by Ben Galley
As I huddled there, listening to the clank and clatter of dock districts, and later in the evening, screams and yells, I pondered why we always had our best intentions when we were at our worst.
‘You’re back sooner than I thought, spook. I didn’t expect you for several days,’ croaked Horix, eyeing the shade as he lounged before her on an armchair. He had rid himself of the loaned smock, replacing it with a smart tunic of silk and the sort of pantaloons Scatter pirates wore. His paler glow painted him a northerner, maybe Skol, as did his heavy brow and the wisps of the bushy beard he’d worn in life.
Meleber Crale was one of the best of his kind in the city. What made him insufferable was that he knew it.
‘I have quite the story to tell you, Tal,’ he announced with a confident smirk.
‘I wanted a shade, and I only see you before me. Stories are worth pittance to me.’
Crale absently stirred the vapours of his beard. ‘Depends on the story, does it not? Try this one: a Tor Temsa has murdered Tor Busk in his own tower this afternoon. The man was after your precious Caltro Basalt. He let me go, thinking he had my half-coin. Unfortunately for him, it’s safely stored in the bank.’
Horix propped herself up in her chair, holding a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. ‘Dead gods bless you spooks and your sneaking ways. Temsa murdered him? And did you say “Tor”?’
‘I did. He had his big guard take Busk’s head off, almost on his doorstep. You know him?’
The widow was not listening. ‘My, my. That paunchy, thieving pissbag finally met his end, has he? And at the hands of an even worse one. And Temsa is a tor now, no less.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
The smile faded. ‘Where is Caltro now?’
‘Last I heard, locked up in a sitting room in Busk’s tower.’
‘And you made no effort to retrieve him? That is what I paid you for, spook.’
‘Your lump of a colonel here delivered me after Temsa had already arrived. There was nothing—’
‘Then you must go back, and find out what has become of Caltro. I’ll be damned if I’ll let that soulstealer take my locksmith!’
Crale got to his feet, arms crossed again. ‘I—’
‘Out!’
Crale stood his ground, prodding the white feather dangling around his neck from copper-cored twine. ‘I am a free shade. I’m not one of your house-shades to be ordered about so. You don’t own me.’
‘I have given you the emperor’s silvers for Caltro Basalt. Until he stands before me, I do own you, through contract and coin. Now, get out and do your job, half-life!’
Spittle chased him towards the door, where Kalid promptly shut him out. The colonel ambled towards her, mulling over words. When he finally thought of something to say, Horix cut across him immediately.
‘Temsa—’
‘Has come a long way from hawking dubious shades at the soulmarkets. Already a tor, and now attacking another noble in daylight. He must be mad, brave, or favoured by somebody. And now he is after Caltro.’
Kalid cleared his throat. ‘Do you trust the spook to fetch Caltro?’
Although the widow did not trust in anybody or anything except herself, silver could buy the closest thing to it. Meleber Crale was worth every silver, or so Kalid’s contacts had said. A good spook was hard to come by in this city. Illegal according to the Code but employed by many, a spook was a tool for getting into places flesh couldn’t – or wouldn’t – go. Needed to eavesdrop? Sneak into a rival’s tower? Poison a stew? Hire a spook. It was dangerous work, but well-paid. As such, plenty of free shades across the Arc offered similar services, but only the good ones survived more than one job. Crale had been working Araxes for years. That made him a master.
Horix sighed irritably. ‘I know you are eager for a scrap, Colonel, but aside from hoping Caltro somehow returns by himself, that spook is currently our only hand to play.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
She swept to her shelves to prod at scrolls and trinkets. ‘We bide our time for now. Tell Yamak to double the workforce in the cellars. Buy more shades if you have to. Double the guard, and no visitors. Leave me to think about our new foe.’
Kalid said the only words Horix wanted to hear. ‘Aye, Widow.’
Chapter 13
Shifting Sands
Greed cannot be blamed on a poor foundation, but on the man that continues to build atop it.
