Red didn’t smoke, it turned out. Didn’t even know how.

Dally gave her one to try, and while she was choking it down he went to the night ward’s desk carrying the bundle under his arm. It was past four. The man was nursing a tin mug of rum, his hat tipped down over his eyes.

Dally smiled at him. “Got a light, boss?”

The ward’s eyes went instantly to the bundle. A spark of pure longing flickered, then suspicion. Nessom County had produced all the tobacco for the whole country, and a year ago the Briari had razed it. This poor bastard was looking at more cigarettes than he’d seen in months.

“Where’d you come by that?” the ward asked.

“Gift from the master.”

Dally saw the wheels turning, while the ward tried to decide if he could confiscate them without Lyle finding out. Eventually the man opened his jacket instead, taking a matchbook from the inside pocket. “I’ll have one too, then.”

Dally smiled around the unlit cigarette, holding it with his lips while he opened a roll. Careful, he handed one to the ward. Then he set three more down on the desk. One by one, in a neat row.

“I’m not much of a smoker,” Dally confessed.

“Well, you’re welcome to donate the whole lot, then.”

When Dally only hugged the bundle tighter, the ward chuckled.

“Red told me you’re a good one,” he said, “that you’re not any trouble.”

“She’s right, boss.”

The match flickered alight, and Dally was surprised when the ward actually stood, holding the flame out to him. When both of their cigarettes were lit, the ward leaned back, sighing smoke. “Then why don’t you ask what you’re looking to ask?”

This place got more familiar all the time. “Mistress Gita, she’s not so happy about me being here.”

The ward snorted. “That’s not what I heard.”

Dally remembered his mussed hair, and the click of her bedchamber lock behind him.

“...Right.” He glanced away, let out a slow stream of smoke through his nose. “I uh. I don’t kiss and tell, but that was not such a great time for me.”

“Really?”

“Mm. So, I just want to know some things about her. You know, what she’s like?” He smiled, careful not to bare his teeth. “So I can stay out of trouble.”

The ward reached, scooped up the cigarettes on the desk. “What kinds of things?”

Things went pretty good from there, Dally thought. The ward’s name was Hannock, and he had been working in this house going on ten years. By the time he was done, he was halfway through a second smoke. He had a lot to say.

Gita was a complicated lady, turned out. She had been married to Lyle almost twenty years, which made her about sixteen when they were betrothed. The ward didn’t say so, but Dally heard in his voice that the couple hated each other. They had had two kids during that long marriage. The older boy, Mariel, died in the Siege of Suret leading a thrall company. This changed Gita - ‘got her blood up’, as Hannock put it. She hated the war, and she wanted nothing to do with it. The governor, on the other hand, was all about vengeance for Mariel.

“You should hear them go at it,” Hannock said. “Don’t talk about the war in this house.”

Their only other child was Dascha, a boy of thirteen. From the tone of Hannock’s voice, the kid was a little shit.

“Boss said she’s an orphan, though?” Dally asked. “What, is it so rare her parents are dead?”

Hannock snorted; stupid thrall.

“Her house is dead, boy.” Rum sloshed into the bottom of his cup, as he poured again. “Any Moreau worth anything was at Iles when it was razed. The Briars took her parents, and all the cousins and such. I’d say their bones are chipped into lance-heads by now. They emptied the treasury, too. She has one brother still alive, but he only made it through because he was locked up in a Nirite monastery. Not an ounce of magic in his whole body.”

“I get it,” Dally said.

“Do you, now?”

“Mistress only her boy now,” he said, “it must be hard for her.”

Hannock stumped out the cigarette, a little slower than before. He was watching Dally from under the peak of his hat, considering. “I don’t know that I like you devils like this. All… curious.”

Dally blinked. “I would never hurt a kid, boss.”

“Not that kid,” Hannock said, “not if you want to stay pretty.”

But he must not have been too worried, since he went straight back to the rum. In the end Dally set one last cigarette on the edge of his desk, and saw a flicker of approval from under the peak of Hannock’s hat.

“I’ll let you know, then,” the ward said, “if I think of something else.”

“I’d sure appreciate it, boss.”

They didn’t shake hands - there was no way was Dally going to try touching him. Hannock smiled at him, though, carefully sliding the cigarette into his breast pocket.

When Dally got back, he leaned on his new bunk to talk to Red. She was almost asleep, watching him through her eyelashes. Wyrlight through the window bars drew lines of shadow across her face. A half-cigarette was carefully tucked up under the edge of her matt, with the end rolled to keep the tobacco in.

“You didn’t like it?” Dally asked.

“Not really,” she admitted. “They taste like how the house smells.”

“Great.” The case was still under his arm, and he raised it up onto her bunk, carefully set it by her feet. When she stared back he finally grinned. “Would you hold onto them for me? I think I could like smoking.”