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  Orfeus ducked in after her, drawing Snakebite but not unleashing the blade yet. Faolan said without looking at her, “Will you prove yourself, Fox?”

  “Among ourselves, we can use our names, surely,” Orfeus said. “Wait, I forgot: you don’t have one.”

  Faol looked away sharply, as though that stung. Orfeus had meant to needle, not wound.

  She forged ahead a little as if that was an apology, holding plants aside for the other hunter to pass by. “Who are we hunting?” Maybe if she brazened through, this wouldn’t feel so wrong and strange. “Who’s our prey?”

  Faolan strode through the bush without seeming to notice the branches that swiped at her. “Does it matter?”

  Leaves tangled in her hair, though her mask kept most of them off. “Of course it matters,” Orfeus said. Faol shot her a sharp-edged glare and Orfeus demanded, “Do you want me to lie? I thought you didn’t like that.”

  The glare subsided, though Orfeus couldn’t read the expression that replaced it. Faol was easiest to read when he scowled. He sighed and said, “You could trust those above you.” Orfeus opened her mouth, outraged, and Faol hastened on, even walking slightly faster, “Someone broke hospitality code. In a wayhouse.”

  Orfeus tilted her head. “Oh,” she said, startled.

  “People barely need to owe us a favour to call on us, when it’s for this kind of crime.” He shook his head, and he was certainly easy to read now, grim and glowering. “Folk should know better.”

  The Wolf strode through the forest like everything would give way before her, and everything did. Orfeus was getting tired of having to struggle to keep up. “How did they break hospitality?”

  “He brought no gifts to the house, though he was rich enough,” Faol said. Her eyes glinted like a knife in the bottom of a pit. “I think he took more than was offered. Took from the daughter of the house.”

  Orfeus’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. “Ah.”

  No world was perfect, not even with all the best people making their best efforts. Orfeus was tall and strong and quick, and did not intimidate easily. Still, she had taken lessons in how to defend herself, how to turn aside an attacker or inflict enough harm she could run. It was only wise. Rules were there to protect you, but rules could still fail.

  And when rules failed there was the Wild, hungry and ravenous. Vengeful. When Orfeus looked at Faolan, she wasn’t sure whether she saw a demon or an avenging angel, a creature armed with swords of light or some terrible monster made of dust and blood and rage.

  And she was here too. If people saw, if anyone told stories of this. She was one of them too now: fox-masked and mysterious, here for bloody work and then gone.

  A broad shelled path led up through the gardens to the house, and Faol stopped at the base of the hill, looking up. She shook her head and led them round the back, then frowned up: there was a decent stretch of hill before the back windows, ground with no cover.

  He turned to Orfeus. “Hide us.”

  Orfeus opened her mouth, blinked, frowned down at her fingers. “Ah…”

  Faolan’s eyes dug into her like a challenge. “You said you could.”

  “Yes,” Orfeus said. She had said that. Mostly she said whatever was needed to get her through the moment, but maybe she could sustain this lie. Necessity was the mother of invention. “I can, but I’m mostly used to…only needing to hide myself, not other people. I can’t guarantee it’ll go as planned.”

  Faolan shrugged and turned, eyes fixed on the hill, legs tensed, ready to move. “Try.”

  Orfeus drew in a deep breath. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms, shaking out her fingers.

  She didn’t have anything cued to this yet. Hadn’t had time. She cocked her head, then shifted her feet in a dance step, silently clasping her hands together in time. Why not dance to weave illusions? In her mind, Orfeus held what she wanted to do, and when nothing happened she spread out her hands again and danced another step, trying to weave her plans in the air: spun light, like a cloak, going over both of them. It didn’t have to be perfect camouflage, but enough so they seemed green and white like the gardens, not ominous black.

  A shimmer to the air. An itch in her foot. Orfeus dropped her hands, breathing hard. Faolan’s eyes flicked to her, and Orfeus said, “It’s up.”

  She hoped she wasn’t lying.

