One is short and squat and grips a hunting knife in his fist. The other, tall and gaunt, carries a pocket revolver. Their masks are kerchiefs tied over their mouths and noses, and their eyes are red-rimmed and restless. They look high on something.

“Don’t nobody do NOTHIN!” the short one with the hunting knife screeches, voice muffled behind his mask.

Silence.

“Your money!” his gaunt accomplice—the one with the revolver—yells, eyes scanning, twitching. “Hand it over. Now. NOW!”

We stand and do nothing. Me, in shock, the others, calm. They don’t seem at all concerned. Vidhan wears a lopsided grin. Akuji looks at them with casual disdain. Malik narrows his eyes. His hand drops to his hip.

“What are you, deaf?” the revolver-bandit barks. “Your MONEY!”

“Look,” Malik says, evenly. “We might hand you the money. Only your mate over there told us to do nothin. So, which is it?”

“Are you for real?” Revolver-bandit’s eyes are full-on bulging now as he speaks. “Give over. Everything. You’ve got. RIGHT. NOW!”

“Everything?”

“EVERYTHING!”

In the bat of an eyelid, Malik’s pistol is in his fist.

“How d’you feel about lead?” he says, snarling.

Akuji removes a fighting stick, swirls it in the air. She looks lethal.

“You’re Pathfinders?” the tall revolver-bandit says, watching her. I reckon he must be the leader of the two, since the squat one with the knife hardly speaks.

Malik turns his head to Vidhan, keeping his eyes locked on the bandits. “Looks like you ain’t the only genius here, Prof.”

The revolver-bandit sniffs and takes a step back. “Collective?”

Malik just smiles.

The bandits take in the odds and back up further. “Looks as if this mighta been a misunderstanding,” the revolver-bandit says, glancing at his companion.

“Might be,” Malik says.

“Reckon we’ll be on our way,” the bandit says.

“Reckon so, fellas,” Vidhan says.

Carefully, very slowly, the two conceal their weapons and raise up empty hands, their demeanour transformed.

“Wait!” Malik calls out. “There’s a price.”

The bandits exchange glances. “What price?”

“Information,” Malik says. “Where’s all the heat? East or west?”

“East,” the squat guy says, all tics and nervous energy. “The Order took down a few Havens over at the Wharf. So they say.”

“Like hell, they took out a few Havens.”

“Hey, pal, don’t shoot the messenger.” He smiles, toothlessly. “I’m just repeatin what I heard. Them Reapers, they say they came by the truckload.”

Malik cocks his pistol. “Look, man,” the bandit says, clearing his throat. “S’all cool. We go our way, you go yours. No harm done.”

Malik indicates the alley with a sideways tip of his head. “Fine. Get lost.”

The bandits turn and hightail it back into the shadows while Malik casually reholsters his gun. “Normals,” he says under his breath.

“Really?” Vidhan says to him, smirking. “ ‘How d’ya feel about lead?’ ”

Malik smiles.

—