Requiem

The sky beyond the window had thickened with clouds. From the clock on the wall a little bird sprang out, cutting the pub’s drowsy silence in two. Distant rumbles of thunder rolled outside; inside, everything felt sleepy and smelled of wet wood. A thin, bent man was busily dragging a mop across the floorboards, washing away the remnants of a rowdy night. Muttering to himself, he shuffled unwillingly between the spread wooden tables. Behind the bar stood a broad man with a long grey beard. Anna skirted the puddles on the floor with a look of disgust and approached the innkeeper. “Bit early,” the man clicked his tongue. His large hands rested on his belt beneath the rounded bulge of his stomach and the sagging linen shirt. “What do you want? No drinkin’ here. They drained us dry last night.” His words were tired, as if he still hadn’t woken properly. A quiet chuckle escaped Anna. She leaned on the counter and glanced furtively at the stairway leading to the rooms above. “Is the glowbug here?” she asked softly. “Aye,” the man said, lifting his shaggy brows and pointing to the stairs. “Number five, like always.” He let out a short, reluctant laugh. “He’s usually merry in there.” Anna forced a smile, puzzled, and made for the stair. “Fifth?” “Right. And tell him it’s time to pay!” the man called after her, wagging a finger as she creaked up the steps. “All right!” The second floor was a good deal smaller than the ground: a narrow corridor and a handful of doors leading to cramped rooms and a storeroom. As she walked past the numbered doors, Anna’s eyes hopped from one digit to another. She’d been here before many times, but the numbering was chaotic, following no reason she could see, and she never quite managed to remember which door belonged to whom. “Theo?” she called, rapping lightly at first. No answer. Anna’s hand went for the handle and she pushed the door open. She froze at the sight. Theo was sprawled in the bed, tangled and unkempt; on the floor, a scantily dressed girl lay as if drained of life. Both seemed halfway between sleep and somewhere far away. Stepping over scattered clothes, Anna bent over the girl. Cigarette butts and wrappers were twined in her light-brown hair; she didn’t look merely tired — she looked leeched, as though someone had sucked the energy from her. “Merlin…” Anna sighed, scooping the girl under her arm and trying to rouse her. “Morning. Time to get up, come on.” The girl mumbled something indistinct, forcing her eyes open. She swatted Anna’s hand away and, almost by habit learned from a lifetime of bad mornings, hauled herself upright. Theo, stirred by the commotion, rolled toward the edge of the bed. “Sorry, are you really—” “Back off,” the girl grumbled, cutting Anna off mid-sentence. Wrapped in a faded, flowery blanket gone dull with time, she shuffled from the room. Anna stood in the middle of the floor in stunned dismay, her gaze shifting from the girl to the now-awake Theo. “Morning,” the boy crooned, half-song, half-apology. His eyelids were heavy with sleep and his puffy face proved the innkeeper had not been exaggerating — his night had indeed been lively. “What’s this?” Anna picked up a little roll from the table: a thin scrap of parchment, twisted like a cigarette. “Oh no…” Theo rolled his eyes and turned onto his other side. She cracked the roll carefully and emptied its contents into her palm. A brilliant yellow dust sifted over her hand. Bringing her hand to her nose, Anna breathed in. The dust smelled earthy with a floral undernote — an odor once learnt could never be forgotten. Arachna’s Dreams — the lightest of indulgences in the Lower City. Spider Orchids were supposedly grown in the underground, and their pollen could do odd things. Harmless-looking flowers had driven more than one wizard mad; the pollen plunged a person into an aware, as herbalists liked to say, “sleep.” “Filth,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Is this Arachna pollen? Don’t tell me you’ve got a weepstone or silverleaf stashed here too.” She flicked the dust and the remnants into a mug on the table. “Cut it out. I mean it. Do you want to end up in a ditch on the outskirts?” Theo gave a long groan and buried his head under a pillow. “Anna—” he whined, not calming. “That won’t save you,” she said, rubbing her hands on her robe’s hem to remove the pollen. “Actually, I’ve come on business.” Anna turned toward the little window, tucking herself between wall and table in the cramped room. Theo heaved himself up reluctantly and fumbled for his trousers. A roll of thunder shook the frail walls; rain began to lash the streets outside. “So...what’s up?” Theo grunted as he dressed, squinting at the outline of his friend. He pushed a stool free from under the table with his foot and sat down. “Remember the farm down south?” Anna turned to him and perched on the edge of the table. Theo thumped his hands down on his knees. “You’re not even going to ask how I’m doing?” Silence hung for a moment. Anna inclined her head and fixed him with a serious look. After a pause, Theo surrendered and launched into talk. “All right! I remember. What about it?” A smile flitted across Anna’s face. She settled more comfortably on the table edge and nudged aside empty plates and the mug that still smelled faintly of pollen. “It’s not exactly the farm,” she said. “You remember Lockford? Know where he is?” Theo went quiet. His brown