For the third time since I croaked, I watched Infidel strip off her ruined clothes, dropping the tar-black rags into a growing pile of goop. The candle-lit tub of steaming water before her filled the air with a pale haze. I was intrigued that Bigsby had such fancy private quarters. The fishmonger may not have flashed his wealth around in public, but his bathroom was opulent to the point of stupidity. Did a bath brush with a gilded handle scrub his back better than a plain wooden one? Even his toothbrush was studded with gems. And why did he need all these bejeweled bottles of perfumes and ointments? As Infidel moved around the room, my consciousness floated through a black lacquer cabinet decorated with inlaid mother of pearl. Even though it was dark in there, I thought I spotted an ivory wig stand sporting a curly blonde wig. What a very odd thing for a bachelor like Bigsby to have spent money on.
I did, however, admire his bathtub, a long, deep vessel carved from a single block of polished black marble. It was large enough that I, with my lanky frame, could have stretched out comfortably. Bigsby must be able to swim in it. Infidel sank beneath the surface, resting there a moment as the muck that still clung to her hands, face, and hair began to dissolve. She reached for a bar of bright white lye soap and the bath brush. The steamy air grew foul with the low-tide stench, cut through with the burning fumes of the lye. The bathwater quickly turned dark gray; I could no longer see her clearly through the haze.
Perhaps I’ve never seen her clearly. The truth is, while I’ve known Infidel all these years, I know so little about her. I’ve kept few secrets from her. I’ve talked about growing up in the monastery, and about my convoluted family history. I’ve freely shared my innermost thoughts on politics, religion, and the human condition. She, in return, has revealed that her favorite color is black (despite my insistence that black isn’t a color), that she likes dogs more than cats, and that she hates carrots. Everything else I know about her, I’ve learned by observation. She’s obviously from the Silver City; her speech has become much rougher and more colloquial over the years, but she still has traces of the accent and a vocabulary that hints of good breeding. It’s not unusual to meet young men from wealthy families visiting Commonground, seeking vices they can’t find at home. But most women in Commonground are usually coming from the other end of the economic scale. It’s hard to imagine what she was looking for when she came here — or what she was running from.
After Infidel finished her bath, she spent time examining her wounds in the foggy mirror. It wasn’t just her face that had taken a beating from Patch; her whole body was mottled with dark blue bruises, fading to yellow. I wondered how long it would take her to heal. The few times I’d seen her injured, she recovered much faster than a normal person. Why? She made no secret she’d been enchanted, but by whom, and for what purpose? Why hadn’t I pried deeper about these things when I’d had the chance? I’d always hoped that, one day, she’d open up to me, and tell me of her life before Commonground.
“It’s not the role of the dead to be inquisitive,” Relic had said.
I felt like proving him wrong. I’d messed up my chance to learn Infidel’s secrets while I was alive. Perhaps, in death, I had a new opportunity to unravel her mysteries. It seemed unethical, perhaps, to spy on her unseen and unsuspected. On the other hand, did I even have a choice in the matter? I suspected that by being around her at all times, a lot more than her naked body was going to be revealed.
Bigsby had left a small pile of fresh clothes for Infidel. They were decidedly more feminine than anything I’d ever seen her wear. Lacy underwear, a short black leather skirt, a black silk blouse with a low neck. Again, it seemed strange he’d just had these lying around. Bigsby wasn’t married and I’d never seen him consort with whores. The clothes hung horribly on Infidel, both too big and too short, but would have fit a pot-bellied dwarf just fine.
I dropped the line of thought before I had a picture in my head I wouldn’t be able to get rid of.
When you’re up on the slopes of Tanakiki, (the central volcano, which translates from lava-pygmy as ‘the Farting Dragon’) you see that the Commonground bay must once have been a volcanic caldera. The water is almost a perfect circle three miles across, with a gap several hundred yards wide at the far end open to the sea. Twin arcs of land lead out to the gap. The southern arc is mostly low, rolling dunes surrounded by marshes. The northern arc is rockier, and the ocean beyond is unimaginably deep. There’s a place out near the tip called the Old Temple. It’s a long stretch of hexagonal basalt columns bunched tightly together; there’s some debate as to whether it’s a natural formation or man-made. I’ve poked around out there a time or two and don’t have a strong opinion, other than the place is damn spooky. The rock is black as coal, but etched with white rings of salt left by evaporating seawater. Nothing grows there, not even lichen. Pygmy lore says that Greatshadow once landed here to drink from the sea, then pissed on his rocky perch, poisoning the ground.
