by Ben Galley
‘What now?’ I said to Vex before he escaped again. I wondered what could be so important he was always running back to it.
‘You wait until called for.’
‘But we don’t sleep.’
‘No, we don’t.’
‘So I just stand here?’
‘You can sit on the floor if you’d like.’
I crossed my arms.
Vex chuckled. ‘What did you expect, Jerub? Ostrich feather beds and palm fans?’
‘My name is Caltro,’ I snapped, refusing to give up my name. It was the only tangible thing left of me.
Vex shoved me roughly into my alcove. A deeper cold and numbness spread across my chest, something akin to pain.
‘No longer, shade,’ he said before departing.
I stayed silent, listening to the soft brush of his feet on the stone stairs. Gradually, I met the eyes of my neighbours. They clearly saw no wrong in staring at me. Some were even leaning out of their alcoves to do so.
‘What?’ I asked. ‘Can you speak, or only stare? Have they cut out your tongues?’
One of them nodded, but the rest just closed their eyes, letting their glow fade. Only Bela kept her focus on me.
‘You’re new to this, aren’t you?’ she asked.
‘Aren’t you?’
‘No. That Temsa stole me from my owner. A year dead now, I am. Trust me, it’s better to keep your mouth shut. Just get on with it, like Vex said.’
I shook my head, staring at the ceiling. ‘I refuse to give up.’
‘Give up what?’ spoke another, a man, further down the line. ‘You’ve already lost everything, friend.’
I scowled in his general direction. ‘You’re wrong. There’s justice. Vengeance. My pride. My reputation. My sense of honour.’ The latter was questionable, but it sounded good. ‘I’ve been wronged and I refuse to lie down and accept it.’
Somebody down the hall sniggered. ‘Reputation, he says!’
‘Refuse quietly, then,’ said another. ‘Or you’ll get us all copper lashes.’
Exasperated, I tried to grab at the cold roots of my hair. ‘Surely there is a way of protesting? People of your Code that can help me?’
A voice rang out from the far end of the row. ‘The Code? Ha! What indentured shade has the time or silver for such things? Even if you did, it takes years for a case to be reviewed!’
I threw up my hands. ‘Some virtuous group of charitable fools, then!’
Their mocking laughter shut me up. That, and the pointlessness of arguing with such fearful souls. They had already given up and succumbed to their situation, their prison of death. Perhaps that was why there had never been a ghost uprising in the Arc.
Three hours, maybe four, I stewed like that. Outside the stone walls of the tower, the bustle of the city died to the creaking of night insects and the occasional muted scream. Inside, all was still, save for the coughing of a house-guard.
I have never been one for being told to sit and stay. My parents – may they rest whole and forever – tried that and it sent me running. Though I have the patience to sit, it’s the being told to do it part that niggles me.
The floor proved better than standing, and in that position I propped myself up like a beggar and half-closed my eyes in a forgery of sleep. Try as I might, rest did not swoop in and take me elsewhere. It didn’t even taunt me, as sleep can often do, hovering at the edges of the mind.
Sometime in the early morning, I knew not when, I saw them. Ghosts, climbing the stairs in silence. In pairs, sometimes in small groups, they wandered past my sliver of hallway. For almost half an hour they did this, until finally a house-guard came to make sure none had wandered. He was thorough; he even came to check on our alcoves. Short spear in hand, he peered at each one of us, grunting as he tallied.
Curiosity never needs much in the way of an invitation. I’ve found even the most unremarkable things can bring it swooping in.
Once the guard had disappeared, I got to standing. Bela was sitting cross-legged on the stone opposite me, a questioning look on her face. I didn’t offer a word of explanation. I simply stepped from my alcove and crept down the corridor.
‘Hey, idiot!’ hissed a ghost behind me. I could tell by the urgency in his voice that he was concerned for himself, not me. ‘Stay put!’
I ignored him, following in the footsteps of the guard. My blue feet made no sound on the stone besides a faint whisper. I suspected I would have a brighter future as a thief if I ever managed to get my freedom.
