House of Blood and Bone

by Kimberley J. Ward

  The bridge was only a few hundred yards away, long and narrow, arching gracefully over the River Serpentine, which originated in the mountains and cut through the city, feeding into Lake Nyma.

  “Why would anyone be waiting for us under the bridge?” Orm muttered, even as he followed after Nessa and Hunter as they started off.

  Nessa grinned. “It wouldn’t be a very secret meeting if it was out in the open, now, would it?”

  Orm’s eyebrows shot up with a sudden burst of understanding. “Ah,” he murmured. “That makes a wee bit of sense, come to think of it.”

  “Glad you think so,” Hunter muttered.

  Nessa, although unable to stop herself from grinning, jabbed him in the side with an elbow.

  Orm grumbled something under his breath.

  “Relax,” Hunter urged his friend. “We were invited. I doubt they’d leave us out to dry if we’re a few minutes late.”

  “You don’t know that for sure,” Orm argued. “This is an amazing opportunity. If we miss this—”

  “Then we’ll be right where we were before we knew about this ‘amazing opportunity’, which, I would like to point out, we weren’t even aware of a fortnight ago.”

  “I can’t believe you two honestly think that being invited to join a lucrative gambling den is advantageous to our end goal,” Nessa said. “I mean, you’ve called these people ‘lazy criminals’ on a number of occasions.”

  “Have not,” Orm grumbled, plucking one of his peculiarly flaky cigars from his coat pocket. “I’m sure they’re outstanding members of criminal society.”

  “Outstanding members of criminal society?” Nessa laughed. “I think you need to slow down on those cigars of yours.”

  “I’ve only had one today,” Orm disputed, puffing on his cigar, making the tip glow green, “and besides, I’m getting into character. We wouldn’t want them getting suspicious of us because I’m non-stoned, now, do we?”

  “In my opinion,” Hunter quipped, “you’re never actually out of character anyway.”

  Orm glared half-heartedly. “Lies. Malicious lies.”

  The bridge and the Serpentine came before them, and Orm deflated a little as it became abundantly clear that no one was waiting on it, his broad shoulders sagging. The mushroom lamps highlighted nothing but an empty road and a stray black cat.

  Hunter went over to the edge of the street and peered down at the sloping bank that led to the riverside and the underside of the bridge.

  “Well,” he murmured, “there’s enough space down there for people to gather, I suppose. Just.”

  Nessa joined him, asking, “Can you see anyone down there?”

  Hunter shook his head. “It’s too dark, which I suppose is perfect for secret dealings and whatnot.”

  “Shall we go down there, then?”

  Nessa and Hunter shared a look, concerned that the meeting was a trap of some kind.

  With a long-suffering sigh, Hunter said, “I suppose so,” and hopped off down the bank. Loose pebbles were kicked up as he skidded a couple of steps before he regained his balance and held out a hand for Nessa, helping her down onto the unsteady riverside. As Orm ambled over to join them, Nessa quickly checked that her hair was still tucked under her cap. Nerves were starting to creep up on her.

  “I find myself wondering,” Nessa mused quietly, tugging her cape tighter around her shoulders, “that if these people are such outstanding members of criminal society, then why am I in disguise?”

  “I said that they’re probably outstanding members of criminal society,” Orm explained, “not society in general.”

  “Besides,” Hunter interjected thoughtfully, “after what happened last week, it’s probably best for you to go incognito from now on, for everyone’s safety.”

  “That wasn't my fault,” Nessa argued. “I had nothing to do with that whatsoever.”

  “I never said you did.”

  “I was just minding my own business,” Nessa continued, “and all of a sudden this drunken man starts accusing me of causing bad luck and others got involved—”

  “And then there was a giant punch-up,” Orm recalled fondly. “I haven’t been in a bar brawl like that in years.”

  “Men like him, men who spend more time on a ship far out at sea than on dry land, tend to get funny notions. They’re a very superstitious lot,” Hunter said, his tone low and placating. “When they feel like they’re being struck by bad luck, they look for someone or something in the vicinity to blame.”

  “Which was me, clearly,” Nessa grumbled, recalling the man’s beady, little eyes landing on her from across the table.