Arctian Proverb
‘And now a fire, of all things. I cannot remember the last time I saw a tal’s tower blaze so, and I am fifty years dead!’
Sisine knuckled her forehead. Boon had been incessant during this session of the Cloud Court, discussing Sisine openly with his neighbours, offering a remark for every one of hers, going on tirades for far longer than necessary. She had wanted chaos in the city, but not the kind that gave windbags like him more excuse to exercise their jaws.
‘Serek Boon!’ she bellowed. ‘Will you please let somebody else speak!’
‘Fine!’ He threw up his hands and looked to the benches around him, urging others to pipe up. It took an age for somebody to do so. Finally, another half-life serek stood. His shoulder-length blue hair wafted languidly around his face as if he was underwater.
‘I agree with Serek Boon, Majesty. Something more needs to be done about this lawlessness.’ The Court sighed in concurrence.
The empress-in-waiting made sure to look as offended as possible at the ignorance of her efforts. ‘Not two days ago, for the first time in centuries, I welcomed eleven phalanxes of battle-hardened soldier shades into this city. Two days, and already you expect miracles, Sereks!’ In actuality, she had made sure General Hasheti’s shades were spread so thinly across Araxes, they may as well have still been fighting in the Scatter Isles.
Boon could not stay quiet for long. ‘Not miracles, Majesty. Order.’
‘And you will have it, Boon, you and the rest of you!’ Sisine argued. ‘And perhaps then you can stop quaking in your golden shoes.’
Sisine met the muttering discontent with her practised glare, daring them to press her further. Once again, Boon took up the challenge.
‘But when, Empress-in-Waiting? The murders are getting worse, more violent. The Nyxwater still dwindles. The Chamber continues to be overwhelmed. If the army cannot help us, then perhaps Chamberlain Rebene needs further aid from those willing and eager to wipe evil from our streets. From those with the knowledge and resources to do so! And considering that shades are already being used by the Chamber—’
‘Spit it out, Boon. This court is not a stage for your oratory.’
‘The Cult of Sesh have expressed their desire to help by setting up patrols—’
Sisine wished she had a wineglass in her hand to hurl at him. The session had taken a sharp turn towards absurdity. She needed to rein them in. ‘Absolutely not!’
‘You would refuse their help so quickly?’ Boon tried to click his fingers, momentarily forgetting he was made of vapour.
‘No, Serek, I would deny them based on their treachery against my family and this empire. There is a reason they were – and still are – banished from the Core Districts. I highly doubt their aspirations have changed much in two decades.’
‘You let fear cloud you, Empress-in-Waiting,’ Boon accused.
Sisine laughed, brashly and openly. ‘If I had any fear, Serek, I’d be hiding in my own Sanctuary like my father.’
There was a pause in their muttering. Not once had she spoken ill of the emperor. Now, with barely an insult, they looked at her in shock. Sisine realised then that, despite all her efforts, her father’s authority still hung over her head. She bared her teeth.
‘I will pass the matter to our wise emperor for consideration. Since it was he who removed the Cult from this tower, he will have his say.’
She waved her scroll, indicating the subject was done with and the session over. The sereks obeyed, and filed out along their rows, many of them conveniently forge
tting to bow on their exit. Too busy muttering and complaining. Only Boon stayed, sitting on his bench, hands upon knees and head tilted down at her.
Sisine crossed her arms. ‘When you warned me of ambition not so long ago, Boon, you didn’t warn me of your own.’ She looked to the gleaming throne behind her. The light shining through the crystal stained the marble around it blue. ‘You want it, shade? Try to take it. No shade has ever sat on the throne of Araxes. You won’t be the first.’
Boon said nothing as he rose and walked for the doors. They held each other’s gaze until he disappeared into an archway.
‘That man,’ Sisine hissed to herself. ‘That half-life.’
Royal Guards in tow, she left the Cloud Court and ascended the stairs to her father’s Sanctuary at the very peak of the Piercer. The stained-glass windows showed her heights that would have dizzied a bird. Sisine didn’t care. She had been born in this tower; her stomach had long since hardened.
