The fat man had taken the Creditor’s Note and, after holding it up to the light and tasting a corner of the paper with the tip of his tongue, nodded and grinned widely. He clapped his hands in a strange rhythm that was echoed from behind the stage. A door, concealed within the panelling of the wall, opened and another slim young girl appeared, dressed in a white robe and carrying a covered tray. Sim stared like a dog on point.

“Aesh welcomes you into his house. He is home to you, and bids you take your ease,” the fat man said while grinning evilly at the men. Miter grinned back with the same near-rictus. The girl walked slowly towards them and the fat man removed the cloth covering the tray without looking at her. On the tray were four cups, a pot of the smoky smelling tea, a long stemmed pipe, and a covered brasswork bowl. “Aesh trusts that this is to your… satisfaction?”

Miter delicately extended his hand and reached over the tray to pluck the lid from the brasswork bowl. Inside was a small mound of oily crystals, like sugar rock dipped in syrup. Sim hissed venomously beside him, and the fat man laughed, his belly and beard shaking. Miter took the tray and bowed his head to the fat man. Then, kicking Sim gently in the foot to prod him along, Miter carried the tray to a table with empty seats facing each other. Sim sat opposite him, and took the pipe while Miter poured tea.

As Sim slotted one of the oily crystals into the pipe and lit it from the lamp on the table, the drummer girl struck up a rhythm similar to that which the fat man had clapped to summon the serving girl. Sim sucked deeply and passed the pipe Miter, which seemed to be the cue for the tori player. Finishing the pipe, the two men held their pora tea and stared distantly into space.

For Sim, this was the hardest moment, holding Aesh without the release that it seemed to give Miter. Miter could shut his eyes and smile, listening to the music that now sounded so natural, so tantalizingly peaceful. Sim knew he could never close his eyes. Not now. Maybe when the pora tea had cooled enough to drink, but never before then. For now, he glowered at the performing girls, occasionally licking his lips with the tip of his too dry tongue. Miter watched his friend, and considered gesturing for another crystal, but decided against it. Sim could never seem to find release, not properly, and an overdose was a poor substitute. Seeing them set the pipe aside and cover the bowl again, the serving girl glided over and knelt by their table. Miter nodded with a grin while Sim glared at her, and she rose gracefully before taking the tray with the brasswork bowl, pipe, teapot, and two of the cups.

Soon, the song had changed and the room was full of red and blue light, shining from all around them. Distantly, as if echoing through water, Miter was aware of a loud knocking at the door they’d entered through. He could feel the sweet release building as he let his body drift on the notes of the tori. Sim seemed troubled, or more troubled than usual. Miter tried to focus, and then Sim was standing, leaping onto the table. Miter focused on Sim’s rage twisted face, tried to hear what he’d shouted. He thought it might be “She was just a girl,” but he couldn’t be sure.

Then the rest of his senses started clamouring for his attention at once. There’d been an explosion, from behind him, towards the door to the alley. Sim was running that way. Miter spun up from his seat, reflexes enhanced even while his senses were struggling to come to grips with what was happening around him. The other patrons of the Aesh den were diving for cover, he saw. Three men had entered the foyer, long leather coats, low brimmed hats; one held a smoking Dragoon in his hands. Miter tried to fly over the intervening table, drawing his own Dragoon. Sim was tunnelling through the earth, his Repeater out and levelled.

Sim bellowed, but Miter wouldn’t hear it for a few seconds at least. He knew what his friend was saying, however. Street Rangers, vigilantes or raiders – it didn’t matter which. They’d picked the wrong den tonight. That was all that mattered. Miter just hoped it was the rangers, not he and Sim, who’d picked the wrong Aesh den tonight. Miter heard Sim’s roar of ‘raiders’ as he saw the first flash of light from his Repeater. Miter flew level with Sim and reached forward, over his friend’s kneeling head. His Dragoon barked, and the mix of shot scoured the wall on either side of the doorway. The recoil was too much for his current condition, and Miter saw the ceiling with his back on the floor. Sim was standing over him, shouting at him.

“Patience, Sim,” he wheezed. Sim’s lips moved briefly, two crisp, sharp words.

“Get up, through the back door! There’s another way out! Knights are coming.”

“Help me up, Sim!”

Sim reached down without a word, and pulled Miter to his feet as Miter heard Sim say “Mage’s Luck!” with a hint of cotton and fine parchment to the words.

They were not the only patrons rushing for the door, but the fat man intended to deny all of them a chance at freedom. He was swinging the door closed as Sim charged it and shouldered the door inwards, splintering the hinges free of the frame. Miter started to laugh as he realized Sim had found his own form of release this night. Sim smashed the fan man’s nose with the handle of his Repeater, and pulled Miter through the concealed basement in search of stairs for the house that must be above.