Diya nibbled at a charcoal-grilled lizard skewer, its spicy curry glaze pleasantly searing her tongue with each bite. It was heavenly, especially after eating nothing but military issued rations the past week. As she chewed, she scanned the swirl of color and movement that was the bazaar. Her eyes flicked from stall to stall in search of Rohan. He was over an hour late to their rendezvous, and as a man who had spent most of his adult life in the armed forces, that was rather alarming.

  The night market was like an untreated wound, raw, festering, and dangerous if one didn’t know how to deal with it.

  Cracked lanterns swung from frayed ropes in the wind, their glow warped through colored bottles and soot-stained glass. Stalls cobbled together from scrap were lashed crudely into the elephant’s leathery skin.

  Boot tapping against the uneven wooden flooring with a mix of impatience and apprehension, Diya sighed.

  Why am I always having to rescue that idiot?

  With one last look at her verdigris tinted copper pocket watch, Diya groaned, then swung up onto Shikra’s broad back. The giant roc stomped its feet and cooed as Diya tossed the rest of the grilled lizard to her.

  The denizens of the night market gawked at the massive bird, making sure to keep their distance. After all, who wants to brush shoulders with a killing machine?

  Paying them no mind, Diya dug her heels in, and they launched into the sky. Perhaps a late-night trip to the bathhouse was exactly what she needed.

  ***

  Shikra touched down in a shadow-drenched alley opposite the bathhouse, her talons striking stone with practiced ease. Diya slid from the saddle in one fluid motion. Casting a glance over her shoulder toward the glowing silhouette of the bathhouse, she began shedding the concealed blades and tools nestled against her body, one by one, like a gambler getting rid of their lucky rabbit’s foot right before the final hand is dealt.

  It had to be a mission at a bathhouse of all places.

  Rolling her eyes, she packed the equipment away on Shikra’s saddle. Diya took a quick moment to reassuringly pat the massive roc on the neck before dismissing her. There were many things one wasn’t supposed to bring into a bathhouse, but Diya imagined that a three-hundred-pound bird must be somewhere near the top of the list.

  Tucked between a rough bar with a boxing glove painted on the sign and a butcher, The Steam Court rose like a temple to controlled indulgence. It’s facade a fusion of pitted iron and stained glass adorned with reliefs of oiled generals being scrubbed by cherubs in porcelain masks.

  A long, orderly line of citizens snaked around the building. Factory workers, clerks, and butchers, but strangely the majority of the line appeared to be hunters. They waited in silence, backs straight, noses lifted, each trying to look less filthy than the person ahead.

  Stepping out of the alley and towards the bathhouse, Diya saw a huge sign on the sidewalk, it read “Hunters Union Annual Gathering.”

  She cursed under her breath. So much for flying under the radar. After her recent run in with the syndicate that saw her rescue the hunters, Diya’s face had been printed on the front page of every newspaper publication in not just Blacklung Bend, but also The Core and Heaven’s Reach. Her days of being just another faceless captain were behind her it seemed.

  The rapid mobilization of the press spoke directly to The Council’s desire to show their citizens that they were doing something about the Crimson Mast Syndicate problem. She knew the star treatment wasn’t at all a pat on the back from them, it was simply a matter of reminding the public that they were attentive and efficient overlords.

  Diya rolled her eyes and chuckled.

  It sure didn’t feel like they were doing something. From where I’m standing, it feels an awful lot like I’m the one doing something. But what can anyone truly expect from politicians? Twiddling their thumbs, then taking credit is sort of their standard operating procedure.

  If the bath house line had an end, it was lost somewhere beyond the steam and lantern light. She felt her jaw clenching and unclenching involuntarily as she imagined waiting in that absurd line. There had to be a way to get in that wouldn’t see her standing in line, twiddling her own thumbs all night. What if Rohan really had gotten himself into a jam? In her experience, damsels in distress didn’t often have the luxury of time.

  The thought of busting in the front door danced through her mind, then immediately fell flat on its face, got up awkwardly and tip toed right back the way it came. She had no weapons, no hidden tricks, not even a decent bluff tucked up her sleeve.

  Four hulking brutes guarded the entrance with expressions that made it seem conceivable they got assigned this job as a punishment. The line was swarming with at least that many of Arjun’s goons. All armed with clubs, pistols, and that particular brand of bored aggression that came from men looking for any excuse to let off some steam.

  Right when the absence of any decent ideas saw her mood start to sour, emotions beginning to get the better of her, something unusual happened.

  Without warning, the murmurs evolved into enthusiastic cries as the crowd’s eyes locked onto her. Recognition sparked like ignited black powder, and before she could react, cheers erupted like cannon fire. Wild, breathless chants of her name cascaded through the line like an unexpected storm.

  “DIYA! DIYA! DIYA!” They roared like thunder.

