Page 6

CHAPTER 6

SUNHO

The Under World

Fifth Ward, the Outer Ring

“DID YOU HEAR the rumors? Three days ago, a light was spotted. In the east.”

Sunho stood in a crowd in the fifth ward of the Outer Ring. It hadn’t moved for several minutes—there was some sort of disturbance up ahead, outside the teahouse. Down the street, the bulbs in their lampposts flickered, then went out, plunging the world into darkness. A few seconds later, they flared back up again. Grumbles and muttered curses followed, complaining about the faulty electricity.

“It could be anything,” a man responded to the woman who’d spoken. “The empire’s army testing out new weapons, no doubt.”

“Whatever it was,” the woman said, her voice taking on a fervent quality, “they say it was beautiful. Even those at the Wall saw it—a bright, silver light.”

In front of Sunho, the crowd shifted, and he caught sight of what was causing the traffic. A carriage sat outside the front entrance of the teahouse, two destriers shifting the dirt beneath massive hooves. The double wings of Sareniya were emblazoned on the side of the vehicle. An envoy from the Floating World.

Sunho frowned. What was one of those doing in the Outer Ring? The Sareniyans who lived in the Under World rarely ventured into the poorest sections, keeping to the Core or Mid City.

While technically subject to Sareniyan laws, the Outer Ring wards operated as autonomous regions, with their own set of rules. Each ward had a governor, usually the biggest and baddest gang leader, who either had their own private army or enough coin to hire the most mercenaries. They levied taxes to fatten their own pockets and kept the ministers from enacting the laws that were theirs by right, as the Outer Ring was part of the Under World.

Sunho was careful not to get involved with the gangs. For one, it would limit the jobs that were available to him, as the gangs were always in one feud or another. And he felt uneasy about a lot of their more unsavory practices.

Noticing the growing discontent, the two armed guards that flanked the Sareniyan carriage drew their swords, causing outrage among those standing nearest. The commotion triggered a surge that rippled through the crowd. Sunho stepped back to avoid colliding with the woman standing in front of him. As he did, he felt a slight pressure against his side, where he kept his money belt.

Quickly, he snatched the pickpocket’s wrist. The boy yelped and Sunho let go, looking down into a familiar, unapologetic face.

His young neighbor, a boy of about six or seven, shot him a peeved look, rubbing his wrist. Haru lived with his mother in the apartment below Sunho’s. His story was a common one—after his father died from an accident in the mithril mines, his mother had turned to drink. Sunho didn’t know what the boy did with the rest of his time, likely running with one of the many gangs of children who roamed the Outer Ring, pickpocketing crowds like this one.

“Just keeping you sharp,” the boy said cheekily. “It’s rough out here.”

“You better not have been following me,” Sunho said. Their apartment building was located in the centermost part of the fifth ward. It was a twenty-minute walk to the border to Bo Dan’s, the teahouse where Sunho picked up his jobs.

Haru widened his eyes, blinking innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sunho began to shift his way toward the edge of the crowd. “Looks like a fight might break out. Could get dangerous.”

“Maybe,” Haru agreed cheerfully in his wake, “but you’re really strong, aren’t you? Isn’t the safest place for someone like me next to someone like you?”

Sunho ignored the boy. Reaching the edge of the crowd, they emerged near the wall of the building next door to the teahouse. A few off-hour factory workers were smoking pipes beneath an overhang, blackening the low-hanging eaves.

“Why are you here?” Haru asked, coming up beside him.

Sunho held up the missive that had been delivered to his apartment earlier that morning. “Got a tip on a job.”

Haru kicked the ground with his worn sandal. “So you must be busy, then.”

Sunho was supposed to meet his broker, Bo Dan, in the next few minutes. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Stuff happened this week, thought I could tell you about it.”

Sunho leaned his back against the wall. “I’ve got time.”

“Everyone’s talking about that light, but I’m more interested in the other rumor. Apparently there’s a bear living in the sewer.”

Sunho closed his eyes as he listened to Haru’s chatter; he jumped from thought to thought, never lingering on a subject.

Suddenly Haru broke off in the middle of talking about Nochak, a boy who led the band of neighborhood children in the fifth ward. “Landlord was around again, picking a fight.”

Sunho opened his eyes to see that Haru’s head was downturned. Their landlord was a cruel man. He left Sunho alone, as he was never late on a payment, but gave Haru and his mother a hard time.

“I want to become strong,” Haru said, his small hand curling into a fist. “Like you. That way, Mom won’t ever cry again.”

“Not like me,” Sunho said automatically.

