Falen blinked and he actually stood slightly straighter.

  “You what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “By what right do you claim the protection of the law?” Falen challenged, his voice hard.

  “By the fact that we are guests and have been invited into, as you said, your city and to your warehouse. You are obligated to offer us food, drink, and to do us no harm.”

  “Are you mad? This is not my home!”

  “As I understand it, this is part of your territory, is it not? You claim ownership of this warehouse? And we are invited guests. Does the law state it has to be a place you sleep in?”

  Mitchell was pulling all of this out of his ass, but it was the only card he could think to play. He only had the barest understanding of alien legalisms, but it seemed to have gained him a little traction, so he intended to run with it.

  “Allora, does the law say it has to be a place where they sleep?” Mitchell asked her, not wanting to lose momentum.

  “No,” she said, and he could hear her warming to the idea immediately. “The laws apply only to the interaction between the hosts and the guests. It does not matter where one is being hosted.”

  One man was halfway up the wall, balancing on support beams and reaching for a bar to pull himself up to the next section of stairs. The other two were close behind. Mitchell didn’t have much time.

  “There you have it,” Mitchell told Falen. “Is she wrong?”

  The Edrokii’s lips were thin and iron hard as he glared at Allora, then at Mitchell. He gave the slightest wobble of his head.

  “She is not.”

  “I think you need to reconsider this course of action, Edrokii Sereg,” Mitchell told him, using his full title for the first time. Mitchell hoped he saw it as a sign of respect. “You are risking a great deal. The wrath of the other edrokii in the city, a possible war with Gijak for the death of his Black Hand, and the consequences of violating the laws and causing harm to your guests. Call your men back. I do not wish for them to die. Because they will if they breach the second floor, and I won’t be able to save them.”

  Falen’s fingers were no longer tapping his sword hilt. His hand was wrapped so hard around the pommel that his knuckles were white. The men and women around him were also looking uncertain. They were all guild members and looked to be feeling less comfortable with their edrokii’s course of action as the situation dragged on. And whatever was waiting on the second floor seemed to have several of them spooked.

  Allora spoke up then.

  “Please, Falen. You know I would not lie. Your men will die if they venture any farther and then we will not be able to control what happens next. We were nearly friends once. I would have been happy to call you as such. Please bid your men return. Honor the laws.”

  “Call them back and we can make a deal,” Mitchell said, tossing out the carrot after the stick.

  The first man had made it to the ledge of the second-floor platform and the structure was wobbling ominously.

  “From where I stand, you don’t have much with which to bargain,” Falen nearly snarled.

  “If we can talk, I think you will see differently. But you must call your men back. Now.”

  Falen stared at Mitchell with those living doll eyes and Mitchell could see his heartbeat throbbing in his temple. One beat. Then another. The man on the stairs was about to pull himself up over the ledge.

  “Hold!” Falen called into deadly quiet. “Come back down.”

  Mitchell saw several of his men sag in relief and weapons that had been raised in preparation for battle started to lower.

  The man who was at the ledge looked down at Falen, then started to retrace his steps. The two men who were coming up behind jumped down rather than risk the wobbly boards, and, when the first got to a safe height, he did the same. No one spoke as they took their position back in the ring surrounding Mitchell and the girls.

  “What is up there?” Falen said, finally.

  “It’s better if you don’t know,” Mitchell told him in all seriousness. “But I spoke truth. They would have died.”

  “Kasver, call the carriage,” Falen said, looking to the halfling. “The rest of you, clear out. I’m sure you have other jobs I pulled you away from. We’re done here.”

  “It is appreciated, Falen,” Allora told him, gratitude plain in her voice.

  He turned from giving his people orders and gave an indecipherable look.

  “I will honor the laws. If you and your companions will join me in my carriage, I can carry you safely away to my manor. We can discuss your deal there.”

  Mitchell nodded.

  “If you will give us a moment to gather our things, we will meet you at the carriage.”

  “Be quick,” Falen snapped. Then, he turned and followed his men to the door, the others leaving by the basement passage that they’d come through.

