“Yes, it is,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping lower. I could barely hear him over the splashing of the fountain. “Which is why I’m telling you to let this go. Back off. Report to Nicco and be done with it.”
“What?” I forced my voice down to near-normal levels. “If we’re right, we’re talking about someone orchestrating a Kin war in Ten Ways-maybe even throughout the whole city. And if that happens, you know what comes next.”
“We don’t know that the empire will step in,” he said, not sounding wholly convinced.
“If it even looks like someone is trying to repeat Isidore’s climb, it won’t just be the Rags hassling us in the streets,” I said. “It’ll be the legions. The White Sashes. And I’m not going to let someone screw with my life and my livelihood just because he wants a midnight crown on his head.”
“You don’t know it will come to that,” said Degan. “This could just be about Ten Ways. You said yourself it was a fluke with Isidore-that no one can unite the Kin again. Let them set up Nicco. Let him go to war. Let him die. You’ve never liked the bastard, anyhow. Get out now.”
I looked up at my friend, seeing him, seeing his face in my night vision. I took a step back. “You’re scared,” I said, barely believing it. “Angels help me, you’re scared.”
Degan grimaced. “Not scared,” he said. “Worried.”
“About what?”
“About where it will take you. Take us.”
“‘Where it will take me’?” I said. I nearly laughed, only it wasn’t funny. “In case you haven’t noticed, things around me have been going from bad to worse over the last couple of days. I don’t want your worry right now; I want your help.”
Degan’s head lunged forward so fast, I nearly fell back. “I can’t help you in this!” he yelled. “Don’t you understand? I can’t! Not while…”
“While what?” I said. “What?”
Degan glared at me and turned away. I saw his shoulders rise and fall as he took a breath. “Just let it be,” he said. “Please.”
And then it hit me, and I got truly angry.
“This is about the Order of the Degans, isn’t it?” I said. “You won’t tell me anything unless I take your damn Oath!” I reached out and grabbed Degan’s arm, spinning him around. He didn’t resist. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll take the damn thing. If that’s what you want me to do, I’ll do it.”
Degan jerked his arm out of my grasp. “It’s not what I want you to do,” he snapped. “And even if I did, that wouldn’t be all of it. There are other things at play here besides my being a degan.”
“Like friendship?” I said. I threw the words out, using them like a lash. “Like bleeding for each other so many times I’ve lost count? We’ve never needed an Oath for any of that!”
Degan winced. I pressed on.
“What the hell is it with you degans and your Oaths?” I said. “Secrets and silence and promises-you’re a bunch of fucking Arms, Degan! You lug steel around and dust other people’s enemies. If anyone ought to be demanding promises of silence, it’s me. I’m the Nose here. What’s so damn important about Ironius that you can’t… can’t.. .”
And I stopped and stared up at Degan. At Bronze Degan. Of course-I was too used to thinking of him as just Degan.
“It isn’t ‘Ironius,’ is it?” I said softly. “It’s ‘Iron.’ He’s a degan. He’s Iron Degan.”
Degan didn’t answer, but the look on his face made anything he might have said redundant. Whoever we were working against had a degan on their side. And if Bronze Degan wasn’t willing to talk about it, my guess was that Iron Degan and the woman had already exchanged the Oath.
Which meant that if I wanted Degan’s help against them, I would have to do the same. The only problem was, I suddenly didn’t want to take the Oath anymore.
Chapter Thirteen
“You don’t want to do this,” said Degan.
No kidding. But it suddenly wasn’t about wanting anymore; it was about needing. I needed to take the Oath.
“I have to,” I said.
“No, you don’t,” said Degan.
“Oh?” I said. “And how do you figure that? You’ve as much as said you can’t talk to me about Iron Degan or his business because he’s under Oath to whoever that woman is. And it seemed pretty clear in the sewers that unless I’m willing to take that same step, I won’t be getting any answers from you on the matter. So, yes, I’d say it’s a matter of need.”
“I told you before, I don’t know what Iron or his boss are up to. Your taking the Oath won’t change that.”
“But you suspect,” I said. “You have some ideas about what’s going on.”
Degan paused. “I have suspicions,” he said. “But they’re based on who Iron is, not on anything I know.”
“And…?” Degan looked down at me in silence. “My point exactly,” I said. “You can’t even tell me your suspicions without the Oath.”
“Drothe, do you realize what taking the Oath means?” said Degan. “For you? For me?”
“It means I owe you,” I said. “Big. Really big. And that you can call in your marker at any time. I also know that I get you, not just as a friend, but as a degan, working for me on my payroll. And I get what you know about Iron and his boss, even if it’s just an educated guess.”
“And you’d be willing to take that deal?”
“Yes,” I said. Maybe. It was hard to say, not knowing what Degan knew, but I wasn’t going to get anything from him if I didn’t take the Oath. That much was clear.
Degan nodded thoughtfully. “And what if I told you that was the street version of the story? What if I told you there was more?”
“How much more?”
“When I say I can ask for anything,” Degan said, “I mean anything. And I expect you to serve it up on a plate, because that’s what I would do for you if I took the Oath. The Oath means I’m willing to put my life on the line, not only for you, but for your interests as declared in the Oath. I’m your man until I die or the Oath is fulfilled. And I expect the same of you when it comes time to call in my side of the bargain. You have to do what I say, without question, without hesitation, even if it goes against what you want or believe in. Even if it means you stand a good chance of being killed. Because we exchanged the Oath, and that’s the burden each side carries for the other-me for you, and you for the Order.”
“Wait,” I said. “What do you mean, the burden I carry ‘for the Order’? What do I owe them?”
A ghost of a smile touched Degan’s lips. “Just this: If I complete my part of the Oath and die before calling in my ‘marker,’ or I die in your service, your Oath passes on to the Order of the Degans.”
“The entire Order?” I said, feeling my insides going into a free fall. Angels, how many degans were there, anyhow?
“To the first degan who decides to call it in.” Degan leaned in toward me. “Even, maybe, Iron Degan. How would that turn out, do you think?”
Not well, I realized. But that involved a lot of ifs. It also brought up another question.
“What if someone refuses to fulfill his end of the Oath?” I said. “It has to have come up.”
“It has,” said Degan.
“And?”
Degan straightened up. “In many ways, the Order of the Degans is the Oath. It’s what makes us degans. Some of us have been known to give ourselves over for years in fulfilling an Oath. How do you think we would react if someone recanted on his end, especially if one of us had lied, cheated, killed, and maybe even died, to fulfill his part of the agreement?”
I shuddered. “That’d be a lot of pissed-off talent,” I said.
“And that’s only the beginning.”
That didn’t sound good-as if any of this could.
“We’re an old order, Drothe,” continued Degan. “And the Oath is an old binding.”
I felt my jaw dropping open and stopped it. “Are you saying there’s glimmer involved?” I said.
“I’m saying it’s an old binding. I don’t pretend to understand it, but there are stories.”
“What kind of stories?”
Degan eyed me coolly and remained silent.