by Ben Galley
In fact, barely a word had been shared all day. Such was the pressure of traversing the busy streets and staying inconspicuous. Nilith no doubt had her pains and worries to attend to, as I had my own. The sensation of my coin around my neck had been a brief one, but I already missed it. It was as if I had left a part of me in the Piercer. I sensed its faint pull, as subtle as a hair out of place, and longed for it.
As for what the sisters planned to do with it, I still had no clue. I was still whole… well, for the most part. I decided that if they truly wanted justice and freedom for all shades, they would show their faces when the empress dumped her husband in the Nyxwell, and they would be smiling. Perhaps they were just keeping my coin safe for me. It felt like a child’s reasoning, but it was the only one I found comforting. I’d had more than my fill of betrayal.
When the afternoon slid from early to late, and then later still, we reached the bright splash of colour that was the Royal Markets. The bustle here was fierce; a deafening battleground of barging and hollering. The days of hiding meant spoiled wares. Spoil meant sales. Sales meant madness. It was simple economics.
Gangs of ghosts and people besieged the stalls. In one poor fruit stall’s case, they overran it completely. I saw the crowd erupt into a thrashing mass of limbs and flying oranges. Nobody else seemed remotely bothered by the kerfuffle, and they continued braying like branded donkeys.
I found distraction in the sights and sounds: slabs of pink meat and ugly sea creatures in tanks; arrays of fruits that would make rainbows hang their heads; cloths and silks from every corner of the Reaches; jewellery that glittered as if it was still molten; armour and blades for all nefarious deeds; household contraptions, full of spring and clockwork; extravagant furniture, the kind that Busk would have snapped up; perfumes, spices and powders piled in earthenware bowls; dyed cats and dogs and birds slumped in palm-wood cages; and, of course, shades in shackles and queues. All of them could be found under the vast, sail-like awnings of the Royal Markets. I looked up, fancying the red-tiled rooftops to be the bulwarks of a mighty ship. If I half-closed my eyes, I could imagine a sway in the earth beneath me.
‘Caltro.’ Nilith’s voice was croaky from lack of use.
She nudged me, digging a dent in my rags. I followed the direction of her pointing finger, and saw one of the reasons the markets were so densely crowded: they were a partly captive audience.
Where a street led out of the bustle, a string of royal soldiers were spread across the road. Black-clad scrutinisers moved between them, halting anyone carting more than a satchel. Quite a queue had built up. I looked left, to another street, and found it similarly blocked.
‘Roadblocks.’
‘And we’re still half a dozen miles away.’ Nilith grunted. ‘This way.’
She led the horse and me to the eastern side of the markets, where a wider road connected with the Avenue of Oshirim. A wall of guards occupied it. The crowds were too thick here to halt all of them, but the soldiers and scrutinisers were doing a good job of trying.
‘Talk,’ I said as we walked. Stopping now would have been suspicious. We continued on at a tentative pace. A soldier standing in a doorway was already watching us. I hoped he was just admiring the horse.
‘What?’
‘Guilty people prefer silence. They’re concentrating too hard. Act like it’s beneath you.’
Nilith pulled her rags back, showing me a sweaty face covered in stray hair. She had darkened her skin with soot that morning, but it was starting to wipe clean. ‘Talk about what?’
‘Anything. Just talk normally,’ I hissed. ‘Remind me: when did you leave Krass?’
‘Erm.’ She hesitated as a scrutiniser appeared in our path, two dozen feet away ‘Well,’ she sighed. ‘It must have been twenty years ago now.’
‘Did you come by ship?’
‘Of course…?’
I kept talking, acting interested. ‘What was its name?’
‘One of my father’s ships. The… The…’ Nilith snapped her fingers. ‘The Bromar.’
I chuckled loudly. ‘I remember that story.’
‘The Hero of Holdergrist? I had a nurse that would tell it to me almost every night. Of course, I asked for it. I always wanted to be Bromar, and face the Winds of Treachery to climb to the dragon’s nest.’
‘I always likened myself more to Bromar’s brother.’
Nilith looked genuinely confused. ‘Kennig? That coward?’