  Once they were sure they were in the clear, Mitchell brought the crate up from downstairs and had Vras climb in. The cat still didn’t like it, but it didn’t provoke the fight it had been at first. Then, he and Allora carried it out and, luckily, they were able to secure it to the top of the carriage that had been parked just outside the door. Two jivi were secured and the halfling Falen had called Kasver was sitting shotgun next to a human woman who was driving. They offered no help in getting the crate secured, and Mitchell didn’t ask for any. The less interaction anyone had with it, the better.

  Once that was done, the three of them took their place inside the carriage, all of them sitting opposite Falen, who sat alone on the other side. Lethelin on the far right, Allora in the middle, and Mitchell taking the left side. It was a little tight, and there was some difficulty arranging their weapons to sit, but but no one wanted to sit next to Falen and he didn’t offer the space. Falen gave a knock on the roof, which was the signal the driver was waiting for. With the sound of reins snapping, the jivis leapt forward.

  “Falen, I—”

  “No conversations, if you please, my lady,” Falen interjected. “This carriage is not warded and we could be overheard. Wait until we are at my manor.”

  She nodded her understanding and the four of them rode in one of the most uncomfortable silences Mitchell could ever recall. The only thing that came close to it was trying to have dinner with an ex-girlfriend and her parents a few days after the girl’s mother had walked in on them having sex on her daughter’s living room sofa. Mom had had a key, apparently.

  Mitchell shifted uncomfortably in his seat and started humming Birdhouse In Your Soul by They Might Be Giants under his breath as the carriage traveled through the night towards their mysterious destination. It was his attempt at trying to ignore the awkwardness of riding with the man who, just a few minutes ago, had been prepared to turn them in for a reward. He couldn’t even get a good look at the city as the windows were covered.

  He’d gone through Birdhouse, Particle Man, and was in the middle of Ana Ng when he felt a small jab in his side from an incredulous Allora. As was usual, whenever he got into a groove with singing to himself, it took him out of the moment, but it was the best way he’d found to calm his nerves and sort of center himself. He was tired, hungry, nervous — okay, terrified — and this was his thing.

  He looked over at Allora who nodded towards Falen. Mitchell followed her gaze and saw the crime lord staring at him, a look of bewilderment on his face.

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  “Stollar’s balls, don’t you people ever sing here?” he asked.

  “It is not the song that interests me... I’m sorry, I never got your name.”

  “I never gave it,” Mitchell said, not quite yet ready to be friendly with their host after what had transpired.

  “He has agreed to abide by the laws,” Allora said, more diplomatically than Mitchell was feeling. “We should do likewise.”

  Mitchell huffed and pushed down his instinct to be sarcastic and petulant before nodding his understanding.

  “You can call me Mitch,” he told Falen.

  “Meetchu,” the crime lord said, trying out the name and getting it wrong. Common didn’t seem to have an ending ch frictive and its speakers always wanted to add an additional vowel at the end of the syllable. Falen continued on with what he had been about to say before.

  “But, as I was saying, it is not the song so much that interests me, although I would question the timing. But rather it is the language you are singing in. I don’t recognize it.”

  Mitchell felt his face heat up and he looked to Allora.

  “Was I singing out loud again?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she told him.

  He cringed a little.

  “Sorry, I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

  He looked across to see Lethelin staring at him too, only she was grinning.

  “You’re really weird, sometimes, you know that?” the thief told him.

  “Yeah, I know,” he told her, smiling back.

  Then he turned back to Falen. “I was singing a song of my people.”

  “And those are the people from this...Jamka?”

  “Near there, yes,” Mitchell told him, not bothering to elaborate.

  Falen stared at him hard, tapping his fingers once again on his cane. He gave Allora a long look, but he didn’t push for more information.

  The carriage ride continued on in silence for another twenty minutes or so before it came to a stop. Mitchell heard the sound of gates opening and then the sound of the wheels changed from going over cobbled stone to gravel. A minute or so after that, it came to a stop and Mitchell heard the driver and the halfling climb down. The door swung open and Falen was the first to emerge, and Mitchell and the girls followed.