  It was the first time in her life anyone had treated her with anything remotely resembling reverence, and Diya—face turning red as an apple—did what any self-respecting person would, tried at once to silence them. In most cases, the average person would admit that a touch of positive attention felt good, but to be applauded by a crowd of strangers after a lifetime spent invisible was like receiving a trophy for a race she never intended to participate in.

  Diya had no idea what to do, so she offered them a watery smile and an awkward wave. An overwhelming urge to turn and run away down the street washed over her and she did her best to blink that idea away. Just didn’t seem like it would be well received, so instead she froze in place like her feet had melted into the grimy cobblestone sidewalk, smiling and waving like a proper fool. Time seemed to freeze and she couldn’t be sure if a single minute passed or ten.

  “Captain Diya?” Asked a well-dressed woman holding a clipboard, tapping Diya on the shoulder and snapping her out of her panic attack.

  Diya turned, eyes wide, “what gave it away? Was it the crowd chanting my name?”

  The woman with the clipboard stared, blinking long eyelashes at her as if she wasn’t sure whether the question was rhetorical or not, “My name is, Pan, I work for Arjun the Clean. He is quite pleased to have a hero like yourself at his establishment. He wishes for you to join him in the VIP room.”

  Bloody hell. Is this a trap? I’ll be a sitting duck in there without my weapons. What if he’s working with the syndicate and this is his way of luring me in so he can snuff me out in one fell swoo—

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Would you like me to take you there?” Pan asked.

  Diya groaned, “alright, lead the way.”

  Stepping out of the smoggy streets and into The Steam Court was like being slapped in the face with a glove dipped in lavender oil, disorienting at first then weirdly comforting.

  Marble pools filled with lounging patrons gossiped and smoked pipes beneath massive chandeliers, their rose-tinted glass painting the room in a hazy twilight glow. Musicians playing sitars and flutes filled the place with the reverberating din of tranquil melody. Attendants—young, silent and sharp-eyed—moved among the patrons with practiced ease, offering warm cloths, razors, and whatever else the customers might have the coin to afford.

  Diya found herself becoming intoxicated by the spell of the bath house and shook her head, reminding herself that she was there for business not pleasure. Pan guided Diya through the place like a true professional, not providing any clues about the intentions of her boss, or even attempting to force awkward small talk. Diya’s eyes stayed vigilant, ever scanning the room hoping to spot Rohan, but her old friend was nowhere to be found.

  How very strange it was to feel so uncomfortable in a place engineered for comfort.

  Conversations wafted through the warm and steamy air, and Diya did her best to ear hustle while following her guide. The patrons she overheard spoke of the Crimson Mast Syndicate raids, their favorite escorts, and most fervently about the food rationing.

  Reaching the far end of the main hall, they transitioned into a smaller side chamber. In the side chamber masseurs worked intensely, kneading flesh with the same focus as a blacksmith at a forge. Diya looked on with envy, rubbing a sore knot in her upper back that had been there as long as she could remember.

  From there they moved down a long hallway lined with private rooms. The moans and sounds of passion that could be heard through the closed doors left little mystery around what was going on. Diya felt her cheeks start to blush, but she had no real idea why that was her immediate reaction.

  The need for companionship was a natural part of life—no judgement towards anyone else of course—but she could never find value in a meaningless and fleeting encounter with a stranger who wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else. The thing she craved was much more than physical release. It was a deeper connection. A partner.

  An emotional and spiritual bond.

  After moving down a long and winding stairway they came to a giant white oak door. Pan knocked three times, paused, then two more times.

  With a heavy groan, the door creaked open.

  A broad-shouldered giant with a square block of a bald head stood in the doorway. “Not now, he’s busy.” He grunted.

  “That’s no way to treat a hero, Ved.” Arjun called out from where he sat at the far side of the room.

  Face twisted with confusion, an expression that seemed common for the big man, Ved shifted his stern gaze to the floor and shuffled from the doorway.

  Pan gestured for Diya to enter, and she did.

  The first thing that stuck out to Diya was how extraordinarily bright the room was. White stone floors, white walls with soft grey stripes, and a gigantic white marble oval table right in the center. On the domed ceiling a fresco of clouds and elephant masked baby cherubs watched them.

  Arjun the Clean sat at the head of the table lounging back in a high-backed chair with his bare feet kicked up on the table. He was a fit middle-aged man with a bald head and facial hair so well-manicured it all almost appeared painted on. He held in his hands a golden orb with intricate rings he fidgeted with.

  Without looking away from his toy, he addressed Diya, “if you don’t mind Captain, please remove your boots.”

  Brow cocked, she stopped, looked around, then did as he asked. She sat in a chair next to the councilman and found herself at a loss for words. Was it best to be blunt with him, or perhaps to play coy? It certainly didn’t feel like the proper course of action was to accuse him of treasonously working with the Crimson Mast Syndicate or to demand he tell her where Rohan was.

  Instead, she decided to wait for him to speak first.

