Asa leaned against the deck of the ship.

Salt and iron and rust blew off the river. The sky was the colour of week-old vomit, a substance that Asa was unfortunately well acquainted with after a week at sea. Sailors scampered around the deck, hauling ropes and wooden crates. They must be arriving in Exerbury soon, Asa realized. Thank gods for that.

Asa shifted. His metal handcuffs clinked.

A young man was sprawled across the ship deck, staring up at the sky. He was broad and dark-skinned, and Asa could see a tattoo poking out from the collar of his shirt. They were the only two prisoners aboard the ship, as far as Asa knew.

"That's a sword-swallow," the young man said.

Asa blinked. "What?"

"A sword-swallow."

Asa followed the other boy's gaze. A dark grey bird skimmed the waves. "Are you talking about the bird?"

The stranger's gaze was admiring. "It's one of the fastest birds in the world. You can only find them in Exerbury because they need crailfish to survive."

"Doesn't look all that special to me," Asa said, because he was bored and felt like being a dick. The other boy sat up, studying Asa in the same manor that a scientist might examine a strange-looking bug under a microscope.

"What are you in for?" he asked.

Asa's smile was a knife. "Bad behaviour."

The other boy nodded. "Just like the rest of us, then."

Asa leaned back and tried to imagine what this boy could be in for. Theft? Arson? Sending an elderly lady threatening letters demanding that she share her cherry pie recipe? It was like trying to imagine a puppy committing mass murder. His brain couldn't process it.

"I'm Xander, by the way," the stranger said. "Xander Quinn."

Asa watched as the bird speared the water; it emerged with a pink crustacean dangling on the end of its beak. When Xander spoke, his voice was polite. "This is the part where you tell me your name."

The bird gobbled the crustacean. "Asa."

"Asa." Xander's face was thoughtful. "Cestarian in origin. It means 'healer of broken wounds.' You don't have any Cestarian heritage, do you?"

Asa leaned against the railing. Did he? Hard to say. Both his parents were dead, and his younger sister — Sapphy — was fifteen and more likely to cure specklepox than to know their family heritage. Still, Asa thought, it was a possibility; he had dark curly hair and tanned skin, and he had vague memories of his mother singing to him in a different language. So maybe.

Not that it was any of Xander's business.

Asa turned back to the waves. He could hear Xander shifting, his metal handcuffs clinking as he moved. It was a sound that Asa had become familiar with over the years: metal bars, metal handcuffs, metal trays carrying metal cans of beans.

"Why are you being moved to Exerbury?" Xander asked.

He didn't turn. "Why are you?"

"I don't know," Xander said. "They wouldn't tell me. Strange, though. I haven't done anything to warrant a high-security prison." He kicked out his legs. "Well, I did tell a guard that his mole looked like a lopsided elephant, but I meant it as constructive feedback. He ought to get it checked."

"You talk a lot," Asa observed.

Xander shrugged. "Family trait." He frowned at the water, where bits of wood drifted along the surface. Asa thought he might have spotted a bloated arm bobbing beneath the surface. "What happened to that dock?"

"Dunno."

"That scarring pattern..." Xander's brow furrowed. "It looks like a undraco monster. That's the one with the scales that spits acid. Really rare form of sea dragon." He paused. "You do know there are different types of monsters, right?"

He sounded genuinely concerned. Not in a condescending way, Asa thought, but in the same way that an adult might look at a toddler and wonder how many words they would be able to understand. Perhaps that was what happened when you accumulated too much knowledge; you forgot what most people knew.

Asa shrugged. "Monsters are monsters. They're all the same."

"Scientifically," Xander said, "that's just not true."

"Well, they all want the same thing."

"Tears?" Xander's face lit up. "That's because of the specific protein structure. Human tears contain over 1,500 types of protein. And emotional tears contain additional proteins and hormones that aren't found in reflex tears, which could explain why—"

"Oi!" A prison guard banged his baton. "Enough talking."

Xander gave Asa a long-suffering look. Then he leaned back against the pole, tipping his face up toward the sun.

Twenty minutes later, Asa was striding down the gangplank, flanked by two guards. He noticed that Xander had three. Not that it was a competition, Asa thought, but really, was the other boy really that much more of a threat? Xander was humming, smiling as they passed a red-headed bird with a golden beak.

The guards led them through a series of back alleys, zigzagging through the darkest parts of the city. They passed brothels and gambling dens, opium parlors and pubs with oily gas lanterns. Xander sidled closer.

"Do you know where we're going?" Xander asked, voice low.

Asa gave him a look. "Prison."

Xander shook his head. "The prison is approximately three miles west of here. We're moving towards the heart of the city."

Something cold slipped down his spine. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Xander said quietly. "I'm sure."

Asa steeled his shoulders. He'd heard of terrible things in the prison — guards stealing, and forcing themselves on prisoners, and surprise executions — but he'd never experienced any of that himself. Foolishly, he'd thought he never would.

They paused outside a nondescript door. A guard wrapped six times.

A wooden slat slid open. "Password?"

"The cavalry is dead," the guard said.

The door opened. Asa and Xander were ushered inside. A guard gave him a shove, and Asa stumbled through a second door, bracing himself to find—

Pink.

He blinked.

So much pink.