  What greeted them upon their exit was a three-story manor made of gray stone that had more rounded sections than right angles. Mitchell had seen a few buildings like this but none as grand as this one. The house seemed to bulge in odd places and it almost looked like giant stone balls had been stacked upon each other and joined together. It was beautiful but also somewhat unsettling to look at.

  Falen saw him staring as he turned from giving his people a set of orders.

  “My father was a traditionalist,” Falen began by way of explanation. “This design is reminiscent of Waivian architecture. He said we were descended from a sea fae race who fashioned their homes under the waves in bubbles of crystal that they grew on the sea floor.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Mitchell said truthfully, letting his eyes roam over the structure that had barely any right angles. Even the windows were rounded.

  “But…” Falen said, hearing the hesitation in Mitchell’s voice.

  Mitchell broke his eyes away from staring at the near impossibility of the house’s design. Next to him, Lethelin and Allora were staring as well.

  “But something about it is… disquieting. I mean no disrespect, but I can tell that this was never designed for people to live in.”

  “No disrespect taken. You are correct. I hated this home as a child, but as I’ve gotten older, I find a certain comfort in it.”

  Falen pointed to the chest at the top of the carriage. “What would you like done with that?”

  “If you can give me a moment with it.”

  “As you wish.”

  Mitchell and Allora went around to the opposite side of the carriage and the two of them wrestled it to the ground. It wasn’t so much that it was heavy for Mitchell, but it was awkward. Once they had it on the ground, he whispered into one of the holes.

  “Once the lid opens, I want you to make your way out and hide in the garden around the house. Stay out of sight and don’t kill anyone unless you have no other choice.”

  The grounds that Mitchell could see beyond the lantern lit gravel gate looked to be expansive enough and with enough tended greenery, that Vras should be able to hide until they figured out what to do with him. That was Mitchell’s plan, at least. With one last glance around to check that no one was nearby watching, he lifted the lid. Vras slinked out and vanished into the darkness like he was being absorbed by it. Then, with a nod to Allora, they picked it up like they were still carrying something, and brought it around to the other side. Falen was waiting with Lethelin, the two of them like staring at each other like vipers sizing each other up.

  “You’re going to bring that into my home?” Falen asked, a note of warning in his voice.

  “Oh, this?” Mitchell said. “It’s empty. But you never know when you’re going to need a box to carry some things.”

  Mitchell tilted it forward and lifted the lid, showing him that the wooden crate was indeed empty.

  Falen eyed the box and the three of them in turn and it was clear that he didn’t accept the explanation, but Mitchell hadn’t lied, so he had not violated any of the laws as he understood them.

  “Leave it by the door for now. I don’t expect you will be staying long.”

  He turned and headed towards the round double doors that were made of a heavy dark wood that had been polished to a high shine and seemed to glow with an inner light from the mage lights that were set around his entryway. The woman, with Kasver by her side, pulled them open and everyone walked through. Mitchell felt like he was walking through a human-sized hobbit door.

  The interior was more wood and stone molded to the shape of the sides of the structure, but here there were exceptions. Alcoves and hallways made allowances for rectangular wall hangings and small tables. He could see a rounded hallway leading deeper into the bowels of the house with circular doors going off at different intervals The foyer was broad and round like everything else, the steps leading up, curved and also polished to a high shine. Mitchell saw that the wood paneling had been carved to represent flowing waveswith whirlpools and of various different sizes spaced seemingly at random in the swirls of wood. He stopped just inside, gaping and turning, his two companions doing the same.

  “Balls and taint,” Lethelin groaned.

  Then she grabbed the side of her head and swayed slightly. Mitchell knew the feeling because he was suffering from it too. Standing in the center of the foyer as they were, one got the impression that the walls were curling around you, even though they weren’t moving at all. Suddenly, he felt himself begin to tilt to one side and Allora reached out a hand to steady him, her own already on Lethelin’s arm. As Mitchell fought to see her through the vertigo, he observed her eyebrows pressed together as if she were straining to stay upright herself.

