hostile and vile. And when the darkness came, Gilbert would be killed. They would both die.


    He didn¡¯t even see anger in Gilbert¡¯s eyes as he stared at him while the ritual began around him. He recognised several of the songs and incantations to honour the Darkness, and then it became a call, an entreaty, an invitation that centred around Temple.


    Through it all, he held Gilbert¡¯s gaze, knowing he was lost, knowing he had killed him.


    Gilbert was not afraid. Somehow, he was too strong to be afraid, even though he also knew they would both be dead shortly. Temple imagined for a moment that maybe Gilbert thought it had been worth it. But that was absurd. Temple had given him nothing but his death.


    He suddenly realised what the bridge was. The Darkness hadn¡¯t been able to reach him when he was alone, silent, and felt nothing. But Gilbert had built a bridge between them with patience, shared happiness, and love. That bridge had just also been extended to the Darkness, and as Temple began to live and feel and want, he became easier to locate by the second.


    Give in. Give yourself over to my will as you were born to do.


    When he felt the whispered voice in his mind, he wasn¡¯t the least bit surprised. It had been there in the beginning, hissing and threatening him until he learned to stay silent and not let anyone see him or get close, and the voice had faded as Temple did.


    Submit to me. You feel remorse for the woman, the voice whispered softly. But you don¡¯t have to. You let me in back then, and I committed the deed. I thought I could scare you into submission. But this time, you can submit to me without guilt. You know that, as an adult, don¡¯t you, most beloved temple? You can give yourself to me without guilt this time. The responsibility is mine, not yours. You didn¡¯t kill the woman. You will never kill anyone. Give in. Give in. Submit to me.


    Temple looked at Gilbert one last time. ¡®I¡¯m sorry.¡¯ His lips formed the words, but he couldn¡¯t force sound out past the sorrow that crowded his chest. The calling of the Darkness was loud all around him, so Gilbert wouldn¡¯t have heard him anyway.


    Submit to me.


    But all he saw in Gilbert¡¯s eyes was forgiveness.


    And then the summoning concluded, a door opened inside his mind, and Temple fell into the darkness.

 Chapter 16

    Gilbert looked into Temple¡¯s eyes, desperate to tell him that he didn¡¯t blame him. That the fault was his if it was anyone¡¯s.


    He had been so stupid.


    Temple had kept him at bay, had shown his fear openly and told him that the darkness had stared at him, and Gilbert had dismissed the entire thing and kept pushing him to commit, to give himself over, to go against everything he had clung on to for over two decades, just because Gilbert had decided it was right and was only willing to approach him on his own terms.


    And here they were. Because of him, Temple¡¯s last thought would be that he was to blame, and there was nothing Gilbert could do about it but hold his gaze and hope he saw the truth. That Gilbert regretted not having listened. Not having found a way to protect them both. That he loved him.


    And then Temple saw nothing anymore. What made him Temple suddenly vanished, and what was left was Temple¡¯s body, an empty shell, a breathing corpse. The eyes were vacant and, though they were still fixed on Gilbert, there was no will or emotion behind them.


    And then the Darkness rushed in, taking possession of its temple in a matter of seconds, and a palpable, living aura of authority abruptly radiated from Temple¡¯s body, snuffing out all movement and murmur from everyone in the ritual room. The bruises and cuts Temple had suffered during the fight healed themselves, and everything was silent for a few seconds.


    Then everyone fell to their knees around the circle. Hiding their faces. Shaking. Some crying silently under their eerie white masks.


    If Gilbert hadn¡¯t already been on his knees, he would have done as the others. He had looked into a god¡¯s eyes and now hid his face too, terrified at the ancient malevolence that had stared directly at him. And then he realised it didn¡¯t matter much, as he sat there, bound and gagged and beaten. Temple was dead. What did he care if an old, sour god stared at him?


    So Gilbert raised his head again to look.


    The god¡¯s gaze was turned to the tall man at the edge of the circle, and even without his direct gaze, there was no doubt that what made Temple himself was absent. Somehow, this creature carried the body ¡­incorrectly.


    ¡°High Merchant,¡± Rakkos said to the tall man in a voice that filtered through Temple¡¯s vocal cords but wasn¡¯t his. ¡°You have done your duty to me. You consecrated my temple and reunited me with it at last. Your oath is fulfilled, and you and your people have earned my gratitude.¡±


    The High Merchant didn¡¯t dare look at the god, but he held his hands up in supplication, averting his eyes. ¡°It was a pleasure to serve, High Darkness,¡± he said with a slightly shaky voice.