eyes narrowed and he pushed his curl back from his face with a practiced little flourish. “Not sure. Aren’t dragons finished?” he asked. “Not quite,” she shook her head. “So what then? After the farm was burned, half the slums turned themselves inside out. They say they’re looking for the culprits. A mate of mine from those parts says Lockford vanished. Packed up and scarpered.” Theo waggled two fingers in the air. At the thought of Lockford’s tricks, Anna felt a prickle of unease. Theo stood, feeling in his pockets until he found his wand beneath his belt, and pointed toward the door. “Why are they sure the thieves came from the Lower City? Do you think they actually know something?” Anna slid off the table and followed Theo. The thought of everyone being rounded up tightened something in her chest. “I think they just blame us for everything,” Theo said, opening the door and gesturing for her to go out ahead. “To be honest… fair enough. They're just afraid the dregs will bunch together and give them a good walloping. They’ll kick up a fuss, then calm down. Don’t worry,” he patted her shoulder as they headed for the stairs. “Isn’t that what’s happening?” Anna stopped at the top of the stair and turned to Theo, blocking his way. “Maybe. Maybe not. Nobody here likes—” His sentence cut off as the floorboards behind Anna creaked. Both she and Theo pressed against the wall to let a soaking-wet wizard pass. Meeting Theo’s wary look, Anna shivered. “Come on,” he said, slipping an arm through hers and guiding her down. The steps groaned under their weight and deposited them on the pub’s ground floor. The man who’d been mopping sat at a table with the innkeeper, both happily chewing on meat with their hands, paying no mind to cutlery. Theo released Anna’s hand and joined them at the table. “How’s it, Bertie?” he asked without affectation, flashing a broad grin at the two grease-streaked men. Anna leaned against the table behind him and watched. She had no appetite for sitting down amid oil-stained cutlery and greasy scraps. Bertie, the pub-owner, set a gnawed bone on the table and slowly wiped his filthy hands on a towel. “Pay up and then we can talk, glowbug,” Bertie smacked his lips, fussing with his untidy moustache. “This ain’t a charity. We and Cody don’t do charity.” He jabbed a pudgy finger at the thin fellow who’d been scrubbing the floor; the man didn’t even pause his chewing. “Bertie,” Theo laughed, tapping the wizard lightly on the shoulder with his fist. “Relax. I’ll settle up tonight.” Bertie shrugged and flung the towel over his shoulder. He pushed himself up with a grunt so that his belly nudged a plate to the table’s edge. Theo leaned back and glanced at Anna. Catching her eye, he winked with his usual careless charm. “Stop it,” Anna hissed, giving him a sharp nudge with her knee. The innkeeper plunked a stack of flyers on the table with a clatter. “Seen these yet?” he asked, flicking one toward the pair. Theo and Anna glanced at each other. The boy didn’t move; Anna stepped forward and took the paper from Bertie. Her fingers brushed the cheap parchment with its brazen ink. The words made her feel both uneasy and strangely energized.

“For those who crave freedom,” the headline read in dark brown strokes.

“They forgot you. Power is for the chosen few. We offer a New Order.”

Beneath the slogan, a clenched fist had been stamped in deep blue ink. A tiny line at the bottom gave the place and time for a meeting. Something tightened in Anna’s chest as she looked up at Bertie. “Where did these come from?” she asked, turning to Theo. He leaned over the bar, intrigued by the note in her voice. “Dropped off this morning,” Bertie said, leaning on the table until the wood groaned. The three of them regarded the loud slogan in silence, each hesitant to say too much. An awkward hush settled over the room, mingling with the scrunching sounds of the cleaner. Theo grabbed another flyer, folded it into quarters, and shoved it into his trouser pocket. “Anna,” he said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder and giving her a buoyant smile. “We’ll see each other later, yeah?” “Yeah? Of course,” she murmured, sharing a look between him and Bertie, and mirrored his movement, she slipped the folded leaflet into the inner pocket of her robe. Theo squeezed her shoulder once more and hurried for the door. “Nearly forgot,” the man behind the bar called, and Anna, waiting until Theo’s figure disappeared, blinked a silent question at Bertie. The innkeeper shuffled to the lower cabinet with a grunt and produced a small cloth pouch tied with a leather thong. He slid it across the table toward her while glancing over his shoulder at the cleaner. Anna’s face brightened conspiratorially as she tucked the weighty gift into her hands. She flipped it lightly — there were probably at least twenty silver coins. A broader grin spread over her face; the pocket of her robe grew notably heavier, and the clink of coin in her palm warmed her like a secret. Bertie rocked back on his heels with the same satisfied smirk shared by conspirators. But the moment was short-lived. His shaggy brows knitted into a frown and his finger jabbed toward the flyers again. “Don’t go alone,” he said, suddenly serious. The warm little glow of joy dimmed. Anna drew a deep breath, fighting the knot in her chest. Something churned between her ribs—change was happening and no one could