note: For some reason, this chapter killed me. I hope it's easier to read than it was to write! Thanks again to everyone who is reviewing. This chapter's fanfic allusion is in reference to Falco... unfortunately, no one else will understand it, but Falco, I hope you laugh.

nine: lesson.

It wasn't until we were secure in our room at the inn that I asked Dutchy for the book and papers we had taken. The place was called "The Brick" and was about a dozen blocks east of Madame Proulx's. It was a tall, skinny, and – surprise – brick building, with a slate roof and very few windows. On one neighboring side was a popular opium den, on the other, a doctor. Thus, there was enough traffic around the area that we would be able to slip in and out fairly inconspicuously, and I felt as safe in the building as I would at any other inn, which didn't say much, but the three separate locks on the door certainly helped.

The Brick probably housed ten rooms on its second and third floors. The first floor was the reception office and a small bar of sorts that also served food. I'd stayed here before but was still surprised when the owner, a buxom redhead named Blondie, recognized me. We'd arrived right when it was starting to get real dark, and taken one of her last rooms, so she was happy, and threw in a couple free drinks.

The room itself was pretty cramped, but I didn't plan on spending much time in it. There were two narrow beds separated only by a nightstand whose top was so slanted that anything you set on it immediately slid onto the wooden floor. Above the nightstand was a mirror, covered in dust and cracked down the middle, but functioning nonetheless. Near the door was a closet we didn't even dare open, a hat rack, and a large, framed painting of a snowy meadow. Behind the painting was a safe that probably hadn't been used in years, seeing as the lock was broken.

Finally, in the far corner of the room was a washbasin, and next to it, a window that looked down on the street below. It was the first place I went when we entered the room. I glanced down as Dutchy fiddled with the locks at the door and Boots stood near my shoulder. There was a streetlamp directly in my line of vision, and it was actually lit, casting a pool of light with a considerable diameter. Various figures passed in and out of view through the circle. I watched for a few seconds, then turned away and took a towel that was hung over the edge of the washbasin and used it as a makeshift curtain.

"They can look in about as easily as we can look out," I told Boots, who nodded. There was a light above one of the beds that we had lit upon entering the room, and now we gathered beneath it, Dutchy and Boots sitting on the bed itself and me standing, arms crossed. It was dark, but it wasn't that late, and I think we all had too many questions to even think about turning in for the night.

"Ok," I said to Dutchy, "let's see it."

He took out the slim black book and looked at it for a moment, then flipped through its pages until he found where he had stuck the other sheets. Gingerly, he removed them, then passed them to me and set the book on the bed beside him.

I squinted at the fine print and cleared my throat, feeling a little ridiculous.

"We may need more help than I thought," I admitted after a minute. "Some of these things, I don't even know what it's talking about. And the-"

"Just read the list!" Dutchy interrupted. "We can figure it out later, it's not like we can do anything right now, anyway."

"Yeah, fine. Umm, okay, first up, five different kinds of elixirs or somethin, I can't even pronounce the names – that's the kind of stuff that Sofia would've had on hand."

"Who's Sofia?" asked Boots.

"She's the lady we were supposed to get the Cure from," I explained. "But she's, um… gone, now." He considered this, and nodded.

"Right," I continued. "Effect from afflicted, effect from caster… personal effects, I guess." I groaned. "That means we need something from Specs and something from whoever did this!"

"But we don't know who did this!" Dutchy exclaimed.

"I get that," I said, exasperated. "Shit. Okay, moving on… there must be something here we can deal with ourselves. Volunteered blood… that sounds nice… Hangman's Moss… alright… Lucky Feet? The hell? And why is it capitalized? Christ." I handed the paper to Dutchy and went back to the window. "You read the rest," I said, "this is absurd."

"There's just one more," he said, holding it up and ignoring my attitude. "Save… Savory?"

"The hell?" I turned back around and leaned against the wall. "Savory what?"

"Um, savory, savory?"