    ¡°You even brought me a sacrifice, in case the temple rebelled again,¡± Rakkos commented, clearly amused, and turned its gaze back to Gilbert. ¡°Well done. You have served me well and are greedy for your reward. You shall have it.¡±


    The Darkness stared at Gilbert through its borrowed grey eyes. And with a smile Temple could never have smiled, it made a short beckoning motion with its arms and then stood still.


    A few moments passed while the white-clad worshippers began to move a bit and look around, and then a terrible pulse was felt, like the sensation inside the chest when a giant drum was beating, only without the sound to accompany it. The sunlight filtering down from the entrance dimmed, the ritual candle flames flickered and drowned in their own wax, and then the first scream sounded from one of the guards at the door.


    The darkness in Temple¡¯s home was tearing itself loose from every nook and cranny, breathing, multiplying¡­ And then it reached for the white-clad people. The living, throbbing, howling darkness jumped forth like caged animals that suddenly found their freedom, tearing into the now-screaming worshippers who began to flee in the madness.


    The living darkness didn¡¯t leave visible wounds. No blood soaked the white clothes they wore, but Gilbert heard the crack of bones, the screeching whispers all around him, and Rakkos laughing softly through Temple¡¯s voice, and he expected the darkness to reach for him too.


    But it didn¡¯t. As the screams and chaos around him died down, he remained unharmed, still kneeling among the warm, twisted corpses.


    ¡°Architect of my return,¡± Rakkos smiled and closed the gap between them. ¡°Without you, my thieving little temple would never have woken,¡± it said and put a hand on Gilbert¡¯s face in mockery of Temple¡¯s gentleness.


    Gilbert felt the ropes binding him vanish and the fabric gagging him fall apart, turning to bitter dust. He inhaled some of it as he spat and coughed, trying to breathe again. His battered body shook as he heaved for air. Finally, he could breathe, and he stared at Temple¡¯s bare feet right in front of him before looking up at the dark god.


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    ¡°Why did you kill them?¡± he croaked. ¡°They were your servants.¡±


    ¡°And I owed them my gratitude, so I sent them to my afterlife where they will have free roam to react on their greed and strengthen me forever. I always keep my promises.¡±


    ¡°Then why am I alive? Can you just get it over with?¡± Gilbert demanded and slowly got to his feet, expecting the entity in Temple¡¯s body to subdue him again. He looked down into the utterly foreign and devastatingly familiar eyes.


    ¡°Last time I was here,¡± Rakkos said, ¡°I used a murder to try to subjugate my temple, but this time, I might just try the opposite.¡±


    ¡°Subjugate?¡± Gilbert asked slowly. ¡°You couldn¡¯t control him.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the Darkness admitted openly. ¡°The murder was too stark for him, and he refused to let go of his body. He found the strength through his horror to topple the ritual, use MY darkness to elude everyone and deny me my right. ¡­Kids. You have a devoted priest raise them in the darkness in your name and what do you get after seven years of feeding them? Resistance and naysaying! All I could do was hang on by a paltry little thread, barely able to tag along, and with nobody to hear me but an opinionated child. Frankly, it¡¯s been a humiliating twenty-two years.¡±


    The dark god took a step closer, and Gilbert took a step back on instinct, tripping over a fallen worshipper. Rakkos smiled as Gilbert picked himself up and retreated.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t find my temple, Armstrong, because there was nothing to find,¡± he said, approaching calmly.


    Gilbert kept retreating, hoping to make it to the bedroom where his sword had been thrown when he was overpowered.


    ¡°My temple had no friends, he had no joy, he stole but didn¡¯t feel greed, he fucked but didn¡¯t feel anything more satisfying than scratching a small itch in his flesh. He never even killed anyone so he could appear to my senses. What¡¯s a personification of darkness supposed to do with that? He wasn¡¯t really alive, was he? Some fleeting little moments of fear of discovery were all I had to cling to, a petty sensation in the flesh, not even a real feeling. But then you happened, and suddenly there was remorse and joy and happiness and anger and hope, and I had a solid bridge to cross to reclaim my property and give loud orders to my priesthood.¡±


    ¡°Temple isn¡¯t your property. He isn¡¯t anyone¡¯s. Trust me,¡± Gilbert said, finding his way with a hand on the wall until they came to the workshop, where a few lamps Temple had lit only this morning still burned.


