Nightsworn | The Whispering Wall #2

Eighteen: Preparations

He wasn't ready.

He wasn't sure he ever would be.

Jordan blinked. He didn't know how long Arlen had been trying to get his attention, but his tutor had a dangerous scowl on his face and it was hard to know if it was his fault or the world in general.

"Take this," Arlen said, thrusting something into his hands. "No arguments this time. Not while there are idiots in armour running about."

Jordan swallowed, drawing the hunting knife from its leather sheath. It was similar to Arlen's, but new and glinting sharp, with a varnished handle wrapped in cord. It was more practical than aesthetic; it had none of the grace of Yddris's gifted dagger, but twice as much menace. It glinted in the light from the brackets in the middle of the beer hall.

"I don't want..."

"I said no arguments," Arlen snapped. "If I had my way you'd be rattling with blades for this fuckin' thing, but I only had time to grab that for you and you're going to take it. Raziel's also going to give you smokes and belladonna bombs. If he offers you anything that smells like shit, don't take it."

"Why not?"

"Because it'll be literal shit," Akiva said cheerfully, coming up behind them. "Brews it himself. I'd let him handle those if I were you."

"...Noted."

Jordan inched away from Akiva, hoping he was subtle about it, but he knew Arlen noticed. His first lesson with Akiva had involved an axe and a highly decomposed corpse, and since then Jordan had been wary of him, praying each time Arlen switched his tutors around that it wouldn't be Akiva again. Ironically enough, the grave robber was the most affable of all his teachers from the Devils and if he'd taught literally anything else Jordan might even have conceded to liking him.

"You remember everything?" Arlen said to them both. In the early hours of the morning, they had discussed the results of both of the meetings and made a plan of their own. Jordan was now juggling three plans in his brain, and his nod was somewhat strained. It could have been worse, he supposed; Arlen had at least managed to get rid of Silas before Jordan's return so they didn't meet, but the look on his face suggested that Usk had been right about the high cost of the favour.

"You any good at improv, kid?" Akiva asked, as Arlen limped away to talk to Usk. "Plans never go smoothly."

"I can't say I've needed it before," Jordan mumbled, fervently wishing he had.

"Stick with Usk. He knows where it's at, though it's a shame you don't get to see Arlen in action on one of these gigs. Pure style, that bloke." A scratch and a hiss, and a cloud of blackweed drifted around Jordan's head from the cigarette Akiva had just lit. "He's not second-in-rank for nothing."

Jordan wasn't sure Arlen was in the frame of mind to take that as a compliment, so he only shrugged.

"Does...does that help?" he asked. He gestured at the cigarette.

"With the job or with the feeling that you're going to shit your pants?"

"I don't..."

"Everyone can tell when you're nervous, kid. Save your breath." Akiva chuckled. "I'd be concerned if you didn't feel like shitting your pants. Cockiness is a sure way to get fucked over." Unless he was imagining it, Akiva was looking at Arlen as he said this, but then he winked and handed him a cigarette. "First time?"

Jordan nodded. He was already regretting it.

"Only a couple of drags, first time. Takes the edge off without sending you over it."