Sam

  Sam awoke in the middle of the night with a terrible predicament.

  She needed to pee.

  Imagining that Mongrel would neither be useful nor particularly grateful if awoken before the crack of dawn, she fumbled herself into some clothes and a pair of unlaced boots and stomped off to find a place to do her business. The bedpan stored under the bed was out of the question.

  Surprisingly, she found lights still burning in the common room, which was only just now beginning to turn away patrons. A bull-necked Builder with tattoos covering every inch of his body helped along those refusing to leave with the business end of a leather-wrapped cudgel.

  Sam announced herself to the bouncer so that he would recognize her on the way in, and asked him where to find the nearest outhouse. Receiving some vague directions, she slipped out with the slow trickle of patrons out front of the building, then rounded it to find the outhouses in the back, indistinct shapes in the dark tucked close to the log palisade.

  One whiff of the booths once she got close was enough to convince her not to go inside. She had no idea what could produce such an ungodly stench, but she could only imagine that the outhouses had not been cleaned in a very long time.

  Whatever. I'll just find a nice patch of ground somewhere.

  Sam was coming around the side of The Three-Breasted Virgin when she saw a woman in the light of a window, hands clasped at her chest and back pressed against the next building over. Two large men were bearing down on her, making sexual advances so brazen they made even Sam's ears go hot.

  Sam did not need to deliberate whether to intervene—by the time her mind had processed that there was a choice to be made, her body was already moving.

  "Hey there, fellas!" Sam called as she jogged over, doing her best to keep her unlaced trousers up with one hand. "You ought to leave the lady alone. It doesn't look like she's buying whatever you're selling."

  The men turned toward her, one keeping a hand on the woman's shoulder. It was Apples, Sam realized, the serving girl she had spoken to earlier. Her eyes were wide with desperation, lashes dewy with sparkling tears.

  "Fuck off," said the man with both hands free, hawking a gob of thick mucus at the ground between Sam's boots as she came to a stop.

  "Sure," Sam replied, crossing her arms as she stared the ruffian down. He was powerfully built, but she had at least a few inches of height on him. "I'll leave if you do."

  "Look, pretty boy. You better learn to mind your own business, or you won't be so pretty much longer." He patted a shortsword hanging at his belt, evidently noting the lack of one on Sam's hip.

  "I've always been bad at minding my own business. Call it a personality flaw, I guess."

  "A fatal one," the second ruffian called over his shoulder, attention still fixed on the serving girl. "Go on, Karl—teach the fucker some manners."

  "I'd be right happy to," said the one named Karl. A moment later, he was showing steel, and Apples clamped her eyes shut, trembling with abject terror.

  Sam could not stop thinking about how she still really needed to pee.

  The man came at her, sword held before him point-first. She caught the lunging weapon by the blade and pried it out of his grip without much effort, tossing it behind her. He gaped at her for one long moment, then his face knotted up with rage and he charged at her, driving his shoulder into her gut and grabbing both her legs for a takedown.

  Sam sprawled her stance, digging the heel of her back leg into the earth as she was driven back. She kept her footing, stuffed the takedown, and wrapped an arm around the man's bowed neck, the back of his head caught in her armpit. Cinching a standing guillotine choke, she heard the man groan as blood flow to his brain was cut. He beat desperately against her to break free, but his attempts quickly weakened. In less than ten seconds, he went slack in her arms. She released him and let him topple onto his back with a heavy thump; limbs sprawled, eyes rolled back.

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  The second ruffian saw the way things were going and made to run. Sam caught up to him in a few steps, hauled him back by the collar.

  "Hold on there, mister," she said. "Isn't that your friend there?" She pointed at the man on the ground, just beginning to come to.

  "Yes?" the second ruffian replied, not sure what answer he was expected to give.

  "And you were just going to run away? That's no way to treat a friend. You're going to stay here and make sure he's all right, understood?"

  "Uh, sure?"

  "Good man." Sam shoved the second ruffian in the direction of his friend, then took Apples by the arm and began guiding her out of the alley. "And don't you go harassing any women in the future! I'm sure it's a lot more fun to get with someone who wants you back, don't you think?"

  She did not wait on a reply, leading the serving girl well away. She set her down on a bench outside what appeared to be a post office, in the failing light of a street lantern.

  "Thank you," Apples breathed, her normally rosy cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink. "You really saved me."

  "It was nothing."

  "It was something to me." She took one of Sam's hands in both of hers, cold and shaky. "Thank you, John."

  The name reminded Sam that her fake man voice had begun to slip, and she cleared her throat to reassert it. "Well, I'm glad I could help. Want me to walk you home?"

  "I'd hate to ask anything more of you, but… yes. That would be nice."

  Sam let the girl rest for a minute before they got moving, letting Apples take the lead as they went down the main street of the small town.

  "Does that sort of thing happen a lot?" Sam asked.

  "Sometimes," Apples admitted. "Usually Rasmus keeps an eye on me, but he's not always around."

  "Rasmus is the bouncer?"

  "Yeah. He's nice."

  A pair of guards on night patrol came the other way down the road and admonished them to be on their way quickly, since it was after curfew.

  "I'm sorry you've got to worry about that sort of thing," Sam said once they turned onto a smaller side street, leaving the lantern light of the main road behind for near-complete darkness aside from the barest touch of silvery moonlight. She wished there was something more she could offer the girl than condolences, but could not think of anything.

  "It is what it is," Apples replied, holding onto Sam's sleeve with two fingers like a small child not wanting to lose track of her mother. "I moved here from Sheerhome because they said folk were more civilized inland, but it seems all the same to me. Maybe I'd need to go further north, but I'm too weak to get there, and I haven't got the coin to sign on with a caravan." She held up her arm, showing four AP crystals and the sickle-and-sheaf mark of a Farmer.

  "That sounds really hard." Sam certainly had money to spare, but she wasn't sure how far it was wise to extend her generosity, given the need for secrecy, and she still hadn't decided one way or the other if she thought the serving girl was a plant or not. It seemed unlikely, but still…

  Her tummy grumbled unhappily. She'd always hated moral conundrums—they made her hungry.

  They stopped in front of Apples' tenement building, just a vague, blocky outline in the dark, but the girl was reluctant to let go of Sam's arm.

  "You're leaving in the morning, aren't you?" she asked.

  "Um, yes," Sam replied.

  "To Stormfront?"

  "Probably. Uh, maybe. We're not sure yet."

  "Would you take me with you?" Most of the girl's face was wreathed in shadow, but her eyes sparkled up at Sam, pleading. "Anywhere's got to be better than here. I'll pay you. I have some saved away—not very much, but I'll give you what I have. I would feel so much better if I had a good man like you to protect me."

  Sam laughed nervously, unsure what to say. Damn it, my acting is way too good! "You know, I'd love to, but I'm not really the one who makes all the decisions. How about this? Let's both of us sleep on it, and we can discuss it in the morning after I've had a chat with my partner."

  "Okay," Apples replied, sounding placated—to Sam's great relief. She let go of Sam's sleeve and began making her way toward the building with slow, slow steps. "I'll talk to you tomorrow then. Or later today, I guess, technically."

  "Yep!"

  "Goodnight, John."

  "Goodnight to you too, Apples."

  The girl went inside, and Sam was left standing out front, an inexplicable nervous sweat making her shirt back sticky.

  And she still needed to pee.