Champion Kevintor Neverloss's Arc

Chapter 8 of 42

Kevintor read the slip again and put it away. The shop sat under the street with one stair down and one side door out. If he kicked the front in, the fat man would be through the side door before the bell stopped ringing. He needed the side door closed first. He told Lina to walk the front. Knock like a customer. Talk loud about a book. Keep the fat man's eyes forward while he handled the back. He found the side exit two lanes over. A round metal lid sat in the paving, engraved with small books around a center handle. A drain ran under it. He crouched and lifted the edge a finger's width. Lamplight from the shop below cut up through the gap. He could hear a chair creak and a kettle settle. He lowered the lid and sat on it. His weight was the lock now. He waited for Lina's knock. It came soft and then louder. A muffled voice asked for a title Kevintor did not catch. Footsteps crossed the floor below. A bolt slid. Lina's voice climbed, asking about a price, asking him to fetch a second book from the back. The fat man's steps moved away from the front door. Then they stopped. Then they came fast toward the lid. Kevintor felt the iron jump under him as the man shoved from below. He pressed down. The lid did not move. He heard the man swear, soft, and the steps backed off. Kevintor lifted the lid, dropped into the drain, and was inside the shop in three breaths. Warm lamplight. Shelves packed to the ceiling. Books on a low table beside a half-eaten plate. The fat man stood by a desk with a burlap sack in his arms, cord half-tied, gold coins shining at the mouth, a small folded slip pinned to the cloth. He looked at Kevintor's face and his knees went. He set the sack down like it might break. Lina came in through the front and slid the bolt home behind her. Kevintor took the sack. He pulled the note from the cord and opened it. A list of names in the same careful hand he had seen below the chamber, with a number written next to each. Two names had no number yet. He folded the note into his shirt with the first list. He looked at the fat man and asked who paid him. The fat man wet his lips. He said a name Kevintor had never heard, then a second name, and then the name on the scrap in Kevintor's pocket. Kevintor felt the floor shift. The man on the scrap was not the end of the road. He was the middle. Kevintor sat down on the desk and made the fat man start again, slower.