Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
I have to admit, I didn’t picture this. When I imagined guild life, I thought of adventures in the tunnels, but not of how anyone got to the actual tunnels. It’s not very…glamorous. Again, I’m reminded of an anthill with all the holes dug out.
Magpie turns, holding our blue flag out to a pit monitor. “Drop Thirteen,” she announces. “Magpie and her fledglings.”
He laughs. “Drop Thirteen, eh? Good luck with that.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Lark asks.
The man waves us forward, taking us to the last of the four holes open in his quarry area. We walk past the other three and I lean over one, but it’s too dark to see anything inside except the rope and pulley leading down. “Thirteen is just a bold choice is all,” he says. “Unlucky number thirteen.”
“Why is it unlucky?” she prompts.
“Because no one finds fuck all at Drop Thirteen,” the man says helpfully.
We all turn to stare at Magpie. “Why did we pick it if it’s notoriously bereft of artifacts?” I ask.
“Because you’re fledglings and it’s most important that you get practice? Calm down.” She lifts her chin at the attendant. “Show us to our basket. We’re late already.”
He pulls it from its anchored tether at the side of the hole that must be Drop Thirteen. There’s a bit of rock skittering in as he drags the basket forward. Magpie steps forward and helps him steer it over the large, gaping hole the size of a well. I watch them work, a little fascinated and a lot alarmed.
Gwenna leans toward me. “She might have a good feeling about things, but I don’t. You think she picked this one because she doesn’t expect us to find anything? That it’s just an excuse to look busy?”
I glance over at our leader. She’s climbing into the basket and adjusting the ropes with a skill that speaks of years of practice. “Why would she go to all that trouble?”
“Just to get away from Hawk judging her for a few days? You know he’s not happy with her.”
“I think Hawk isn’t happy with anyone.” I can’t help but think of that night in the alley. How he’d grabbed my jaw and made me watch. How he’d flung me away from him afterward like I was garbage and then immediately abandoned me when we got home. It made me feel small and dirty and unwanted.
“Mmm, I don’t know about that. I’ve seen the way he watches you. If he’s not into you, he’s fooling us all.”
Her words make me flush. “Let’s focus on Magpie.” Because talking about her doesn’t make my belly flutter. “You think she’s setting us up? That she doesn’t want us to find anything?”
Gwenna shrugs, her gaze locked on Mereden and Kipp as they climb into the basket. The slitherskin is agile as he trots in, his shell bouncing merrily, but Mereden looks terrified as she peeks over the edge. “All I’m saying is that the simple answer to weird behavior is the likely answer.”
“And what’s the simple answer?”
“That she’s drinking again.”
“She swore she’d stop,” I protest. “She wouldn’t.”
“Promises are easy,” Gwenna says with a shrug. “Come on. I think it’s our turn to get into the basket.”
I want to continue arguing, but then Lark steps into the basket and the entire thing sways, banging against the lip of the hole and sending a scatter of pebbles down into the darkness. Mereden squeals in distress, clinging to Kipp’s house…and knocking poor Kipp flat onto his belly. Lark topples on top of him, and Magpie nearly falls over as well.
“Hold on to the basket,” Magpie barks, and the next few moments are chaos as everyone rights themselves. The basket sways above the hole dangerously, the basket handler clinging to the rope on the other side of the pulley and frowning mightily at us. “You two, quit whispering and get on. The sooner we descend, the sooner we can make some coin.”
Her words cheer me up. Maybe she wants this to go well after all. Gwenna’s just imagining things. I move forward, climbing into the basket and clutching at the side when it sways crazily. “Oh gods!”
“You get used to the movement,” Magpie says. “You just need practice.”
Gwenna is the last to get on board and clings to me as she squeezes in. The basket is full, and Mereden’s pack is pressing into my side even as Gwenna holds on to me. We’re packed like salted fish in a barrel, and it’s a good thing that teams are Fives, or else they’d need bigger baskets. I imagine a basket with Hawk’s hulking form in it, and imagine pressing up against him, and my stomach flutters again.
“Ready to go?” the basket handler calls.
“Send us down,” Magpie calls back, slapping the side of the basket. “We’ll let you know when we’re ready to come up.”