The Broken Door

by Sarah Stirling

  Keini looked up from behind her glasses and nodded at Red. “Did you run into trouble?”

  “No, but this one did, didn’t you?” he said, a hand clamped on his shoulder.

  Viktor resisted the urge to scowl. Their treatment of him made him feel like a child. “It was nothing. I escaped them easily.”

  “Such confidence.”

  “Don’t get too cocky,” said Keini as she continued to write, nib of her pen scratching across paper, “or the noose is the last thing you’ll see.”

  Viktor opened his mouth to protest but Red held him back with a firm hand. “Let’s see how much you made today, anyway.”

  He tossed the wallet onto the desk, watching Keini as she rifled through it, sorting through bills and coins with quick fingers as her mouth moved in tandem. She pulled out a thick leather bound ledger and began jotting down some figures before finally slapping it shut and looking up, Viktor fidgeting on his feet all the while.

  Her smile was very polished but not particularly inspiring. “Don’t get too reckless out there. Here, your cut.” She pushed a portion back over the desk to him and he snatched it up, running his hands over worn coins.

  “How about you go and get yourself something nice with that while we have a chat, eh?”

  Viktor could recognise when he was being shooed out, but with a world of opportunities clamped tight in his palm he barely heard the words. He skipped down the steps and was nearly out the door when he crashed head first into a solid chest and felt hope slide down his gullet faster than he could swallow at the sight of Dallren smirking over him.

  “Hello, Viktor. Where have you been sneaking off to?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “No?” he said, pointing to Viktor’s hand. “What’s that, then?”

  Fear gripped him then, as he snatched his hand away and tried to square his shoulders, jutting his chin out defiantly the way he’d watched nobles do around anything they found distasteful. Viktor was an average height for a youth of his age but Dallren had nearly a head’s height on him and he felt it at that moment with Dallren leaning over him, eyes creasing to slits as he smiled.

  “Why do you look frightened, Viktor? You’re not frightened, are you?”

  I know what it’s like to go without, he thought but didn’t say. He didn’t know whether Dallren had experienced the same stormy nights huddled under flimsy shelter with an empty belly as he had, but then again, most didn’t end up in a place like this without going through something to harden them to life first. Perhaps because he did know how it felt to feel that small, Dallren was the kind who liked to mess with others for his own amusement. The more you reacted the more he won the game of his own devising, and Viktor had racked up more points than anyone else.

  “Get out of my way, Dallren,” he said, lowering his voice.

  Thankfully, Dallren did not seem to be willing to push him and made an exaggerated gesture of lifting his hands, as if Viktor was the one being unreasonable. “See you around,” he called cheerfully.

  Viktor stalked out of the tavern into the early evening twilight, a time that made him feel like he was caught between worlds. There was still the faintest shimmer of gold beneath a marbled sky and the mountains were a flat blue, stuck to the canvas as if painted by an amateur artist. Lanterns were slowly being lit by townsfolk – only the very centre square of the city had newly introduced electric lighting – and they cast warm spheres of light through the darkening streets. A few wispy shapes gravitated towards the lights, curling like smoke. He’d never paid the riftspawn any mind before, but now he watched them flicker in the lamplight as he walked, bodies shimmering with a faint glow from within. They were strange but ultimately harmless.

  Night time was often dangerous to be wandering around alone but the day was still winding down and he had another hour perhaps before darkness truly fell. There was just one thing he wanted to do before he went to find somewhere to sleep for the night. There were a few shelters dotted around the city and he usually tried to find the quieter ones where he could catch a few hours without worrying about being disturbed at his most vulnerable.

  As he neared the shopping district – one long wide street lined with pear trees down the middle – he tried to keep to the shadows so as not to be noticed by the late night shoppers, many of whom trundled along in carriages pulled by laisok. These were huge creatures with long, sinuous necks, beady eyes and four huge hoofed feet, their feathered coats ruffling a deep inky blue. Despite their intimidating presence they seemed to be very placid creatures, plodding along with carriages rattling behind them.

