Calvin returned to the apothecary on the set day and set his coin pouch on the counter. The sound of clinking coins drew her like a magnet.

  “Oh, it’s you!” Her eyes lit up. “You have the gold?”

  He rattled his pouch. “You have my antivenom?”

  She pulled a small wooden box from under the counter. Inside were a dozen tiny vials of antivenom. “They work topically, like you asked, but if drunk, they protect from the venom for around an hour.”

  She reached for the coins, but he pulled them back. “Is this all you made? I specifically asked for as much as you could make from that jar.”

  “Well, you know, a little antivenom needs a lot of venom to make—”

  “Where’s the rest?”

  She glared at him. “No respect. Nobody ever just lets the little old lady run her honest business.”

  “No one else is going to buy it. Even if people knew about it, the need for it is about to disappear. You can take my money now, or let it sit useless on your shelves until the shop rots.”

  “Oh, fine.” She pulled out another box, this one with two dozen vials inside. Calvin paid her and took both boxes. His plan was ready to launch. All that remained was to gather the crew.

  Conversation thrummed against the walls of the Rusty Wheel’s dining hall, punctuated by the thunks of mugs on tables and the scrapes of forks and knives against clay plates. The air was thick with the scents of earth, sweat, and beef.

  Calvin had chosen a central table for his meeting. With the company he’d invited, anything else would have drawn suspicion. If they’d met toward the edge of the room, or (Talkus forbid) in a corner, onlookers would presume he was hiring the party for a secretive mission, and they’d listen in, either to get in on the action or earn a quick coin by reporting him.

  As it was, they looked like a group of old friends reminiscing over past adventures. They ate, drank, and told jokes and stories. Calvin went easy on the drink himself, partly to avoid the infernal hangover he’d get if he indulged, but mostly because he had a job to do. To integrate these mercenaries into his crew, he needed to know them. So he guided the conversation, pulling stories out of them.

  Julius was an enthusiastic Knight of Réalt, god of stars. He’d spent his youth studying star charts and constellation stories, to the exclusion of anything else.

  “My quest,” he said, “is to accomplish something grand enough to earn a spot in the sky. A new constellation.”

  “And he hasn’t got a clue what that ‘something’ is,” Shale said.

  “I’ll find it.” He took a pull on his third drink. “Who knows? Maybe rooting out a cult will do the trick.”

  Argonemius Dawn Mugorium, or Arg, was a different story. As it turned out, he was the first of his name because he’d named himself. His father had been an orc, his mother the youngest daughter of a duke. The two had run off to live together in a hidden forest cottage. The duke had found them shortly after Arg’s birth. He slew Arg’s father, took his daughter back to his estate, and left the child to die. But his mother’s governess was skilled in illusory magic. The governess saved Arg, disguised him, and raised him right there on the duke’s estate. Arg knew and loved his mother, but to everyone else — the staff, his cousins, and especially the duke — he was the governess’s son. The governess taught him alongside his cousins, giving him the same noble education. History, letters, fencing. All the finest.

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  Calvin swirled his drink. “How’d you end up here, then?”

  Arg’s face darkened. “They took her. A band of scoundrels hijacked Mother’s carriage. She and Governess were going into town, but they never made it. The villains kidnapped both of them, as well as the servants they had with them. When they didn’t return, the duke was suspicious. He sent out a search party: most of my uncles and their sons, and some soldiers. I joined them. We traced them quickly, but not quickly enough.”

  He growled, the orcish side of him becoming more prominent as his snarl exposed his tusks and thick teeth. “I’d expected they’d taken her for ransom, but it was much worse than that. They were demon worshippers. When we found them, they’d already slain the servants for their horrific rituals. Mother and Governess were tied to posts. The cultists were about to kill Governess. I cried out to my mother and broke past the others in the party to get to her.”

  He bowed his head. “The leader struck Governess to the heart, killing her. He grew, then. His demon lord granted him a large measure of strength and stature in exchange for his work. He turned to face me, but I’d changed, too. The illusion making me appear human had died with Governess. His surprise at my true form was all I needed to avenge Governess with a single strike of my rapier, straight to his heart. The other cultists fled. But my fight wasn’t over. The rest of the search party had seen what I was. They realized the truth. My eldest uncle declared I was supposed to be dead, and they attacked.”

  “And he won,” Shale said. “Much to the horror of his mother.”

  Arg gazed into his drink. “I don’t know what happened. They’d known me all my life. They knew me, but they turned on me even as I saved Mother.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “She doesn’t speak to me anymore.”

  “I mean, you did kill a bunch of her brothers and nephews.”

  Arg sloshed the rest of his drink into Shale’s face. She grimaced. “I guess I asked for that.”

  “You did.”

  Calvin sat back. It was getting late. He was satisfied with what he’d learned about Julius and Arg. They’d make good additions to his crew. Shale probably would, too, but he hadn’t gotten much out of her. Unlike the other two, she’d steered clear of drink. The ale on her face was the only alcohol she’d touched all night. Plus, she didn’t answer questions with more than a few words. As a result, the only things Calvin knew about her were what he’d observed: her degrading wit, her sharp archery skills, and her rugged travel clothing. He suspected she might have a little elf blood, but as she spoke nothing of her family, he couldn’t be sure.

  Still, he wanted them all on his crew. So as Arg brought his story to a close, Calvin pulled the conversation back to the job.

  Julius gloried in the plan. “A near-impossible task. Such terrible odds. Such horrific consequences of failure. Such rewards for success! This story is sure to be worth a constellation.”

  Arg was just happy for the chance to fight cultists. He said he’d be twice as happy if there were twice as many enemies.

  Calvin had expected some skepticism as he unfolded his plan, but only Shale expressed doubts.

  “But will it work?” she asked. “Mountains of gold are useless if we don’t live to spend them.”

  “It’ll work.” Calvin pulled out a vial of antivenom. “Their priority will be to capture, not kill, and Hark’akuy rely a bit too much on their venom when it comes to holding prisoners. This stuff counters that. Capture would only mean we get to rest and watch as we wait for the perfect moment to strike.”

  She squinted at the vial. “And you’re confident of that?”

  Calvin smiled and handed her the vial. “I’ve been preparing this job for months. Do you think I’d squander it?”

  She inspected the vial, then slipped it into her pocket. “I suppose not.”

  “Then you’re in?”

  “I’m in.”