  “It is less intense as you move deeper into the house. Come, I’ll show you into the study where we can talk.”

  Falen gestured through the other end of the foyer to the steps leading up and the three of them staggered upstairs, Lethelin groaned and Mitchell was holding back bile. Allora was looking pale as well, but seemed the least affected.

  Once in the hall the effect did diminish, as promised, but Mitchell found he needed to keep his eyes cast down at the floor to clear his head completely. The lack of angles that he was accustomed to, as well as all the flowing lines, was playing hell with his senses. He even had a coppery taste in his mouth that he couldn’t explain. The three of them continued down the hall behind Falen with the as-yet unnamed woman and Kasver bringing up the rear, as silent as ever. They didn’t seem to be suffering any ill effects, and Mitchell reasoned they were probably used to it.

  They were brought into a study that was mercifully rectangular. Mitchell never thought he would be happy to see right angles again, and the unsteady feeling he’d been suffering since stepping through the door alleviated immediately.

  “Sit. Make yourselves comfortable,” he told them as he went to his desk at the back wall. “Britha, bring us some wine, please. Something from Iletish. The blue, maybe. And have Gota prepare some bread and cheese. Just whatever she has laying around.”

  The woman gave a curt nod and turned without a word.

  “Kasver, see to the jivis,” he paused, looking at the three of them recovering on a plush leather sofa, “and keep the gnolhounds in their kennels tonight. I fear the grounds are not safe at the moment.”

  Mitchell saw the halfling arch an eyebrow at his boss, and give the three of them an angry look.

  “I’ll see to it, sir.”

  Then, the halfling spun on his heels and hurried out of the room.

  Falen dropped into his chair with a heavy sigh, tossing his sword and scabbard across the mounds of papers he had scattered there. He leaned his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. The silence stretched. Mitchell took the lull to examine his surroundings.

  The room itself was well appointed. There were several maps of distant lands on the walls, all of them drawn in exquisite detail that Mitchell was itching to study more closely. There were shelves set into the walls with – if he had to guess – two or three hundred volumes spread across the three interior walls. The ceiling was domed, in a concession to the round design of the house itself and there was a large stone fireplace behind the desk where Falen sat. The room was lit by sconces with mage lights glowing dimly and it gave the area a twilight aesthetic.

  After a long pause, Falen sat up with an exasperated sigh and stared hard at Allora.

  “Do you have any idea how much coin you have forced me to give up?”

  “I admit to being curious about the size of the bounty on my head,” Allora said. “What is it up to?”

  “Two thousand crowns,” Falen said. “And an extra five hundred for the capture of anyone in your party.”

  Allora’s eyes popped halfway to her hairline at the figure.

  “Milandris has grown desperate, it seems. That is a king’s ransom.”

  “Why even risk it, though?” Lethelin asked. “Why risk war with the guild? You knew who I was. That enough should have prevented you from trying to seek the bounty.”

  “Because I need those crowns!” he snapped. “It is getting harder and harder to move things into and out of the city. Every gate is watched, every wagon is searched. Smuggling has slowed to a crawl and I am running out of funds. The gambling dens and the brothels only bring in so much. I don’t have the war chest of some of the other edrokii and if they hear about my struggles, they will come for my territory.”

  “Surely they are struggling just as much,” Lethelin said.

  “They are, but they are already well established and have the funds to ride this out. The reward from turning you lot in would have given me what I needed to keep hold of what I have until this blows over and, maybe even finance an expansion.”

  The group looked at each other, and then back at Falen. Mitchell wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with that information.

  “So,” the gang boss continued after no comment was given, “If you don’t offer me something very lucrative, I will have no choice but to turn you in anyway, and take my chances with the fates for breaking the laws of hospitality. Because if I can’t pay my people and at least maintain what I have, I’m as good as dead anyway. You said you can offer a deal, so offer your deal. Now.”