‘Not everyone who runs is a coward. Sometimes it takes a clever man to know when it’s time to tuck tail. Kennig knew the dragon would be trouble and had enough sense to stay in the inn. Bromar went up the Dolkfang, and ended up dying alongside his prey.’
‘A heroic ending.’
‘I prefer a comfortable living—’
‘Halt!’
A scrutiniser’s gloved hand blocked our way. I saw Nilith’s lips tighten as she turned.
The man was a short, rat-like fellow, wrapped up in black leather and a mask of silver mail. This rogue had carved the shape of bones into his. I knew his type immediately: the sort that lacked weight in the body department, so they sought other types of authority instead. It always seemed to be the short, balding ones.
The man’s eyes roved over our moth-bitten rags and dusty horse. ‘State your business, in the name of the emperor and the Code.’
‘Cloth merchants from the Sprawls,’ I said, and he seemed surprised to hear me talk. ‘Been a terrible day for trade.’
‘Which district you from?’
‘Far District,’ Nilith added.
The scrutiniser stepped close to me, looking at my neck, visible over my makeshift smock, and the cut of my face. He held up a silver coin to me, matching my face with the one etched in its metal. He grunted. ‘You don’t look like a Sprawler.’
‘I’m not. I’m from Krass.’
The man turned on Nilith with a scowl. ‘You let your shade speak freely?’
I could see the empress trying to stay cordial. ‘Why not? He’s free.’
The scrutiniser spat. ‘Then you need to put a white feather on him, or else he might get snapped up. People are desperate at the moment.’ He moved closer to the horse, sniffed and then seemed to gag. ‘Go on. Away with you. I can see why you haven’t sold anything. Bloody reeks!’
The soldiers at his back seemed to agree, and they cleared a path for us to move on. We did so, not quickly, but certainly not dawdling.
‘And here I was thinking the smell wasn’t that bad,’ whispered Nilith, sniffing deeply.
‘It’s the ghost part of you, I’m afraid. Enjoy the spices and perfumes while you can.’ Nilith nodded, and I quickly added, ‘But it comes in handy. Rotting bodies, for instance. No more gutter-stink.’
The empress gave one more sniff, close to the horses, and came away with her eyes rolling. ‘True,’ she said. ‘Do you miss Krass? Saraka, was it?’
‘Taymar, and every day,’ I said. ‘But mostly because I wish I’d never left its shores.’
‘Why did you take the job?’
I had asked myself the same question on many a dark night, and it was a deceptively simple one, which made it all the more infuriating. ‘Your ghost Etane wrote a letter to me. It made no mention of the Sanctuary, just an offer from the Cloudpiercer. What locksmith wouldn’t jump at the chance? Even with all I knew about Araxes, I was sure a royal writ would see me right. But my captain had made a deal with Temsa, and his men were waiting for us after sunset.’
Nilith hummed. ‘Sisine would have killed you in any case, once she was done with you. She has little stomach for ghosts.’
‘I had thought of that. It’s why I wish I’d never set foot on the Arc in the first place.’
‘You’d trade what you have now – even your haunting – for life?’
The hope in her eyes was plain. The answer would be hers, as well as mine. Soon she and I would be the same. Experience is always sought after by the unknowing. Fear lessened by knowledge.
> I thought hard. I did wish for life, but only because I felt I had been robbed of it. Had I been offered a choice on that dark night, a choice between haunting and death or to get back on the ship, I don’t know what I would have chosen.
‘If I had my freedom as well as my gifts, then I might not. In truth, it makes lockpicking a lot more interesting. That, and I did fall from the top of the Cloudpiercer without a scratch. That’s somewhat… useful?’
Nilith stuck out her chin. I didn’t know whether I had lessened or confirmed her fears. ‘Farazar has complained the entire way. Then again, he complained for most of his life, too. It is the unknown that puts the fear in death. How much will it hurt? What is it like? You would think a city full of ghosts would assuage some of that terror of the afterlife, but it doesn’t.’
‘At least you get a dignified slide into it, Empress,’ I whispered. ‘No knives or grinning soulstealers or dingy binding halls for you.’
‘Small consolation, but it helps.’
‘Better than being a deadbound sword,’ a voice reminded us both, muttering from Nilith’s belt.
