Break the Chains

Chapter Fourteen

Within a heartbeat of meeting him, Ripka knew that Radu Baset was everything she hated in a watch-captain, let alone a prison’s warden.

Misol had led her back to Enard, where she’d ordered the baffled guard who’d escorted them out to the midden heap to bind their wrists. A sour party they made, tromping through the labyrinthine tunnels of the Remnant’s hallways. Ripka’d occupied herself by trying to keep track of the twists and turns.

It hadn’t helped. A nervousness grew within her stomach, a gaping black maw of regret. She should have waited. Should have played things a little tighter, a little closer. She’d been too anxious to find Nouli, too used to her old authority. Her life as a watch-captain had made her too proud, too sure-footed, and she’d gone and gotten Enard tangled up in her iron-headed determination.

By the time they reached the warden’s office, she was ready to hate someone. She’d thought it’d be herself, but Warden Radu Baset had gone ahead and claimed that honor for himself.

He was a big man, a full head taller than her, with more meat on him than a Valathean black bear. She wondered if he had the fur to match under his uniform. Pale hair spattered his wide head, clinging to the forward slope of his scalp, and his nose had the scorpion-red bloom of alcoholism.

Didn’t need his countenance to prove his addiction, his breath did enough to give that vice away. It smelled like he’d licked a tavern floor. Ripka couldn’t even see the wood of his desk under haphazard piles of paper and splotches of spilt ink. Three wide, red velvet couches filled the office, and every last one had a warden-shaped dent in it. No wonder his staff was so poorly trained. The man spent more time sleeping and drinking than most of the gutter-fillers of Aransa.

Radu looked up at Misol from his slouched seat behind his desk, one eye squinted.

“Wha’s all this then?” he stammered. Though he looked strong enough to wrestle half the Remnant’s populace to the ground single-handed he had a high, rasping voice. The product of a throat worn raw from too much drink.

“Caught these two sparrows trying to get kicked out of their nest. Trouble is,” Misol half-turned, her strange eyes focusing hard on Ripka. “They haven’t learned how to fly yet.”

“What?” Radu repeated, making a halfhearted attempt to straighten his collar.

“It’s my fault, warden.” Their escort guard stepped forward, wringing his hands together. “The midden chute was clogged, you see, and–”

Radu seemed to see Ripka for the first time. His dark gaze narrowed, the pouches beneath them scrunching up so high they swallowed his eyes. He cleared his throat and, when he spoke again, he’d ground away most of the drunken slur. Ripka repressed a sigh. So he’d had a lot of practice being drunk on the job. No surprise there.

“Of course it’s your fault. I’m amazed every morning when you manage to put your coat on the right way. Misol, I assume it was you who caught these two?”

She inclined her head. “The woman was the one wandering, the man was a distraction. I caught her down by the yellowhouse, trying to peek in a window.”

The knot of Radu’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He reached for a bottle half-buried by papers on his desk, thought better of it, and went to ladle himself a cup of water from a bucket and mug left on the windowsill to absorb the night chill.

“I see,” he said once he’d drunk his fill. He tipped his head to the guard. “Get out.”

“But I–”

“You’re not in trouble, rat. Now scurry.”

The guard obeyed. It was the most disciplined thing Ripka had yet seen on the island. When the heavy, iron-bound door thunked shut behind the guard, Radu leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head, and squinted at Misol.

“How nosy was our little sparrow, then?”

Misol shifted her weight and rested her spear against her shoulder with intent. An implicit threat? Why would a simple guard hold sway over the warden?

“The sparrow saw only the fine craftsmanship of our window shutters. I will tell her as much, when I report this incident.”

A sour purse came to Radu’s lips. Ripka couldn’t tell if it were annoyance or indigestion. “Good enough.” He sucked his teeth and leaned forward, looming over his desk as if he could threaten his paperwork into organizing itself. “Go file your report, then.”

Misol’s back went stiff and her chin shot up. “Are you dismissing me?”

“I am.”

Ripka shared a look with Enard, curiosity pushing all fear of punishment from her mind. What power dynamic was at play, here? Was the yellowhouse, as Misol had called it, beyond the control of the warden, and if so, why? If Nouli were indeed behind those sunny walls, then Ripka would have to win herself over to Misol’s side. Maybe, she thought regretfully, she should have given up a smidgen of information to Misol when she had the chance, told her the barebones of what she was seeking. Now… Now it may be too late.

