He considers this. "How else would they answer?"
"By... wanting to? Because they're helpful? Most people share information without being terrified first."
"That seems inefficient."
"It's called being civil. We should try it more often. Though I suppose the information about the water pressure was very detailed."
"Fear improves memory."
"That's not... well, maybe, but it's not very nice."
We walk in comfortable silence—well, I'm comfortable. Gray Streak keeps checking behind us. Probably expects the shop women to pursue us with fabric bolts.
"Two kitchens. We could have actual meal preparation. Different stations. Maybe a baking area that's just for baking, not also for surgery and weapon cleaning."
"Boss won't approve."
"Boss is sleeping. Boss needs to sleep. Boss has been awake for four days straight making terrible decisions." The shadows flutter against my neck. "Not you, shadow friends. You're perfectly reasonable."
"You talk to them."
"They're good listeners. Better than most people, honestly. Very supportive."
"They're concentrated darkness that answers to the most dangerous man in the city."
"And they like lavender soap. Everyone's got layers, Gray Streak."
He makes a sound that might be amusement.
"Nineteen bedrooms after boss takes the master," he says suddenly. "More than one for each who died."
Oh. I hadn't... that's not what I meant. But he's right. Nineteen rooms for seventeen empty spaces. My throat gets tight.
"Then we make those rooms nice. Really nice. So when new people join, they know they're valued. That they matter more than just being weapons."
"New people don't join the Shadow Guild. They're recruited. Or threatened."
"Well, maybe they'd volunteer if we offered decent housing and regular meals. People like stability. And doors that lock. And not having to check their shoes for mushrooms every morning."
"Assassins don't—"
"Assassins are people. People who currently live in a warehouse with aggressive fungi." I stop walking. My feet hurt. These shoes have holes. "Gray Streak, when's the last time you had your own room? A real room, with a door that locks and windows that close?"
He doesn't answer, which is answer enough.
"Everyone deserves privacy. And sheets without blood stains. And the ability to bathe without an audience. Lord Brambleton's manor. We're doing this."
"Boss won't—"
"Boss will. Once he's slept and eaten and I explain about the seven bathrooms." The shadows warm further. "See? They agree. Seven bathrooms is very persuasive."
We're almost back to the warehouse when Gray Streak speaks again.
"The shop women think you're courting."
My face heats. The shadows get warmer too. "The shop women think many incorrect things."
"You're wearing his shadows."
