Page 19 of Foul Days

“Kosara!” someone shouted.

Kosara recognised his voice. Sevar shoved his way through the crowd towards her. He stopped a few steps short, his eyes fixed on her, and his nostrils flared.

He’d grown older. The buttons of his shirt strained against his pot belly. His hair had started to turn white at his temples. Looking at him, Kosara realised how much she must have changed over the last half a decade, too.

“What are you doing here?” Sevar asked. And then, not giving her a chance to reply, “I don’t have the money. With the wedding and everything, you’ve picked a very bad time—”

“I don’t need your money,” Kosara said. She did. She needed money badly. But more than that, she needed answers. “I just want to talk.”

Nur let out a nervous laugh. “I’d better leave you to it.” She stepped backwards. “You seem to have a lot to talk about, and I have guests to greet.”

Sevar watched her disappear in the crowd. Then he turned to Kosara. “I’m so happy you finally crossed the Wall, you know. Just like you always dreamed.”

Don’t you dare.… “You have no idea what I dream of.”

He smiled a warm smile, and for a second, she remembered why she used to like him—but only for a second.

“Come on,” he said. “You used to always tell me about how once you’d escaped, you’d open a workshop on this side of the Wall. With soft carpets, crystal chandeliers, and a smoke machine, right? You’d only offer your services to a select clientele: you’d foretell big profits to rich magnates, and predict academic successes to young intellectuals, and promise tall, dark strangers to aristocratic ladies.…”

Kosara squirmed, listening to her young foolishness thrown back at her. It had only been after Sevar had left without her that she’d realised her problems weren’t tied to Chernograd. Escaping the city wouldn’t have helped her escape them.

“Never mind that,” Kosara said. “I’m looking for a man. A smuggler. He helped me cross the Wall. I’m wondering if you might know him.”

Sevar’s smile finally faltered. “Why would I know him?”

“You were friends with smugglers back in the day. I thought you might have heard something. He’s tall, scrawny, wears a necklace of witches’ shadows.”

Sevar’s eyes widened. He glanced down at the floor, where Kosara didn’t cast a shadow. “Oh, Kosara, I’m so sorry! I had no idea. I can’t believe I’ve been blabbering about your workshop, rubbing salt in the wound—”

“Do you know this man or not?” Kosara snapped. She couldn’t stand him pitying her.

Sevar ran his hand through his hair. “Listen, Kosara, I’m not that guy anymore. I don’t associate with smugglers. I’m getting married, Nur and I are thinking about starting a family, I don’t want any trouble.…”

Lies. Kosara had spotted the labels on the bottles of wine the guests were drinking—it was all Chernogradean. The cigarettes they smoked were thick and smelly: Chernogradean. The magazines on the living room table were Chernogradean. The books on the shelves? Chernogradean.

He was foolish to be so obvious about it. Smuggling was illegal.

But then, Sevar had always been like that. He used to get out of any trouble with a charming smile, and occasionally, a few banknotes slipped into the right hand. He was never afraid of the consequences because he never faced them. Of course he’d show off his smuggled goods in front of his Belogradean friends.

“Sevar, please,” Kosara said. “I need to find this man quickly. If you know anything at all, tell me.”

Sevar licked his lips. He realised how dire the situation was, she could see it in those big, deceptively honest eyes of his. He might have been a crook and a scam artist, but he wasn’t heartless.

“I don’t associate with smugglers anymore,” he said, “but back in the day, after I crossed the Wall—”

Using my savings.

“—I was here all alone—”

Because you abandoned me in Chernograd.

“—with no money, so I did a few odd jobs for someone. You know Konstantin Karaivanov?”

Kosara laughed. “Do I know Chernograd’s most famous smuggler? Who doesn’t?”

She’d done a few odd jobs for him herself. Living in Chernograd, it was difficult to avoid him.

“I thought you would. Konstantin had me deliver smuggled talismans and amulets to a swanky boutique on the Main Street. It’s called the Witch’s Cauldron.” Sevar saw her face and shrugged. “Tacky, I know. But that’s where all of Chernograd’s smuggled magic tends to end up once it crosses the Wall. If this guy has your shadow, I can’t imagine where else he’d try to pawn it.”

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