Haru glanced up at him, his eyes moving to Sunho’s neck, where his scarf was securely in place. Sunho reached into his pocket for a coin, balancing it on his thumb before flicking it toward Haru, who caught it.

Haru’s eyes widened as he opened his palm. “Really? I can have this?” he said excitedly. “I saw the almond vender on the way here. I’m going to get some and share them with my mom. Thanks, Sunho!”

As Haru turned, Sunho reached out and grabbed him by the back of his collar. “Wait, go that way,” he said, releasing him and pointing him down a different street, away from the crowd. It was getting rowdy, with people starting to take out their frustrations on each other.

He kept his eye on Haru until the younger boy turned the corner of the street, then he made his way to the back entrance of the teahouse. It faced a fetid alley, the ground wet with floodwater from the sewers.

He pushed aside the curtain of a back door and entered a small, dark hallway.

From somewhere within the building, he could hear distant shouts. A balding, middle-aged man popped out of the door to the right, carrying a tea tray.

“You’re late,” Bo Dan said. “Didn’t think you were coming.”

“I had something important to do.” Sunho didn’t elaborate.

He followed the broker through the kitchen into a narrow hall, passing by the main tearoom to a dark stairwell, the steps creaking beneath their weight. The cups and saucers rattled on the tray, somehow managing to keep upright.

The second floor was a long hallway with private rooms on either side. “You’re in luck,” said Bo Dan. “I called you here for a different job, but some big shots just arrived not a half hour ago. That rabble outside delayed them.” Sunho thought of the carriage, the white wings of Sareniya seeming to glow even in the darkness of the Under World. “They’re looking for swords-for-hire. Normally a nobody like you would never be considered for a job like this, but I think they’re desperate.”

Nobody. If Bo Dan meant to offend him, he’d misjudged Sunho. He’d rather be a nobody than someone with a reputation for killing. “How much for the tip?”

“I’ll give it to you at a discount. Fifty.”

That was cheap for Bo Dan, but Sunho had dealt with the broker enough times to know he never made a deal in which he didn’t somehow make a profit. Sunho unhooked a rope of coins from his belt and handed it over.

“You won’t regret it,” Bo Dan said eagerly, balancing the tray with one hand and pocketing the coins with the other. “These people are the real deal. One of them is a captain in the army.”

Bo Dan slid back the door. “Excuse my intrusion. I’ve brought some refreshments.” He shuffled inside, with Sunho following more slowly.

There were six people in the windowless room. Four were seated around a wooden table, facing the door Sunho and Bo Dan had walked through. The other two, a man and a woman, were to the right of the door, against the wall.

Bo Dan placed the tray with the tea set down onto the table, then turned, bowing low. “This is Sunho. The boy might not look like much, but he gets the job done.”

As far as recommendations went, it wasn’t terrible. The woman leaning against the wall looked toward her companion. From where Sunho stood by the door, the captain was blocked mostly from view. All Sunho could see were his shoes—black leather, expensive. He must have given her a signal because the woman handed Bo Dan a string of coins. Bo Dan fled the room, backing away quickly while bowing.

After the door slid shut, the woman’s gaze turned to Sunho. “Take a seat. We were just getting started.”

Sunho approached the table, studying the individuals already seated. He recognized two from when they had been paired for jobs around the city. Mercenaries. They didn’t acknowledge Sunho, so neither did he.

The third was an elderly woman who, from the white ribbon around her arm, was a bounty hunter, the fourth a man with burn scars on the left side of his face, likely from the fire that wrecked the seventh ward not a year ago.

Sunho took the single available seat in the corner. At this angle, he could see the woman’s companion. He was young, only slightly older than Sunho, and injured—his arm was in a cast. When Sunho lifted his eyes, he found the captain watching him.

“Lower your gaze, Under Worlder,” the woman said sharply. “The light is not for you.”

Sunho immediately lowered his gaze. It was a version of a common saying, Keep your eyes down, Servant of Sareniya. You are unworthy of the light.

“That won’t be necessary, Sana,” the captain replied. His voice was low and devoid of emotion.

Who was this Sareniyan? A captain was a high-ranking officer. But the carriage outside hadn’t been a military vehicle, which meant he wasn’t here on orders from the empire, but for his own personal agenda.

The woman—Sana, the captain had called her—approached the table. Pushing the tray aside, she removed a scroll from within her jacket and laid it flat upon the surface.