    ¡°You are wrong. He willingly gave himself over to me twenty-two years ago and then promptly used my gifts to escape my priesthood.¡± The being in Temple¡¯s flesh laughed. ¡°But I¡¯m not above renegotiating.¡± It gave him a big, unsettling smile as it seemed to listen to something Gilbert couldn¡¯t hear. ¡°Ahh. There we are. He can be rather loud for a stealthy little cat burglar, can¡¯t he? Well, it seems you can go.¡± The dark god stood aside, gesturing for Gilbert to pass.


    ¡°He¡¯s alive?¡± Gilbert asked, feeling like someone was holding his heart and squeezing it. ¡°I¡¯m not letting you out of my sight!¡±


    A little laugh that Temple had never made came in response. ¡°I have many fervent worshippers who want me close, Gilbert Armstrong, but they usually do what they¡¯re told. I agree with my temple that you should remain unharmed by me, my actions, and everyone I command in all ways in exchange for his complete submission to my will. I will honour that agreement, but I can move you wherever I want you.¡±


    It smiled as icy-cold darkness began to gather in the workshop, slowly appearing to congregate near Gilbert.


    ¡°What happens if you harm me?¡± he asked, withdrawing faster now that there were fewer corpses he could trip over, as a mad idea took root in his mind. It was insane. He knew it. But he had known his death was a certainty ever since the ritual began, and if Temple was still alive somewhere, he had to try.


    Gilbert turned and ran into the bedroom, scooped up his sword where it had been thrown, and hoped he remembered right as he held the weapon out in front of him. The darkness approached like a living, writhing entity and Rakkos emerged from it. The small, annoyed wrinkle between his brows was close to the expression Temple wore just before waking up, and cold anger gathered in Gilbert¡¯s chest.


    He took a step backwards, over the pressure plate for the trap, hoping the entity didn¡¯t know everything that Temple knew.


    ¡°Don¡¯t attack me, child!¡± Rakkos barked in a voice that sent waves of unease through Gilbert¡¯s body, instinct begging him to flee because he was prey and felt his insignificance. ¡°You have annoyed me enough and your back is to the wall. You have nowhere to run. Leave, and let me fulfil my promise to my temple, or I will move you myself!¡±


    ¡°Please¡­¡± Gilbert croaked and lowered his sword. He didn¡¯t have to pretend that his hand shook. ¡°He¡­ I didn¡¯t even get to hear him say¡­¡±


    ¡°What? That you annoy him?¡±


    ¡°That he loves me.¡±


    The occupant in Temple¡¯s body rolled his eyes. ¡°Trite and predictable.¡± It sighed. ¡°If it¡¯s any consolation, he never believed it was anything but temporary. The joy was real, but he never planned for keeping you. He didn¡¯t even trust that you wouldn¡¯t eventually turn him in.¡±


    ¡°Please, don¡¯t do this¡­¡± Gilbert said, retreating one step further, as far as he dared.


    Rakkos approached slowly. ¡°He was sure he would have to frame you for something to get you removed eventually. He kept returning to your home while you were out to look through your things, hoping to find something to hit you with when you inevitably became troublesome.¡±


    Gilbert thought back to the times he had felt like someone had just been there when he came home, but now that he realised he had a cult of dark worshippers following his relationship with the man consecrated as the temple of their god, he felt that made it significantly harder to blame Temple for breaking in. ¡°You are cruel. It¡¯s not true. I know him,¡± Gilbert said quietly and dropped his sword.


    ¡°I am cruel, but it¡¯s also true. So is the deal he made to have you assassinated if he ever needed you gone. He didn¡¯t like it. But he made the deal nonetheless because he doesn¡¯t trust you. Face it, Armstrong. You¡¯re just a temporary fuck.¡± Rakkos laughed happily and moved to take a step forward.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you,¡± Gilbert smiled, absolutely truthfully, seconds before the spear from the newly triggered trap impacted with his back and threw him forward with brutal momentum, blinded and numbed by the agony.

 Chapter 17

    Movement. Then silence. The stench of metal.