  Faolan moved in a low crouch, but moved fast. Orfeus tried to stick beside her, focusing just on that and on holding up her illusion. The air shifted as she passed by it, shimmering. She hoped that meant that the effect was maintained and moved with them. Honoured Earth, she wished she had spent yesterday playing with illusions instead of lying around with a hangover.

  At the top of the hill Faol slowed and straightened, his tread measured and purposeful. He walked along the building and stopped at a door.

  It sprung open before he could reach it, and a dog-sized robot appeared in the entrance, extending a barrel-shaped limb towards him. Its glowing blue eyes were fixed on Faol.

  Either Orfeus’s magic had failed or she just hadn’t accounted for mechanical senses; either way, the mistake was hers and it could get Faolan killed. She flung herself in front of him.

  She hit the dirt, sliding. No weapon had been fired. Orfeus peered up.

  The robot extended its hand in greeting. “Welcome to Weingart’s manor!” it chirped. “Weingart will see you shortly.”

  Orfeus slowly stood up, brushing at grass stains. The back of her neck flushed hot. Faol said nothing, either about her failed illusion or entirely unnecessary bravery. It wasn’t like he couldn’t weather a shot anyway.

  Orfeus shrugged her shoulders, trying to shake it off, and bent to look at the robot. She hadn’t seen many like this before. She hadn’t seen many at all outside of museums and viewing-houses for old treasures and relics. The thing had a head smaller than a fist, and she had to remind herself that wasn’t where robots kept their brains anyway. “Are you sapient?” she said. “Can you understand me?” She signed the words as well, just in case.

  The robot blinked its eyes at her, lights off and then on. “Welcome to Weingart’s manor! Weingart will see you shortly.”

  Orfeus straightened. She tried again to set her clothes to rights and was at least able to adjust her cloak to her liking. She coughed.

  Faolan walked through the door, though she thought she noticed a slight hesitation. He looked at her. “This is a rich man. Be careful.”

  Orfeus stepped forward, closing the door behind her. The robot rolled forward with a slight beep of complaint.

  Faol walked into the house, fist up and ready. She planted her feet carefully, slow and unbelievably quiet.

  Orfeus hurried in and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Couldn’t we just go in and—” She vaguely mimed shooting a stun-gun. “From up in the air?”

  She could hear it when he gritted his teeth. He stopped, and said briefly, “It is about fighting. An attack that can’t be defended against has no honour.” He shook his head. “We are fighters, not drones.”

  He gave the robot a disgusted look as he said that, and Orfeus stepped in front of it protectively. Faolan looked at her, weighing her in his eyes.

  “You need not fight,” he said, and turned, pacing on carefully. Orfeus stood and then clamped her mouth shut on any too-loud words of outrage. She crept after him, knife in hand.

  “I’ll pay my debts,” she hissed at him as she caught up.

  Faolan cast a glance around the room, then started up the staircase to the second storey, testing each step for creaks. “For the first time, just guard my back,” she said quietly. “That’s enough.”

  Orfeus crept up the stairs, following in Faol’s footsteps. She mused over it. That would certainly be easier, which was a benefit. On the other hand, the Wolf normally worked alone. Likely he was just trying to find any excuse to act like she wasn’t there. “You know, you’re going to have to get used to having a partner.”

  He darted a glance at
her, eyes narrowed. “I could get used to any partner but you.”

  Orfeus shifted her grip on her dagger and frowned.

  “Stop talking,” Faolan added quietly, and turned, padding across the carpet. There was that conversation done, evidently.

  In this environment, that made sense. Orfeus flipped her dagger moodily in her hand, caught it, followed.

  They passed a few more robots, one vacuuming the carpet, another at rest in a docking cubicle. Orfeus wondered if this man did any of his own housework. Did he tend the vines, or were there robot workers? Humans generally had more precision when it came to problems that could afflict live crops.

  Faolan’s shoulders tensed at some sign she didn’t see, and he prowled forward and pushed open a door. It looked to be a bedroom, a lavish four-poster bed offset by a carved wooden dressing table and paintings in bright smears of light.

  The man inside the room turned around blinking. He put his wine glass on a table. “Hello?” he said, slow like an accusation. “I am Weingart. Why are you in my home?” His eyes flicked from Faol’s mask to hers, and went wide with fear.

