Shite. Maybe I should've just played it safe 'n' named her Pinch.
He broke into a brisk walk and made for the end of the sidestreet.
"Aight, I was more'n a mite unkind, what with keel-"
He rounded the turn to find another T-shaped intersection, not five fulms ahead of him; he rounded the turn just in time to catch the end of a tail slip the far corner off to the left. He scowled and went after her.
"...keelhaulin' ye, and f'that, I'm sorry."
Turn. Another intersection, another couple o' branches. Tail. Left again. Large 'nough for three t'walk abreast. He could see her now, just ahead of him, head down and double-timin' it down this long sidestreet, headin' for the border. The territory's border.
She not cleared to work it or somethin'? Gods.
"But I ain't askin' ye to bare y'throat anymore than I'm barin' m'own for the Syndicate... and the coin? I'm good for it, honest t'Nald, I am."
Takin' a right again. Short alley again.
"The Ghost's a myth, aye... but the man's not."
A left. Two abreast, here.
Bloody hells, these are getting tighter. I'm small, but I'm not that small!
"Must've been a man, what with closin' down the whole ruttin' city. No one in, no one out? For four moons? Don't tell me that don't stink o' rotten fisheyes."
Right. Alley. One across.
"What I need, the 'strom has on paper. All I need is the man's names, Kink."
His names. My names. Which ones do they have? Which ones are still safe?
The next turn brought him to a dead end. No doors, no windows, no gutters or drops or sidestreets, no nothin'.
The Keeper was gone.
He put his back to the slick oily wetness of a marble wall and slid down 'til his ass 'n' his duffel hit the stone floor, resting his elbows on his knees. Once, twice, three times he rapped the back of his head against the marble.
"Jus' his names."
Do they have them? All of them?
Do they have the only one that matters?
He broke into a brisk walk and made for the end of the sidestreet.
"Aight, I was more'n a mite unkind, what with keel-"
He rounded the turn to find another T-shaped intersection, not five fulms ahead of him; he rounded the turn just in time to catch the end of a tail slip the far corner off to the left. He scowled and went after her.
"...keelhaulin' ye, and f'that, I'm sorry."
Turn. Another intersection, another couple o' branches. Tail. Left again. Large 'nough for three t'walk abreast. He could see her now, just ahead of him, head down and double-timin' it down this long sidestreet, headin' for the border. The territory's border.
She not cleared to work it or somethin'? Gods.
"But I ain't askin' ye to bare y'throat anymore than I'm barin' m'own for the Syndicate... and the coin? I'm good for it, honest t'Nald, I am."
Takin' a right again. Short alley again.
"The Ghost's a myth, aye... but the man's not."
A left. Two abreast, here.
Bloody hells, these are getting tighter. I'm small, but I'm not that small!
"Must've been a man, what with closin' down the whole ruttin' city. No one in, no one out? For four moons? Don't tell me that don't stink o' rotten fisheyes."
Right. Alley. One across.
"What I need, the 'strom has on paper. All I need is the man's names, Kink."
His names. My names. Which ones do they have? Which ones are still safe?
The next turn brought him to a dead end. No doors, no windows, no gutters or drops or sidestreets, no nothin'.
The Keeper was gone.
He put his back to the slick oily wetness of a marble wall and slid down 'til his ass 'n' his duffel hit the stone floor, resting his elbows on his knees. Once, twice, three times he rapped the back of his head against the marble.
"Jus' his names."
Do they have them? All of them?
Do they have the only one that matters?
![[Image: 1qVSsTp.png]](http://i.imgur.com/1qVSsTp.png)
