Oskar lets out a growl of displeasure and begins to walk again. “Don’t let down your guard. Sig’s actions will bear consequences.”
There’s a grunt as boots impact stone, and then footsteps shuffle right next to Oskar’s. “I’m thinking the elders and city council are dealing with other troubles now,” Jouni says. “Between the Soturi threat and the fall of the Valtia, the death of a few miners seems a petty concern.”
“Now a human life is a petty concern?” Oskar mutters something about hypocrisy, and his pace quickens.
My arm throbs with pain, but my head throbs with knowledge: Oskar has brought me to the thieves’ caverns. And he’s talking to this other man like he belongs here.
I must squirm, because Jouni makes a sound of surprise. “What did you bag today? Beaver?”
Oskar snorts. “Wolverine.”
Jouni laughs. “And you’re carrying it on your back while it’s still alive? I’m all in favor of fresh meat, but . . .” I hear the hum of metal being freed from a sheath. “Do you want me to put it out of its mis—”
Oskar pivots suddenly, swinging me away from the sound of Jouni and his knife. “No,” he says sharply. “It’s not necessary,” he adds, gently this time. “The creature is mostly dead anyway.”
“Let me know if you need help skinning it,” says Jouni. “I’ll check in later.”
His voice is already fading as Oskar continues on his way. “Hey,” he says in a hushed voice. “Keep still until I tell you to move.”
“These are the thieves’ caverns,” I hiss, out of patience and plagued by hurt.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he says evenly. “You would have preferred to bleed to death honorably in the woods?”
I have nothing to say to that, so I huddle within his bag. Wherever he’s brought me, it’s getting colder. Oskar shivers, and his footsteps falter for a moment—but only for a moment. The needle pricks of daylight that reach me through the bag grow dim and gray, then disappear, replaced by the dull glow of several small fires. All around me, I hear people, laughing, arguing, discussing how best to season the stew, who’s next up for guard duty, who would like to join a game of Ristikontra, who’s stolen the only complete deck of playing cards . . . so many conversations . . . and the laughter of children. Children—in the thieves’ caverns! And their mothers, who scold them for straying too far!
Several people greet Oskar by name as he passes them by. A few joke with him about what’s in his bag. He gives a different answer every time—a wild pig, a few dozen squirrels, a coyote, a nice fat goose—and I stay very still and play dead so no one else offers to turn my pretend into a reality. One high-pitched voice, that of a child, asks him when he’ll be home, and Oskar says he’s not sure yet. A woman asks him where he’s going, and he says he’s taking his kill to Raimo because the man’s too skinny for his own good. I hear so many things, but I don’t learn much. Especially because my head is pounding, and my eyeballs are so hot that it feels like they’re going to burst like cherry tomatoes held over an open fire.
The voices fade after a while, and Oskar is hiking a dark, slippery path. Water plinks and thunks into puddles. Oskar shivers and curses and splashes and growls. He sounds a bit like old Nectarhand the bear in a bad mood. It makes sense—Oskar’s nearly the size of a grizzly too.
“Please tell me you’re still alive back there,” he finally says, breathing hard. “You haven’t moved in far too long.”
“You told me not to,” I say, my voice cracking.
“Stars, you sound awful.”
“So many compliments,” I whisper. I’m not sure he hears me. He clumsily makes his way along, and then comes to an abrupt halt.
“Raimo!” he calls out. His gruff voice echoes off cavern walls. “I’m coming in. Don’t try anything.”
From perhaps twenty feet away, there comes a reedy cackle. “Why, boy, would you actually defend yourself?” The voice is clearly that of an elderly man, but his tone is full of challenge.
Oskar lets out an irritable sigh and moves forward again. “I’ve brought you a patient.”
“I’m busy.”
“You’re playing solitaire.”
“I’m at a very tricky point.”
Oskar is silent. After a few moments, Raimo lets out that creepy cackle again. “Such a fierce glare. One would think you’re actually dangerous. Well, where is this patient—is he here? I’m not hiking all the way to the front cave.”