  Eyes on him made him nervous but Viktor reminded himself that he was just another citizen with money in his pockets and straightened his spine, hoping his clothing did not look too bedraggled. Nobility, he had long learned, rested in two things. The first was in the way they carried themselves, with their heads held high, and the vicious sweep of their eyes, always looking down on those around them.

  The second was in the way they dressed, in fine silks and dripping with fat gemstones. Western fashions of tightly-fitting bodices and those odd crowns worn with decorative beading were gradually infecting the fashion styles of women here, with more layers being added to the wardrobes of men. Despite this, the torrid heat of the high season that was fast approaching meant that looser cottons and coloured fabrics were still popular. What really mattered was the demonstration of wealth in the use of expensive fabrics and accessories. The bolder the better was generally the way of things.

  The spirit chime jingled as he opened the door to the tailor’s off the main street, not daring to risk one of the finer establishments. Commonly thought to ward homes from malicious spirits amongst older natives of the island, these chimes were made from broken bits of shell, glass beads, and usually accompanied by an iron bell. Viktor thought it superstitious rumour – he’d never encountered riftspawn beyond the odd will-o-wisp that supposedly led sailors to their death in the dead of night, in reality nothing but a glowing ball of light – and merely took it as a good sign that the owner was not too consumed with the ways of the continentals.

  “Good evening,” said the tailor, a short brown-skinned man with a shaved head. “How might I help you?”

  “I’m looking for something nice,” he said, wandering over to view some of the finely crafted shirts, some with the traditional billowing sleeves and others in the leaner, continental style. “A waistcoat, perhaps?”

  To the man’s credit he did not react beyond a nod, disappearing for a few moments before coming through trundling a rack through, Viktor’s eyes drawn to the different colours. “What sort of thing are you looking for?”

  “I’ll know when I see it.”

  Viktor browsed the items, fingers lingering on the rich materials with wonder. He did not like to save too much of his earnings because he had nowhere to hide it safely, and knowing how easily things could be stolen, he’d thought it wiser to invest it in something solid. Or so he’d told himself. The price tags on these would cost nearly the entirety of his earnings, something that still made his heart leap. I can afford to eat now, he scolded himself.

  With reverent hands he pulled one from the stack, made of turquoise silk the same shade as the water in the harbour, embroidered in gold thread like rays of light from the rising sun. It was quite possibly the finest thing he had ever held and he tried to stop his hands from shaking as he held it up to the man with a nod of his head.

  As the man took it from him to the counter, Viktor ventured, “Do you have any other shirts? They do not have to be quite as fine as those in the window.” It appeared his bravery had dried up, for he couldn’t quite meet the man’s eyes.

  “I have a few second-hand items if you’re willing. This one belonged to my son before he grew too large for any of his clothes. It’s just as well this is my business or I don’t think I would have been able to both feed and clothe him at the same time,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’ve ha
d to sew up a hole here.” He pointed to the seam between sleeve and back. “It’s barely noticeable but to the most discerning of eyes.”

  Face flushing at such unexpected kindness, he blurted out, “Yes, thank you. That will be acceptable.”

  “Very well.” The tailor rang up his purchases and Viktor handed over his crumpled bills. “You may change over there, if you like.”

  Viktor froze, assessing the warm smile of the man before him. Usually there was some kind of trick behind a smile. Did the man know he’d stolen the money? His heart sped up again, wondering if soldiers were about to burst through the doors and take him away. Still, he couldn’t resist the call. This is your weakness.

  “I’ll just… go and try this.”

  He scrambled through to a small cubicle and yanked off his shirt, wincing at how threadbare it had become, finger catching on a hole. Much more carefully he pulled on the soft cotton shirt, sleeves a touch too long but not unmanageable if he rolled them up. In the mirror it looked fresh against the bronze hue of his skin, unlike the yellowing material of his old one, and as he buttoned it up he was pleased to find that it fitted well over his broad back and shoulders.

