The main twenty-four-hour teahouse in North Bank is six mainland-style Nassa tal Hut teahouses stacked on top of each other. It’s built around one central column wrapped in a wide, creaky wood staircase. Rows of thinner columns staple the levels together. The railings around each deck are painted a blue so bright it almost glows, and a candle burns on every table. The roof is a huge piece of waterproofed canvas tied across the top at an angle. I’m pretty sure it’s a couple of old sails sewn together and recoated in tar.

Inside, everything smells like barbecue, coriander, and assam. Smoke seeps up through the floors and stains the ceilings. The decks are jammed with as many small square tables and folding stools as the Dehebs can fit. The stools are light, but the tables are heavy, solid wood. The floor is scarred from thirty years of customers dragging them around into sprawling, serpentine nets. The Dehebs and their people dive into the chaos and resurface on the staircase like fish leaping in and out of rough water. Snarls of people build up around the railings. Lone accountants and logistics people lurk in the corners, inhaling entire pots of the house special tea. It’s the strongest black tea in the Banks. Nobody knows what the Dehebs do to it.

Water droplets rolled off the roof and landed with heavy plunks in the dumpsters around the corner as Indri and I climbed the stairs. Someone laughed loudly above us. The double doors were carved with eight-pointed starbursts radiating from minute, glowing blue symbols. One of them was propped open. One of the Deheb kids was fighting with the doorstop under the other one and cursing under his breath. 

Indri almost hit his head on the stone model fish trap hanging from the lintel. He swore.

We climbed up to the sixth level. I found a table on the edge of the deck and pulled over a third chair to face out over the railing. I leaned my polearm next to me and sat so I could see the stairs.

Indri sat across from me. His rapiers were cargo-strapped across his back with one handle over each shoulder. His shirt ballooned between the straps, and his cargo pants were tied to his legs with orange plastic twine. He’s a couple inches taller than me, with a harsh-edged, hollow face. His eyes are a startling gray. He makes as much eye contact as Ser people, but he’s Sitt Hayneyn, so it’s even more irritating.

A kid, seven or eight years old, hurtled over to the table with a rag and a bucket of bleach. They whipped the rag out of the bucket and ran it in a meticulous, light-speed switchback across the tabletop, standing on their toes to reach the other side. The edge of the table left a damp line across their purple apron.

“Hey,” I said. “We’re waiting for Chensina. Can you tell her we’re here?”

The kid nodded without looking up and ducked away under one of the older waiter’s trays.

I was still impressed that people always knew which Chensina I meant. Half of all Nassa tal Hut women are named either Chensina or Chensa. There were probably ten Chensinas on this floor alone.

Indri swore.

“What?”

“Mosquito bite.” He folded his arms hard. “Fucking neighbors. I swear to God, I treat every fucking puddle on my lot, every fucking day. Takes me like an hour. Meanwhile they can’t even be assed to keep their cistern covered. We’re all gonna get fucking malaria.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again, because nobody ever does shit about their standing water until after there’s an outbreak, and then they stop like a week after it’s over.”

“I thought you didn’t get malaria.”

“Wrong. I told you, it won’t kill me, but it will make me feel like complete shit. Which I know because I’ve had it so many goddamn times.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“So if I no-show one of these days you’ll know who to blame.”

“Thanks.”

Indri almost scratched his arm again, but he forced himself to stop. He slumped back in his seat.

The bleach had almost fizzed out of the pickerel weed flowers carved into the wood around the edge of the table. The purple-blue lacquer on their long, flared petals had faded. The center of the table was the telltale rich, pristine brown of laminate, but it was glued down so neatly it was hard to tell.

“Why do they need one of those?” Indri was pointing to the fish trap hanging above the door to the fire escape on the other side of the deck.

I sighed. “You know, you could have asked that question anywhere else.”

“This place doesn’t even have walls.”

“We’re in a Nassa tal Hut teahouse.”

“I know why it doesn’t have walls.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“But why would a soul leave through the door?”

“If you leave here alive, you’re going to go out through the door, right?”

“Maybe I won’t.”

“You came in through the door.”

“Because you came in through the door.”

“Do you usually climb in over the railings?”

“How would you know?”

“All these other people are going to go out through the door, if they leave here alive.”

“Well— yeah. They will.”

“So if they die, why wouldn’t their souls go out through a door?”

“That door is closed.”

“The trap is there in case somebody opens it.”

“You still didn’t answer my question. Why would souls go through a door?”

“Why do living people go through the door when they could just climb over the railings?”

“Because they don’t want to climb. But—”

“Well, fish can’t climb. Maybe once you die your soulfish has to flop all the way to the ocean.”

“Then why is the fish trap hanging from the top of the door?”

He had me there. 

“If a soul can get caught in the fish trap at the top of the door, it can get out through the windows.” Indri folded his arms.

“Maybe it’s trying to get into the fish trap.”

“Then why do they need a separate one for the fire escape? Wouldn’t the souls go into the one downstairs?”

“What if there’s a fire?”

“How would a soul catch fire?”

“Fish can catch fire.”

“Listen— okay. Fish can’t be souls.”

I sighed. “Keep your voice down.”

“Souls aren’t real.”

“Fish are real.”

“But they aren’t souls.”

“How do you know?”

“You don’t believe in souls, either.”

“I believe in fish.”

“Yeah, but—”

“If fish are souls, souls are real.”

“But you don’t think fish are souls.”

“No.”

“Well—” Indri shrugged victoriously.

A loud, tinkling crunch rebounded up the alley below us. 

I looked over the railing. Between the dumpsters, a girl in a bright purple apron jumped back from the wreckage of a garbage bag. A puddle of something crawled across the pavement towards her white canvas shoes.

