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“Yeah,” he gasps, desperately huffing air. He waves his hands between us. “Down. Hard to breathe.”
I let go and he drops to the floor. He pulls his shirt down while struggling to catch his breath after my rough handling. I step back and rub the back of my head.
“What?” I ask but don’t finish the entire thought as I realize we’re not alone.
Two others are on either side of me. I don’t know them but they have serious looks on their faces and clubs in their hands. I put my hand on mine but the odds are long if we resort to fighting. One against many is never an easy fight.
“One… moment,” Raso says, bent over and wheezing.
His breath eases and he stands up straight at last.
“Hard hit,” he says.
“What is this?” I ask, looking from him to the other two and back.
“Can’t I look up an old friend?” Raso asks.
I frown. “Along with what, two guards? More?”
“These are… friends,” he says.
“Uh-huh,” I say, rubbing my thumb over the head of my club. “Been a long time. Thought you were working, what, the Fallen Beetle?”
“I am,” he says. “And you joined the City Guard.”
“Yes,” I say. “We can’t all pursue our dreams. It is the end of this world. Perhaps in the next.”
I am saying the expected, watching his face. Judging what this is. I can’t believe it’s him. I thought he was a friend. Someone, before this, I would have trusted. We trained together as Chefs but that was in another life. Obviously. He works for the Maulavi now.
It makes sense. A Chef at a popular saravam would see and hear a lot. What better way to know what the people are thinking? Making sense, though, and liking it are far from the same. Very, very far.
I calculate the steps between myself and his guards. I look the their posture, judging which one is the greater threat. Left. Left is relaxed, appears nonchalant and looks as if he’s not paying any attention. He’s the most dangerous.
The other one is tense, leaning in, shoulders tight. He is the lesser threat. Still a problem, but he has less experience. Or training. Or both.
If I take out left fast enough, hard enough, that will buy me time. Go from him to Raso, who never was much of a fighter, and use his body as a shield against the third while I back my way out of here.
I’ll have to return home without the cart but before I leave I want to know what the Maulavi know. For now I will play along.
“What if it’s not?” Raso asks.
“Huh?” I ask, his question startling me out of my plotting.
He looks thoughtful and not in the least threatening.
“What if this isn’t the end of this world? Not in the way we think anyway.” he says.
“Then you are speaking heresy. The Shaman has said it is so,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
“Yes, so I would be. And you say?”
“I told you.”
“No, you told me what the Shaman says. What does Bhoja, my old friend, say?”
I watch him through narrowed eyes. What game is he playing? If the Maulavi know what I’ve done they do not need to catch me speaking heresy. Which going against the Shaman and his tale of how it is would be. This makes no sense.
“What are you talking about?” I ask ending with a low growl.