  Next he slid on the waistcoat and his breath snagged as he buttoned it up on top, peering at himself with wide hazel eyes. I could pass for noble. Or a merchant, at least. He would need to shave the beginnings of a beard shadowing the underside of his jaw, and his dark brown hair was getting long, hanging limp and dark around his face, but otherwise there was something faintly regal about his appearance. He’d studied their movements; he’d become an expert in mimicry.

  Viktor allowed himself one last lingering look before he left the shop, one last nod to thank the tailor, before stepping out into the world a new man.

  *

  Rook sniffed the air, catching the hint of something sharp and foreign beneath the scent of the sea. She glanced down at the map in her hands, trying to hold it steady while the small wooden boat bobbed over the waves rolling gently into the shore. They had to be nearly there, she thought as she followed the line of her finger and then glanced back up. There was a crackling energy in the air around her that had the hairs on her arm standing. Riftspawn. As they rounded the corner a glimpse of wood caught her eye and her hand flew out automatically to tap Viktor on the shoulder, pointing. “Look at that!”

  Viktor squinted in the sunlight, brows furrowed. “It’s a shipwreck.”

  “Well, yes, I can see that.”

  He looked at her blankly. “The water is shallow here. I’m surprised there aren’t more.”

  He can’t sense them. “There’s a lot of activity here. The rift is somewhere between Yllzlo and that island over there.”

  The boat was drifting in a strait of shallow water between the main island behind them, turquoise waves lapping the black sand of the beach, and another, smaller island out to sea, thick with dense foliage from the squat trees clumped together. Nearly halfway between them jutted the rotten wood of a large sailing ship, the kind of which were slowly dying out due to the empire’s newer steamships; great, hulking beasts of metal that somehow managed to float.

  As Rook rowed closer she could see some kind of green lichen eating its way up the stern of the ship, molluscs clinging to the hull in clusters, and a shoal of shimmering silver fish that glimmered beneath the surface as they dove into the shadowy hiding places left by holes in the ship. It was a relic of an older time. A time of pirates and explorers and heroes, like those she enjoyed reading about in books.

  “What are we looking for?”

  “Anything of interest. Riftspawn have a tendency to gravitate towards old, uninhabited places. Like temples or abandoned buildings.”

  “And shipwrecks?”

  “Right.”

  He doesn’t know much, does he? She glanced at her companion who was staring into the clear water with a frown. It doesn’t really matter. You only need to prove you’re capable of handling a few wayward riftspawn. Rook opened her mouth to speak when she spotted a flickering form around Viktor’s head. It looked like a kind of feathery eel – red, with black spots along its faintly translucent body. It was pretty but she didn’t recognise its type.

  “Viktor,” she said, and he must have recognised the tone of her voice because he immediately froze, “try and not move. Stay calm.” It was better to be wary when facing unknown spirits.

  “What?” His head whipped around to the thing hovering above him and he yelped, throwing himself against the side of the boat, causing it to rock precariously and kick up furious waves.

  “That’s the opposite of what I said!”

  Rook pushed herself to the other side of the boat to try and even out the motions, fingers clutching the rim as she wiped sea spray from her face, tasting salt on her chapped lips. The spirit was still hovering above them, poised as if ready to dive. Would it attack us like this? She couldn’t be sure. Still, she hesitated to make a pre-emptive strike when she did not know. Rook was not in the business of mindless slaughter.

  “Why is it still there? Why is it staring at me?”

  Rook looked at Viktor, huddled up against the side of the boat between two seating slats with an oar held out in front of him defensively. She couldn’t help herself. She laughed.

  “What are you laughing at? What’s so funny?”

  “Look at you, huddled up like a little seal pup. What do you hope to do with that oar? Knock yourself out with it?” She sat back on her hands and laughed even harder at his scowl, hair dripping water onto his shirt and giving him a sodden, pathetic appearance. “You are not part of the Order, are you? Are you hoping to make some easy money?”