“They don’t think souls are actual fish,” I said. “They think they’re spiritual fish.”

“But—”

“It’s a metaphor.”

“But,” Indri said again, “you don’t think spiritual fish exist.”

I nodded. “And you don’t think metaphors exist.”

“Exac—”

I laughed.

“Fuck off.”

The waiter kid popped their head out from the top of the stairwell and looked at me questioningly. I shook my head. They disappeared.

Indri swallowed. “Once Sak Ka gets here—”

“You can call her Chensina. Everybody calls her Chensina.”

“Well— Okay. Once she gets here—”

Chensina climbed the stairs and scanned the deck. 

I waved. She saw me and smiled. It wasn’t her full thousand-watt smile, but she didn’t use that one on me. That smile could convince almost anybody that you were her favorite person in the world. I knew for sure I wasn’t.

“She’s here.”

Indri tensed, then forced himself to relax.

“Do me a favor. Don’t say anything in front of her.”

“Does she not know you’re an atheist?” he asked indignantly.

“Of course she knows. I just don’t get into arguments about it in front of her. Now—”

“If you don’t want me to talk, why did you ask me to come?”

“She said it’d be more efficient this way.”

Indri squinted. “Really?”

“Yes. Now tell me you’re not going to talk while she’s here, or you can leave right now and I’ll repeat the whole conversation to you later. Efficiency be damned.”

He sighed. “I won’t say anything.”

Chensina drew her polearm and leaned it against the railing, then threw her scarf and jacket over the back of her chair and sat down. The scarf was deep eminence-purple and at least six feet long, edged with triangles of white dots and tiled down the middle with a stripe of octagon-framed birds. The jacket was thick, heavy black leather. The purple Porfidu logo was painted on the back and her Fourth Lieutenant stripes were patched across the shoulders, but she’d turned it inside out to hide them. She was wearing a black tank top underneath. Indri very carefully avoided looking at her.

Chensina folded her hands on the table. Her rings clicked. “What’s the score?”

“Zero-zero.”

“Same.” She looked at Indri. “You?”

He flashed a thumbs-up.

The kid was back. “You ready to order?”

Chensina nodded. “It’s on me,” she told Indri.

“Black or green tea?” the kid asked.

“Black, strong,” Chensina said.

“Can I do a pulled-pork crepe?” I said.

“You want that pan-fried or deep-fried?”

“Deep-fried.”

Indri looked at me. I gestured impatiently.

“Same thing,” he said.

“Coriander slabfish crepe, pan-fried,” Chensina said.

The kid disappeared.

Chensina sighed. “I’m never going to live that down.”

“Sorry.”

“Pulled pork?”

“It’s on the menu.”

“Because people like you keep ordering it.”

The effort of staying silent was killing Indri. I smiled.

“Thank you both for coming,” Chensina said. “There’s a few things I’d like you to do, if you’re interested.”

“Absolutely.”

“But let’s talk about something else first. Have you heard about the Nemel soldiers crossing into Porfidu territory?”

Indri’s eyes widened. I nodded anyway.

“Obviously, the Porfidu are tracking them down,” she said. “They’re also stepping up security on the boundary between North Bank and Flishkun.”

“I’m so happy to hear that.”

Indri looked at me, baffled and suspicious.

“But don’t you think the Nemel Army left their territory vulnerable, when they sent soldiers all the way up here?” Chensina asked.

I nodded. “Yes. It was irresponsible.”

“I mean and how.”

“Reckless, even.”

“I think the Nemel Army has overextended themselves.”

“Uh-huh. Just to piggyback off that,” I said.

Chensina grinned. “Awgwan.”

Indri braced his temples with his fingers.

“They’ve been expanding their territory very fast. Do you think it’s realistic for them to secure all of it?”

Chensina shook her head. “Absolutely not. I don’t think they’re just vulnerable to the little things— vandalism, petty theft, civilians getting jumped. Some of that’s unavoidable, isn’t it?”

“Especially in Nemel territory.”

She smiled. “I hope you’re not implying anything about the Nemel Army.”

“Of course not. Their territory— even Flishkun— has always been less safe than North Bank.”

“Of course. That has nothing to do with the Nemel Army.”

“Frankly, I’m impressed that they keep it as secure as they do.”

“You shred it, wheat. It’s very impressive.”

I smiled and leaned back on my stool. “But the faster they expand, the less secure their new territory will be. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Absolutely. I think they’re at a very real risk of losing control of their territory, especially if they keep sending their soldiers outside of it. Someone could poke holes in even their most secure sites.”

I winced. “Maybe not the most secure sites.”

“Maybe not the most secure,” Chensina agreed. “But I’m sure there are places— important places— in their new territory that they haven’t secured as well as they think they have.”

I nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised if something got stolen.”

“You and me both.”

“Or do you think they should worry about sabotage, not theft?”

“Honestly, I think they should expect both. Theft and sabotage.”

Indri suddenly sighed.

“Yes?” I asked him.

He shook his head.

A stool crashed on the floor. 

Someone at the center of the deck was standing, staring down into the stairwell.

Three people in white surfaced. All three of them wore alabaster masks that covered the top halves of their faces and curved along their jaws like ants’ mandibles. The pointman had a broadsword strapped across her back. A taller woman followed her. Knife sheathes coated the bandoliers slung over both her shoulders and the belt around her waist. The man behind them looked unarmed, but he smiled like a dingo watching a little kid wander away from their parents.

The pointman nodded at Chensina. She led the other two across the deck. Chairs and tables stuttered as a path melted open from them to us.

Indri didn’t hesitate. “Sak Ka—”

“I know.”