‘Oi!’ another shout, louder now. I ignored that, too, coming to a halt at the spiralling stairs. No movement on them now. The tower had gone back to sleep. I bit my cold lip. I itched to descend and see what it was that had so many ghosts traipsing the stairs in the early hours.
Patience. I tore myself away and returned to my alcove, much to the glaring and grumbling of my new colleagues. I heard one whisper, ‘Fuckin’ idiot,’ before silence fell. I did not reply. Their opinions weren’t worth salt to me. Let them linger here, shackled to an eternity of cleaning silver spoons.
I had my own plans.
Chapter 8
Vested Interests
Shades in possession of their half-coins, and therefore their freedom, must display the white feather at all times. Any shade found wearing the white without their freedom shall be quartered with a copper blade.
Article 9, S13 of The Code of Indenturement
Anybody would have been forgiven for thinking Danib was the shade of a large bear instead of a man. He had the cold eyes of an animal, but he also had the height, the brawn. Fuck, he even made Ani look small. All he lacked was the pelt and fangs. He had his plate armour and his blades for that. No roar, mind. The killer was mute as a stone.
Temsa stared up at him like a climber assessing a rock face. ‘What is it now?’
Danib mimed the door and a hood over his cracked-open head. The vicious white scar, spanning most of his skull and half of his face, was overkill when it came to looking menacing.
‘Your old friends are finally here, are they? Good.’ Temsa slammed the huge scroll shut and replaced the reed in its glass with a clink. ‘About bloody time they gave us some more leads.’
The big lump of a bodyguard tutted.
‘I don’t care if they’re the heads of the Cult. Or how old and wise they are.’
A grunt.
‘I’ll be hospitable, don’t worry. Cheery, even.’
Giant hands clenched into boulders.
‘I can be cheery.’ Temsa pasted a smile onto his weathered face. Danib rolled his eyes, hunched some more and led his boss into the narrow corridor. Although his spectral feet made no sound, his armour clanked heavily.
A flight of stairs took them past the bustle of the tavern. Temsa paused to check the tables and eye his staff, ever the scrutinising proprietor. This tavern had been his first investment and a turning point in his career. Although the rest of his growing empire needed constant attention, he always managed to put the Slab first.
Somebody had broken out a skin drum. Another wielded a screeching arghul. The Rusty Slab was the largest tavern in Bes District, and could be relied upon to be rowdy at all hours. It was how Temsa liked it. Rowdy meant busy, and busy meant plenty of silver flowing into his pockets.
Danib grunted, reminding Temsa of their guests.
‘Yes, yes.’
At the top of the stairs, where the noise faded to a dull vibration, Danib threw open the door to the meeting chamber. Temsa stomped inwards, claws ringing on the stone. The oil lamps had been lit and the brazier stoked. Ani loomed in the corner, eyes narrowed at the glowing guests that stood behind the table. She shared Temsa’s sentiments.
Enlightened Sisters Yaridin and Liria waited with arms folded inside vacuous sleeves. Their blue faces were shrouded by their scarlet hoods. Temsa could barely tell between them unless they talked. Liria had a deeper voice. Their matching red robes were adorned with nothing but a silver rope belt and a stitched whi
te feather. They were both gaunt creatures in death; the vapours hung in straight lines around their jaws and cheeks, and their mouths were narrow dashes.
Temsa’s smile returned, this time needing some effort. He had little love for the dead gods. Less for the morons who still followed them a thousand years on. The Cult of Sesh were such morons. They were a strange organisation, almost as old as the Nyxites, the organisation that oversaw the usage of Nyxwater. Old Emperor Milizan had fallen in with the Cult and forged a close relationship with them. It was a relationship that had ended with Milizan being stabbed by his own son and the empress exiled to dead gods knew where. Since the current emperor had banished the Cult from the Core Districts, they had kept to themselves in the Outsprawls, content to deal in rumours and secrets. Recently, however, it seemed they had developed a taste for crime.
‘Sisters, what a pleasure it is to see you again. Has it been a month already?’