  Viktor straightened up but flinched when the boat wobbled again, causing her to laugh some more. “I’m new. That’s all.” He crossed his arms and glared at her, shoulders hunched.

  A strange one, he was. She would have to watch out for him in case he tried anything to keep his secret, however poorly he hid it. For now, there was work to be done. “All right,” she said, accepting the circumstances. Do not fight the wind, child. Let it pull you along. “Well, I think you needn’t worry about this little fellow. It doesn’t seem to be coming any closer.”

  Viktor’s eyes shot upwards again, locking on the hovering creature. “Why is it just sitting there?”

  Rook shrugged. “Sometimes they interest themselves with humans. Consider yourself lucky it isn’t too interested.” She picked up her own oar and speared the water with it, gesturing for him to do the same.

  “What do you mean ‘too interested?’”

  The fun I could have playing tricks on this one. “It’s probably better we don’t talk about that when we’re going to a riftsite.”

  Viktor fell quiet, eyes occasionally flicking up to the hovering sentinel above them as he rowed. The water splashed around them as they pulled themselves in tandem towards a rocky outcropping on the smaller island, a pair of green and yellow birds chirping a duet as they raced and twined with one another overhead. As they neared the shallowest part of the water Rook dug her oar into the sand, kicking up plumes that stained the water black, small pink squirming riftspawn wriggling to the surface. She picked up the heavy knot of rope tied to the front of the boat and looped it around her arm before swinging over the side and jumping into water that came up to the calves of her knee length boots.

  “Did you have to?” Viktor said, shaking himself off, droplets of water beading on his sun-blessed skin.

  “Are you afraid of a little water?” she called, moving up the shore of black rocks, smoothened by the water, until she found the first sturdy looking tree. It had a thick base of ringed layers of bark that would keep the boat from drifting off while they searched for the rift.

  “I don’t see what the point of this is anyway,” Viktor said as he marched over the rocks. “Aren’t we supposed to be looking for the big spirit thing back in town?”

  “Relax,” she said, thumping him on the shoulder. “You’ll still get your money.”


  Viktor gave her a flat look, lips pursed. When his brown eyes caught the light they reflected the colour of green moss. “I didn’t think it would require all of this.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t.”

  “What are you doing?”

  Rook turned back towards him, braid catching on her shoulder. “I’m searching for riftspawn.”

  “Are you sniffing?”

  “It helps to use all of your senses.”

  “What in the Locker do spirits smell like?”

  Rook considered, cocking her head as she began walking through the line of trees. “It’s hard to describe. It’s kind of like those flowers they use for making tea here. You know, the little pink and red ones.”

  “Fire blossoms?” he said dubiously.

  “That’s the one,” she said, pointing at him. She ducked under a low hanging branch covered in roping vines that weaved all the way around the trunk of the tree. There was a low hum in her ears and the sound was growing. We’re getting closer.

  “Riftspawn smell like fire blossoms?”

  “No, no, no. I mean, they tickle the nose like fire blossoms. Make me want to sneeze.”

  “Oh. I don’t sense anything.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  The jungle only grew thicker as they walked, heat growing more humid as sweat dripped down the back of her neck and under her shirt, making her squirm. Birds chattered above them, taunting her as she nearly tripped over a concealed root beneath layers of dead leaves and mud. Where she stepped small spirits fled from under her soles, wispy bodies curling away like tendrils of smoke. They were the harmless kind; ones that could barely hold form in this realm, never mind interfere with humans. It boded well for the rift.

  “Is it common to be able to sense them?” Viktor asked suddenly. When she glanced back up he was looking up at the slithering red creature still following above them. “Can you train yourself to do that?”

  Rook felt herself go cold despite the blistering heat of the afternoon sun, wiping her sweaty palms against her shirt. “It’s an innate ability.”