    Gilbert looked down and saw a dark metal rod jutting from his chest and into his field of vision. He lay still on his side, stunned, silent, not completely certain what just happened.


    Temple.


    He lay on the floor. No, not Temple. Rakkos. The spear was clamped in the god¡¯s hands but seemed to have hit him too. His icy gaze stared with absolute fury at Gilbert, who struggled to stay conscious against a cold ocean of darkness that lapped at him, compelling him to let go.


    *


    The pointy steel spear had hit Gilbert in the back and protruded from his chest below the clavicle. From there, it had skewered the body that no longer belonged to Temple, crushing into his shoulder and lodging in the joint.


    They were locked together. Intimate in all the wrong ways.


    Gilbert was dying. Although Temple wasn¡¯t in the body that had housed him for so long, he still somehow felt it, or maybe knew it, as if what the occupying god saw with his eyes was whispered to him as well. It was a miracle Gilbert hadn¡¯t been killed on impact. Temple still felt him struggle, fighting to stay there.


    Temple had felt it when Gilbert began to back up. He had felt the madness of his decision as if he had looked into his eyes when the idea sparked. He must have known he risked death. He knew. Ever since the god had put his hand on Gilbert¡¯s face, Temple had been screaming, begging, pleading for Gilbert¡¯s life until the god had taken him up on the offer.


    This time, though, he didn¡¯t bother screaming. Rakkos would hear him, he knew it. ¡°You broke the deal. You hurt him,¡± Temple stated quietly.


    ¡°I did nothing to him. It was your trap!¡± Rakkos snarled back, fury colouring his words.


    ¡°It was my trap. And you triggered it. You told me I wasn¡¯t guilty of the woman¡¯s murder. What you do in your temple is your burden to carry.¡± In the absolute darkness of the mindscape he was in, Temple began to feel present, as if there was something solid under his feet, even though he knew he was hardly more than a shapeless memory. ¡°You harmed Gilbert,¡± he stated matter-of-factly and felt his awareness slowly grow. ¡°I will never comply. I will never stop fighting you.¡±


    ¡°Then I will have to force you!¡± the Darkness roared at him in the mindscape and Temple felt it kick itself away from the spear, spending some of the power it had drawn into itself from the killing of its worshippers to heal the furiously bleeding wound to its shoulder.


    Temple laughed condescendingly and the shapeless void around him began to take form. He still couldn¡¯t see himself, but he knew he was standing on a thin rope of light that stretched into eternity on either side of him.


    ¡°If you could force me, you would have,¡± he said. ¡°I know why you wanted a child. You thought an indoctrinated child would submit. Would have no choice. You don¡¯t have any real power, do you?¡± he asked, realising as he spoke how true it was. The Darkness had power when it was given it by fearful or greedy people. But if you were neither, there were choices.


    ¡°You are still just a pathetic child!¡± Rakkos snapped. ¡°He knew I would trigger the trap. He hurt himself! I am not to blame for the actions of others.¡±


    ¡°He forced you to hurt him. For my sake. And you are going to leave now,¡± Temple stated. ¡°Come here. Look around.¡±


    The rope he had been standing on was expanding, growing steadily brighter and sturdier. Although it was a completely metaphysical, mental construct, Temple felt it as something solid in his mind. His mind. Inviolable. Personal space that was only open to those he chose to let in. He didn¡¯t have a body yet, but his senses were sharp now, and he knew the bridge he stood on was the structure that had connected the darkness with him. It had been a parasite on the only truly good thing that had happened in his life and he was tired of it now. It had been too costly. It was about to end.


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    The Darkness made its presence known. It was a cold, sickly, desperate sensation in his mind, and Temple focused on the bridge that spanned his being and beyond to Gilbert.


    ¡°This is the bridge you crossed to reach me,¡± he said, not giving Rakkos time to speak. ¡°You were with me every step of the way. You know the feelings it¡¯s made of. You were there when they took shape. Do you really think you can use this against me?¡±


    ¡°I already did! I used your pathetic, horny excuse to hold hands and here you are, helpless!¡± it roared. ¡°You disgust me. You could raise yourself high above the petty mortals, but you chose to hide and cower and now you mistake lust for love.¡± It condensed into a greasy stain in his mind, the oily presence he had felt so strongly in the Barlik house. ¡°I know¡­ I was there all the way,¡± it whispered.