‘Boss Temsa, as we die and glow,’ they chorused. They did not bow to him, but they did to the big ghost by his side. ‘And Brother Danib.’
Danib returned the gesture, nodding curtly.
Temsa interrupted the moment with a tap of his cane. ‘As I reminded you the last time you came here, he is your brother no more. He is mine. My property for five years now. Now, might I say how well both of you look? There’s a healthy glow about you.’
He waited for the sisters to bow their heads before he continued. ‘I must also thank you for the information you kindly provided. I was suspicious at first when Danib introduced us, but the tor and tal you suggested turned out to be somewhat… lucrative. My question is: have you come for your payment, or to provide me with more tidbits of information? I know which I prefer.’
The shades spoke in turn, Liria first. ‘We have more information.’
‘Though we have other matters to discuss first.’
Temsa had the feeling this conversation would be a lengthy one. He dug his pipe from his silk jacket; a long curve of brass and northern pinewood. He picked up a taper and stole a flame from the crackling brazier. ‘And they are?’ His voice was deep with the smoke that curled from his mouth.
‘Our fee.’
He sought out a chair. ‘I see. You want more silver.’
‘No. We wish to take a portion of any shades that you acquire on the basis of the… tidbits that we provide to you.’
Temsa blew a great ring of smoke across the table. It framed the two sisters for a moment before it broke apart. ‘Out of the question.’
‘And why is that?’ Liria rested her knuckles on the table. He could feel her cold wafting over him. His pipe dimmed.
Temsa leaned forwards. ‘Firstly, because shades are worth a lot more to me than silver. And secondly, I don’t like the idea of you buyin’ them just to set them free. This city doesn’t need any more free shades. It’s bad for business.’
Yaridin sighed. ‘We do not wish to free them, Boss Temsa.’
‘We too have need of the indentured,’ added Liria.
He let the fragrant smoke wreathe his face, hiding his curiosity and surprise. ‘What needs would they be, I wonder? Rather backward for a cult that preaches for the betterment of shades, wouldn’t you say so, Ani? Danib?’ Ani apparently hadn’t heard, but he could hear the scrape of metal behind him as Danib shrugged.
The sisters were unfazed. ‘We prefer to be called a church, and if you dislike our practices, then perhaps we should hear what your competitors have to say.’
Temsa laughed at that. ‘I have no competitors.’
Yaridin looked grave. ‘Are you so sure? This is a vast city with many… soultraders such as yourself. Berrix the Pale, for instance? We wager he would happily pay for our information. Much needed in Quara District. Or Astarti, perhaps, of the Whitewash Beaches. We hear her days of stealing shades from hospitals might be coming to an end.’
Liria nodded. ‘An astute young woman, she is.’
Tap. Tap. The pipe stem clacked against Temsa’s teeth. ‘How big a portion do you want?’
‘Thirty percent.’
‘Outrageous! I’m insulted. Eight.’
‘Twenty-five.’
‘Twelve. Nyxwater prices have risen by the emperor’s decree. Supplies are tight, they say. I need to make my cut.’
‘Twenty, then.’
‘Seventeen, and that’s final!’
The sisters spoke as one. ‘We accept.’
‘But I want bigger, better. No more dockyard snatchings and average-sized hauls.’
‘Our thoughts exactly.’
‘We see great ambition in you, Boss Temsa.’
‘The ladder is there.’
‘All you have to do is climb it,’ whispered Yaridin.
Temsa jabbed his pipe at them like a sword. ‘That depends on what you’ve got for me! If you want shades, then you tell me where to find them.’
‘We shall.’
‘How many?’ asked Temsa.
‘Eight more opportunities for profit.’
‘What are we talking?’
‘Mansions and towers outside of the city’s Core Districts,’ said Yaridin. ‘Wealthy business owners. Important people. Tors. Tals. A Chamber of the Code magistrate. Even a serek.’
He narrowed his eyes through the haze. ‘You must think me ambitious indeed. A Chamber magistrate? A serek? Talk will be rife. Panic, maybe. I don’t know which will be tighter; the city’s doors or its arseholes. More importantly, who are they to you?’
