She went to leave, the door half-closed before she paused. ‘Dear boy,’ she said, ‘why didn’t you come straight to us in the first place? However bad things might be, there was no need to approach the filth-traders. We could have helped you out. We’re family after all.’ With that she pulled the door closed. After a moment, he heard the key clanking in the lock.

He sat down on the straw-packed mattress, watching the woven, patterned blankets rise in response. The pattern featured a lot of many-petalled flowers, interwoven with keys. It seemed a lot like a taunt.

‘Fuck,’ he muttered.

***

The clank of the lock roused him from his doze, sending him bouncing up from the bed. Finding nowhere else to stand, he sat back down on the bed as the door swung inwards. Shadows filled the doorway, giggling silhouettes in the lamplight beyond. He peered into the mass.

‘Who’s there?’

One of the shapes entered, carrying a steaming tray. For a moment, he thought it was Sab, then his brain caught up with his blinking eyes and rendered an Andriz girl, somewhere around his own age, dressed plainly but well, placing the tray on his table. Another girl followed, carrying a silver pitcher, which she laid down beside the tray. They turned in unison, eyes lowered but peeking upwards.

‘Who are you?’ he said.

The girls cast nervous, mischievous looks back toward the door, where their presumed chaperon lurked. Chel watched them, seeing them both as young adults like himself, but also as cosseted children, who’d seen nothing of his own rich experiences. He felt himself adjust his stance, affecting a somewhat world-weary slouch, knees spread. The girl who’d brought the tray was really rather pretty.

‘Are you the mercenary?’ said the one on the right, the water-carrier.

‘The ruthless killer?’ the other added, flashing wide, oyster-coloured eyes at him. She reminded him of someone, although he couldn’t think who.

He drank in their curiosity. ‘I may be ruthless,’ he said, rubbing one hand over his less-than-stubbly chin, ‘but I’m no killer.’

An angry shout came from down the hallway. Urbu, or one like him.

They almost squealed, hurrying from the room. The tray girl gave one backward glance, and he caught it.

‘Wait. What’s your name?’

‘Rasha,’ she said, cheeks darkening, and then she was gone from the room. Chel stood to follow, but Urbu filled the doorway as he reached it.

‘You,’ he said, from beneath thick and lowered brows. ‘Stay in here. Do. Nothing.’

Chel let him slam the door, his thoughts already drifting back to the adoring gaze of the departed Rasha. Perhaps his confinement wouldn’t be the end of the world.

He sat down to eat and his thoughts drifted, trying to place the memory the girl had jogged. Someone darkly pretty, friendly, a nervous smile shared.