Angelfire | The Whispering Wall #3

Five: Relations

"What's that smell?"

Jordan jumped and caught his easel just before his elbow sent it crashing to the floor. With a foot he shoved his ashtray under the bed. "Hm?"

Nika stood in the doorway, demonstrating the unsettling skill of Unspoken to convey facial expressions with stance alone. He was frowning; slightly tense, halfway between one step and the next, with a distinct crackle of suspicion in the aura around him.

"I'm trying out some new spirits," Jordan said. He hoped Nika hadn't meant the blackweed. He'd been counting on Yddris chain-smoking his usual great billowing clouds in the front room to cover for him. "They're pretty grim, actually. I'm not buying these again."

He nudged the jar on the chest beside him, cloudy with paint and smelling sharp and unpleasant. Ren had gone into full protest and hadn't returned yet from her dramatic exit, though he'd heard her scrabbling about in the hall with one of her toys a moment ago. It was for the best, really; three times now he'd pulled a long black hair out of his painting.

"Wise, perhaps," Nika said. "They smell borderline explosive."

"They're flammable." Jordan peered at the jar again. "Not explosive, I don't think."

"It's a good job Yddris is in there, then," Nika said. Jordan wondered if he sounded a mite cooler. "Dropping cigarette ash in it would be rather disastrous, wouldn't it? And entirely preventable."

"Erm...yeah."

They looked at each other for a moment. Nika was the one to break the stalemate. "I was wondering if you'd help me carry back some shopping before your meeting with Harkenn. I need to buy an ale keg and won't have spare hands."

"What for?" Jordan rinsed his brush out and capped the spirit jar. His back ached in protest as he stood up, several parts of his spine clicking in succession.

"A few more Guild members are dropping by later. Henrik wasn't the only one to arrive recently, and Yddris is about the only one of us with a permanent address."

"Not by choice," came the disgruntled reply from the front room. A moment later the Unspoken stumped into the hall behind Nika. "Don't be back too late, will you? Harkenn's in a dark mood on good days at the moment."

Jordan was not unfamiliar with this news. Every week he reported to Lord Harkenn, for Yddris to update on his progress and for him to give a report on the Devils' movements, or lack thereof. After the poisoning had sapped most of his strength, Harkenn's moods were at best bleak and at worst dangerous. He was improving steadily under Nika's careful attendance, but it was not nearly as fast as he would have liked, and everyone else was taking the flak for it.

"It won't be long," Nika said, somewhat clipped. "I put the order in for everything yesterday, it just needs picking up."

Yddris nodded. "Sounds like you've got it under control." A pause where they all looked at each other, and then Yddris grunted. "Have fun. I'm going for a shit."

"You're a pig, Yddris," Nika muttered.

"It's my house."

"I'm not talking about where you're going, no one needs to know that you're going. Night take me."

They stalked off in opposite directions, Jordan holding back a snort of laughter.

Nika was stuffing things into a satchel with a ferocity the task didn't warrant by the time Jordan had put on his cloak and boots and joined him. He didn't like to wear his Unspoken cloak all the time, especially not while he was working on something – it was restrictive, for one, and just asking for a difficult cleaning job later down the line, but also because his art was the only thing in the world that he could lose himself in completely. When he painted or drew, he wasn't the Unspoken apprentice or the assassin's student; it was just him and the work. The work couldn't judge him. He didn't think about all the many stressors in his life while he did it. It was just him, and the paper, and solitude.