Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1

Sixty Two: A Name

"What's ei... eide?" Jordan spelled it out cautiously, certain he was saying it wrong, but Darin seemed to know what he meant.

"A quote," he said flatly, "as in a monetary quote." He cleared his throat. "This is probably a good moment to tell you that I've been expressly forbidden from knowing the contents of that note on pain of a thorough beating-up in a dark alley. So don't tell me what it says."

Jordan swallowed. "Right."

He frowned. Arlen's crossbow wound had looked bad; he could only gather from the few words he'd singled out that what he really wanted was either quotes for a doctor to remove the leg, or quotes for something to replace the leg. He would have to look in two very different places for each, and neither would be easy without raising questions.

He experienced a moment of dizzying unreality. Not only was he irreversibly tied up with an assassin, but he was now that assassin's errand boy, without ever having explicitly agreed to anything.

"I don't understand why I have to do it," he muttered. Surely Arlen had friends who, for a start, knew what he wanted. Unless the situation was dire – and if that was the case, how would Arlen force his hand?

"He thought you'd say that. He wants me to tell you that whoever he sends to fetch your results will be reason enough." Darin looked at the floor, then eyed Jordan from under his brows. "My bet would be on that big Varthian thug he keeps on a short leash. You met him?"

Not Usk, Jordan groaned inwardly. The man looked as though he could crush skulls by pinching them hard enough. "I have."

"Mm." Darin swallowed. "Got yourself in deep here, kid, and no mistake."

"Tell me about it," Jordan mumbled around the ache in his throat. His hands were shaking, and he hoped Darin hadn't noticed. "How'd you know the other bloke?"

"He tries to keep me out of his business," Darin said. "I suspect I don't know the half of what he gets up to. But there are some things you have to make sure you know, like which murderous sons of the Pit he hangs around with."

"Makes sense."

They both fidgeted, trying not to look each other in the face. Jordan watched Darin's feet out of the corner of his eye, waiting for them to move towards the door, but they stayed hovering there. He waited; clearly Darin wanted to say something else, and he couldn't help but get nervous about what it might be. There was nothing he could think of to say that would be appropriate to fill the gap, and no way in existence that he could convince Darin he was harmless. Because I'm not, and we both know it.

"You should change your name," Darin said abruptly.

"Eh?"

"Just my advice," Darin continued. "You'll need a name for dealing with them for similar reasons you'll need a name for being Unspoken. Keeps them separate. For you as well as everyone else. And pick one before you meet too many more people who would happily use your identity against you."

He turned and walked out, as abruptly as he'd come in, without giving Jordan a chance to respond. He'd heard the front door close before he'd gathered the wits to move. He looked at the note again, and when he heard voices in the hall, shoved it in his pocket in a bolt of panic.

Koen paused as he rounded the corner. "He gone already?"

"Just left," Jordan croaked, and had to try again when his voice vanished. The Unspoken behind Koen was Nika, he realised, and grabbed onto the distraction with both hands. "How are you doing?"

"Been a lot better." Nika chuckled, but it was half-hearted at best. "How about you?"

Jordan shrugged noncommittally, mostly because he couldn't even gather enough fake enthusiasm to lie. "Is...is Ortin here?"