    ¡°If that was all it was, how did you get here? You couldn¡¯t get here on a bridge made of a tickle in my trousers. It¡¯s over!¡± Temple stated. ¡°Leave now, or I will do my best to hurt you.¡±


    ¡°Hurt me?¡± the stain in his mind spat. ¡°You will do as you are told!¡±


    ¡°You built a bridge to me using my love. But it¡¯s still there. I have just as much access as you do, and I didn¡¯t break an agreement. You got your temple as promised and now you lose it again.¡± Temple didn¡¯t have form, but he had willpower. The Darkness had shrunk, or maybe he had grown, and now he simply reached for it, willing it to be bound and immobile. It struggled but grew feebler by the second as he tested his power to make sure he was strong enough. Then he simply swatted at it, making it tumble over the side of the bridge that glowed strong and steady through the mindscape.


    The Darkness dissipated, spreading itself into his mind in tiny pieces, or perhaps it simply hoped to flee, unnoticed. But its hold on him snapped and suddenly, he was free. For the first time in his memory, Temple carried only himself and no shadow loomed over him. It was such a stark change that he froze for a moment, trying to understand the sudden sense of being alone.


    But then he realised that he wasn¡¯t. The bridge was still undamaged, and it led him straight to Gilbert, who was still fighting ¨C though not for much longer, Temple feared. He gathered all the will he could and forced himself up to the surface.


    *


    20 minutes later


    Temple had guessed the Watcher would be fast, but she was actually forcing him to exert himself. In his heart, he thanked the angry woman hot on his heels as he sprinted up the steep incline to the Burning.


    Now he could just hope the Watchers would concentrate on Gilbert and not discover his home.


    Less than half an hour ago, Temple had reclaimed himself and pulled the awful metal spear from Gilbert¡¯s body, making him howl in mindless agony and bleed and bleed as he lost all tenuous consciousness left. Then Temple had forced all the charged power left in his body from the dark god into the wound and made ruptured veins mend and bones set with a hideous cracking, tearing Gilbert away from certain death although he was still seriously wounded.


    He had carried Gilbert up and carefully laid him in the sunlight. He had kicked the few Rakkos worshippers who had fled far enough to die up here back into his basement home and temporarily sealed the entrances. Then, he had to get help. He couldn¡¯t carry Gilbert to safety, he couldn¡¯t go on holy ground to buy a healing tincture, and he didn¡¯t have any handy, since they had always been poisonous to him. ¡­Because they were made by the priestesses of Merea, and her relationship with Rakkos was probably not the best. He¡¯d wondered about the reason before. But now a lot of things made sense.


    In the end, the only option left to him was to go provoke the Watchers at Eastgate. Running down there, Temple had debated with himself if he should try to reason with them or explain the situation. After all, he now knew that Watchers were not necessarily the monsters he had believed them to be. But he couldn¡¯t wait.


    So he had simply pulled on his mask and opted for, ¡®Captain Armstrong of the Kaala Palisade went to the Burning to apprehend me. He is wounded. I am the Magpie King¡¯. And then he sprinted off, a little annoyed in his mind at having to appeal to other people¡¯s greed to get what he wanted when he had only just gotten rid of the god of greed a few minutes ago.


    He barely made it, sprinting right past Gilbert on the ground, and threw a purse of several small, gold ingots, scattering them all over, before dodging behind a low wall that still held out to break the pursuing Watcher¡¯s line of sight. He quickly slid behind a rocky outcropping and climbed around it to double back in relative safety.


    Temple felt relieved when he saw the woman slide to a halt where Gilbert lay. She quickly checked if he was alive, and then found the gold scattered next to him. When two of her colleagues arrived, panting up the hill, the woman told them to send a runner to the temple to get a priest and to carry Gilbert back down to safety.


    Temple wanted desperately to follow him, but he was well cared for, and he had to trust Gilbert¡¯s colleagues to take care of him while he took care of the problem of twenty-seven dead people, including the High Merchant, crowding his home.


    He was tempted to sit down in the darkness, hug his knees and hide, but he knew those days were over. There was work to do, preparations to make, and a whole lot of gold to move.

