Unless what colors were in vogue for the season, and which art shows were absolutely mandatory, were facts crucial in the fate of Hond Steading, she was without luck. Ripka sighed, kicking at the ground as she blended in with the other theater-goers heading back to their homes for the evening. There was something sweet in the naivete of these people. Something innocent, sincere, that Ripka dreaded to pierce. Though Thratia marched to their homes, though the agents of Valathea lurked in their northern waters, the greatest worry in these peoples’ lives tonight were if they were fashionable enough, if they’d found the greatest art.
Such simple pleasures, simple concerns, made Ripka’s chest ache.
The traffic thinned out as she approached the neighborhood that housed Latia’s studio. The night, now that she wasn’t running for her freedom through it, was nice and crisp. A cool breeze brushed away the sweat and grime she’d picked up during her flight. Pity she’d have to go and spoil the pleasant evening by drilling into Dranik’s activities.
She turned onto the little lane that led to Latia’s house and nearly jumped out of her boots as the door slammed open, spilling light onto the walkway. Light, and Latia. The woman barreled out of her home, skirts flying every which way, and grasped Ripka to her chest in a hug so firm it crushed the air clear out of her lungs.
“Oof, easy!” Ripka squeaked, as she sucked down a replacement breath.
“My dear, we were so very worried about you!”
“I wasn’t.” Honey appeared in the doorway, arms folded lightly over her stomach, her expression bored. From any other woman, Ripka would take offense at that, but she knew full well Honey meant it as a compliment – she trusted Ripka’s skill completely, therefore she wasn’t worried. Simple as that.
“I’m fine,” Ripka said as she peeled herself out of Latia’s arms. “Let’s get inside. We need to talk.”
“Of course, of course.” Latia locked her arm around Ripka’s and herded her into the house. “You must put your feet up, you poor dear. Did they hurt you at all? I bet you sprouted some nasty blisters from all that running. Oh! A cool drink for you, yes? Something strong in it?”
Before Ripka could get a word out, Latia thrust her into a lounge chair on her back patio and stuffed a cup of something cool, with a sharp bite she decided not to think too strongly about. It was good, and she was tired, and that was all that mattered. Wasn’t like she was on duty any more, and honor-bound not to get drunk in the process.
Dranik scuttled out after them, pacing a long loop around the patio as he wrung his hands together. Whatever gentle ministrations Latia offered to Ripka, it was clear from the dirt on Dranik’s face and his nervous ticks that she hadn’t bothered offering him the same. The man must have been brow-beaten the moment he stepped over Latia’s threshold. Probably sooner. Ripka winced and set her cup aside. An anxious man was never a good one to interview.
“Dranik,” she said. His head snapped up, swiveled to find her, eyes wide as if he’d noticed her for the first time. “Please sit, you’re making me dizzy.”
He perched on the seat’s edge as if he were sitting on cactus prickles, and the slightest shift of weight would dig them in.
“Thank you, for what you did. If you hadn’t shaken them off then, then, oh, I don’t know…” He trailed off and took to wringing his hands together again. They’d be red-raw by the end of the night.
She had to calm him down. Get him relaxed enough to spill the details of what had sent him running to them.
“Peace, it’s all right. I shook them good, they won’t find where you’ve gone.” She winked at him. “I bet they’re still out there, chasing the shadows I set up to distract them.”
Dranik’s shoulders eased.
“You owe her everything, Dranik, everything!” Latia clutched her hands together in her lap. “If we hadn’t had dear Ripka then you’d be in the clink now for sure, you daft boy. How you manage to even put your shoes on in the morning I haven’t the foggiest idea. Sweet skies, but mother taught us better than this.”
Dranik tensed right back up again.
Standing to the side of it all, Honey cocked her head and frowned. “I want to know what’s in the frescoes.”
“What?” Latia blinked, throwing her gaze around at all three of them as if seeing them for the first time. “You want a tour of my art? Now is not the time, dear. Now is an emergency!”
“The urgency has passed,” Ripka said, smooth as a calm wind. Then she lowered her voice and tilted her head to stage whisper to Latia. “Honey is frightened by watchers. Couldn’t you show her your art? I’m sure it would soothe her.”
Latia sucked her teeth so loud she sounded like a mud hollow toad, but eventually she jerked her robe straight and nodded, then whispered back to Ripka. “I’ll take care of the poor dear.” Then, raising her voice, said, “Come along, Honey! Let me show you all the strange fishes of my imagination.”
As Honey passed by, Ripka mouthed ‘thank you’ that only she could see, and Honey winked. Actually winked. The move was so startling it took Ripka a moment to gather her wits once the two other women were safely inside.
“Dranik,” she said, soft and slow. His name hooked him like a lure, and he turned to stare at her. “What happened?”
An anguished groan broke free. He leaned over his knees, gripped his face in both hands and rubbed vigorously. “I had no idea the others were doing anything – anything illegal – please, you must understand that.”
“I understand,” she said, possibly a little too fast, but he was too wrapped up in his own pain to notice. “It’s easy to get in over your head.”
“Yes, yes, that’s exactly what happened. I got in over my head, couldn’t figure out what to do once I was in it so deeply.”
He latched onto the line she’d fed him like it was a life rope, and she clasped her hands together to keep from clenching her fists. Dranik was no real criminal. Lines like, ‘in over your head’ and ‘things got out of control’ only ever got the innocent to confess to the crimes they’d stumbled into. They were, however, great anchors to use in sussing out the scope and nature of the criminal activity. Innocent people were quick to talk, often to their own detriment.
“It happens,” she agreed in the soothing voice she’d used on hundreds of witnesses sitting across from her in an interview room over the years. She considered the next line to feed him, then said, “There’s little you could have done.”
“That’s just the thing.” He was suddenly animated, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation. “If I had just heeded my gut, paid attention to all those little smoke wisps, those pre-quakes, I know I could have realized what was really going on sooner. I know it. But I was so – so – wrapped up in the ideal, I made myself blind to the rest. I thought, well, I guess I thought that if anything shady was going on, it was ultimately for a good cause. That’s stupid of me, isn’t it?”
“No,” she said quickly enough so that he wouldn’t have a chance to interpret her silence as insincerity. “Wanting to believe in something good is never stupid.”
“But it is good, I still believe that. I don’t like their methods, but their minds are in the right place.” He groaned, ruffling his hair. “Pits below, those watchers poured right into the middle of us, we never saw them coming. Skies! What if they recognized me?”