For the second time that day, she walked the long corridor to the Sanctuary. Her father’s Royal Guards had come to attention and were already tending to the grand door. Sisine bustled past them into the lamplight of the antechamber, and they closed the doors behind her. She hovered near the sandalwood bench, still clutching the scroll in her hand as she glowered at the vault door. The more she stared at the complex loops of gold and copper and the engraved scenes, the more she throttled the papyrus as if it were an enemy’s neck.
When Sisine felt the pop of the scroll’s wooden spine in her palm, she launched the scroll at the Sanctuary door with a banshee’s shriek. Papyrus tumbled like an unravelling ribbon as pieces of varnished wood flew to opposite sides of the small chamber.
Before they settled, Sisine was already pounding her hands on the vault. Over and over, her fists met the cold, immovable metal. Though the blows made something inside the door ring, there was not a sound from the other side. No murmur of apology. No questions of care. No answers for her.
She cursed the empress then, too. Not in words, but with more frantic pummelling. Spit flew from her bared teeth. Her mother had abandoned her, proving herself as cowardly as her father. Though Sisine was closer to the throne than ever, she hated them for being so weak; for leaving her such a farce of a court and country.
Spent, Sisine retreated to the bench. Her hands and chest shook, but there was not a tear in her eyes. She had none to spare for her emperor and empress; just a host of promises. In truth, she somewhat enjoyed the resentment; like putting coals in her shoes, it spurred her to keep going.
‘You’ll see, Father. You’ll see,’ Sisine snarled. She turned away from the complexities of the Sanctuary door and burst out into the corridor, sending the guards scattering. She would have liked to replace them with her own, but the Sanctuary guards would not move for any order but the emperor’s. That was something else she could not wait to change.
Winding down the tower to her own chambers, she threw the door aside to find Etane practising his sword-dances with his sword Pereceph. The big blade gave off a faint white mist, as if it were freezing cold. Caring not, Sisine bustled past him.
‘You tell that dog Temsa to stop making messes and start making progress instead,’ she ordered without breaking her stride. ‘Else he’ll find himself dangling by his toes from the top of the Piercer, food for the crows.’
Etane put the point of his sword on the stone, making the metal chime. ‘I’ll tell him exactly that. Anything else, Your Gloriousness?’
‘Yes, actually. Why don’t you throw yourself from the roof while you’re at it?’
The balcony door slammed shut behind her with a bang, and she soaked herself in the buffeting of the wind and roar of the city far below. Even then, emptying her mind, her eyes snapped to every scrap of red they spotted.
Temsa was enjoying the musical clank of his guards’ new armour. He’d chosen his favourite colours: black and rusty brown. Leather and russet scale covered the guards from chin to toe, and on each of their heads was a classic copper skullcap. His men had protested at having their heads shaved, but Temsa had threatened them all with a beating as well as indenturement. After that, they’d fought to line up for the razor.
Temsa’s new armoured litter, carried by mute shades, was also pleasing. He’d spared no expense for the cushions, and through the fine chainmail curtains, he could stretch out and watch the streets slide by him like the scenes of some grand theatre.
The day was hot, and most on foot clung to the street-side awnings and the shade of palms. On wider streets, umbrellas were hawked by young shades. Those with a silver or gem to spare found respite. Those without continued to bake in the onslaught of the noonday sun.
Temsa watched Ani and Danib marching alongside the litter. Both their brows were furrowed in the heat, Ani’s flesh sweating and the shade’s steel plate glittering. Both wore their new armour: cuirasses of mirror-like metal, chainmail kilts, spiked pauldrons detailed with scarlet copper. It was a gift that hadn’t been well received. Both had preferred their own armour, they’d said, or in Danib’s case, grunted. All worn in, apparently. But Temsa had insisted on it.
As he went back to his idle staring, he noticed a hooded figure tracing them through the crowds. A young Arctian man, sprightly and long of stride, with no colours about him but black cloth and sand. He was on the opposite side of the street, but had plenty of glances for Temsa.
