Nightsworn | The Whispering Wall #2

Sixty Five: A Success

His apprentice was in a fine mood when he climbed through Arlen's window that evening.

"That little fucker tried to stab me," Jordan near-yelled as soon as his boots touched the floor. Arlen paused in picking through his bowl of potato soup, the thousandth since the food shortages began, halfway through convincing himself to take just one more bite without heaving. The food situation had not improved vastly this early into the light season.

"Who?"

"Who do you think?" Usk climbed in after the boy, jaw grimly set. "Let Arlen look at the cut, kid."

"No," Jordan muttered. "'S fine."

Usk cuffed the boy on the back of the head. Arlen straightened in his chair, anger flaring. Once he got his hands on that Orthanian... "Get over here, kid. Do you feel alright in yourself? You're not dizzy or sleepy?" Jordan shook his head. "You been sick? Any swelling? Got the shits?" No, no and no. "Probably alright, then. If there was something on the blade that did none of those things that means it works too fast, and you ain't dead, so that's a start. Let me look."

Jordan shuffled over and sat down in the other chair. He seemed more reluctant for Arlen to touch him than he likely would have to stick his finger in demonshit, but Arlen disregarded that, hiking the boy's sleeve up and undoing the clumsy bandaging.

"Did you deal any damage in return?" Arlen said. He didn't expect Jordan to have killed the other boy - though that would certainly have rid him of a likely-cracked nuisance - but for the sake of both their prides he hoped Jordan had at least hit back. "Don't tell me he got out free."

"I kicked him in the dick," Jordan muttered. "Twice. And didn't feel even a little bit bad about it."

Arlen laughed despite himself. He would have paid money to see it. He probed gently around the cut, looking for suspicious clots and finding nothing. Likely Marick hadn't allowed Silas near any poisons or suppliers, and Arlen certainly hadn't. He let out a breath, quietly so as not to betray his relief. "Looks okay to me. You start vomiting blood, get yourself to a Medica."

"Jesus," Jordan muttered. "I'll bear it in mind." He allowed Arlen to re-wrap the bandages and then tugged his sleeve back down. He fixed Arlen with a look that instantly got his back up. "How good are you at identifying poisons?"

"Enough to still be alive," Arlen retorted.

"Before he was taught how to fight properly, he was a favourite for the quiet jobs," Usk put in. Arlen glowered at him, but it didn't seem to perturb the Varthian in the slightest. "Because he was small and fast. He knows them inside out."

"That was years ago. And before you joined the Devils, so how the fuck do you know?"

"You skillset is a point of discussion right now," Usk said gravely. "People have noticed that you and Marick seem to have had a disagreement. They're wondering whether something is going to happen."

"Oh, great."

"I do not think you realise how much support you already have."

"Could you identify a poison from description?" Jordan asked, interrupting. He sounded suddenly much too interested, after weeks of dull resignation at best.

Arlen forcefully bit back his retort to Usk and made himself address his apprentice instead. "Why don't you just say what you're getting at, kid?"

Jordan hesitated, instantly pensive. Arlen was hard-pressed not to roll his eyes.

"Forgetfulness, loss of any sense of time passing, tremors," Jordan said hesitantly. "In an exceptionally hardy person."

"Ha!" Arlen put it together immediately. "Serves that aristocratic fuck right."