It was still a few hours before dawn when Relic led Infidel out to the Old Temple. Her skin was pink in the moonlight, raw from the lye soap and vigorous scrubbing. She looked ridiculous in the clothes Bigsby had provided. The outfit could have come from a whore’s wardrobe, but the scowl on Infidel’s face would likely discourage any customers. She was barefoot again. My knife was stuck into the waistband of her skirt.
Bigsby had been dispatched by Relic on an errand. I’d missed the specifics while Infidel was bathing, but apparently the dwarf was supposed to bring someone out to the Old Temple to meet with Infidel.
Relic no longer seemed to be aware of me. With my knife free of blood, I was unable to shout at him. He may have been able to read the minds of the living, but the dead lay outside his awareness, as long as they weren’t drunk on blood. Still, he knew I was haunting the knife. I couldn’t help but wonder what other uses he had in mind for me. If he talked to me again, what was I going to say? Should I try to use him to convey messages to Infidel? Tell her I was haunting her? Would that make her feel better, or worse?
Infidel leaned against one of the basalt columns, gently kneading the knot on her forehead. After she’d been mauled by the iron tiger, she told me that it was interesting to be hurt. She’d been fascinated by her scabs for days. She acted like she’d made it through her entire childhood without so much as a scratch.
A fog started to gather, masking the edges of the salt-crusted platform on which we waited. The lanterns aboard the ships at Commonground faded as the mist thickened. The damp night turned decidedly cold. Infidel folded her arms across her chest, tucking her hands into her armpits for warmth.
Relic looked toward the thickest clump of fog and said, “There’s no point in hiding. You’ve come this far; you won’t turn back.”
The fog swirled as a dark shadow moved through it, then parted as Aurora stepped onto the basalt platform. I don’t remember ever seeing the ogress outside the Black Swan. Bigsby emerged from the fog right behind her. I wondered what he’d said to her to convince her to leave the bar.
Aurora glowered at the hunchback. She was easily twice as tall as him. She said, “The dwarf gave me your message. How did you learn my true name?”
Relic chuckled. “I plucked it from your mind, Aksarna. I have the gift, and the curse, of hearing the thoughts of others.”
“Do you have the gift of an iron neck?” Aurora asked as her eyes narrowed. “Since you know of my past, you leave me little choice but to strangle you.”
Infidel spoke up. “The Black Swan knows your past, and you don’t strangle her. Give ol’ Lumpy here five minutes.”
Aurora looked at Infidel, pausing for a second to study her odd attire and bruised face. “What’s your role in this, princess? ”
“I think I’m auditioning for the villain.”
“Infidel has agreed to kill the king’s men once they’ve slain Greatshadow,” said Relic.
“You know about the mission?” asked Aurora.
Relic tapped his brow with a gnarled finger.
“Right, right. Mind-reader,” said the ogress. “Fine. Why have you dragged me out here?”
“Ivory Blade negotiated with you to hire the Three Goons,” said Relic. “We need you to arrange for him to hire us as well.”
“You’ve already confessed that you’re planning to kill the king’s men. As of now, that includes the Goons. I’m no traitor.”
“You’ve been accused of treason in the past. I’ve come to offer you a chance to clear your name.”
Aurora shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what you offer me. My loyalty lies with the Black Swan. I could never betray her.”
“You have deeper, older loyalties, Aksarna.”
“Don’t call me that,” said Aurora. “Aksarna died long ago. Commonground and the Black Swan are all I have now.”
“You didn’t die,” said Relic. “You failed. The difference is significant. The dead are devoid of hope, but the fallen may dream of redemption. I know you are haunted by the possibility that you could one day return to Qikiqtabruk with the Jagged Heart, restoring the temple and erasing your shame.”
“The Jagged Heart was destroyed,” said Aurora. “My soul was bound to it. My spirit died when the tip was shattered. It’s only my stubborn body that carries on.”
“Wrong, wrong, and wrong,” said Relic. “The Jagged Heart was never so much as scratched. Your soul was never bound to it, despite the teachings of your religion. You may have loved it so much that it felt like a part of you, but this attachment was emotional, not supernatural.”
“I know what I saw.”
Relic shook his head. “The eyes are the easiest sense to deceive. The weapon was switched in the moments it was out of your sight; the raiders masked the true shard with dream magic. When you reached the raiders, they brandished a duplicate. It is this you saw shattered.”