  Faolan’s claws whished out of her glove.

  Orfeus shifted her knife, but she didn’t have time to turn it on, or any need to. “We are the Order of the Vengeful Wild,” Faolan said, and with just that, she took a step and drove her sharplight claws through the man’s throat, then yanked them back. He gave a choked splutter as blood sprayed, and she slashed his throat sidelong, then kicked him back.

  Faol killed like other people danced, quickly and with joy.

  Weingart sprawled over the bed, eyes wide, blood spurting. His hand reached out, grabbling, and as he fell he managed to clamp his hand over a button. Then he hit the ground, and laid still.

  Faol stooped down, frowning at the bloodstained button. Orfeus took a step back.

  Whirring past her went a service robot, blinking red-eyed, and it plunged a blade into the back of Faol’s thigh.

  Faolan cursed and, turning, kicked it hard. It whirred back with a screech of metal. Orfeus came to her senses and strode forward, ducking down to its level and flicking the switch on its side. The red eyes dimmed out.

  No need to kill something blameless. No need to kill…

  Orfeus straightened, wiping her clean hands on her sides. Faolan squinted at her. “I said watch my back,” he said tersely. His voice was strained with pain.

  “I was too busy watching you murder,” Orfeus said.

  Faolan clamped his hand over his injury. She looked at the dead man as though a little surprised, looked at the robot, the blood, then at Orfeus. “You’re new,” he said tiredly.

  The Wolf limped out, and Orfeus followed her. Where else was there to go? The blood was soaking into the carpet. The robot they passed in the hallway was silent in its docking station, so she wondered who would clean it up.

  Her rational mind kicked in as they descended the stairs: it wasn’t meant to be cleaned up. Weingart was meant to be an example, another horror story of the Vengeful Wild to keep people behaving. And he had done a bad thing, maybe. “What was the proof?” Orfeus said suddenly. Maybe it would help.

  “Proof is unreliable,” Faolan said. He kicked the door open. “We just have prey.”

  “That’s so much better,” Orfeus snapped, at the empty doorway, as he walked out. She shouldn’t bait a killer, but it wasn’t like he’d killed her yet. Not her, though he’d tried. Seeing how easily the Wolf killed someone made her remember hands gripping her neck, and how close she had come. It felt like stepping into ice water.

  Orfeus shook her head, walking outside. She tipped her head back in the sunlight.

  “Orfeus,” Faolan said eventually. She might have stood there a while.

  Orfeus held up a hand, not looking at him. There was blood all over. She didn’t want to look at him. “Wait.”

  She walked to the side. He said nothing as he limped after her down one side of the hill.

  The green plants staked up amongst the earth were grapevines, as she’d thought. Orfeus ran her hands over the leaves in slight wonder. It was a pity there was no way she was going back into that house to raid the cellars.

  She picked a grape instead, and ate that. She ate another one, even though they were sour. Orfeus stood there and made the Wolf wait as she ate grapes in the afternoon sun.

  She swallowed one last grape, and wiped her hands and turned away. She would say a prayer to the Green here, if that was how the Green worked, and if she deserved to.

  Faolan was still waiting, and Orfeus fell into step behind him. Beside him: he slowed his stride to match hers. She wished he wouldn’t.

  Silence, as they fought through greenery back to the bikes. Orfeus settled into her saddle automatically, but Faolan didn’t mount, instead rummaging behind the seat of her bike. She pulled out a water bottle and took a swig, then passed it. Orfeus held it slackly in her hand.

  Faolan retracted her claws into her gauntlet and poked at her thigh. Her nose wrinkled and she drew out a short cauterknife, and with either considerable courage or undoubtable dexterity cut away the fabric of her pants in a square around the wound. She peeled away the bloodstained bit of fabric and tossed it onto her bike.

  Orfeus wrinkled up her face.

  Faolan bent his head, looking at the wound. His hand went to the gauntlet on his other arm, and before Orfeus quite understood what he was doing, he had lifted it off. Faol settled the claw gauntlet carefully, almost tenderly on his saddle. Orfeus looked at the holes in her arm where it connected, then looked away.