 Chapter 18

    It was past midnight when Temple had finally succeeded in every task that he had set himself. Every muscle ached and his mind was hollow with the new sensation of loneliness now that his unwelcome mental companion was gone, constantly interspersed with worry for Gilbert. When he learned from the Kaala palisade that Gilbert had been brought home to heal, he hurried there and took over for the old Watcher Fendan who had volunteered to sit with the captain.


    When he was finally alone with the sleeping Gilbert, sitting by his bed, fingertips resting against his pulse to assure himself that he breathed, Temple began to shake violently.


    He tried to breathe through it, but the lump in his throat was trying to suffocate him. Slowly, he slid down on the floor with his back to the bed. He couldn¡¯t keep the first tear back, and then the rest of them followed in a rush while he bit his hand to stay silent.


    An eternity of suppressed misery later, a hand fumbled for him, and he heard Gilbert move. Exactly what he hadn¡¯t wanted! Gilbert needed to rest.


    ¡°Not alone. Come here,¡± Gilbert said blearily. ¡°Come here.¡± He touched Temple¡¯s hair gently and Temple fought to stop the wild emotions and restore just some kind of semblance of control.


    ¡°You nearly died,¡± he finally managed.


    ¡°Come to bed,¡± Gilbert whispered.


    Slowly, shamefully, Temple wiped his eyes and nose and took a deep breath before he climbed into bed, careful not to push Gilbert and hurt him. Gilbert reached for him, and Temple hid his face by his neck, feeling the steady, calm pulse under his lips.


    ¡°They were going to kill you. It was all my fault,¡± Temple finally whispered, feeling like he almost couldn¡¯t stand himself. He hadn¡¯t fought when he should have; he had just stood by and let it all happen.


    ¡°That¡¯s funny,¡± Gilbert said softly. ¡°I remember it like it was the Rakkos priest¡¯s fault. Or the cult members or... Well, the god of darkness and greed¡¯s fault.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t make fun of this,¡± Temple whispered.


    ¡°I¡¯m not. I don¡¯t see what you did to put me in danger. ¡­Or maybe we both died, and some generous goddess gave us room in her afterlife?¡±


    ¡°You still can¡¯t make fun of it,¡± Temple repeated, finding it a little easier to breathe now.


    ¡°I¡¯m still not doing that. Even if we did die, you are here and I¡¯m happy. It was the evil god¡¯s fault. Greed¡¯s fault. Not yours or mine. But we lived?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I threw him out.¡±


    Gilbert laughed softly. ¡°I¡¯m not surprised.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Temple asked.


    ¡°Yes, really.¡± With a little sigh of pain, Gilbert turned around and pulled at the blanket until Temple shimmied under it.


    ¡°I am surprised,¡± Temple said. ¡°I lived with it for so long.¡±


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    ¡°I understand. But I have only known you as someone who pushes himself and challenges his beliefs.¡±


    ¡°Beliefs? Like what?¡±


    ¡°Like Watchers are dangerous and cannot be trusted? Cooking is stupid. Like not getting involved. You¡¯ve always been brave.¡±


    Temple withdrew a little, so they could look at each other. ¡°I¡¯m scared all the time.¡±


    ¡°You do things that scare you. That¡¯s brave.¡±


    Temple hid his face again, but this time it wasn¡¯t so much to escape as to just feel Gilbert¡¯s warmth and closeness. ¡°I love you. That was how I escaped. He was lying. I didn¡¯t hire anyone to kill you. I want to be with you. I want to be close to you,¡± he finally said. It didn¡¯t feel like being brave, though. It wasn¡¯t something that scared him anymore.


    ¡°I love you too. And I never thought he was telling the truth. Oh, shit!¡± Gilbert exclaimed and drew back in the embrace, but then winced in pain. ¡°What about the corpses?¡±


    Temple pressed him gently down again, checking where the spear had hit him. The skin was raw but healed. ¡°I am almost done moving everything important away. Then I¡¯ll collapse everything up there. Cover them all in rubble. They don¡¯t get a proper cremation. Maybe the Burning will finally be haunted for real now.¡±


    ¡°I can report what happened. Tell the courts they attacked me. You don¡¯t have to lose your home. We can find a solution,¡± Gilbert offered softly.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t my home anymore. It was a place where I hid. I¡¯m done with that,¡± Temple stated quietly.


    ¡°Move in here?¡±


    Temple smiled cautiously. ¡°Sure. We can put a door there,¡± he pointed to the end wall of the bedroom.