The empress was silent for a time as we avoided the Avenue and took a side-road north, and then: ‘Tell me of Krass. Tell me what I’ve missed spending my time in this sand-clogged, festering arsehole of a country.’
I had to smile. Nobody swears like a Krassman, except for a Krasswoman.
We talked to make the flagstones pass quicker. We talked to keep up our ruse under the soldiers’ eyes. We talked of home and the Arc and all the miles in between. We talked of the deserts, and all the trials Nilith had been through with a woman named Krona. We talked of my tribulations; of Busk and Widow Horix, and of Temsa’s mad rise to power. Mostly, I believe we talked because we sensed it could be our last chance for something as simple as conversation.
‘…when I began to occupy myself with the scrolls of the Arctian dead gods, I saw they were hardly different from Odun, and our Krass pantheon. Maybe they are cousins of our gods. Brothers or sisters, even, but they were real. Or are, if your stories are to be believed. They believed in balance above all else.’
I remembered that word. ‘Ma’at.’
‘You listen well.’
‘I’ve locksmith’s ears.’
‘I saw the difference in what the Arc had been and what it had become. Call it Sesh or the idiocy of man, the world has changed for the worse since their absence. Look at Krass, how it doesn’t meddle with murder or slavery as the Arctians do. That’s why I’ve kept going. Why I’m here now, and although my daughter knows I’m coming and the Cult stand with her, what else can I do now but keep walking?’ Nilith asked with a shaky breath. She showed me a copper coin on a thong about her neck, hanging next to a pouch of leather. ‘That’s why I’ve carried this the entire way. Just for Farazar. Tell me, why do you keep going?’
I shrugged. ‘At first I wanted justice, plain and simple. I wanted somebody to pay for my murder. I turned to the wrong people to give me that, and after bad choices and lucky escapes, I realised it was down to me and me alone to get my freedom. And I did, for a short time. Now I have to get it back, so I’ll start all over again. Fortunately, I also have a locksmith’s patience. As for why I didn’t just throw my coin in the Nyx… I don’t want to go back to that cold, screaming place beneath the earth where the souls wait.’
Nilith shuddered. ‘I have dreamed of such a place, the last few nights. When I can sleep, that is.’
‘Oblivion would be no better. I’m not done with my half-life yet. It’s either carry on or shove a copper blade in my eye and let them win. Call it stubbornness. Pettiness. I call it my right to freedom. If that lies in the same direction as your batshit plan, then fine.’ Maybe you’re right. Maybe this is what the gods wanted from me: to run into you.’
‘Who knows what the dead gods want. It matters not. You want your freedom.’ Nilith put another hand on me and smiled. It was a tired, limp thing, but a smile nonetheless. It did a good job of hiding the doubt behind her eyes. ‘And freedom, Caltro Basalt, is what you shall have.’
Our paces measured out the silence as we negotiated a throng of traders clamouring in front of a warehouse. They looked agitated by something. Empty barrels lay on their sides about the group. Grey-robed Nyxites waved their hands at the doorway, shaking their heads.
‘What’s going on here?’ I asked quietly.
‘The Nyx,’ Nilith replied. ‘I’ve seen dry wells all over the south. Mobs outside warehouses like this one. There’s a shortage.’
We traded looks, knowing what that meant for the emperor’s body.
‘A question,’ I said. ‘Would you count yourself a murderer?’
Nilith cleared her throat, evidently challenged. ‘We all take action in search of what we think is greater. The question is whether those actions outweigh that greatness. I’ve taken lives on this journey, or caused others to lose theirs.’ She took a moment, recalling faces and names. ‘Many lives… but will it be worth their sacrifice? I think so. All I can do is believe that. Was Temsa murdered? Or was he killed for something better? Would you kill a child if it meant the end of death? Think on that, Caltro.’
‘Your daughter stands in your way. Your child. Would you kill her to save the Reaches?’
‘I…’ Nilith flapped her mouth, wordless. It took her several paces to whisper, ‘If I had to. If I must.’