Asa was standing in some sort of tearoom, crammed with overstuffed sofas and chintzy armchairs and the sort of delicate little porcelain plates that his sister Sapphy would have loved. A fire crackled in the grate. Two men sat in front of it: a middle-aged gentleman dressed in a suit, and a scrawny young man that was feeding a grape to a small, winged pig.

"Ah." The older man rose. "Good. You're here."

The younger man copied his movement. "Nice to meet you." He held out a hand. "I'm Jax. Jax Blackwater."

Asa studied him. The young man was tall and lanky, with blue eyes framed by thick lashes. He was just pretty enough that he wouldn't have done well in prison, Asa thought; or maybe he would have done too well, depending on how you looked at it.

Jax extended his hand further. Asa didn't move.

"Sorry," Xander said cheerfully. "Bit difficult with the handcuffs."

Jax paled. "Handcuffs?"

"Yeah."

"Why are you...?" Jax jerked his hand back. "Are you criminals?"

The older man sighed. "Jax..."

"I can't do this." Jax took a step back, shaking his head vigorously. "I can't."

The older man held up a hand. "Let's all take a deep breath."

Betrayal flashed across Jax's face. "You said..."

"I know what I said." The older man's voice was calm. "Please. Everyone take a seat. Have a biscuit and some tea."

They resumed their positions. Asa noticed that Jax subtly shifted his chair closer to the fireplace, as if he was worried that criminality could be catching. Asa smiled and picked up a blueberry tart with manacled hands. Jax eyed him with suspicion.

"Did you kill someone?" Jax asked.

"Don't be stupid," Asa said. The other boy relaxed, and he added, "I've killed multiple people. Got a life sentence to prove it."

Jax rubbed at his face. "Oh, god."

"I hate to be rude," Xander said, "but can someone please explain why we're here?"

"Ah." The older gentleman looked pleased. "On to business, then."

For the next forty minutes, Zark — as he'd introduced himself — sketched a broad overview of what happened. Asa ate three berry tarts, a lemon slice, and a smoked salmon sandwich. When Zark reached the part about Persophecles being smashed against the ship, Jax lowered his cheese scone, looking slightly nauseous. Asa licked his fingers clean.

"So what's in it for us?" Asa asked, when Zark finished.

Zark straightened his tie. "Your freedom."

Asa reached for a ham-and-cheese whirl. "You want me to go on a high-stakes mission to kill the mother of monsters and the only reward is that I have to start doing my own laundry?" He took a bite of the pastry. "Try again."

"You have a life-long sentence," Zark said.

"So?"

"Don't you want to get out?"

"Not that badly," Asa said. "Give me a reason to risk my neck."

Asa polished off the pastry. His heart was hammering in his chest, slamming so loudly that he was afraid Zark would hear it. The idea of being out of prison... it was almost too much to comprehend. But Asa's father had been a businessman, and he'd lived by one mantra: let them think you're doing them a favour.

He had to seem reluctant, Asa thought; he had to push for more, even if he was bricking it that Zark would walk away. He might only get one chance to make sure that Sapphy could take care of herself for life. This was it.

Zark stroked his chin. Then he nodded, scribbling something down on two pieces of parchment. He slid the papers across the table. Asa glanced at the figure and wanted to throw up. Bloody hell. Did people actually have that sort of money? What did they do with it aside from bribing reluctant criminals?

"Those are my final offers," Zark said.

Asa lowered the paper. "I want the payment in advance."

"No."

"Half of it," Asa said.

A pulse pounded in his ears. He was amazed that his voice came out steady. Zark searched his face; apparently satisfied, the older man nodded.

"Fine," Zark said. "Half before, and half upon completion of the quest. You've got a deal." He turned. "Xander?"

"Happy to participate," Xander said with a grin.

"Good." Zark nodded at a guard. "Take off their handcuffs."

The guard blinked. "Sir?"

Zark's face was stern. "Do as I say, Simmons."

The guard hurried forward, drawing a key from an inside pocket. There was a click, and then Asa's handcuffs tumbled to the floor. He massaged his wrists; it felt strange to touch the flat skin there, like a mole or a scar disappearing.

"Now," Zark said. "Your ship leaves tomorrow at dawn. I want as little fanfare as possible, considering what happened last time. I've made arrangements at a local inn for you both. Probably don't mention the..." He gestured at the handcuffs. "You know."

The older man rose. Jax scrambled after him, hastily scooping up his little winged pig. The creature was chewing on an embroidered handkerchief, Asa noted, although Jax either hadn't noticed or didn't care.

"Right," Jax said. "Lovely to meet you both." He sounded like the words pained him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He turned for the door. Asa stepped forward.

"Blackwater?"

Jax paused. "Yeah?"

"That pig," Asa said, "is the stupidest thing I've ever seen." He watched as the tiny pig began happily munching on Jax's wristwatch. "And it's a goddamn liability, so it's not coming with us. Understood?"

Jax's throat bobbed. "Understood."

The two men stepped out of the room. Asa sunk into his chair. The fire crackled in the grate, competing with the guards murmuring about inns and keys and whether the prisoners ought to be supervised. He nudged Xander's arm.

"How much did he offer you?"

Xander paused mid-bite. "What?"

"Zark," Asa said slowly. "How much money did he offer you?"

"Oh," Xander said. "He didn't offer me money. He gave me something better." And he popped the lemon tart in his mouth, happily chewing as the fire crackled on.