The Nameless Assassins

Sacrifices

One possible interpretation of Ash's notes presented itself shortly thereafter, when the author himself sought out Faith and me.

"It meant a lot to me that you helped with the Helene score," he said earnestly. "I hope – "

"Of course it does," interjected Faith. "Who wouldn't appreciate the help of a great Whisper like me?"

Ash waited her out, then continued, "I hope you'll forgive me for going easy on Irimina instead of wringing every last coin out of her. She needs some money to grow her investments." And continue to employ us, he implied.

I shrugged. Finance was his area of expertise, not mine, and anyway, crew coin had already overrun a motley assortment of iron chests and now threatened to commandeer an entire compartment. "That's fine. I assume you ran the calculations."

"I did," he assured us, as if we required reassurance. "You know, with Tess funneling six coin to us every week, we should really invest in a vault...." His voice trailed off as he indulged in a reverie of bank vault doors and locks.

"Or a bigger closet." Faith slashed through his daydream, eliciting a little jump and startled stare. She winked at him. "Then you wouldn't have to dump your clothing on every available surface. Fabric wrinkles, you know, and ironing is such a pain. And while you're at it, you should get a bookcase too. It's slovenly to toss your books all over the floor like that. As your erudite, enlightened educator, I really must object to your poor study habits."

I choked back a snicker, remembering the sight of said erudite, enlightened educator upside down in his trunk.

Looking from one of us to the other, Ash visibly suppressed a sigh before he veered determinedly onto a different topic. He mused, "There are many gods and they make good allies. I intend to go gloat over the Golden Stag – make it clear to him what I did and why. Did the two of you want to come?"

Flicking open my pocket knife and checking its blade, I feigned indifference. "Should be interesting."

Faith, however, shook her head mournfully. "I'm afraid I have to decline. Gloating is bad for my complexion," she explained with a woebegone expression. Whipping a hand mirror out of a pocket, she ostentatiously examined her cheeks, patting and smoothing the rosy skin.

After nearly two months of sharing a railcar with us, Ash looked entirely unsurprised by our respective reactions. Conversationally, he inquired, "Isha, have you met Ilacille? She's the priestess at the Temple to the Forgotten Gods."

Was this a test? I couldn't read his body language, so with perfect honesty, I answered, "No." After all, no one had ever introduced the two of us. I'd only ever spied on her.

"Ah." Ash didn't seem to care about my response one way or the other. "Well, you should."

He soon remedied this deficiency by inviting both Ilacille and me to witness his sacrificial ritual at the former Silver Stag Casino, emblem of his greatest triumph on behalf of That Which Hungers. On the appointed day, he and I walked to Nightmarket together, Ash chatting with – or rather, at – me about theology while I eyed his bottle of golden motes and wondered why they made Faith so jumpy. All I could sense was a rich, warm glow.

Ash's voice cut through my thoughts. "What do you think of the gods, Isha?"

With an effort, I dragged my attention away from the motes. "I haven't thought about them." Growing up in U'Duasha, I'd been much more concerned about demons, both the occult and human varieties – and particularly the ones within my own family.