Aurora clenched her jaw. She placed her giant hands over her left breast as her eyes grew moist. “You know nothing. I felt it shatter. You can never understand.”
“Cling to this falsehood if you wish,” said Relic. “But the Jagged Heart still exists. It’s carried by Lord Tower on his quest. With it, he’ll slay Greatshadow.”
Infidel rapped her knuckles on the basalt column, a sound like a hammer striking brick. “Sorry to interrupt, but what the hell are you two talking about? What’s the Jagged Heart and why is it any more likely to kill Greatshadow than, say, a pointy stick?”
Aurora contemplated her question. The sea mist beaded on her leather coat, running down in rivulets, pooling at her feet. At last, she said, “The Jagged Heart was a ceremonial harpoon. As High Priestess, I would use it to hunt the spirit whales in the Great Sea Above. The shaft is carved from the tusk of a narwhale; the blade itself is a knife-sharp fragment of pure ice taken from the shattered heart of Hush, the primal dragon of cold. In shape, the blade resembles the heart from a deck of cards.”
“A fragment of Hush’s heart?” Infidel asked. “I thought that Verdant was the only primal dragon ever to be slain.”
“Hush didn’t truly become a primal dragon until her heart was broken. It was only then that the elemental cold filled the vacant space inside her. My people revere Hush; our land rests upon her slumbering back. In exchange for our worship, the dragon grants her followers magical gifts.”
“Back to the topic at hand, Tower is seriously going to try to kill Greatshadow with a harpoon made of ice?” Infidel rolled her eyes. “This is going to last, what, five seconds inside the volcano?”
“The Jagged Heart can negate any heat it encounters. Cold is the true condition of all existence; heat is merely a local aberration. If the Heart still exists, it’s the perfect weapon to destroy Greatshadow. Of course, someone would need to carry it within striking distance of the dragon. That’s a nearly impossible task.”
“‘Nearly impossible’ is semantically the same as ‘possible,’” said Relic. “With Lord Tower involved, it’s probable. He wears the Armor of Faith. It will shield him from Greatshadow’s powers.”
Infidel nodded. “Yeah, I guess that would work.”
Now it was Aurora’s turn to look puzzled. “Armor of Faith?”
“It looks like a suit of plate armor,” said Infidel. “It encases Tower completely and is filled with a lot of gears and ratchets that enhance his strength. Pretty much nothing can penetrate it.”
“Greatshadow’s breath melts armor,” said Aurora.
“If it’s metal. But this armor is made of prayer. The Church of the Book has a team of monks whose sole job is to pray Tower’s armor into existence. One monk does nothing but pray for the helmet, another prays for the greaves, another guy prays for the shoulder pads, and so on. Every single gear and rivet on this thing has a monk — actually a whole squad of monks — whose only spiritual duty is to maintain their unceasing faith that the armor can’t be so much as scratched.”
Aurora nodded slowly. “Very well. Let’s suppose the armor works. Tower can reach Greatshadow and slay his body. Then what? This is a primal dragon, the very spirit of fire. There’s a little of Greatshadow’s essence in all flame. You need to extinguish every fire in the world at once to truly kill him. If you overlooked a single flickering candle, he could eventually weave a new body and seek vengeance.”
“This is why Lord Tower doesn’t travel alone,” said Relic. “The Voice of the Book has issued a Writ of Judgment. A Truthspeaker will read this writ aloud before Greatshadow’s spirit, slaying it.”
Aurora stroked her chin, rubbing the bulges where her tusks were anchored in her jaw. “I still can’t believe they have the Jagged Heart. Maybe they’re the ones fooled by a replica.”
“But you would know when you saw it,” said Relic. “And you can see it again. Arrange for Infidel and myself to be hired as mercenaries on the quest, and when we kill Lord Tower, we’ll return the harpoon to you.”
Aurora shook her head. “I see no reason to trust you with this task. I owe the Black Swan my life, but it’s my sacred duty to recover the Jagged Heart. I’ll resign my position with the Black Swan and petition Lord Tower to join his team on my own. You may attempt the same. I won’t speak against you.”
Relic glared at her. I could tell he hadn’t considered the possibility that Aurora would take a more direct path toward recovering the artifact.
Aurora seemed unconcerned by Relic’s baleful gaze. She looked over at Infidel.