"It's a kind of plant," Boots said helpfully. "Or a spice. One of them."

I actually laughed. "Fantastic," I said.

"Should we read how to mix it up?" Dutchy asked, still ignoring me.

"Nah," I said. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, don't want to confuse ourselves any more than we have to." I crossed the room and joined them on the bed, which protested our combined weight with a loud array of squeaks. "Listen," I said, "tomorrow we can go to this market, kind of like a farmer's market, it'll have that Hangman's Moss, and maybe the Savory, if it's what Boots says it is. We just have to take things one at a time. We'll do that, then we'll figure out where to go from there."

"Okay," Dutchy said, and replaced the papers in the middle of the black book. He moved to put it on the nightstand, then thought better, and instead slid it under his pillow. I stood and went to the other bed and tossed Boots my pillow to use on the floor. He settled right down, and Dutchy turned the lamp out. I stared at the ceiling, hands behind my head, and tried to revisit my earlier good mood, but it was impossible. Things were almost, but not quite, impossible. Sure, we had the list now, but it was full of exotic ingredients, most of which I'd never heard of, never mind knew where to find. It'd been a long time since I'd been in the Dark, and my rapidly thinning list of contacts wouldn't be good for much.

I stared up at the ceiling and felt a sudden nostalgia for my bunk at the Lodging House, with all its carvings and wear. I turned over on my side to face the window and tried to force all worrisome thoughts out of my head. I let myself drift to sleep to the sound of Boots snoring, and passed the night without any dreams.

The first thing I did when I woke up the next morning was take the towel from the window so that the room could have a little more light. Boots rolled over with a grumble, but Dutchy was already awake. He was on his back on the bed, reading the black book. He didn't seem to notice either of us, so, as Boots got up and stood scratching his head and yawning, I said, "What's it say?"

"Hmm?" he said, and looked over blankly. "Oh, mornin'. Um. Well… I don't understand all of the words, but…" He paused, then just beckoned me over and pointed to a paragraph. I sat and took the book in my hands. Boots sat on my bed and looked like he was ready to lie down and fall asleep again. I scanned the paragraph.

"There's a time limit," I said. "Well, yeah. That makes sense, he is sick, after all. His health isn't going to hold out forever."

Dutchy looked shocked at my bluntness. "But less than two weeks?" he said. "I mean, it seems like a long time, but we're already on day three, and we haven't gotten anything done!"

"Relax," I said, returning the volume. "That's two weeks normal time. You know how time is here, or you must have noticed. It's different, alright? I mean, I don't know the numbers, but… well, more time passes here than there. Like, who's to say if we went back to the other side now, it wouldn't be the same morning we left?"

"Really?" Dutchy asked, eyes wide. I guess I hadn't mentioned it.

"Yeah," Boots piped up, eager to help. "Before I was at the Madame's I was stuck in Brooklyn. I spent a month there one night!"

"Exactly," I said. "It's weird, but it's just one of those things. So, we have plenty of time. How much, exactly? I don't know, but it's not like I want to hang out here forever. We're working as fast as we can," I added, trying to be reassuring. Dutchy nodded, but I could see he wasn't convinced. Still, he dropped it, and we got ready for the day in silence.

"Boots," I said as Dutchy went to work unlocking the door. "Speaking of time, is there any certain point we have to get you to… to whoever… by?

"Nah, I don't think so. I got the name and stuff, I'll give it to you later, but the Madame said it's okay to do it whenever it's a good time for you."

"Okay, good," I said. The last thing I wanted to do was take a detour to drop the kid off, especially when we still had so much left to get done.

We went downstairs, grabbed some decent looking fruit for breakfast on the way out, waved goodbye to Blondie, and emerged out onto the street. I took a quick glance to my left and right, gathering my bearings. The market I thought would be helpful wasn't far away – in fact, I was pretty proud of my decision to stay at the Brick, because it had a pretty nice, central location. It would be a good place to be able to return to, instead of trekking back to Swifty's house, or wherever.

