Warbreaker

Chapter 54

“What’s the word on the street, Tuft?” Vivenna asked, sidling up to a beggar.

He snorted, holding out his cup to those few who passed in the early light. Tuft was always one of the first to arrive in the mornings. “Why do I care?” he said.

“Come on,” Vivenna said. “You kicked me out of this spot on three different occasions. I figure you owe me something.”

“I don’t owe nobody nothing,” he said, squinting at the passers by with his one eye. The other eye was simply an empty hole. He didn’t wear a patch. “Particularly don’t owe you nothing,” he said. “You were a plant all the time. Not a real beggar.”

“I . . .” Vivenna paused. “I wasn’t a plant, Tuft. I just thought I should know what it was like.”

“Huh?”

“Living among you,” she said. “I figured your life couldn’t be easy. But I couldn’t know—not really know—until I tried it for myself. So I came to the streets. Determined to live here for a time.”

“Foolish thing to do.”

“No,” she said. “The fools are those who pass, without even thinking about what it must be like to live like you. Maybe if they knew, they’d give you something.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out one of the bright handkerchiefs. She placed one in the cup. “I don’t have any coins, but I know you can sell that.”

He grunted, eyeing it. “What do you mean by word on the street?”

“Disturbances,” Vivenna said. “Ones that are out of the ordinary. Perhaps involving Awakeners.”

“Go to the Third Dock slums,” Tuft said. “Look around the buildings near the wharf. Maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for there.”

Light peeked through the window.

Morning already? Vasher thought, head down, still hanging by his wrists.

He knew what to expect from torture. He was not new to it. He knew how to scream, how to give the torturer what he wanted. He knew how to not expend his strength in resisting too much.

He also knew that none of that was likely to do any good. How would he be after a week of torture? Blood dripped down his chest, staining his undershorts. A dozen small pains nagged at his skin, cuts that had been drenched in lemon juice.

Denth stood with his back facing Vasher, bloodied knives on the ground around him.

Vasher looked up, forcing a smile. “Not as much fun as you thought it would be, is it, Denth?”

Denth didn’t turn.

There’s still a good man in there, Vasher thought. Even after all these years.

He’s just been beaten down. Bloodied. Cut up worse than I have been.

“Torturing me won’t bring her back,” Vasher said.

Denth turned, eyes dark. “No. It won’t.” He picked up another knife.

The priests pushed Siri through the passageways of the palace. They occasionally passed corpses in the dark black hallways, and she could still hear fighting in places.

What is going on? Someone was attacking the palace. But who? For a moment, she hoped it was her people—her father’s soldiers, coming to save her. She discarded that immediately. The men opposing the priests were using Lifeless soldiers; that ruled out Idris.

It was someone else. A third force. And they wanted to free her from the grip of the priests. Hopefully, her calls for help would not go unheeded. Treledees and his men led her quickly through the palace, passing through the colorful inner rooms in their rush to get to wherever they were going.