  Faolan held out her hand. Orfeus tensed, then realised, and passed him the water bottle.

  Silence, still. The swish of liquid as he rinsed out the wound. Orfeus turned to him. “Why do you do this?” she demanded. “I know why I’m doing this. Why are you?”

  Faol’s hand shook, then steadied. He sighed, then looked up from the wound. “Honour—”

  Orfeus’s temper boiled over. “It’s not honour.” She waved at Faol in his bloodstained blacks. “This is despicable!”

  Faol’s eyes blazed at her. “Yes,” he said. He tipped water over the wound, hissing at the pain, and laid the bottle on his bike. “And that’s honourable.” With quick, jagged movements he wrapped cloth around his leg, pulling it tight, tight. He straightened and glared at her and said, “We do this foul work so no one else must. Are cleaners not respected? Are sewer workers not as honoured as those who keep bees?”

  Orfeus foundered a little. “Yes, but …” He was very clearly wrong, but just as clearly he was entirely convinced. It was hard to argue down someone with convictions.

  “I must add to the world somehow,” Faol said. He balled up the scraps, movements quick: it spoke to her of barely constrained fury. He stuffed them under his bike and swung onto it, glaring ahead, some wolf-headed avatar of death. “I’m a poor gardener.”

  Orfeus set her teeth. Wrong, wrong, so clearly wrong, but she was the last person he’d believe. “There are better ways.”

  He cast a glance at her and eased back in his seat a moment. “And yet,” he said, with a little wave at her.

  Yet here she was.

  Here she was, in the clear air under the sun, no closer to the moral high ground than he was. Orfeus swung off into the forest on one side, irritable, and as Faolan made an annoyed noise she rummaged around in the dirt and came back up clutching a small seedling plant. She wasn’t sure why she did it, just that it was nice down there. The Green wouldn’t begrudge her one small plant, not on top of the appalling choking smoking debt she owed already.

  She tucked the seedling carefully into one groove of the bike, and swung up. They flew back up in silence.

  Chapter Eleven

  The people before us buried their magics, and their poisons. They gave us glorious stories and cursed us with their mistakes.

  We know better now. No one can fix everything, but our job, your mother and I, is to try and leave the world better than we found it. Planting
seeds for the trees you’ll sit under one day, that is a parent’s job.

  Your job? You don’t owe us anything, ma chérie. Only to live. But I hope you’ll be happy.

  - Basma of Hollyhock

  * * *

  Back at the base, Faol said, “Eat,” and Orfeus nodded shortly and sloped off to the mess. She was glad for a reason to be away from him.

  Despite the size of the feasts, the chiller looked mostly to hold bulk ingredients, no ready-to-eat meals. But the cupboards yielded dried meat and dried fruits and a great multitude of oatcakes. Orfeus loaded some of each onto a plate and went and sat down, and then stared blankly at the unappetising pile.

  Someone sat down opposite her, not too close, and Orfeus glanced up. “Stay hydrated, too,” Tai said, passing her a tankard. “Newbies sometimes forget.”

  Orfeus tugged the jug over but didn’t do anything else with it. “I know how to take care of my body.”

  He made a sympathetic noise. When she didn’t move, and without catching her eyes or making any big deal out of it, he poured a glass for her.

  Orfeus made herself take a swallow even though she choked at first. She put the glass down and wiped her mouth and took a bite of jerky, chewing mechanically.

  He leaned his chin on his hand. “That bad, huh?”

  She had to remember to keep her guard up around all of them, however friendly he seemed. “Nothing I won’t get used to,” she said, and looked around. “Think Boarhound will have any liquor to trade?”

  Tai snorted. “The hard stuff goes pretty fast,” he said. “Ve might have some wine?”

  Orfeus put the jerky back down. “Not…not after that hunt with Faolan. It—”

  A hand on her shoulder, and Orfeus bodily flinched away. Faol removed his hand at once and took a slow step back. “I forgot,” he said. “I won’t touch you again.” He made a stark contrast against Tai, shorter and pale and dressed darkly, face carved in a frown.