"Follow me," I said to my companions, "and don't… just don't get lost."

Dutchy raised an eyebrow but Boots just laughed. "Should I hold onto the back of your shirt?" he asked cheekily. I grinned in response and led the way.

"You have the list, right?" to Dutchy.

"Yeah. Everything. I didn't want to leave anything in there."
"Good thinking," I said, and we continued in relative silence, Dutchy brooding, Boots looking all around himself with great interest, and me… I took in all the sights, feeling little twinges of recognition here and there – recognition, sure, and memories, absolutely, but nothing like the nostalgia I'd experienced the night before, just thinking about that old, decrepit bunk bed.

The Blithe Mile market was crowded any day of the week, and today was no exception. The market would have started well before sunrise, but that didn't mean we were late. It's not an easy place to describe. Dutchy and Boots, who had never experienced anything near like it, were enthralled, trying to look in every direction at once. I had to remind them more than once not to stare, and to watch where they were going. For a fleeting second I wished I was carrying the book and ingredient list instead of Dutchy, but I was already holding heavy with all the "currency" I had brought with me.

Blithe Mile was always closed to any sort of vehicle. It was paved in dirt, with patches of gravel here and there. Contrary to its name, it didn't actually stretch for a mile – but I couldn't tell you how many blocks, either. Plenty – more than enough to be wandering throughout the maze of stalls and booths for an entire day or more. There was no rhyme or reason to the setup of the place; the length of dirt was roughly rectangular, and there was no one straight path through the mess. You had to weave your way through people and vendors to get anywhere, and I suspected that half the crowd were pickpockets.

It was a pretty strange place – when it was broken down at night, it became just a flat wasteland, where I'm sure lots of people got into trouble. It's possible that in earlier days, it had been some sort of park, but by this point, any sort of grass or shrubbery had long since been pounded down and choked of any life.

We stood at the edge of the whole thing and I ran a hand through my hair, already a little claustrophobic. I wished I could just do this alone and get it over with, but Dutchy and Boots never would have agreed to staying behind at the inn. I glanced at the two, feeling more like their mother than ever, then had an idea.

"Ok," I said, and walked a few steps back to a nearby streetlamp. There was a piece of paper stuck on it with the words "DEN LILLE," whatever that meant. "See this? Will you remember this?" They both nodded dutifully. "Good. We're going to meet back here in an hour. I don't care if you're in the middle of something, be here in one hour. Alright?"

Boots grinned and nodded, excited as always, but Dutchy looked a little apprehensive.

"Shouldn't we stick together?" he asked.

"It would be impossible, in that mess," I said, jerking my chin toward the swarm of bodies just a few yards away. "Besides, I do my best haggling alone."

"Come on, you don't have to go by yourself," said Boots, taking Dutchy's elbow and starting into the frenzy. I took another look at the lamppost, then followed them, putting my guard up immediately.

I worked my way over to the east side of the 'Mile, where most of the vendors selling herbs and plants tended to congregate. It was bittersweet, being here. It had been a long time since I'd fought my way through the throngs of people, but I still remembered clearly coming here often with Swifty, whether just to grab something for lunch or to search out the best smuggled cigarettes. I smiled a little at the memory. Things were different, then, real different. For one thing, Swifty was more like Boots; always with a permanent grin on his face, always with a wisecrack ready. For another, we'd been a real team, looking out for each other but also capable of taking care of ourselves. It hadn't been easy, but we never worried. We were invincible.

I tried to keep myself in the present; I could deal with Swifty later, if at all. I looked around myself, careful not to make eye contact with anyone. All the vendors who could afford it kept bodyguards near their stalls. You could tell because they all looked the same; big, arms crossed, and dark, accusing eyes. They were clearly just looking for excuses to "punish" someone, whether or not he had actually done anything wrong.

