It was Gyre’s turn to be taken aback. “Just like that?”

“What, do you want to go downstairs and have the Moorcats draw up a contract?” Kit shrugged. “It seems simple enough. You help me get what I want from Raskos, and I’ll take you to the Tomb. I assume you’ll still need the fifty thousand to get the rest of your merry band on board.”

“Definitely.” Gyre shook his head. “What proof do I have that you’ve even been to the Tomb?”

“None that I can offer,” Kit said. “On the other hand, once I tell you what we’re going to steal, there’s nothing to stop you from taking it for yourself and leaving me out in the cold. So we’re going to have to trust each other, won’t we?”

Very slowly, Gyre nodded.

“Like I said, it’s not my crew,” he said. “I can’t guarantee that the others will be on board.”

“Just get me a meeting,” Kit said, her grin returning. “I’m sure I can bring them around.”

*

Gyre led Kit on a roundabout route through the city, skirting the north end of the Pit and heading west. They passed the Smokehouse district, with its endless rows of chimneys drooling black streamers that blotted out the stars, and stayed to one side of the road to avoid the continuous rumble of wagons. Beyond were the tunnels, the road running straight into the cracked, crumbling side of the mountain through a massive, irregular archway. The gate was closed, but a quick detour through a side passage brought them to the other side.

Relatively close to the surface, the tunnels resembled ordinary streets, except that the overarching stone meant none of the buildings had roofs. There were shops and cafés, stables and wagonyards. Since the typical ghoul tunnel was much wider than it was tall, these businesses had apartments behind them, with storefronts separated by narrow, anonymous doorways giving access. There were quite a few people about, even at this late hour, and the pair of them attracted no particular attention. Gyre chewed the neutralizer for his nighteye as he walked, letting his vision return to normal to avoid being blinded by the streetlights and smoke. A thick haze filled the air, and soot blackened the tunnel ceiling.

Kit stared around openly, drawing sour looks from the troops of tunnelborn in drab coveralls as they trudged past. Gyre nudged her to one side of the street and kept his voice low.

“You haven’t spent much time in Deepfire, I take it?”

“Almost none,” Kit said. “I was born in Grace. After that I’ve been—all over, really, but I haven’t spent more than a night here before now.” She shook her head. “I knew people lived in the tunnels, but I thought it would be more …” She shrugged. “Improvised.”