Liria answered far too quickly for his liking. ‘Nobody. Strategically chosen for their wealth.’
‘They do not entrust many of their half-coins to the banks. Instead they keep vaults in their homes,’ added Yaridin. ‘The easiest route to success.’
‘And why should you care about my success?’ asked Temsa.
Liria smiled. It didn’t look like an expression that came naturally to her. ‘Why, Boss Temsa, because of what we get in return. Our seventeen percent.’
Temsa waited to see if they had another lie to offer, but they held their blue tongues. He let them wait as he thought. The pipe-bowl was just ash when he broke the silence. ‘Well.’ He slapped his palm on the desk and got to his feet. ‘I believe we have an accord. If it’s shades you want, it’s shades you’ll get.’
They bowed their heads, and spoke in unison. ‘We will give Danib the names and details, if we may have a moment alone with him. We did not manage to speak on our last visit.’ They looked to Danib.
Temsa scowled. ‘Speak about what?’
The sisters bowed again. ‘Old times, Boss Temsa.’
‘Simple things. Nothing more.’
After showing them the full depth of his displeasure, Temsa grudgingly left them to speak with Danib. It felt like letting a known molester have a quiet moment with one of his children. His ownership of the shade was absolute, but that didn’t mean Temsa liked that his bodyguard had once been a member of the Cult. Or that he still showed them reverence despite choosing to leave their ranks and sell his coin as a mercenary.
‘Come.’ He beckoned to Ani, leading her into an adjoining study.
‘I don’t like it, Boss,’ she said once the curtain was drawn across the arch, in a whisper as loud as a speaking voice. He held a finger across his lips.
‘Nor I, m’dear. Nor I. But we have to think of the other eighty-three percent. The eight jobs we’ve been promised. If they’re like the last two, or bigger, then they can’t be ignored.’ Temsa stamped his foot and a spark flew from the sandstone. ‘I said I’d test the Cult’s information, and I have. Tor Yeera and Tal Askeu were good hauls. Why not take the sisters up on more?’
‘Because they’re sneaky pricks, that’s why, with their blue hands wedged up a lot of arseholes in the city. Push one of those sisters and you’d hear half the districts fart. Who knows who they’re involved in, never mind the Chamber of the Code and the scrutinisers getting curious where all these riches are coming from. It’s too big and too messy for my liking.’
> ‘Messier than a goose with the shits, m’dear, but who is more used to playing in the muck than I? Isn’t that what I have been doing for many years now? How I built this tavern? My reputation?’ He sighed, knuckling his temples. It was an argument they’d had before. ‘Far, far too many years, and what has it brought me? Middling profits. A few minor districts under my thumb, and yet all the while I walk under the shadow and gaze of nobles far less deserving than me. It should be me looking out over the rooftops, not them, and yet instead I lurk in cellars under the sand. No more! I will show this city who I am, show these tors and tals just how undeserving they are. If it takes the help of the Cult then so be it. They’ve seen fit to place this opportunity into my hands, and I would be a fool to ignore it. Do you know me to be a fool, Ani?’
It took her a moment to answer. ‘No, Boss. You’re no fool.’
‘Good! Because I’ll need you by my side on this endeavour,’ he said. ‘There’ll be plenty of knife-work afoot. Plenty of noble blood that will require spilling.’
With a grunt, Ani was placated and the matter buried. She could always be swayed by the chance to cut a throat or two, especially a rich one.
‘What do you suppose they want indentured for?’ she asked after some time. ‘The Cult, that is?’
‘What does anyone want shades for?’
‘What?’ Ani cupped a hand behind her ear.
‘To serve, to work or to build.’
‘Right. Except—’
‘Except most of the Cult don’t eat and the other half wouldn’t ever hold a shade as property. It can’t be serving, and it can’t be working, as the Cult don’t own businesses. Not in the open. Emperor’s decree, after all. Information and favours, that’s all they trade in.’