"Is that the Hindquarters I backhanded at the Tunnel?" Egil said, joining in. "I didn't recall his voice being so girlish."
Nix chuckled, though it made his head ache worse.
"Fak you both," the hiresword said sharply.
"It is girlish," said Nix. "I hadn't noticed before. I suspect he was stabbed in the genitals at some point. Or perhaps was born without balls. Which is it, Hindquarters? We're all aflutter with curiosity."
A sudden cuff to the side of the head caused Nix to see sparks. He fell to his side and balled up on the floor, expecting another beat down. Hands seized him by the shirt and jerked him off the ground.
"I said that's enough," Beard said. "Enough, Jyme. And you, Nix Fall, you shut your godsdamned mouth. It runs like it has the fakkin' trots."
Jyme ignored Beard and pulled Nix close. "Let me tell you something, Nix the Lucky. I knew these mates here from way back, when I was still watch. I saw them coming into the tavern while your big friend was showing me out."
"Tossing you out, you mean," Nix said. "And I'm surprised you could see anything through that eyeshine."
Egil chuckled. "Went down as easy as a child."
"Fak you, priest!" Jyme said. Then, to Nix, "I waited outside to get at you two, see? But then these mates came out and Baras told me they was looking to nab you two. Well, I signed up then and there for that."
Now Nix had a name for Beard — Baras.
Jyme gave Nix a rough shake. "And it was just happenstance, see? Just the gods smiling on yours truly." He cast Nix back to the ground. "So who's got the luck now, Nix? Who's got it?"
Nix sat up and his mouth kept going, as if of its own accord. "I didn't hear a word you said, distracted as I was by your breath, which, even through this sack, has stink enough to rouse the dead. You mind starting over back at the beginning?"
Jyme growled and Nix steeled himself for another blow.
"Jyme!" said Baras. "That's it. It's done. You're here on my word. You needed a job and now you have one. But you act professional, just as you did when you was watch. That, or you're out."
"If you're watch," Egil said, "then you're also liars. You denied as much back at the Tunnel."
"You mind your tongue, priest," Baras snapped. "Call me a liar again and I may let Jyme have his way."
"What's he going to do, kiss me?" Egil said. "You want to kiss me, Hindquarters?"
"Fak you," Jyme said.
"Your mouth keeps tolling the same time, Jyme. Fak you. Fak you. That's all it says. Are you mentally deficient?"
"Fak you! Er… Fak! Damn you!"
Nix chuckled.
"We're not watch," said Baras.
"Then what in the Eleven Pits is this about?" Egil said.
"Soon enough and you'll know," answered Baras.
"Not even a hint?" Nix prodded. "Come on. A small one? Let's make a game of it. Maybe sing a song, too."
"Shut up!" said Baras, flustered.
Moments later, Nix heard murmured voices, as if from outside a building. A bolt slid through its housing and a door creaked open. A gust of wind hit him, ripe with the odor of the river. He heard a nightgull call and thought instantly of the Heap and Mamabird. He decided that it wouldn't do for him to die with a bag over his head.
"My lord," Baras said, and Nix heard smart motion from the other men in the room, as if they were saluting.
"Baras," said a resonant male voice. Nix did not recognize it. "Who is this?"
"I'm Nix-" Nix said.
"Not you, fool," said the man.
"His name is Jyme, my lord," Baras said. "He served with me once, long ago. He was useful to us in our mission tonight. He needs employ."
"Useful how?"
"In capturing these two, my lord. He has no love for them and he's a good man."
"Agree with the former but disagree with that last," Nix said, but no one acknowledged him.
"And these are Egil of Ebenor and Nix Fall?" the man asked.
"They are, my lord," Baras answered.
"Nix is the mouthy one?"
"Aye. Mouthy like few others I've ever heard."
Nix heard the approaching tread of soft shoes. They stopped before him.
"I didn't want things to go this way," the man said. "But you left me with little choice."
Nix knew lies when he heard them. Whoever he was, the man had very much wanted things to go exactly as they had.
"What is it you want?" Nix said. He felt ridiculous speaking through a bag, looking up from the ground.
The man paced before him. "Right now, I just want you to listen. Will you do that?"
"I've been known to listen from time to time. Egil?"
"Speak, man," said the priest. "I can barely feel my hands. And this bag smells like shite."
The man affected a heavy sigh that sounded as false to Nix as a wizard's promises.
"Hear, then. I have two sisters, both young, lovely girls. They're all that's left of my family. And both of them are very sick. I need your help to heal them."
"Lovely, you say?" Nix said.
"Dog," spat Baras.
"We're not healers," Egil said. "Talk to the priestesses of Orella."
"Or maybe we can offer healing," Nix said slyly. "But only if you take off-"
"Spare me such nonsense," the voice said, taking on a sharp edge before going dull once more on false sincerity. "I know quite well what you are. You're mere thieves and robbers."
Nix tried not to feel offended by the "mere."
"My sisters' sickness isn't of this world. They're cursed and it's the curse that caused me to seek you out."
"We're not wizards, either," Egil said.
"No doubt," the man said. "Further, the curse makes them… dangerous, to themselves and others."
Mention of a curse and danger piqued Nix's natural curiosity about things magical. "How'd they come to be cursed?"
Once more the sharp edge to the voice, and louder this time. Nix imagined the man standing directly over him, staring down daggers.
" How, you ask? You? Here is how: the actions of ignorant miscreants caused it. Their mess is now mine to clean."
"I have a fondness for miscreants generally," Nix said with a shrug. "Not so much for messes."
"Nix…" Egil cautioned.
"I told you, my lord," Baras said. "He never stops."
The man continued: "You may find that your fondness for low things one day puts you on the wrong end of blade or spell."
"Aye, that," Nix conceded with a tilt of his head. "Happens oft enough already. This very moment, for example."
"That's truth," Egil said.
The man inhaled deeply, as if calming himself. "The curse must be lifted before Minnear is full."
"That's not long," Nix said. "Or?"
"Or… my sisters will die."
"A sad, sad tale," Nix said. "Well, a sincere wish of good luck to you and them. There's nothing we can-"
A cuff to Nix's head from one of the guards quieted him. Probably came from Baras. Not hard enough to have been Jyme's hand.
"Even when your life hangs by a hair you jest and make light?" the man said.
"Habit," Nix explained. "One bad one of many, I admit."
"Your purpose remains unclean," Egil said. "What help can we be to your sisters? And why would we offer any, given the lumps on my skull and the bag over my head?"
"I can only lift the curse if I possess a certain item, a magical horn."
"A gewgaw," Egil sniffed.
"What horn?" Nix asked. "How can a horn lift a curse?"
The man ignored Nix's question. "My research reveals that the horn can be found in the tomb of Abn Thuset."
"Research?" Egil asked. "What are you? A sage?"
"Oh, I see now," Nix said. "You need tomb robbers to procure this horn for you." Nix shifted on his backside, feeling more in control of matters. "Abn Thuset was, of course, one of the greatest wizard-kings of ancient Afirion. But his tomb is lost to history and sand. Many have sought it, but no one knows where it is. Unless…"