Angelfire | The Whispering Wall #3

Two: Evaluations

"You smell like a clogged latrine, Arlen."

"And you sound like a bitch. If I wanted your opinion, I'd fucking ask."

"I'm just surprised you don't bathe even before seeing your employer." Darin's eyes across the wagon were fixed on his knees, which was a good thing because Arlen might otherwise have been tempted to poke one out with his walking stick.

"He doesn't employ me for my washing habits." Arlen scowled. "You do realise that if he approves you, you're under my direction? This isn't a promising start."

Darin said nothing. He hadn't said very much all morning, and everything he had said was intended to piss someone off. At first Arlen had been generous and put it down to nerves – after all, Marick was a nerve-wracking employment prospect at the best of times – but it had quickly worn thin. After nagging Arlen's ears off about it for weeks, Darin was doing a very good impression of not wanting this. Which was, of course, true; men like Darin were all fart and no shit. Arlen had known that. He'd left it weeks before mentioning anything to Marick, at great risk to both of them, on the slim hope that Darin might change his mind before it was too late. There were benefits to allowing him to join as long as he committed to it once he was in, and Arlen wasn't convinced. The last thing he needed was to be lumped with another reluctant trainee.

"Will he kill me if he doesn't approve of me?" Darin asked suddenly, as if the thought had only just occurred to him. Arlen suppressed an eye-roll. It had been the first thing he'd thought of when he realised that Darin hadn't been joking.

"He'll approve," Arlen said. "Long as you don't start whining at him. Or commenting on how he smells."

"Even if I was going to, we'll both have a job smelling anything over your stink." Darin glanced anxiously down the road as they turned another corner.

Arlen chose not to dignify that with a response. Marick had kept him so busy over recent weeks that bathing had come out very low on his priority list.

"Arl's going to be your best bet in there," Usk said. The huge Varthian brute sat hunched over the reins at the front of the wagon, a blackweed cigarette smoking gently between two fingers. Arlen could have done with one himself, but he wanted to keep all his wits about him. "So maybe start pissing him off after Marick approves you, eh?"

Darin scowled, but he didn't speak again.

Arlen fidgeted as the wagon bumped over a loose cobble and sent pain shooting into his hip. The stump where his calf and foot had once been was finally healed, but the weeks of underuse had left the joints weak. Overtaxing it like he had in the last month had caused him all kinds of aches and complaints that he'd hoped not to have to deal with for at least another decade of life. The trials he had been through in the past year, he had not expected to face until he was well out of his prime. Yet he had no choice; he couldn't give Marick any impression that his performance had suffered badly from the loss. He had only just made it back into a relatively secure position.

Not that he trusted it. Marick's return to sense was too sudden, too easy. Arlen had never known him to take it well when a grand plan failed, so he was slow to trust the calm and apparent lack of concern this time. If he'd only kept faith with Arlen in the first place, he could have told Marick that the Caelumese were even less reliable than the flakiest of the Devils. He could have told him that Gelert, with whom he had been planning to replace Arlen, was weak and pathetically buyable. It was hard to believe that Marick hadn't known these things, so Arlen trusted it even less.

For now, though, he could play the game. Gather his cards while his employer was looking the other way. Being reticent and reproachful now would only raise suspicion, and Arlen hoped Marick didn't actually know how much part he'd had to play in that grand plan's failure.