The Burn (A Runner Series Companion)

Chapter 7: Will

204 A.B.

(5 years before the Runner's Rebellion)

Gods, my head aches.

With some effort I force my eyes open, grimacing from the sharp throb of pain percolating behind my brow. I catch the barest glimpse of candlelight and immediately my eyelids slam shut. When I try again, it is with a great deal more care and gradually, the room swims into focus.

Everything is sideways. That can't be right.

Slowly, I raise my head from the table. My vision blurs and it takes every reserve of my concentration to stay seated. When the world finally reappears, right-side up and relatively focused, I am able to take better stock of my surroundings. I blink as I look around, realizing suddenly that my throat is incredibly parched. I could use a drink.

"Barkeep." My voice is slurred. "Get me one more."

The face wavering in front of me looks nervous. "It's getting late, friend. Haven't you had enough for tonight?"

I grapple momentarily with the pocket of my trousers, withdrawing a sackful of coins and slamming it down on the bar between us. "One more, friend."

The barkeep's eyes dart over my shoulder. I swivel in my seat, nearly losing my balance. Someone's hand clamps down on my shoulder, righting me as a boisterous spurt of laughter is released directly into my ear. I wince, my head throbbing anew.

"How you feeling there, Will?" Stephen falls heavily onto the empty stool next to me. He raises his mug of ale to his lips and drains it, running his wrist over his mouth to catch the watery remnants running down his chin.

"Never better." I growl, turning my attention back to the barkeep. "Are you deaf? Get me my drink."

"I was just suggesting to your mate," The insolent Fragment addresses Stephen, ignoring me entirely. My hands clench into fists on top of the sticky surface of the bar. "That he doesn't look so good. Maybe you should get him a carriage."

"How's that? Is my money no good here?" I stand abruptly and the stool I was sitting on crashes to the ground, eliciting another loud peal of laughter from Stephen.

The Fragment's face colours as he falls back a step. "Take it easy."

"You like making suggestions, do you?" My vision blurs again and I shake my head to clear it. "Well, I've got one for you. I strongly suggest that you keep your opinions to yourself and concentrate on the one thing you are good for." I grab the empty mug from Stephen's hand and slam it down onto the bar with enough force that the Fragment twitches. "Serving me."

The man's face has nearly purpled. Wordlessly, he fills a tankard full of ale and slides it over to me. I snatch it away from him, curling my lip in disgust and spinning on my heel, not bothering to give the man a second look. Stephen's drunken tread sounds from behind me as I work my way back through the crowded, smoky room.

The air is heavy, made thick by the clouds of opium. I stumble through the haze, circumventing the tide of giggling women and half-conscious patrons. I trod on a body sprawled out on the floor and the man makes a half-hearted sound of protestation, his pain forgotten in the next instant as he returns to his pipe.

Somehow, I manage to find an abandoned settee and collapse on top of it. I drain what little ale I've managed to keep in my cup and toss the emptied tankard away, flopping down onto my back as I pinch my eyes shut. My head swims again and I extend a hand, snapping my fingers insistently. There is a quiet shuffling as a girl hurries over to me and a second later I feel the comforting weight of a pipe being placed in my hand.