In the same vein as the bodyguards were the spies. Spies could be anyone, kids, pretty ladies, even a bodyguard. But you could tell they were there for a reason because they were pretending not to be interested, pretending not to search, and it was obvious. The spies were there on behalf of the various warlords that ruled the Dark. The warlords' greatest source of power came from trading. They controlled almost all of the entrances and exits to and from the Dark, and so therefore controlled everything that came in and out. A lot of stuff is hard to come by in the Dark, things that are commonplace on the other side, like good tobacco and clean water, so a lot of people made a lot of money by smuggling that stuff in and selling it.

Many of these people tried to sell their illegal stuff at this very market, which wasn't too smart, considering it was a well-known place and absolutely infested with spies who, if they found out you were taking commerce away from their respective leaders, would immediately rat you out. It was risky business, something I had never even considered getting myself into, no matter how lucrative. I left that to my friends, to people like Snoddy and Kid Blink, who didn't seem to have the capacity for fear – or common sense.

Hangman's Moss. To be honest, I wasn't sure exactly where to go. I didn't know what it looked like, but I had heard of it – and only in the Dark – so I knew it had to be around somewhere. The plant section of the market announced its presence with a gateway of sorts, a trellised arch covered in jade green vines. I walked around it, rather than through, and watched as its owner cut off a section to give to a customer. The vine grew back immediately.

About a dozen people crowded in front of a long, makeshift table (a thin board supported by cinderblocks) that was completely covered with brown packets of what I assumed to be seeds. The table was manned by two identical women who seamlessly dealt with their customers, products, and each other. Both had dark hair swept back into a single French braid, and clear, green eyes outlined sharply with black paint. Their arms, which were bare, were covered in black ink; delicate lines that traced up like vines from fingertips to shoulder.

One grabbed my wrist as I passed.

"Watch this," she said, and snatched something from the table, then dropped it into a cup of brackish water. Instantly the water churned and something green grew up out of it, its roots grabbing on to the rim of the cup. A blood red flower bloomed, quivered for a moment or two, and then the whole thing sank to the bottom of the water. She swirled the cup twice, then dumped out its contents onto the dirt behind her, and tilted the cup toward me so I could see what was left inside. There were three, small, teardrop shaped orange leaves.

The woman grinned mischievously up at me. "It's poison," she said, after I failed to show any reaction. "You know. For a drink."

"I'm not interested," I said, and moved to leave. She still held fast to my wrist.

"Any liquid can make it," she added, "really, anything. Not just water."

"Well, really, I'm all set," I said, a little more forcefully.

"It grinds up real easily. Hell, you could use it as a dye."

Now I jerked my wrist from her grip, hissed, "Thanks," and stalked off. I could feel the heat of her gaze at my back, but soon enough to turned back to tend to real customers. I reprimanded myself for getting distracted and tried to concentrate. Moss. It couldn't be so easy that one person sold a thousand types of mosses, could it?

I figured I may as well ask someone, unless I wanted to end up trapped with the crazy poison ladies and miss the appointment I'd set with the others. I looked around for someone that might actually talk to me and found a likely candidate; a man of about thirty years sitting behind a small table of flowers and smoking a pipe. He seemed pretty content to just watch all the action and commotion around him, and I doubted he even cared if he sold anything. I shouldered my way toward the table. He nodded, recognizing my presence, but just kept puffing away, watching people walk by.

He had a rather scraggly beard and a dirty face, but intelligent brown eyes.

"Listen," I said, "I'm looking for something, do you think you could point me in the right direction?" Now he looked at me, and took the pipe of out of his mouth. I took that as a signal to continue. "Hangman's Moss. Have you heard of it?" He nodded and leaned back in his chair – it was a rocking chair, and so out of place that I almost laughed.

"You see the lady with the red hair?" he asked in a deep, melodic voice. I followed his gaze.

"And the apron?"

"That's her. That's Susie. She'll have what you're looking for."