    ¡°What?¡± Gilbert grinned.


    ¡°I bought the place next door. In case you wanted to slow down. Or, well, in case I manage to scare myself,¡± he added. ¡°Then I will be really easy to find when I run.¡±


    ¡°I want everything you¡¯ll give me,¡± Gilbert said and then grinned sheepishly. ¡°How long have I been sleeping?¡±


    ¡°Since morning or there about. It¡¯s past midnight now.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯ve managed to buy a flat in that time?¡±


    ¡°I managed to move all the corpses, all my possessions, seal off my old home, hire someone to buy the flat for me, tested that I can now go to the temple of Merea without harm, and told my fence I won¡¯t be coming back except for very special occasions.¡±


    Gilbert stared at him, clearly overwhelmed. ¡°You are leaving everything behind for my sake?¡± he asked. He gently put a hand on Temple¡¯s cheek.


    ¡°I love you and I will give you everything,¡± Temple said, and then laughed. ¡°Honestly, all I¡¯m leaving behind is loneliness and an exiled god. I don¡¯t know how much of a compliment that is.¡±


    Gilbert smiled. ¡°It is. You are an uncatchable master thief, the royalty of theft, who bested an old god. I think I will consider myself complimented.¡±


    With a contented sigh, Temple carefully put his arm around Gilbert and let his warmth seep into his weary body.


    Gilbert''s arms tightened around him and held him. There was suddenly something desperate to the intensity of the gesture and Temple felt the breath grow heaving and frantic in Gilbert''s chest. He didn¡¯t know exactly what was going through Gilbert''s mind, but he held him close, trying to be calm, caressing him gently.


    After a while, Gilbert''s breathing began to calm down and finally, he relaxed the frantic vice grip a little.


    Temple still didn¡¯t move. What had happened this morning would haunt them both for a long while, he guessed. But he didn¡¯t know what else to do but just be there. As Gilbert calmed down in his arms, breath becoming calmer, they relaxed into each other, and Temple wasn¡¯t entirely sure where he ended, and Gilbert began. Not that long ago it would have horrified him. Now it felt like a warm privilege.


    ¡°I was helpless again,¡± Gilbert finally whispered. ¡°I watched you die, and I couldn''t do anything.¡±


    ¡°You had already helped me. You¡¯d already done it. I was the one who got you into this whole mess.¡± He let his fingers trail down Gilbert''s arm and their hands found each other, fingers interlocking. Very slowly, they parted a little so they could see each other in the flickering light from a lantern on the bedside table. None of them could find any words that were big enough.


    Finally, Gilbert gave him a tired smirk. ¡°You know what?¡± he said, squeezing Temple¡¯s hand. ¡°Apart from having to bait the god of greed into shooting me with a spear, this is a pretty good day...¡±

 One Year Later

    Temple leaned back in Gilbert¡¯s embrace as they stood at the stove, as he had done so many times in the last year. ¡°We¡¯re celebrating what?¡± he smiled.


    ¡°An important anniversary,¡± Gilbert stated.


    With a small stab of worry that he had missed something important you were supposed to do in a relationship with someone you loved, Temple twisted to look at Gilbert. But he was clearly having fun for some enigmatic reason, so it didn¡¯t seem like he had gotten something wrong. ¡°The anniversary of what?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Today, it is exactly one year since you cooked for the first time,¡± Gilbert grinned.


    With a huff, Temple turned in his embrace. ¡°Why do you remember the date of that?¡±


    ¡°Because you fried bitterleaf bread and it was on the first of Leafbreak month. Just stuck in my mind. Don¡¯t question my genius.¡± Gilbert quickly stole a kiss and turned Temple around again to face the stove.


    ¡°I never question you genius. So, what¡¯s that?¡± Temple pointed to the purple root on the cutting board. It looked a bit like a hand-sized squid.


    ¡°Dinroot.¡±


    ¡°Oh. I like them. I didn¡¯t know they were that ugly, though¡­¡±


    ¡°I know you like them, and you are going to cook one because you have to set fire to it to evaporate the poison before eating,¡± Gilbert explained, poured oil into the pan in front of Temple and put it over the fire.


    ¡°Poison! Are you kidding?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°How badly am I going to poison us?¡±


    ¡°Not at all, don¡¯t worry. And even if you did, it would just mean we will be happy there are two shitters in the home for a day or something. So, here.¡± He turned the pan so Temple could grab the handle.