  Problem was, he was entirely focused on the peculiar golden orb he held in his hands. So as uncomfortable as she was, Diya sat patiently, taking her time to appreciate the strange oil paintings that adorned the walls. Though appreciate was probably not the right word, because while she was a fan of the arts, she found them terribly uninspired. Each painting depicted something moronic like a man planting a tree next to a lumber mill or a woman holding a now hiring sign next to an abandoned factory.

  The golden orb made a clicking sound, that was immediately followed by a grunt of satisfaction, then Arjun looked up at her. “Captain Diya, youngest captain in Ghaneshan history, you honor me with your presence. What brings a young champion of the people like yourself to my humble establishment?”

  Despite the sweetness of his words, Diya couldn’t help but feel like she was a rabbit in a viper’s den, perhaps it was the way Arjun’s hired muscle leered at her. The councilman was well versed in the art of saying one thing, while meaning another entirely. His goons had no such skills.

  Why does the proprietor of a bathhouse need so many armed guards? Diya thought.

  “W-well I felt a bath might be nice after a week on patrol. And The Steam Court is one of the f-finest bath houses around.”

  Seriously that’s the best you could come up with?

  As if he had not been listening to her at all, Arjun held up the polished sphere, “I hear your quite the inventor, just like your father was, have you ever seen tech like this, Captain?”

  The mention of her father sent a shiver down her spine. But it was no time for digging up old trauma, she shook her head and focused on the moment at hand. “A golden ball?”

  “It does look rather mundane, doesn’t it?” Arjun laughed. “But this golden ball is actually ancient technology—excavated from ruins on the surface of all places, and repurposed by the brightest minds in Township Sanglier.”

  Diya tilted her head, “I thought we were still in the midst of a trade embargo with Sanglier?”

  Arjun shot her a sly smirk, accompanied by a wink that made her stomach turn. “You know me better than that.”

  I really don’t.

  “I have a few well-paid informants living in Sanglier just for situations like this. Knowledge is power after all, Captain. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer as they say.”

  He pressed a tiny button on the orb, then tossed it up into the air above the table. In midair the golden sphere whirred and clicked, there was a blur of light, then unbelievably it turned liquid, and wrapped around his hand. Next, his hand pulsed, then a shimmering golden arachnid leapt from his fist.

  The strange spider landed nimbly then skittered swiftly towards Diya.

  She flinched back in her seat, still not sure what exactly she was looking at, but her time in the military had made her quite adept at recognizing danger when it was right in front of her.

  At the last moment the arachnid changed course, beelining for a fruit bowl, plucking a mango from it, and returning to Arjun with the mango in its front pincers.

  Arjun snapped his finger and in a flash of light, the spider leapt back into his hand where it liquified, becoming one with the golden shell around his fist. Another snap and the fluid gravitated back into a sphere, pulsed twice, then transformed back into a solid golden orb. He tucked it away in his pocket then held up the mango laughing like a madman. “Wild, right?”

  Diya heart beating like a hammer, scowled at him. “Ved would’ve been more than happy to grab you a mango, I’d wager.”

  The square-faced bodyguard shot her a dirty look from the door and Arjun just kept chuckling. The councilman found his trick so entertaining that he nearly fell out of his chair.

  I wish he would. Serve him right.

  Arjun’s face went serious, and he leaned forward in his chair. “I have a meeting I need to get to, so let’s stop playing games, Captain.”

  Diya felt her stomach drop, breath catching in her throat.

  “First, I know you gave me a fake military escort schedule. To be honest, I don’t understand why you played me in that way. To be even more honest, it doesn’t matter.” Arjun paused to hand the mango to a servant to skin, then continued, “What does matter, is that you are fully aware that I am not a man who takes kindly to being played with and that in the future you will be more cognizant of this fact. Are we clear?”

  She tried to speak, but her mouth was suddenly dry as a desert, so instead Diya simply nodded, though it pained her to comply.

  The servant handed him the peeled mango, and Arjun’s sinister expression shifted abruptly to delight. Biting into the fruit, Arjun looked back to Diya and mumbled with a mouth full of mango, “oh by the way, I have your friend in my dungeon. He was caught snooping around where he shouldn’t be.”

  Diya’s eyes went wide.

  “Don’t look at me like I’m a monster, Captain!” Arjun laughed. “Hey, we’re friends, remember? You can fetch him on your way out, I’ll have the servants bring him out front for you.”

  At that Arjun jumped to his feet and strode from the room. As he got to the door he stopped and looked back over his shoulder, “Captain, please do remember what we talked about.”

  And then he was gone.

  It took a few minutes for Diya to compose herself. Once she processed the interaction, she shook the cobwebs from her head and Pan guided her out of The Steam Court.

  Stepping out onto the street, she was immediately greeted by the welcome sight of Rohan smirking at her.

  Diya felt a wave of emotion wash over her, “I’m so glad you’re alive, you big idiot!”

  Rohan laughed nervously beneath the hazy lights. “I may be a big idiot, but look what I got.” Grinning ear to ear he reached into his pocket and held out a handful of Arjun’s facial hair.

  The two laughed together like fools under the sparkling stars.