A Discourse in Steel by Paul S. Kemp

‘pig meat.’ ”
    “Hard way to go,” the man said, shaking his head.
    “There are harder ways,” Egil said, his tone ominous.
    “I’d ask you why you put a flame to the inn—” Nix said.
    “
Our
inn,” Egil said.
    “Our inn,” Nix corrected. “But I already know.”
    The man sneered. “Let me tell you something, slubbers. This ain’t no inn. This is a shop for running slags and all-fours boys.”
    Nix cuffed him on the head, hard. “Mind your tongue, prick. You’re already on the blade’s edge.”
    The man glared up at Nix, his rat nose twitching.
    “What do we need from this slubber?” Nix asked Egil.
    “Ask him where the guildhouse is,” Egil said.
    The man guffawed.
    Nix faced the guildsman. “You heard the big, intimidating, ill-tempered man. Where’s the guildhouse?”
    “I don’t know nothing about a guildhouse.” The man’s rat face turned sly. “But I wager that’s not something safe to know ’less you’re supposed to. I wager knowing something like that when you shouldn’t might, I don’t know, get your place burned down. Lot o’ things like that.”
    Nix grabbed the man by his hair. “I find it best not to anger the priest.”
    The man glared and seemed inclined to keep talking, so Nix released him.
    “As you will, then.”
    “I hear the guild,” the man said. “They keep coming and coming until things finish up like they want them finished. And they come back for those that hurt their men. That’s what I hear.”
    “Nobody’s coming for you,” Egil said.
    The man jutted out his chin. “We’ll see.”
    Egil approached the man, and despite his superficial insouciance, the man quailed at the priest’s approach. But Egil only turned him roughly around so that his back was to the door. Nix looked a question at him. Egil mouthed the word “Mere” and Nix understood. He nodded and Egil exited the cellar to get Mere.
    After he left, Nix said, “I always heard guildboys were competent. Then I see a cock-up like this and have to wonder.”
    “Fak you. You got lucky.”
    “Tell you something else,” Nix said, his tone serious. He grabbed the man by the hair, jerked his head back, put his lips to his ear. “There were twenty people in this inn and I care about all of them. You and your crew will answer for that.”
    “You have no idea what you’re doing here, bungholes.”
    Nix punched him in the head, knocking him on his side. He struggled to keep his voice under control. “I know exactly what I’m doing. The guild is shite to me.”
    The man winced at the pain, blinked, licked his lips. “We’ll see.”
    “There’s only one thing saving you, slubber, and that’s that I’ve had enough of regrets in recent days. Hard to say with the priest, though. He’s not as forgiving as me. Strange in a priest, don’t you think?”
    The man grinned. “No. I know a few priests just like that.”
    The cellar door creaked open and Egil walked in, Merelda small behind him. Nix eyed Egil, who nodded, then Merelda, who eyed the prisoner. Nix gave her a nod of encouragement. Egil came around to look down at the guildsman.
    “Where’s the guildhouse?” Egil asked.
    The man spit. “That again? I told you—”
    Merelda closed her eyes, furrowed her brow. Nix imagined her reaching into the guildsman’s mind.
    “What is this?” the man said, blinking rapidly. “What is—”
    “Where is the guildhouse?” Egil said. “Tell us.”
    “I don’t—” The man’s words slurred. His eyes rolled. “I can’t—”
    Mere put a hand to her temple. Nix imagined her reaching in his mind, grabbing at his thoughts, unspooling them like weaver’s thread.
    Egil leaned over him. “Where. Is. The. Guildhouse?”
    The man screamed, shook his head, rocked back and forth.
    Merelda took a step closer to him, her pale face wrinkled in concentration. A drop of blood leaked from one of her nostrils but she seemed not to notice.
    “No, no, no!” said the man.
    “It’s on Mandin’s