“Three days ago, a light appeared in the east,” she began. Those at the table leaned forward to take a closer look at the scroll. It was a drawing—the artist had used charcoal to sketch a portrait of a girl, her hair falling out of a loose braid. “We believe she was the source. Bring her to the Under World alive before the Festival of Light at the end of the month, and one hundred thousand coins will be yours.” Sana kicked a chest beneath the table that popped open, revealing hundreds of string-bundled coins.

Sunho stared at the coins, having never seen so many in one place.

The scarred man cleared his throat. “I was offered a similar deal, not two nights ago. Except we didn’t have to bring the girl back alive.”

“That’s why we’re paying you triple what was offered,” Sana said through gritted teeth.

“Who is she?” asked one of the mercenaries.

Sana frowned. “That’s not information you need to know.”

“But if she’s the source of the light,” the elderly woman said, “then she must be in possession of some sort of weapon. Is it dangerous?”

“She’s only a girl,” Sana said.

The woman frowned.

“Why alive, though?” This came from the scarred man.

“Because she’s more use to me alive than dead,” the captain said tightly. Though he hadn’t raised his voice, the warning was clear. “Does anyone have any relevant questions?”

“How old is she?” Sunho asked.

The captain’s gaze locked on Sunho, his brow raising slightly. “Seventeen.”

An unbidden thought flitted through Sunho’s head: We’re the same age.

Sunho studied the drawing. The girl was beautiful, with large, dark eyes and bow-shaped lips, and yet the drawing felt vague, as if the artist had rendered her from a description, from someone’s memory of her.

“There aren’t any identifying features in this illustration,” Sunho pointed out. “Like a mole or a scar.”

“You’re right,” Sana said. “We’re not sure what she looks like. The light will be the most significant indicator of her identity. Go to the place where it originated. A train will take you to the river city, Seorawon. There, you’ll take an airship east, over the mountains.”

“He mentioned others.” The old woman jerked her head toward the scarred man. “We won’t be the only ones going after her.”

“There will be others,” Sana said simply. “Do what you need to do to get her back here alive.”

Sunho understood. In order to protect her, they’d have to kill anyone who might try to stop them. How many others were being sent after her? Ten? Twenty? There were only five at the table, and it didn’t appear as if they’d be working together.

Sana dropped a bag of coins in front of each of them. “This should be more than enough to outfit you for the journey and expenses you might have as you go. The next train leaves at noon in three days.”

The captain stood and left the room, followed by Sana, who hefted the chest of coins. The others followed, murmuring excitedly to one another.

Sunho eyed the bag in front of him; clearly the captain had enough personal wealth that he’d risk paying them without a contract or proper agreement that they’d even take the job. Then again, the prize was a fortune; with that kind of money, they could leave the Under World, start a new life in the Occupied Territories. And yet, others would be after the same prize, would kill for the prize, would kill the prize .

He had three days to decide, but he already knew his answer. There was no point in taking a job he knew he couldn’t complete. He had his own skill set that he relied on, but protecting a girl from a bevy of hired killers would exceed them. His chances of success were little to none.

Of course, his chances would go up significantly if he were to call upon the Demon… But that he would never do.

The tea set remained on the table, untouched. Lifting the kettle, Sunho poured the liquid into one of the porcelain cups. Steam rose from the surface. They hadn’t been in the room more than fifteen minutes. Taking the bag of coins, he left the cup without drinking it.

As he entered the hall, he immediately sensed he wasn’t alone.

The captain leaned against the wall a few steps down the corridor. To reach the stairwell, Sunho would have to pass him.

As Sunho drew near, the older boy spoke, “You served in the army.” His tone was cool, indifferent. Like in the room, Sunho noticed that he spoke without inflection. It made it difficult to guess his thoughts. “You’ve a disciplined way about you,” he continued. “What regiment did you serve in?”

“I don’t remember,” Sunho said. The captain’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember anything from before two years ago.”

The older boy raised a brow. “Intriguing.” When he didn’t speak further, Sunho stepped past him. “So you won’t remember him , either.”

Sunho stilled, a chill sweeping through him.

“You look like him,” the captain continued casually, either unaware or uncaring of the turmoil he’d wrought within Sunho. “It’s not obvious, but there are enough similarities.”

“You… you know my brother.”

“Knew him. We served together as foot soldiers in the Eighth Regiment.”

Sunho stepped closer to the captain, his hand tightening into a fist. “Where is he?” he asked with a shaking voice. He didn’t care that he sounded desperate.

The captain’s eyes slowly met Sunho’s. His expression, which until now had appeared impassive, transformed. Like a mask being lifted. The casual look in his eyes was gone, replaced with something else entirely.

Sunho knew what the other boy would say before he uttered the words.

“Bring me the girl, and I’ll help you find him.”