When the Sun Goes Down
“We’ve been sittin’ out ‘ere all Arien night, Cas. Ain’t caught a glimpse o’ nothin’ ‘cept frostbite!”
Joseph sat on the cold stone floor of the cave, his head nestled in his hands. Before him was a jagged, old knife and a piece of malformed wood that was supposed to be a horse. It looked more or less like an awfully edged square. He was never one for carving anyways, unless it was flesh – and that could be taken two ways! It didn’t help that they were in complete darkness, either – whittling is hard, whittling by touch thrice so.
“Look, ‘s all good t’wanna catch the Raven, but if he’s a shadow-wrangler ‘e could probly sense ‘r thoughts from outside, ‘n this whole thing’s for naught than, huh?”
It was no use talking to him, Joseph knew. Casimir was in one of those moods – one of those moody moods where words rubbed off him like water on well-oiled leather. At this point, only action would prompt him, and Joseph knew better than to act. Not until a mage, demon, ghost, or something came pushing up to Harmon Tower. The pair barely had a view of the outside world through the thick ivy that hid the cave entrance, but it was enough to make the cave a perfect stake-out spot. So for the last seven hours, here they had stayed, suffering through the long winter night with only thick fur cloaks to comfort them – well, that and vodka. Something else to keep Joseph occupied aside from whittling, and it staved off the cold – if only for a bit. A gulp sounded in the cave, and the faint splish-slosh of alcohol in a tin can as the gruff bodyguard knocked back a mouthful.
“I think I’m going to Savir, Joseph.”
Casimir’s voice, finally, but it wasn’t what Joseph had been expecting.
“Y’mean to grab them slavers? Why not let somebody else do it? What’s it gotta do with us?”
“If they have a Daravi there, it will be a worthwhile investment to free them from their captors… and keep them for our own.”
“Aye, I can see that. But if yer goin’, I’m going with you.”
“No. I need you here – there’s the lumber mill to look into–”
“Oh, fuck the lumber mill. Y’know ‘s well as I that it’s probably some possession, ‘n we ain’t yet gotta way to fix those, do we? So why go?”
“The one time we aren’t there, watching, is the one time something of import will happen, Joseph. I need you here, in Lithmore.”
“I ain’t likin’ it, Cas. But I’ll do it. Y’just watch yer back – lotsa people in Savir still want y’dead fer what y’did t’ Ariel.”
“I am aware… you know me – I’m the very image of subtlety, Joseph.”
“Right, right – so, y’gonna get that gift t’Cellan ‘fore y’ leave? Sit her down t’ a dinner, make it all romaaaaantic…”
A rustling sounded in the cave as Casimir shifted, cloth scraping against stone and leather.
“I will give her that gift, and that’s it.”
“Yer fuckin’ stupid, mate. You ‘n I both know that y’could close that deal – just turn on a bit o’ the charm, sweep ‘er away, marry her, ‘n we could be livin’ the high life again!”
“Emily, Linnea, Beronica… everyone I get close to dies, Joseph. I’m not sure if I could survive another.”
There wasn’t a lot you could say to that, so Joseph kept his peace. Until dawn, there was silence in that dark cave. Nothing else happened. Joseph didn’t finish his horse, but he did finish the vodka.