“First the sarong, now a skirt. What’s with your wardrobe lately?”
Infidel shrugged. “Once I have Greatshadow’s treasure, I’ll hire a team of tailors to follow me around. Until then, I’m getting by with whatever’s handy.”
“Why are you so confident you can kill Lord Tower? If he’s good enough to take down a primal dragon, I don’t see how an undisciplined brawler like you will stand a chance.”
Infidel chuckled. “Armor or not, I’ve thought of a thousand different ways of killing Tower. He’ll be dead before he knows what hit him.”
“A thousand?” asked Aurora, sounding amused. “What’s your grudge against the knight?”
“It’s kind of a long story,” said Infidel, raising her hand and pinching about a half inch of air between her thumb and forefinger, “but I once got this close to marrying the bastard.”
To my great frustration, Aurora didn’t ask to hear the long story, not even a short version of it. Her devotion to the unwritten rules of Commonground was admirable to a fault.
Relic dismissed Bigsby, telling him his services were no longer needed, as he and Infidel set off for the Black Swan. Aurora walked alone, a few hundred feet ahead. Relic, despite his bent form and hobbling gait, proved to be rather spry, keeping up with Infidel’s tireless pace with no sign of effort.
The sun was rising by the time we reached the docks. The daylight revealed a half dozen corpses floating in the brine. It was a rare night in Commonground that didn’t yield a few murder victims. Bleary-eyed river-pygmies in dugout canoes poled their ways under the docks, gathering the bodies. Commonground bred strange industries. Pulling the right corpse out of the drink could be the equivalent of winning a lottery. Any given body might turn out to be an outlaw with a price on his head, payable dead or alive. Or, you might recover the corpse of a wayward son of a wealthy family and demand a ransom to return the remains for proper burial. In contrast, my career of looting temples and ruins seemed like honest work.
As Relic and Infidel approached the Black Swan barge, I noticed that the stream of clients leaving the bar was a bit heavier than usual. It was like the place was emptying out completely. Patrons grumbled as they walked past us, luggage in hand. Some of them were standing around, looking lost as they stared at empty boat slips. It dawned on me that only half the ordinary number of ships were docked this morning. What was going on?
Waiting at the front door of the Black Swan, arms crossed, were the Three Goons, looking stern. When Aurora walked up to them, No-Face moved to intercept her as Menagerie locked the front door. We were still too far away to hear what the Goons said, but not too far away to hear Aurora’s loud and astonished reply: “What do you mean, I’m fired?”
Hearing this, Infidel launched herself into the air, covering the distance with a single bound. She landed beside Aurora, not wanting to miss any juicy details, as Menagerie said, “The Black Swan no longer requires your services. This establishment is closed until further notice.”
“You’re joking,” said Aurora.
Menagerie shook his head. Reeker chewed a toothpick as he stared at Aurora, obviously amused by her confusion. No-Face slowly tossed the iron ball he carried back and forth between his beefy hands, his attention focused tightly on Aurora, no doubt hoping she’d make trouble. It was almost breakfast time, and it was a rare day when the Goons didn’t beat up someone before breakfast.
Here’s a quick primer on the Goons: I’ve mentioned No-Face a couple of times. He’s got a flap of scarred skin that hangs down from where a normal man’s eyebrows should be, covering his face like a curtain. There’s a tiny gap on the left side of the flesh-mask where a single pale eye peers out. Perhaps because his eyesight is iffy, he tends to strike anything that moves when he’s in combat, which is why he pegged Infidel that one time. He’s bald, his whole scalp covered with pale, shiny scars from the countless brawls he’s been in. They say he was sold as a baby to a traveling circus for display as a freak, but by the time he was eight he was big and mean enough to take up pit-fighting. Now, he’s seven feet tall, but manages to look squat due to the thickness of his muscles. The only armor he wears is a chain-mail vest; his only weapon is a fifty pound iron ball at the end of a long chain that he keeps rolled around his forearm. I’ve heard he feeds himself by pounding his victims into pulp with the ball, then sucking the remains under his flap into whatever mouth is hidden there.
