Page 143 of Anathema

“There are rumblings in The Hovel that Cadavros will return. The Nilivir believe he’s going to deliver them from their miserable lives.”

“How so?”

Oswin took another long sip of his ale and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “By giving them the power of sablefyre.”

Frowning, Zevander drowned his thoughts in another swill of his drink. “Sablefyre is dangerous. It causes horrible deformities.”

“In those with magic. Nilivir have no magic. They have no control over it, either, so it doesn’t bode well, anyway. Not when there are mages who know how to wield the flame. And Cadavros was the worst of them.” Oswin would’ve been alive during the years when Cadavros posed a threat to the crown.

“Any idea who’s behind the uprising?”

“I thought it to be The Mad Mage, but as I understand, he was put down like a lame dog.”

Not exactly, but Zevander didn’t bother to correct him. “And when do they believe he’s due to return?”

“I don’t even think they know.” Shaking his head, he tipped back his tankard for a guzzle. “Costelwick is going to shit. Between the uprising and the murder of sexsells.”

Zevander’s eye twitched with the stupifying news. “There’s been another murder?”

“Earlier tonight, yep.”

“What happened?”

Oswin shrugged and shook his head. “Don’t know the details. I only know that the brothels have become mighty stingy about time. No more than a quick fuck is all you get these days.” He gestured to himself. “A virile stallion like me needs a good hour. Maybe two.”

Zevander snorted, and when he glanced away, he noticed a pale, skinny boy hiding beneath one of the adjacent tables. As the man sitting there flirted with the barmaid, the boy reached a bony arm around the edge of the table, dumping a crystalline powder into the man’s tankard. When the kid crawled out, he and Zevander made eye contact.

Gavroche.

Frowning, Zevander plopped down a coin for his ale and, after saying a quick goodbye to Oswin, followed the kid, who scampered out of the tavern.

“Hey!” Zevander called out to him. “Gavroche!” When the boy didn’t bother to stop, he added, “Is that how you treat those who save your scrawny hide?”

The boy slowed his steps and huffed, allowing Zevander to catch up.

“What is the powder?”

Gavroche glanced toward the tavern and back. “Dindleweed.”

Dindleweed? It was given to the poor old bastards who could no longer get a proper erection. A powerful aphrodisiac that gave men, in particular, certain urges.

“What are you doing with Dindleweed?”

“Bringing business to Madame Lazarine.”

Zevander crossed his arms. “You’re still staying at the brothel?”

The boy nodded. “I take care of the linens and draw in the patrons, and she lets me stay in the cellar.”

“Does she now.” A loud clatter from behind had Zevander turning.

The man who’d been flirting with the barmaid spilled outside, cupping his groin as he strode quickly for his horse tied up out front. Once astride the beast, he cantered in the direction of The Hovel.

Zevander snorted. “You know anything about the sexsell that was murdered earlier? How she may have died?”

Gavroche shrugged. “Flammapul, I think. Madame Lazarine is pretty flustered over it.”

“I want you to do something for me, Gavroche.” The Letalisz unclasped a satchel at his hip and pulled out the vial of vivicantem the king had just given him. When he held it in front of Gavroche, the boy’s eyes widened. “I want you to be eyes and ears for me. In the tavern and brothel. You hear anything about the sexsells and who might be hurting them, you don’t tell anyone but me. Can you do that?”

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