Scorio knocked again.
“Maybe they’re home,” said Leonis. “Doing the smart thing by staying off the streets. You know where they live?”
Scorio resisted the urge to scowl. “No. They never trusted me enough to—”
“We’re closed!” The man’s voice was older, querulous, annoyed. “And not opening any time soon!”
“Memek?” Scorio stepped up close. “It’s Scorio—can you open up?”
A heavy bolt slid back, and then Old Memek was there, dressed in a frumpy robe with an off-kilter cap with outrageous fringes upon his gray hair. “Scorio? What are you doing here?”
The sight of the old oud player filled Scorio with relief. “Long story. You remember some of my friends? We’re looking for Feiyan. She was going to connect us with some people.”
Old Memek glanced at the crowd behind Scorio, hesitated, then stepped aside and ushered them in. “Hurry. I don’t like to keep this unlocked these days.”
They all filed inside but Nissa. “This is as far as I go. Good luck, Scorio. Do what you promised.”
Scorio turned back. “Thank you. I will.”
For a long moment, Nissa scrutinized him, then she gave a curt nod and walked away.
Memek barred the door behind them and followed into the main hall. It looked starkly different from the other times Scorio had seen it, lit by a couple of lanterns along the bar and one in a booth, devoid of animation, mana-light, music, movement. Where before it had been a place of enchantment and mystery, delirious dancing and laughter, now it appeared barren and shabby, the stage scuffed and empty, the air redolent of old smoke, sweat, and alcohol.
Old Memek slid behind the bar and reflexively began to pour cups of some fizzy silver drink. “Feiyan said she’d be coming by later this evening. Things aren’t looking good, my young friend. You’d be wise to stay off the streets.”
“People would be wise to leave us alone,” said Jova, taking a seat stiffly.
“That is as may be, but just because you can defend yourself against angry citizens, doesn’t mean you should.” Old Memek finished pouring the last cup and stoppered the bottle. “Unless you welcome spilling blood for no reason?”
“We’re not going to shed any innocent blood,” Scorio said. “In fact, we mean to do the opposite.”
“You do?” Memek’s confusion was clear. “I don’t understand.”
How much to share? “We want to help broker peace. To help the Great Souls and the regular people reach an understanding.”
Old Memek sighed and stared at his drink. “Ah, a beautiful dream, but this world is not governed by rational thought. Would that it were! All of Bastion is gripped as if by a fever. Anger and outrage, resentment and hunger, fear and a loss of hope. The poor are being forced by the ruins to live in ever tighter quarters, for the rich wards won’t allow them to move in, and the pressure, ay, the pressure, it builds and builds.”
Scorio frowned. “We’re going to connect with Manticore so as to speak with the White Queen. It’s my hope she’ll help folks see reason.”
“The White Queen, eh? A grand idea, but I can’t say I have much hope of it working. The Great Souls have only one demand, and that is that we ordinary people suffer in noble silence and wait.” Memek’s eyes gleamed. “But we know what that really means: that we aren’t important enough to be concerned over, and should just quietly die while the Great Souls go about their business. Alas! It’s not a satisfying argument.”
“The White Queen is different. She’ll listen, she’ll understand.” Scorio felt painfully naïve as he said those words. Was he right? Or was his merely a fatuous hope?
“I’ll drink to that,” said Memek, raising his cup. “And your sudden sense of civic duty.”
Scorio tried to think of a response but felt only chagrin. He clinked his cup against Memek’s and took a sip. All this time, all these long months he’d thought of nothing but his own goals, his own advancement and ambitions. And all that time the city had been simmering, its discontent growing. He recalled now the demonstrations he’d seen while traveling to and from the ruins. The marches. The protests.
The truth was that he hadn’t concerned himself with it at all. Just like the other Great Souls. Not until he no longer stood to benefit from the Academy.
“Thank you for letting us wait in here. I know it can’t be safe for the Flame or you to be associated with us.”
“Too late for that.” Memek passed a wrinkled hand over the bar. “Feiyan and Helena made it clear that they weren’t going to pick sides, and that Great Souls were welcome. Which to many meant they were firmly on the side of the Academy. There’s little room for nuance, these days. The Flame’s been vandalized several times, and Feiyan finally closed it down last week. It was that or start hiring doormen by the dozens.”
“So you’re taking care of it now?” asked Lianshi softly.
Memek’s grin was bleak. “Old Memek used to live on the streets. Feiyan pretends that I’m keeping the place in order, but… yes.”
Scorio didn’t know what to say. They all stood in silence for a spell, and then Memek snatched up his drink and beamed at them. “Regardless. Wait here if you will! I will leave you alone. Feiyan will be delighted to see you.”
“Ha,” said Scorio. “Right. Thank you.”
The old man returned to the booth where he resumed leafing through a large book, and everybody else drew their stools into a rough circle.
“I feel so out of my depth,” said Juniper softly. “So sheltered. Naïve.”
“Of course we do. How could we not?” Zala frowned down at her drink. “The Academy already feels like a dream that we’ve awoken from.”
“I don’t mean to be cold, but we didn’t leave the Academy to help negotiate new terms,” said Jova. “If that had been our goal, we’d have served the people better by remaining in the Houses and working to help them from within the system.” She turned to stare at Scorio. “Let’s not lose track of our true goal. We can speak with the White Queen about what’s happening here, but I want to ask her about the Herdsmen. If she can even be trusted to answer us honestly.”
Someone knocked peremptorily on the front door, a staccato signal, and Memek leaped to his feet. “Feiyan!”
A moment later the Flame’s owners strode into the main hall. Helena, tall and rangy, her brown hair tied into a thick braid, her mobile lips and eyelids unpainted for once. Feiyan, stocky in comparison, square-shouldered and with her black hair worn in a pompadour. Both looked tired, but Helena smiled at the sight of them.
“Scorio! So sweet of you to patronize us when everyone else has turned away. You’re not choosing to pay for your drinks with sunfire gems, are you?”
“I would if I had them.” Scorio stood. “Are you two all right?”
Feiyan crossed her arms and sneered. “Nobody’s all right these days. What are you doing here? Who are all these people?”
Scorio introduced his new companions. “We’ve quit the Academy and refused to join the Houses. On our way out we killed an Enforcer for killing protestors. That led us to speak with Abentha, Dola, and other rebellion leaders.”
Feiyan’s eyebrows kept rising higher. “And what did you say?”
“That if we can get to the Fiery Shoals I’ll convince the White Queen to intervene in our favor. So, ah, you still have that connection to Manticore, Feiyan?”
Who looked to Helena. “Tell me he’s joking.”
“He’s not joking!” Helena clapped her hands together. “That’s fantastic! Just like in the tales, a desperate ride to fetch a savior in our final hour.”
Feiyan scowled. “Just like the tales. Regardless, I’ll have to double-check if they’re still in town. Manticore doesn’t just sit around waiting to be called on. Are you just looking for an escort, or do you still want to join them?”
“An escort for sure,” said Scorio. “As for joining them… maybe? Once—and if—we figure out the situation here in Bastion, we’ll need a plan, and we don’t have one yet. Manticore could be what we’re looking for.”