Next on the Goon roster is Reeker, a half-seed. Half-seeding is a variant of blood magic, suppressed by the church but never wiped out. Women who wish to get pregnant visit blood-houses to acquire specially prepared animal semen to, shall we say, supplement contributions from their husbands. In theory, the mix of animal and human sperm produces children with desirable qualities. A half-seed bull child will be strong and willful. A half-seed panther, agile and silent. No one knows if Reeker’s mother meant to purchase skunk juice, or if she got burned by an unscrupulous blood-house. The product was a man who can emit odors at will from every bodily orifice. The stench can bring even the toughest fighter to his knees. When Reeker’s not actively shooting out stink clouds, he’s still got a wet-dog whiff to him that makes you envy No-Face’s lack of nose.
Unlike No-Face, Reeker doesn’t have a scar on him. No one ever gets close enough to land a punch. He’s learned to spit a gob of the worst smelling phlegm you can imagine up to twenty feet, and he’s more than happy to cut a gagging man’s throat to put him out of his misery. Reeker matches his dastardly combat style with a personality that’s all leers and crude jokes. Yet, for reasons I’ve never understood, he’s popular with women, even women who aren’t whores. He’s got a dumpy physique, and, at five-foot-nine, looks tiny next to the other Goons. Maybe it’s his hair. Above a pasty, round face, he’s got a thick, wavy, black mane that any woman would envy, sporting two snow-white streaks running back from his temples.
The final Goon is Menagerie. He’s about six four and skinny as a rail. He’s normally dressed in a loincloth and sandals, showing off the animal tattoos covering him from the crown of his shaved head to the little gaps between his toes. Most of the animals are predators. He’s got lions, tigers, bears, ohmis (a jungle viper), sharks, and eagles. Being tattooed in Commonground rarely earns you a second glance, though Menagerie has taken his skin art further than the average sailor. What makes Menagerie stand out is that his tattoos are alive, inked in the blood of the various beasts, and infused with their spirits. Stare at them long enough and you’ll swear they’re breathing. No one has ever actually seen one move, but one day the shark will be on his right shoulder, the next day on his left thigh, like it’s swimming around. That’s a neat trick, but it’s not what makes him dangerous. Menagerie’s a shape-shifter. He can surrender his body to any of these spirits, taking on their forms in the blink of an eye. The people he fights face off with a tall, skinny, unarmed man, and two seconds later they’ve had their hand bitten off by an alligator, their guts raked by a tiger, and have a rattlesnake clamped down on their jugular.
Remember I told you that No-Face wasn’t the Goon people were really afraid of? Menagerie is the Goon people are really afraid of.
Back to the confrontation: Aurora clenched her fists. “Stand aside. What you’re saying makes no sense.”
Menagerie shook his head. “We both know that everything the Black Swan does makes sense, even if we mere mortals are blind to the logic.”
Reeker spit out his toothpick. “Heh. Maybe the bar ain’t profitable now that Stagger’s pushing daisies.”
If it was possible to die from a mean look, Reeker would have joined me in the afterlife from the glare Infidel gave him. No-Face found the crack funny, judging from the muffled, farting, “hur hur hur,” that filtered from beneath his face flap.
Menagerie raised his hand. Reeker looked instantly chagrined. No-Face’s spooky chuckle went silent.
“I apologize for the insensitivity of my colleagues,” the tattooed man said to Infidel. “Stagger was a beloved brother in the larger family of Commonground. I, for one, shall miss him.”
“Yeah,” said Reeker. “I kind of liked the guy. There going to be a funeral? I’ll send flowers.”
“The funeral was private,” said Infidel. “And I don’t want to talk about Stagger any more. I want to talk about the dragon hunt you boys are going on. I want in.”
“As do I,” said Relic, hobbling up beside the women.
Menagerie looked down at the hunchback. “Who the hell are you?”
“Infidel calls me Relic. This will serve.”
“Uh-huh,” said Menagerie. “I can’t help but notice that you look, um… less than formidable. While I can’t confirm the existence of any upcoming dragon hunts, may I ask what, exactly, would you bring to the table?”
“Knowledge,” said Relic. “I’ve survived Greatshadow’s lair before. My experience may provide the difference between success and failure.”
“Is that so?” said Menagerie.
The hunchback nodded.
“Be that as it may, I am not in charge of hiring for any missions that may or may not be occurring soon,” said Menagerie. “The Black Swan may have been conducting transactions of this nature, but to reiterate, she’s now closed to all business.”
Aurora clenched her fists. “Menagerie, who do you think you’re fooling? You know I know all about the mission. Get the hell out of my way. I’m talking to the Black Swan.” She stepped forward, looking ready to push the mercenaries aside.
