Page 52 of The Only Way Out Is Up

Eighty stripes. An absurd amount of money, yet somehow not enough.

“I’m going to need a bit for myself, too,” I mutter.

“You know that slows us down.”

“I know. But I have obligations.” The Clawmarks’ deadline is coming up.

“Then I think we have to do it,” Ky says. “If we time this right, we can build up the pot and then cash out all at once to get everything we need. I may be able to get a little extra from Venci, too. She’s hungry for this, I can smell it.”

“I thought you were worried about… you know. Your other problems following us home. Setting up shop in one pit seems like it would make things easy for them.”

“I’ve been keeping an ear out,” Ky says. “Nothing so far. Nobody seems to be asking about us, at least not around here. The Cavcante are not known for their subtlety, so if they were trying I ought to know.”

“Won’t they be able to find Weslai? He arranged the match, didn’t he?”

“Nah, he used a cutout to set up the deal. He’s smart, he knows what he’s doing.”

Another little spike of… envy? I grit my teeth. “So you think this is our best bet.”

“I do.” She eyes me gravely. “You’re comfortable with that?”

I sigh. “If you are. I’m not the one who’s a fugitive.”

“Great. Stay quiet and let me see what I can pry out of Venci.”

We rejoin the group. Venci and Weslai are chatting, while Lorrimer is on her knees across from Star. He stares back at her curiously.

“We might be amenable,” Ky announces. “But I have to come clean here. This isn’t the only offer we’ve gotten, and some of the others are quite attractive.”

“It isn’t?” Weslai says.

Venci narrows her eyes. “What exactly makes them so attractive?”

“Sal Graybeard offered us a quarter of the house rake for each fight.”

“Sal’s a fucking cheat and his pit smells like rotting garbage,” Venci spits. “Ten percent, and you’ll still make twice what you will with him.”

“I had a very interesting proposal from Gylla the Nose, too—”

I tune out. Ky, I suspect, is going to get what she wants. Instead I kneel down beside Star and look at Lorrimer. She’s wearing a floor-length shapeless gray dress with many pockets, bearing the same sorts of cuts and stains my own working outfits accumulate. She tilts her head back and forth, which gives me glimpses of a long, sallow face through her fringe of hair. Star, looking back at her, mimics her motions.

“Did you tell it to do that?” she says, her voice surprisingly pleasant.

“Do what?”

“Copy me. Look.” She tips her head again, and Star, peevishly, goes the other way. “It was doing it a second ago!”

“I haven’t told it to do anything,” I say.

“Don’t lie to me. You’ve got a trick. Some construct you keep in your pocket, right? You can tap the commands on little switches, maybe.”

Closer to the truth than what I told Ky about gestures, anyway. I give an awkward shrug.

“Thing I can’t figure out is why you bother. Does being able to command it silently really give you that much of an advantage? It must be expensive.”

I shrug again.

“Prick,” she says, almost amiably. “Nothing about you makes sense anyway. Why’d you make it this little body?”