For a time, Temsa watched him trail the litter, until the man was lost in the shadow of a tower and the press of the crowd. The litter ran on with the carts and the carriages.
Temsa had decided to have Ani fall back and follow the man when he heard the voice: shrill, and full of stress and passion. The words were muddled, but it was enough to cut through the roar of the bustle.
Temsa moved aside his chainmail curtain to find a small crowd had gathered in the shadow of a thick spire. They were huddled around a shade in a blood-red cloak. The shade held some sort of picture splayed across a board, tapping it repeatedly with his glowing fingers as he gave his speech.
‘Ani, I want to go over,’ Temsa ordered, making Danib look up.
Miss Jexebel tapped the carrying-shades with a stick and had them approach the crowd. Temsa propped himself up from his cushions to listen to the preacher.
‘It is he who gave the gift of binding, stolen from jealous gods who would seek to keep man and woman slave to their promise of afterlife! To keep us dutifully praying! It is nothing compared to the second chance we owe to Sesh today. Mine is no half-life, but a second life. That is why we praise him—’
A voice interrupted, sounding so close Temsa thought its owner’s lips were in his ear. ‘I did not take you for a man who has the time to listen to speakers on the street.’
He wrenched himself up, finding one of the Enlightened Sisters, Yaridin, standing amongst his guards. They flinched away from her, surprised.
Yaridin gently moved their spears from her face, their copper edges sizzling against her fingers. ‘I intended to speak with you at your establishment. Alas, you were not at home.’
‘So you tracked me down.’ Temsa’s gaze slipped to Danib, whose face was more impassive than usual.
The sister smiled. ‘A happy coincidence.’
Temsa wasn’t sure their definitions of happy matched up, but he beckoned her forwards anyway, half-listening to the preacher as he squawked on about Sesh.
‘…the lies that he is a wrathful god, a trickster god, or even a vengeful god; these are but rumours spread by other religions throughout the last thousand years. And yet only ours has endured…’
‘You have more names for me?’ he asked, once she had floated around the litter to face him.
‘You have yet to take care of the ones you were given. And those you have not followed in order.’
‘There was no order to them.’
‘Of course there was. The order we gave them to you in, what else? There is always order. See?’ Yaridin gestured to the preacher, as if she knew the sermon b
etter than he did.
‘…because we believe in order in all things, and we believe in the order of this great city. It is an order we want to uphold, as Sesh wanted. And so we have, brothers and sisters of Araxes…’
Temsa snorted. ‘A blatant lie if ever I’ve heard one. Is this what you wanted new shades for? So you could prop them up on street corners and have them spew nonsense at crowds? Neither the Chamber nor the royals will stand for it.’
Yaridin waved her arm in a wide arc, showing him the small crowd that had gathered around the preacher. ‘These people do. Who knows how many more are listening at this very moment around the city.’
Temsa dreaded to think.
‘The list must be executed in order, first to last,’ said Yaridin. ‘Tal Kheyu-Nebra wasn’t even on our list. We trust you are not getting tips from other interested parties, or taking initiative?’
He scoffed at her. ‘I will do what I like, Sister, but if you must know, the tal was nothing to do with me. Silly old bat left her lamps burning, or so I heard.’ He saw Yaridin’s gaze slip over his shoulder and affix itself to Danib.
‘Perhaps a clumsy shade, dropping a taper,’ she replied softly.
‘Perhaps,’ Temsa grunted. ‘Is that all? Is my unwarranted scolding over?’
‘It is, but the betterment of your soul remains. Perhaps you should stay awhile, listen to my brother’s words.’
Temsa prodded his gut. ‘I would, but I’m no half-life. I can’t join your little club.’
‘Can’t you? Perhaps that will change.’ Yaridin slipped backwards into the crowd, one hand raised to the blue sky and burning sun.
‘…and we have realised a great and terrible error, friends. A misunderstanding that has gone on far too long!’