She tried to catch the woman’s eye, tried to pass some understanding between them, but Misol was intent upon Radu, her eyes bright with something akin to anger. Ripka wished she could place the sentiment – Misol was too difficult for her to read.

“I will make my report, then.” Misol snapped the warden an overly formal salute and stalked toward the door. Ripka could not capture her eye, could not even see her face, before the door clicked shut behind her.

“Captain,” Radu said, bringing her head around with a start. Cold dread filtered through her, freezing her in place like a rabbit in a hawk’s shadow. He could not have learned her nickname so quickly. He was a lout, a drunkard, incapable of disciplining his staff into any meaningful force. He was not so aware of his new intakes that he already knew the made-up nickname of a woman who’d been in his care less than two full turns of the sun.

She looked him in the eye, tried to keep her expression calm and mildly confused despite the runaway pounding of her heart. The confusion she didn’t need to fake, it was only the fear she had to mask. “Miss Enkel suits me fine,” she ventured. “I’m no kind of captain.”

“No, no.” He sneered as he leaned forward, yellowed teeth looking even more tarnished in the ruddy light of the oil lamps scattered around the room. “Fine woman like yourself is deserving of the title. You earned it fair, even if it was stripped from you under dubious circumstances. “

Pits below, but she wanted to bolt. To tip any one of those merrily burning lanterns into his rat’s nest of a desk and flee while the flames made a meal of his neglect. She willed herself to be calm, to stand with her shoulders slouched and her hips cocked to one side – not rigid and petrified, as she actually was. What would the woman she was pretending to be do, if accused of being a disgraced watch-captain?

She forced a smirk and puffed hair from her eyes. “Lovely that you think so highly of me, warden, but the only blues I’ve been near have been hauling me off in chains.”

He chuckled. “Nice try. Been practicing that, have you? Might have worked on another man. Trouble for you is, you don’t remember me, but I remember you. I know you, captain. I traveled with Faud out of the Brown Wash same as you, though he didn’t end up elevating me to such a lofty position.”

Radu snorted, hawked, and spat. Right on the floor. Ripka felt a little faint. Squinting at him, she might see how his face could be familiar. If it were younger, maybe. More hair and less jowl. But she couldn’t remember a stitch about him. There’d been a whole handful of mercenaries protecting Faud’s vanguard as he crossed the Scorched to settle in Aransa. Most of them had moved on to whatever job was willing to pay as soon as they’d spent the grains Faud had given them in the city. She’d been the only one to stick around, and Faud had rewarded her loyalty by recommending her to the watch.

“I…” she began, but he held up a hand to cut her off. It was well enough, she’d had no idea what she was going to say next.

“I don’t begrudge you the post you were given. Truth be told, you were the only member of our band of miscreant do-gooders who actually gave a shit about doing the job right. Now. Why are you here?”

“Theft of classified imperial information,” she said automatically, her lips numb from shock.

“Hah. You? The sun would fly down from the sky and kiss the empress’s ass before that happened. There’s not a body on the Scorched straighter than yours – morals and hips.” He smirked, but she swallowed a sharp retort. Years dealing with the bootscrapings of Aransa had left her hard to such harassment.

Enard, however, hadn’t experienced the case-hardening she had.

He took a quick step forward, faster than Ripka could follow, his body moving with all the sinuous grace of a snake as he scooped up a lantern. He held it above the mountain range of paperwork upon Radu’s desk, tipped precariously.

“Insult the captain once more, and I will see to it that certain parts of your anatomy never stand straight again. Sir.”

The calmness with which Enard spoke chilled her. She was tempted to intervene, but she knew that to do so would reveal fear of reprisal. And so she waited, jaw clenched, struggling not to grind her teeth.

Genuine fear flickered across Radu’s face, but it was only in passing. He held up his other hand, revealing a small bell cradled in his palm, chained to a ring on one thick finger. He ran his thumb over its shiny brass edge, caressing.

“Everyone plays nice, or I call my friends waiting outside, understand? I ring this, they come and cut you down without a second thought. You willing to start that fire?”

Enard’s smile was wistful. “Sometimes, I wish I would.”

