Nightsworn | The Whispering Wall #2

Nine: Questions

Jordan always felt sorry for anyone who got tangled up with Arlen, but Riko was getting on his nerves.

Horribly aware of Darin waiting for him downstairs, Jordan resisted the urge to start tapping his foot as the accountant dug around in his drawers for a magnifying glass. Sweat beaded on his brow and spattered the table he was searching, and Jordan wondered if the man might have mistaken him for Arlen himself. The full-body trembling certainly suggested as much.

"Ah." Riko slicked back his thinning hair from his face and emerged from a desk drawer clutching a magnifying glass so scratched and filthy it was a miracle he could see through it. He gestured, and Jordan laid out his goods on the table. He knew Arlen would expect him to haggle for it, but Jordan would take whatever Riko gave him if it meant the night was over faster. At that moment, Jordan was more scared of Arlen's brother.

At least he hadn't almost killed Arlen the first time they met.

"I'll give you an Auriel for all four items."

Jordan pursed his lips. He had determined not to haggle, but Arlen would send him straight back if all he returned with was an Auriel. So much for knowing better than to cheat.

Heart sinking – he hated bartering – he stepped closer to the table and inspected the items with care.

"So for four items made with real gold," he said slowly, "You want to give Arlen...one bit of gold?"

Riko paled. "I...I suppose th-that's not..."

"Six Auriels," Jordan said.

The accountant paused, seeming to realise Jordan was looking to bargain rather than to shank the money out of him. Jordan, in turn, had a hard time trying not to think too much on what that said about his tutor's usual methods.

"Two," Riko said, some confidence leaking back into his voice. "I won't go higher for stolen goods."

"Five."

"Two and three Certs."

"Four and three Certs."

Riko narrowed his eyes. "A clean three."

"Three and two Certs."

"Deal." Riko scooped the items into a desk drawer and shuffled over to a chest at the back of the room. Jordan's chest eased. He had once seen Akiva haggle for half an hour solid and he didn't think he could face it.

Any relief at getting rid of the stolen items was mitigated by the solid purse of gold he left with, jangling lightly in one pocket. As he descended the stairs, his heart seemed to rise, as if sensing that he was safer up there than wherever Darin was lying in wait. When he stepped out into the street and saw no one there, he dared to hope he'd got bored and left, but then a figure stood up from the front step of a closed shop and came over.

"What's this about?" Jordan asked. He tried not to sound as nervous as he felt, but his vocal chords had other ideas.

"Talk over a pint?" Darin shoved his hands in his pockets. His aura betrayed his unease, strong enough for Jordan to pinpoint it, and supposed he couldn't blame the man. It was reassuring to know he wasn't the only one bricking it, at least. And it must have been important for Darin to willingly put himself in Jordan's presence for more than a few minutes.

"If you know somewhere," Jordan said. "I never go to the taverns round here."

"Me neither," Darin said. "Too pricy."

Before Jordan could respond –he didn't really have time for a crawl through the Reach looking for a cheaper pub – Darin turned and struck off down the road. Shame flooded him at the strong temptation to slip away, but he didn't want to risk Arlen's ire if it really was urgent. He knew Arlen paid at least some, if not all, of Darin's rent, which was uncharacteristic enough that Jordan could tell he actually gave a shit. He liked to pretend otherwise, and Jordan didn't press it, but if his adoptive mother had taken a turn for the worse and Jordan hadn't stuck around to hear about it, a knife to the gut would be a much more genuine threat.