"Thanks," I said, and made my way toward "Susie," who was standing on a platform and yelling across the crowd at someone. She was behind a sort of booth, with an open, wooden rectangle on top, reminding me of a stall at a stable. But because of her platform, she was above the entire thing and rested her elbows on the very top. I stopped a few feet away from the booth so I could see her, and, without waiting for her to finish her tirade, yelled.

"Hey, are you going to help me or not!?"

"What the hell do you want?!" she cried, switching her focus – and her ill temper – to me without missing a beat.

"Hangman's Moss," I said.

"How much?" she asked, searching me, trying to figure out what kind of customer I would be.

Shit, how much did I need? I hadn't thought to memorize that, and Dutchy had the list. Well, assuming he hadn't lost it yet. She noted my hesitation and smirked.

"You pay by the gram, kid," she said.

"Gr- how much is a gram?" I asked, feeling stupid. She rolled her eyes but hopped down from her platform and brought a basket up on the counter. The moss was a pale yellow, dusty looking, and all clumped together, almost like sod. She showed me a pinch of the stuff.

"This is a gram," she said. I glared, offended that she thought me such an easy target. I didn't know how much we needed, but it was certainly more than a pinch – and that pinch was certainly less than a gram. But her smirk only grew.

"Or maybe that's two grams," she said, and laughed, dropping the stuff back into the basket. Someone bumped into me, and I turned, annoyed. To my surprise, it was Dutchy. His face was ghost-white and his hair a little damp.

"Dutchy, where is Boots?" I asked quickly. "Susie" leaned forward and watched up with interest. Dutchy looked past me, mouthing something.

"The… he's there, I see him," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "I'm coming, I'm coming…" and he left. I tried to grab his shirt but he was just out of my reach, and I wasn't going to go chasing after Dutchy when I was so close to actually accomplishing something. I rolled my eyes and Susie snickered.

"Listen, kid, do you want it or not?"

"How much per gram, again?"

"I never told you in the first place, but, listen, you're young, I'll get you a real good deal." She paused and looked me up and down. "Coins, the real big ones – the quarter dollars. One for a gram. Then get lost. Unless you got somethin' better, that is." I'd opened my mouth to argue when she suddenly jumped back on her step and began yelling at someone I couldn't see. I looked at her, looked at where Dutchy had gone, and, in one movement, grabbed a huge handful of the moss and walked away, quickly blending in with the dense crowd. I shoved the clump in my pocket and considered the best move to make. Up ahead I saw Dutchy, his shock of blond hair easy to spot, bumping into people and generally causing trouble. Boots was nowhere in sight. I grumbled to myself and started walking faster in an attempt to catch up with him. Unfortunately, I'd forgotten all about Susie's height advantage.

I heard her screech, and several other raised voices answer her. I knew I should split, and fast, but there was no way I could leave without the other two, especially since she had seen Dutchy and knew we were friends.

I thought I was close enough to Dutchy to finally catch him when something hit the backs of my knees and I went down in a cloud of dust. I tried to throw out my hands to catch myself but only succeeded in skinning my elbows. Something – or someone – climbed on my back and pinned me down. The crowd parted a little as some stopped to watch. Whatever was on my back then grabbed my hair and yanked my head up. I felt hot breath at my ear and groaned, realizing that I had screwed up big time. But nothing happened – at least, nothing that I had been expecting. My head was slammed back down and my face ground in the dirt, and the weight lifted. I was never gladder that Blithe Mile wasn't cobblestones. I heard a spitting sound and something wet hit my ear, then a hand grabbed my upper arm and hauled me up. I staggered and tried to get the dust out of my eyes, feeling a little woozy. A large form was pushing through the crowd, away from me, but I couldn't tell who – or what – it was.

The spectators had already dispersed, probably disappointed that no one ended up maimed. In front of me stood Dutchy, Boots, and… Swifty? Dutchy was pale, but looking better, Boots just looked relieved for some reason, and Swifty glared and grabbed my arm again.