    ¡°We¡¯re celebrating the anniversary of my first cooking escapade by setting fire to food...¡± He twirled the oil in the pan, eyeing the root that could potentially ruin any plans for intimacy.


    ¡°Remember the good old days and celebrate how far you¡¯ve come,¡± Gilbert suggested. ¡°So, the worst that can happen is that the oil catches fire before you¡¯re ready. So just to get you comfortable with that, I will set fire to it. Alright?¡±


    Temple nodded a little suspiciously, and Gilbert set the warm oil on fire.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Good grief. I¡¯m happy you aren¡¯t teaching me knife fighting or something,¡± Temple exclaimed. ¡°Worst that can happen is that I stab you like this...¡±


    ¡°Stop whining, it¡¯s not like you were using that liver for anything...¡±


    Temple laughed. ¡°Alright. Lid on. Teach me how to evaporate intimacy-destroying poison!¡±


    *


    The meal was fully edible and with no side effects, and Temple felt a stab of pride. It may be for fun that Gilbert did this, but he was right. The last year had moved them both far. But they had moved forward together, and even when Temple occasionally panicked in the beginning, Gilbert was always patient, always fair, always honest.


    Looking back, he had panicked at the strangest things. The first time they¡¯d had a disagreement, Temple had thought Gilbert wanted him gone for a few mad moments. There were a lot of adjustments to make, but they made them, and he had never felt this free. This safe.


    They worked together on finding any traces of the cult of Rakkos, and the priestesses of Merea had even agreed to help, although it had been a strained relationship with the goddess¡¯ church in the beginning. Gaining their trust had seemed to Temple like what Gilbert had been through with him.


    They finished cleaning up after the meal, and when they had gone to the workshop where they usually spent their evenings, Gilbert handed him a package wrapped in paper and string.


    ¡°That¡¯s not fair. You invented an anniversary without telling me!¡± Temple grinned.


    ¡°I know. I¡¯m sorry. But it was because I saw this and wanted to give it to you but then I saw the dinroots and then this was more fun.¡±


    Temple took the package. ¡°I¡¯m inventing the next anniversary then.¡± He pushed Gilbert into a soft chair and sat down to straddle him while opening the gift.


    ¡°It¡¯s a good idea,¡± Gilbert mused, hands on Temple¡¯s thighs. ¡°Now that we have over a year to look back on, we should celebrate.¡±


    Temple unwrapped an elegant box full of expensive sheets of silky paper. It was smooth under his fingertips and had a slight sheen to it.


    ¡°I just thought you could use some nice paper for the Locksmith¡¯s messages,¡± Gilbert said. ¡°It¡¯s not an uncommon quality, all the merchant aristocrats use it, so it¡¯ll be hard to trace to you. But it would look quite handsome. If you want, of course.¡±


    Temple looked up to catch Gilbert¡¯s gaze. The Watcher had invented an anniversary, just to give him a gift, and his heart almost ached a little with the joy of it. ¡°You¡¯re right. The Locksmith should improve. Thank you.¡±


    He had been unable to leave his profession behind, but now he entered the facilities and houses he would normally have plundered and left a calling card from ¡®The Locksmith¡¯, telling them how their defences were inadequate and that he was willing to assist them in upgrading. It had become a fashion phenomenon among the wealthy, and people considered it proof of importance if the Locksmith visited them.


    A portion of the money he got from this work was funnelled into the search for any emergence of the cult of the god of greed. ¡°I¡¯ve been working with the aristocrats for a long time, but it¡¯s a weird change of pace that they know it now,¡± Temple mused.


    ¡°You are Sonderport¡¯s only celebrity locksmith mystery. And I¡¯m very proud of you for changing pace.¡±


    ¡°I still gain entry illegally, Watcher.¡± Temple ran his fingers into Gilbert¡¯s hair and pressed against him.


    ¡°Oh, you want to play Watchers and thieves tonight, I see,¡± Gilbert grinned, and his hands slid over to grab Temple¡¯s backside. ¡°You know I love you, right?¡±


    ¡°I know. You know I love you too?¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Gilbert smiled.


    Temple bit Gilbert¡¯s lip and made him gasp softly before they lost themselves in a kiss.