My reply was interrupted by a fight breaking out between two of the crowd. Punches began to swing, and with them came street-guards. Red-robed cultists appeared from within, holding short spears and with mail on their breasts. I narrowed my gaze as they broke up the fight, standing respectfully by while a scrutiniser came to berate the pair.
‘Caltro.’ Nilith’s voice called me onwards, leading to a northward detour. ‘Night’s coming.’
And it was. Over what felt like a mile, the sun’s glare sank and died and dusk came to hang over us. It brought stars with it, but the city’s smokestacks blurred them and stole their light. No moon dared to show its face. It seemed to have no wish to watch the empress’s victory.
Our talk died the closer we crept to the Nyxwell, as did our pace. As the bustle of the streets faded after sunset, patrols of soldiers eagerly took up the mantle. More than once did ranks rush down adjoining streets with torches blazing or lanterns dancing on poles. We did our best to stay clear of them. When a group came thundering past, we were almost menaced with spears before a drunkard called the soldiers “a bunch of noisy cunts” and was immediately beaten for his opinion. We managed to slink away in the confusion, and meld into a crowd on a busier street.
Had I been alive, I knew my heart would have been in my mouth, and I could sense Nilith’s was. Neither of us spoke of the situation. It hung over us like a black and slowly closing umbrella. Our eyes were glued ahead. In my peripheries, against the bruise of dusk, I half-recognised the flanks and peaks of spires, though they seemed turned around.
‘What’s your plan?’ I asked Nilith once, but she just shook her head. She was set on marching on, putting the final few miles behind us. In some way I could imagine what this final stretch meant to her.
I guessed it midnight when we found ourselves alone and glimpsing the hornlike structure of the Grand Nyxwell. Between two towers and over the rooftops, we saw it. I heard Nilith gasp. She tugged Anoish’s reins. Wary, I followed, wondering where all the people had got to. The lamps were lit but only stragglers shared the flagstones with us.
To the smart trot of the horse’s hooves, we aimed for the Nyxwell. Lost and found it was between the buildings, over and over until we found a street pointing straight for it.
Pointy spoke up. ‘Where are the guards? If your daughter knows—’
‘Silence!’ Nilith ordered.
Farazar had sensed the tension and started to thrash in his prison of rags. I could just about hear him, like a madman shouting into a pillow. Anoish whinnied nervously.
‘Calm, now,’ Nilith whispered even as she led him on
to the well. It sounded as though she were talking to herself. She laid a hand upon the pommel of the sword, as if she muffled Pointy. The empress threw me a glance, and in it I saw worry and determination wrestling. She pressed on.
For all our hurry, it was with ponderous steps that we came to the edge of the Nyxwell’s grand plaza. A vast wash of grey stone, descending in slanting steps to a great hollow in the earth. I gazed once more at the tusks of stone that rose up and over the Nyxwell. Clumps of lanterns dyed them a sulphurous yellow. It gave them an aged, bestial look.
Aside from a few wanderers and shuffling beggars, robed figures stood upon the dais at its centre. Half a dozen at most. The plaza was so quiet I swore I could hear the chattering of their voices. It was hard, though, over the heavy breathing of Nilith by my side.
She pointed. ‘Soldiers.’
She was right. Where scores of streets and alleys ringed the plaza, every so often I saw the gleam of metal and the glow of shades. I strained my weak eyes, and saw ranks of shields. They were motionless. Waiting.
Nilith shuffled backwards to the horse and began to unwrap the cloth binding Farazar and his body. The body came first. I saw the dark stains in its wrapping, and wondered morbidly what forty days of desert and travel did to a corpse. I was glad I’d been spared that.
Farazar came next, and with a sword an inch from his lips, he swallowed whatever words he had nocked to his vocal chords like triggerbow bolts. He was guided forcibly off the horse and made to stand next to me. He looked at me as if to complain, but my eyes met his with a resounding, ‘Fuck off’ written into them. The emperor looked to the Nyxwell, and I saw the bobbing of his ruined throat; the old habit of a lost body. Like Nilith, he knew his final moments were upon him.
The empress was busy draping herself over the corpse. ‘Caltro. You’ll lead the horse. Farazar, you’ll walk next to it. I will be right here, ready to chop something else off you if you think of opening your mouth.’