He set the lantern down with exaggerated care and stepped away, his body angled so that he could come between Ripka and Radu if the need arose. It rankled to be protected so, but she reminded herself that, to Enard, this was his duty. His life’s calling. He’d agreed to help her find Nouli, and he couldn’t do that if she were dead.

“Now that the cockfighting’s out of the way.” Radu closed his hand around the bell to keep it silenced. “We can move on. Why are you here? A woman like you doesn’t stumble across the yellowhouse without forethought.”

She pressed her lips together, drawing them into a thin, hard line.

“Fine.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Keep your cursed secrets. I know you. You can’t be planning anything bad for my charges. But here’s the deal. A person with your skillset has value, value I can’t afford to let go unused. Not now, at any rate. You’re poking around my island, so I might as well get some use out of you. Lately, we’ve had a new source of extracurricular experience appear here. Understand?”

“Drugs?” she asked before she could stop herself, professional curiosity overriding her instinct to conceal any interest.

“Aye. Nasty stuff. Makes the inmates minds move faster, makes them restless for more. We’ve had three breakout attempts since it showed, and one nasty riot. They’re calling it clearsky, but no one knows where it’s coming from.”

Ripka scoffed. “Surely you have informants within the population.”

He grinned, as if he’d scored a point by drawing her into using the terminology of a watch-captain. “I do, I do. But they look after my addition to the population. Good stuff, keeps them sleepy-headed and amenable. This new junk, clearsky? Not one of my people can figure out its source.”

“Your addition? You’re leaking drugs to your own prison?”

Radu waved his hand through the air as if brushing away a mildly irritating insect. “I don’t force it on anyone, and it keeps them docile.”

Ripka stared, open-mouthed, recalling the elderly inmate she’d seen smoking along the path that morning. “You’re the mudleaf source? You’re encouraging a black market within your own walls. Once those channels open up, they’re impossible to close.”

“Bah. My people have tight rein on–”

“Then where’s the clearsky coming from?”

He clenched his fists so hard she wondered if he’d warp the shape of his emergency bell. “You’re going to find that out for me, captain.”

She swallowed around a dry throat. It didn’t take wild speculation for her to discern a possible source for the drug. If it were new, that meant someone was bringing it in from off-island – so that someone had to leave periodically and be able to return. Based on what she’d seen of the Remnant’s guards, imagining one or more of them slipping in a new poison wasn’t much of a stretch. Some of them might even be pretending incompetence and laziness to deflect suspicion.

But she wasn’t about to tell Radu that. The fact that he hadn’t come to the same conclusion himself meant he was either stupid, or blind arrogant in assuming his guards would never betray his trust. The way Misol had stiffened when he’d dismissed her… That told Ripka all she needed to know about the so-called warden’s relationship with his staff.

“And if I refuse to clean up this mess for you?”

“Why, captain, I might let it slip who you really are.”

She took a startled half-step back without meaning too, panic tightening her chest. It didn’t take firsthand knowledge to know what inmates did to a watcher sharing their incarceration. What they’d do to a full-blown captain, who’d already ruffled the feathers of a songbird? A crawling sensation stole over her skin, and she fought down a shiver.

“You would allow me to be torn apart by your charges, just because I won’t play your game?”

“One less mouth to feed.” He eyed Enard. “Two, probably.”

She tried to breathe deep, but only managed a shallow rasp. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin. Time was slim. She needed all the advantage she could finagle. “If you want my help, warden, I need something in return.”

“The integrity of your own skin isn’t good enough?”

“Not for this.” She stepped forward, angling around Enard, and pressed both palms on the mess of his desk. He went perfectly still. “I want to look in the yellowhouse.”

He snorted. Foul breath gusted hair off her cheek. “Nothing in there you’ll find pleasant, captain. I suggest you give that little curiosity up.”

“Don’t care how pleasant it is. I want a look.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

She smiled, but said nothing.

“We’ll see. Find me the clearsky, and if I have further use of you, I might see the need of trade. Otherwise…” He flicked a dismissive hand. “Fetch me my dealer, or I start spreading nasty little rumors.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask around,” she said, hating herself for her acquiescence.

“I supposed it wouldn’t.” He smirked as he gestured toward the door. “Go on now, guards will see you to your cells. Sweet dreams, captain.”

She resisted an urge to tip over a lantern on her way out.