things worse.
Two men held him by his biceps, wrenching his shoulders as they dragged him. His hands were bound behind his back, going numb from blood deprivation. He was also bound at the ankles and his feet slid limply along the paving stones. The men bearing him grunted with the exertion.
He presumed he had been disarmed, though he could not verify it.
Was he still in the Tunnel? Maybe on the street outside?
'Quickly now,' one of the men bearing him said, and Nix recognized the voice of Beard. 'Get them in and get them gone.'
It occurred to him that he might still be shrunken. If so, when the magic of the wand wore off, he'd return to normal size and the bindings on his wrists and ankles would cut into him. He'd be maimed or worse.
The thought of losing his hands quickened his heart. Nix the Cripple didn't sound half as appealing as Nix the Quick. He was about to confess that he was awake when the other man spoke and did him a favor.
'Whoreson couldn't do us the courtesy of staying shrunk, eh?'
Nix exhaled a stinking, relieved breath and offered a silent thanks to Aster, who watched over scoundrels.
'Just get them out of here,' Beard said. 'They're asking a lot of questions inside the tavern.'
Inside the tavern. Then he was just outside the Tunnel. He considered raising a ruckus, but didn't see the point. It would only earn him another blow to the head. And no one in the Tunnel could help him. He and Egil had been arrested under the authority of the Lord Mayor, at least ostensibly. Whores, madams, and a barely literate tapkeep wouldn't know it was a sham, and even if they did, they wouldn't risk trouble with the city authorities. Nix couldn't blame them.
Not an hour ago, Nix had entertained thoughts of crawling into bed with Kiir, of sleeping with his arms around Tesha.
So much for either of those.
He really didn't understand why everyone thought him lucky.
'One, two, three,' one of the men said, and his captors tossed him face first into the back of straw-lined wagon. His jaw hit the boards and the impact caused him to bite his tongue. He gritted his teeth against the flash of pain, swallowed the blood, and held his silence.
The straw smelled of goat and dung. His tongue throbbed, and his shoulders, head, and jaw all ached, but he feigned unconsciousness until the men moved off. He heard them talking some distance away from the cart, but the sack and the beat of his heart in his head allowed him to make out only useless bits of the conversation.
Tentatively, he tried the knots on his wrist — tight, skillfully tied. He could work himself free given enough time, even with his hands mostly numb, but he had no idea how much time he had or whether anyone was watching him.
'Is that you?' said Egil in a low tone.
'Aye,' Nix answered softly.
'You and your damned gewgaws,' Egil grumbled.
'Even bound you can't resist a jab.'
'Apologies,' Egil whispered. 'We're not shrunk anymore.'
'I know. You all right?'
'Not especially,' Egil said, and shifted his weight. 'I'm bloodied, hooded, and trussed like a roasting pig.'
'Me, too,' Nix said.
'We're outside the Tunnel still,' Egil said. 'I heard them talking.'
The voices of the men grew louder, so Egil and he lapsed into silence. Nix heard a few farewells, and the wagon dipped as two or three men climbed aboard the driver's bench.
A moment later and the wagon started to move, the wheels slicing quietly through the mud of the road, the men in the front cursing at the horses and each other. Nix thought he made Beard's voice among them, and maybe the pockmarked hiresword.
Nix still couldn't understand how the hiresword fit in with the four watchmen. They must have been in it together from the outset, the events of the night one big setup.
But why?
'What's going on?' Egil whispered.
'Dunno, and don't care to find out,' Nix answered. 'Back to back. I undo.'
'Right.'
Making as though the rough ride were causing him to slide toward Egil, Nix rolled onto his side and scooted back until he could reach Egil's bonds. His blood-deprived hands, the bumpy ride, and his own bonds made things difficult, but he got his fingers on Egil's bindings and checked the knot by feel — a foursquare — and started to undo it.
'Quickly,' Egil hissed.
'You sure?' Nix said over his shoulder. 'Because I thought I'd go slow.'
'Just do it.'
Nix got half the knot undone and Egil tried to pull it loose the rest of the way, fouling Nix's progress.
'Stop!' Nix hissed. 'Your movement'll retighten them.'
'Hey!' shouted a voice from the front of the wagon — the hiresword for certain. 'They're trying to slip the ropes!'
Reins jangled, horses neighed, and the wagon stopped abruptly.
'Stop!' said Beard, and the wagon bobbed as men debarked.
'Come on!' Egil said. 'Move!'
'Not helping.'
Another of the knot's squares loosened.
'Stop!' Beard again.
'You… already… said… that,' Nix said.
A thump against the side of the wagon, a curse as someone tried to climb the side and slipped off into the road. Hurried boot steps on the cobbles, coming around the back of the wagon.
'That's it!' Nix said, feeling the last of Egil's knot give way. 'Go!'
Frantic motion beside him, Egil lurching up. The priest shouted a challenge and Nix imagined Egil pulling off his hood, lashing out with his fists.
'Four of them, Nix,' Egil shouted, then grunted as a punch or truncheon struck him. 'Whoreson!'
Another blow landed, the dull thud of wood on flesh. Another grunt of pain from Egil. Nix worried at his own knots, but was making too little progress. He cursed as more blows slammed into Egil. More grunts from the priest, a few more curses, and then it was over. Egil fell heavily back, groaning.
'Fakking bungholes!' Nix said. 'My blade's soon to make a home between your ribs!'
'Can I shut him up?' the hiresword said.
'Aye,' said Beard. 'Knock him out and be sure of it this time.'
'Right,' said the hiresword.
There was a dull thunk, another groan, and Egil went still beside him.
'Shit,' Nix cursed.
'Didn't have to go this way,' Beard said. 'All you had to do was sit still.'
'Fak you,' Nix said, and braced himself.
The blow to his head still summoned a grunt of pain. He saw sparks, lovely fireworks like those the cults fired from the Archbridge. They lasted only a moment, then he saw nothing at all.
Nix came to with a groan, someone shaking him hard by the shoulders. His head was still covered in the damned sack, but he wasn't in the cart anymore. Instead he sat on cold earth, the damp seeping through his trousers. He caught a whiff of fish and sewage.
That put them near the Meander, probably in the Docks.
How long had he been out this time?
'Up!' said Beard, still shaking him. 'Up, man!'
