Brains splattered poor Danny, but not Sifuso, because surprisingly, our lacertian had reacted with incredible speed and leapt onto another monster, knocked it down, and was rapidly stabbing it in the chest and neck.
The rest of the monsters—sensibly—ran away.
The leader, every inch of him on fire, managed to run only a few feet before flopping over and curling into a crispy ball. I’d not intended to cook him entirely, but how was I supposed to know he’d be that flammable? I’d tried to warn him.
Blood-splattered Sifuso got off the dead whatever it was he’d just stabbed forty times. “See? See, humans? I can kill just fine if no one is watching me!”
“Good for you, lizard,” Rade told him, before turning to Rufus. “And you should not speak in public anymore.”
“But—”
“Shush.”
I couldn’t really tell on the crispy one, but the other dead monsters were about orc-sized humanoids with gigantic eyes—probably for hunting in the dark—and were covered in matted ink-black fur. Even by the dim light of my charm, I swear I could see the lice moving about, they were so thick. Morton would probably have to use his spell to delouse us when we got back.
“Anybody know what these are?”
“They’re nightbolgs,” Danny said, wiping the nasty bits from his face with a handkerchief. “We had a pet cat once, you know, for the mice, but a nightbolg came up out of the sewer and ate it.”
“A tribe of them got chased out of their realm a couple years ago and moved into a cavern in the undercity,” Dathka explained as she reloaded her pistols. “Roaming up here violates their agreement. We may have to evict them.”
“These things pay rent to Carcalla too?”
“Of course. You’re not special.” She shoved her guns back in the holsters. “Everybody owes someone for something.”
Fifteen
On Deathday, the Nexus was aligned with the realm of the dead. A chilling fog drifted out the gate and gradually flooded the city. Fog collects downhill, and we were lower than the market, so the already dreary Under Slump always felt a bit dimmer and colder than usual on Deathdays. That temporary connection to the plane, which all spirits must pass through on their way to their eternal reward or punishment, also agitated the Tube’s resident ghosts, which made them extra uppity.
Every Deathday morning since I’d been living in these ruins, I’d gotten to wake up cold, to the shrieking antics of people who’d died by getting squished by a toppling tower over fifty years ago, letting us all know they were still rather cross about that.
“Doom! Doom!”
My bed was a few old blankets atop a pile of straw. My pillow was a cloth bag stuffed with rags. Putting it over my head wasn’t enough to block the noise. Eventually, I rolled over to see a glowing phantasm in the corner, wailing its misery.
“Dooom!”
“Yeah, doom. I got it the first time.” I’d volunteered to take one of the windowless rooms of the Tube for myself, not outof kindness to the others, but in a desperate attempt to stay warm. Not that I was complaining, because having grown up on a barge, this was the first time in my life I’d actually experienced privacy. But even without being able to see outside, I always knew the precise moment the sun rose and the gate began opening on Deathday, because the stupid ghosts would begin wailing. They were worse than the neighbor’s rooster.
“Doom.”
“Could you guys give me a break for once? Yeah, you died. That sucks. Move on. I had a late night.”
“Dooooooom!”
I picked up one of my boots and hurled it through the vaguely human-shaped ghost. The boot bounced off the wall, and sadly, the ghost remained. It paused its piteous noise, just long enough for me to get my hopes up, only to go back to yelling at me.
There’d be no sleeping in today. Besides, I had a lot of work to do anyway, so I got up and got dressed.
Due to the sideways nature of our home, my door was a hatch in the floor. I kept it locked at night to keep from sleep walking to my death. When I pulled it open, Azarin was already waiting for me below. She was one of those happy morning people and was usually awake long before the ghosts.
“Oz, why is there a Latrocinium assassin in the female dormitory?”
I tossed out the knotted rope I’d anchored to a protruding stud in the wall and began to climb down from my room. I could’ve castDescend,but wanted to save the magic for later. “So you met our guest.”
“She’s so white, at first, I thought she was another ghost. Then she introduced herself, said why she was here. I’d have preferred a ghost, frankly.”
“Joran didn’t leave me much choice.” I landed next to Azarin. “Good thing you didn’t throw a shoe at her. She’d likely haveshot you. And what do you mean female dormitory? You’re our only girl. I put her in a room away from everyone else. It’s not my fault you claimed an entire section of the tower for yourself.”
