Page 82 of Bull Moon Rising

The man waves us forward, taking us to the last of the four holes open in his quarry area. We walk past the other three and I lean overone, but it’s too dark to see anything inside except the rope and pulley leading down. “Thirteen is just a bold choice is all,” he says. “Unlucky number thirteen.”

“Why is it unlucky?” she prompts.

“Because no one finds fuck all at Drop Thirteen,” the man says helpfully.

We all turn to stare at Magpie. “Why did we pick it if it’s notoriously bereft of artifacts?” I ask.

“Because you’re fledglings and it’s most important that you get practice? Calm down.” She lifts her chin at the attendant. “Show us to our basket. We’re late already.”

He pulls it from its anchored tether at the side of the hole that must be Drop Thirteen. There’s a bit of rock skittering in as he drags the basket forward. Magpie steps forward and helps him steer it over the large, gaping hole the size of a well. I watch them work, a little fascinated and a lot alarmed.

Gwenna leans toward me. “She might have a good feeling about things, but I don’t. You think she picked this one because she doesn’t expect us to find anything? That it’s just an excuse to look busy?”

I glance over at our leader. She’s climbing into the basket and adjusting the ropes with a skill that speaks of years of practice. “Why would she go to all that trouble?”

“Just to get away from Hawk judging her for a few days? You know he’s not happy with her.”

“I think Hawk isn’t happy with anyone.” I can’t help but think of that night in the alley. How he’d grabbed my jaw and made me watch. How he’d flung me away from him afterward like I was garbage and then immediately abandoned me when we got home. It made me feel small and dirty and unwanted.

“Mmm, I don’t know about that. I’ve seen the way he watches you. If he’s not into you, he’s fooling us all.”

Her words make me flush. “Let’s focus on Magpie.” Because talking about her doesn’t make my belly flutter. “You think she’s setting us up? That she doesn’t want us to find anything?”

Gwenna shrugs, her gaze locked on Mereden and Kipp as they climbinto the basket. The slitherskin is agile as he trots in, his shell bouncing merrily, but Mereden looks terrified as she peeks over the edge. “All I’m saying is that the simple answer to weird behavior is the likely answer.”

“And what’s the simple answer?”

“That she’s drinking again.”

“She swore she’d stop,” I protest. “She wouldn’t.”

“Promises are easy,” Gwenna says with a shrug. “Come on. I think it’s our turn to get into the basket.”

I want to continue arguing, but then Lark steps into the basket and the entire thing sways, banging against the lip of the hole and sending a scatter of pebbles down into the darkness. Mereden squeals in distress, clinging to Kipp’s house…and knocking poor Kipp flat onto his belly. Lark topples on top of him, and Magpie nearly falls over as well.

“Hold on to the basket,” Magpie barks, and the next few moments are chaos as everyone rights themselves. The basket sways above the hole dangerously, the basket handler clinging to the rope on the other side of the pulley and frowning mightily at us. “You two, quit whispering and get on. The sooner we descend, the sooner we can make some coin.”

Her words cheer me up. Maybe she wants this to go well after all. Gwenna’s just imagining things. I move forward, climbing into the basket and clutching at the side when it sways crazily. “Oh gods!”

“You get used to the movement,” Magpie says. “You just need practice.”

Gwenna is the last to get on board and clings to me as she squeezes in. The basket is full, and Mereden’s pack is pressing into my side even as Gwenna holds on to me. We’re packed like salted fish in a barrel, and it’s a good thing that teams are Fives, or else they’d need bigger baskets. I imagine a basket with Hawk’s hulking form in it, and imagine pressing up against him, and my stomach flutters again.

“Ready to go?” the basket handler calls.

“Send us down,” Magpie calls back, slapping the side of the basket. “We’ll let you know when we’re ready to come up.”

The basket jerks and we all give a little scream. Well, except Magpie, who just laughs at us. Then it begins to lower slowly, and again, I feel like I’m being sent down a well. I crane my head (even as I cling to theside of the basket) and eye our leader. “So how does this work? How do we get back up?”

“Someone always monitors the basket lines,” she says. “Rain or shine, morning or night. We run one of our flags up the rope and they’ll send a basket back down for us.”

It sounds like an imprecise system and I have a million questions. Like, what happens if we can’t send the flag up? What happens if a rope breaks? What happens if we’re down here too long? Magpie’s short with her answers and dismissive, as if she’s bored already. I’ll have to ask Hawk when I see him again.

If he doesn’t hate me, that is. If he feels like talking to me after our alley incident.

Then again, I’m his wife. He’ll have to at least talk to me to say “I want a divorce” even if he doesn’t want to knot me anymore. My thighs tighten at the thought. Surely he’ll want at least that, right? Surely…

My mind blanks out as the basket lurches lower, and then faint lighting glimmers through the cave. As we go down, I see a pocket watch hanging on a nail, the face of it glowing bright and lighting the cave. Farther down, there’s a teacup hanging by the handle, also glowing. More scattered objects light the way down, artifacts that have been determined to be useless except for their ability to light the well of the cavern, and I want to grab each one and examine it to see the glyphs. What symbols did they use for the magic? Are they Late Prellian or Early? Why would you want a teacup to glow with the brightness of the sun?

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