"You disgust me, you know that?" he hissed, and yanked me behind him. I shook his hand off and followed, irritated even though he had probably just saved my neck. Dutchy and Boots fell in behind us.

"Swifty, what-"

"Don't bother," he said, and so we walked in silence, exiting the market by a side street that led back to a main road. We went across the road and down another alley, which landed us right in front of Swifty's house. I blinked, both surprised and confused. I knew we were nowhere near Swifty's house, but we'd just reached his door in less than three minutes. What was going on?

He opened the door and pulled us all inside, slamming it closed behind him. I started to walk into the main room, but he spun around and jabbed a finger into my chest.

"Don't move," he barked, and left us standing in a huddle and at a loss. I heard a hushed conversation, including a woman's voice – but not the same voice as the woman from before – and then silence.

"I'm not waiting all day!" said Swifty. I sighed and went into the main room, not a little tentatively. When it came to dealing with Swifty and his temper, I was a little out of practice.

He stood right in the middle of the room, arms crossed, eyes blazing. When we entered, he took one look at me and then grabbed a flask from his vest and spun the cap off. It bounced across the floor and under the couch. He drained the flask and then threw it at me, and I blocked it with my forearm. It clattered to the ground and he began yelling before the noise had subsided.

"Fuck you, okay?" he said, only looking at me, although by this point the other two had joined me. "Fuck you. I'm not getting involved. Not if you're just gonna fuck around. Christ. Who do you think you are?"

I didn't bother answering; nothing I could say would please him.

"You think I'm gonna save your sorry ass every time? Those days are over, kid."

I bristled at the word kid, but remained silent. Unfortunately, that seemed to anger him even more. I wondered what had been in the flask.

"Fuck you. Fuck all of you. This is a joke."

"It's not a joke!" Dutchy said, but Swifty ignored him.

"What'd you steal?" he asked me. "Tell me, was it worth it? What is it? Fuckin solid gold? Christ."

I hesitated, and didn't answer.

"Well?"

I shook my head.

"You've got to be kidding me. You want my help or not?"

"Depends, are you going to be piss drunk all the time?" I snapped. His fists clenched.

"What. Do. You. Have," he said, straining to get out every word.

"Nothing," I said, and returned his glare. We stood maybe a yard apart in a sort of face off. Now one hand shot out and he grabbed my shirt, pulling me close.

"You need me," he shot, our foreheads touching. "You know that."

"Just tell him, why can't you tell him?" Dutchy pleaded from behind me. But I stayed stubbornly silent and pushed away from Swifty.

"This is bullshit," he spat. "I take you in, I help you, I do this, and what? Not even a thank you?! Tell me, were you using me from the beginning?"

What was I supposed to say? I couldn't tell him because he was crazy? Because he was dangerous, unpredictable? Because he'd been here too long and I didn't know him anymore? Nothing would explain that all my senses were screaming at me to stay away from him, to keep it a secret. Even if he had helped us before, and even if he had just saved us. Hadn't he?

Swifty gave up on me and turned his gaze onto Boots, as if seeing him for the first time. "You must be Boots," he said, and smirked. Great, mood swings.

Boots nodded, shivered. Swifty laughed, but there was no mirth in it.

"Good luck," he said, and laughed again. "Man. Yeah, good luck."

I frowned, but Swifty was done, his rage apparently past. He looked at me almost sadly, then turned and walked toward the door to the stairs.

"Get out," he said, and closed the door firmly behind him.

We stood in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments before I said, "Come on, we should go," and herded them outside. It was still early, but we were a long way from our base, seeing as I had no idea how we'd gotten to Swifty's house in the first place. I couldn't even find the side street I could've sworn we'd come through.

"We're going back to the Brick," I said, leading the way yet again.

"But-"

"I don't have any energy to do anything else," I said angrily. I needed to lie down. "Besides, I think you two have some explaining to do," I added.

"Just us?" Boots asked quietly. I ignored him, feeling a headache coming on.

"Let's go."