say what it would bring. Finding the right words, she forced a thin, weary smile and nodded. “I won’t,” she whispered. Bertie held her gaze, suspicious and unconvinced, then waved a hand as if to shoo the doubt away. “Tell me how it went, later,” he grunted. Anna stepped back a few paces with the same smile she’d worn before. “Yes, sir,” she said, and fluttered her hand. Approaching the door, she felt for the wand tucked into her robe pocket. “Enjoy your meal!” she called, pressing the wand to her chest and tipping her head in mock-formality as she passed the still-eating cleaner. Outside, the rain struck her in a pageant of cold drops. She raised her wand and magic rose effortlessly from its tip to form an invisible dome over her head, warding off the worst of the downpour. The road home had never seemed faster: the damp that bit to the bone was fuel to hurry her along to the warmth of a hearth. Only the thunder startled her into a quick flinch now and then. Red posters with the clenched fist reappeared on damp walls and peeling posts; it was pointless to read the slogans again and again — those words had already implanted themselves somewhere deeper than she liked. Reaching her threshold, she finally breathed out. Whether a ritual or habit, she always felt the air inside this house cleaner somehow; breathing was easier. The relief didn’t last long. The rain’s noise followed her past the shut door. Her eyes widened and her fingers tightened on the wand. Every nerve in her body went taut as a live wire. Holding her breath, Anna moved silently down the corridor. She listened to every shuffle and creak. Her wand was ready; its tip shone faintly with pale magic. One step. Another. A turn. Her hand rose and the wand pointed at the heart of the sitting-room. Expectation knotted her stomach — imagination had run away with her mind — but life was more ironic. Her imagined enemy turned out to be an open window, through which rain was boldly pouring in, spattering the floor like tears. Anna froze, and her body relaxed instantly. Her heart, that had been hammering a moment before, stopped entirely. She slid the wand back into her pocket. Pushing a sodden curtain aside, she closed the squeaking window and forced it hard into its frame. Only when a false calm washed through her did a voice come from behind. “Been to see Theo?” Like a startled hare, she jumped and spun. Antonin stood in the corridor, rolling a wand between his fingers. Shadows fell across his face, somehow carving a grim expression—or perhaps her excited mind painted it so. Anna did not answer straightaway. Her eyes dropped to the floor near the window, dotted with damp spots. Slowly she unfastened her mantle. A small pouch of coins, the book and the leaflet thudded onto the little table; the cloak slid to the arm of the sofa. Her hands felt clumsy and something prickled unpleasantly in her chest. “Yes,” she said, sinking onto the sofa and undoing the tie on the money pouch. Antonin sat beside her, elbows on his knees, watching every movement. “He give it?” he nodded toward the silver coins on the table. “No. Bertie paid...for last month,” Anna answered, counting and shifting the coins from one pile to another. “And this?” Antonin held the book Kane had given her. He turned it over in his hands with little interest and skimmed a few pages. “I…” Anna hesitated, glancing from the book back to Antonin’s face. “I borrowed it from the library.” She didn’t want to admit the book’s origin. The lie slid from her lips in a tense, timid tumble of words. Her hand reached for the Divination text and, to her surprise, Antonin let her keep it. His gaze lingered on the cover longer than seemed necessary. The Ten Peculiarities of Divination lay on the table. The room hummed with a strained silence. At least she thought so. Antonin watched her closely, catching the slight tremor in her fingers and how she deliberately avoided looking him in the eye. “Anna,” he said, and his name came out astonishingly soft. His palm rested lightly on her back and she flinched. Her eyes still scorched the book upon the table. It felt as if the world around her were blurred by rain, all colours mixed into one large, dirty stain. Her long, pale fingers picked at the edge of her jumper. “You just...scared me out of shitness,” she whispered, turning her head toward Antonin but looking away from him as before. His hand moved gently — skilful, firm strokes down between her shoulder blades — and for a while they sank into silence again. He edged closer, as if searching for the right words; nothing seemed to fit. “Next time I’ll conjure a bell before I sneak up on you,” he offered with an awkward smile that somehow didn’t belong to him. The thin laugh that followed his misplaced attempt at levity broke the stillness. Anna pressed her lips into a forced little smile and stole a sideways look. “Antonin,” she heard him say her name and he leaned in. Slowly, unobtrusively, giving her the illusion of control, she pulled the folded leaflet from beneath the book. “Have you seen this?” He watched as she unfolded the propaganda. His palm slid down from her back to her waist and Antonin let out a long, heavy breath. “We need to talk about this,” the gentleness in his voice vanished, replaced by gravity. His eyes said more than the phrase — she already knew, not what would happen at that meeting, but that she could not choose to stay away.