Reeker spit a gob of pale green phlegm toward her eyes. The wad crackled as it froze inches from her skin, bouncing harmlessly off her cheek, its foul payload neutralized. She punched out with an ice-gauntleted fist, sending the skunk-man flying toward the edge of the dock. He landed on his feet with inches to spare, but momentum was against him. He stumbled backward, and vanished over the edge with a splash.
No-Face swung his chain-draped fist and caught Aurora beneath the chin, hard enough that the frost coating her face flew off in a spray. She went down, landing flat on her back, as snow danced in the air where she’d just stood. She started to rise, but before she could sit up, Menagerie leapt toward her, taking the form of a huge, black-horned ram. His head smashed into Aurora’s tusks with a loud, sharp crack. Aurora’s arms flopped to her side as she stared up into the pale morning sky, cross-eyed and dazed.
Infidel grinned. This was her oh-good-there’s-a-fight-and-I-was-wanting-to-hit-someone grin. She punched No-Face right where his mouth should have been. He staggered backward, stopping when his back slammed into the locked door of the Black Swan. Infidel kicked him in the gut, shattering the wood behind him, knocking him inside.
Infidel spun to face Menagerie, who’d leapt into the air as a ram. In the span of a heartbeat, his body flowed into a fifteen-foot-long shark, his mouth stretched wide enough to clamp onto Infidel’s face. She raised both hands, shielding herself with her forearms as the toothy jaws snapped shut. There was a loud crunch. Bright fragments of white teeth showered onto the docks. For half a second, the shark hung there, clamped onto Infidel’s unbreakable arms. Infidel head-butted the shark in the snout. The big fish flew off, and Menagerie was once again human as he landed ass-first on the dock, blood streaming from his nose.
“Ouch,” he said, spitting out broken teeth.
Infidel loomed over him, fists clenched. “Had enough?”
From inside the jagged hole that No-Face had left in the door, there was a confused grunt.
Menagerie looked toward the hole, and his face went slack. Infidel turned toward the noise as well. Her brow furrowed as her eyes adjusted to the shadows before her. Aurora rose up on her knees, shaking her head. When she finally followed the others’ gazes, she whispered, “This is unexpected.”
The main room of the bar was completely transformed. All the gaming tables were gone, as were the paintings on the wall. No-Face was sitting up, rubbing his skin-flap, dust swirling around him. “Whuduhfuh?” he mumbled as he looked around.
Cobwebs clung to every corner of the room. The grime was so thick on the floor that No-Face had left a little dust-angel where he’d fallen. Behind the bar, the shelves were empty, save for dirt. There was no evidence that the place had been a thriving business full of people only moments before.
Menagerie stepped into the room. Aurora and Infidel followed.
Menagerie muttered something to himself I couldn’t quite catch, save for the word ‘time.’
“Oh no,” said Aurora, who’d apparently caught what he was saying. “She was too old to go back more than a day or two. She’d never survive a longer trip. She-”
“You aren’t blind, Aurora,” said Menagerie.
“Is this a private conversation, or would you care to fill me in on what’s happened?” asked Infidel.
Relic hobbled into the room. “They won’t betray the Black Swan’s secret. I, however, am not bound by their oaths of loyalty. The Black Swan owes her power and influence to a rather tragic curse. She-”
“Guys!” shouted Reeker as he rushed into the room, water streaming from his clothes. “You gotta come look at this.”
The whole building shuddered as he spoke. The air took on the stench of rotten eggs, but Reeker didn’t seem to be the source of the odor.
Menagerie furrowed his brow. “Did the barge just hit bottom?”
“All the water’s draining out of the bay!” said Reeker, waving his arms for emphasis.
“Luhguptaruh,” said No-Face.
“Good idea,” said Menagerie. “To the roof!”
Before he finished speaking, where the man had stood there was an owl gliding forward. He flapped his wings once and shot toward the cobwebbed spiral staircase in the far corner of the room, vanishing as he tilted his wings and flew up to the second floor.
No-Face and Reeker followed without hesitation.
Aurora grabbed Infidel by the arm. “You took my side,” she said. “Thank you.”
“What?” asked Infidel.
“In the fight with the Goons. You defended me when I was down.”
Infidel shrugged. “It was three against one. I always side with the underdog. It’s nothing.”
Aurora nodded. “Still, I owe you one.”
Relic sighed as he hobbled across the room toward the staircase.
“You women can bond another time,” he grumbled. “Right now, we should follow the owl.”