  The three of them had been at a small gathering, a party of sorts, to celebrate the coming of winter. It had been held in a small courtyard only a few streets away from where they were lodging. It had been a modest assembly, about twenty local men and a handful of women, some of the men’s wives, most likely. A collection of tables and chairs had been dragged out from surrounding homes, and a couple of barrels of mead and ale had somehow been added to the mix. There had been drinking and card games, and a fair amount of gossiping. The gossiping was why Orm had insisted they went to the small gathering rather than one of the lavish street fairs that had popped up around the city. A few of the men had just returned from several months at sea, trading things along the northern coast. Orm wanted to know what, if anything, was happening over there.

  Displeased by Orm forcing her to miss out on one of the street fairs to watch him spend another night gambling and blindly searching for titbits of information that might come in useful at some point in the future, Nessa had milled around, bored and cold. Like Hunter, she had kept an ear open for anything of interest, going from table to table, pretending to be watching a game or two. Nessa had come to stand by Orm’s shoulder, watching as he won another round, as he usually did, seeing as he was nothing but a rather skilled cheat, and was listening to the men behind her as they talked about mysterious creatures and fell fogs.

  They weren’t the things that Nessa was meant to be listening to, but they were a lot more interesting than the drunken ramblings of the other men around, Orm included. The fanciful tales of thick mists appearing out of nowhere with strange creatures moving within them had kindled Nessa’s imagination. While sipping on her tankard of mead, she had pictured them in her mind’s eye, drawing up images of spectral men with majestic antlers and black shadows with eyes of mystic fire.

  Wrapped up in her own mind, Nessa hadn’t noticed that Orm had got carried away with both his drink and the game he was playing. Instead of throwing a round or two so people wouldn’t get suspicious of his unnatural winning streak, Orm forgot. Rather than claim Orm was cheating, the man opposite him had cried bad luck and witchcraft.

  Nessa had awoken from her daydream as the man shot to his feet, his beady eyes locked onto her, his finger pointed in accusation.

  “Witch,” he wailed. “Sorceress. You bring bad luck upon me!”

  Nessa was taken aback. Never had she expected to hear such accusations.

  What happened next was a bit of a blur, but Nessa recalled a lot of drunken shouting and quite a few flying fists. It was something she didn’t care to experience again.

  Coming back to the here and now, Nessa turned to Orm. “What happened that night was entirely your fault.”

  “It was not,” he quickly denied, looking affronted.

  “I wanted to go to the nice street fair,” Nessa said, “but you wanted to listen to sailors’ gossip. And did you listen to their gossip? Oh, no. Instead, you got drunk and forgot to throw the game, and I somehow got blamed for your rather fortuitous winning streak.”

  Orm began to chuckle. “Woah, Nessie. You should be more careful throwing all the blame around. Besides, you were the one staring vacantly into space.”

  “I was daydreaming.”

  “Oh, were you, now?” Orm smirked. “Look at who wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings, or listening to the gossiping like she was mea
nt to.”

  “Rule number one,” Hunter said over his shoulder as he led them under the bridge, “always be alert in unfamiliar surroundings, especially when there are strangers around.”

  “Ah, now you wade into this little debate,” Nessa murmured. “I’ll take the opportunity of reminding you about your stupid rule that I’m not allowed to be left alone, and must be accompanied by one, if not both, of you when out and about. Therefore, I also hold you accountable for that less than enjoyable excursion.”

  “And I stand firmly by that rule,” Hunter replied, unapologetic. “We can’t risk anything happening to you. Besides, those people might come in useful later on. You should make appearances around where they rub shoulders beforehand so they know and trust you.”

  “You want me to be trusted by some of the most untrustworthy people around?” Nessa grunted. “I think you’ve spent too much time listening to Orm’s drunken ramblings.”

  “There’s an insult in there somewhere,” Orm said, blinking owlishly.

  “You know, I’m not a child,” Nessa continued. “I don’t have to be babysat all the time. You can trust me not to do something stupid.”

  “Oh, I trust you,” Hunter insisted, spinning in a circle, kicking up pebbles and grit from the riverside. “It’s other people I worry about. And while we’re talking about other people, there seems to be a lack of them waiting for us here.”

  Orm swore and once again consulted the piece of parchment. It was dark under the bridge. No light from the moon or the mushroom lamps was able to reach there, merely catching and glinting on the calm water on each side of the bridge. As Orm and Hunter pored over the coded directions once again, bickering as to whether they’d got the time and place wrong, Nessa reached out her mind.

  Should I tell them that we’re a little early? she enquired.

  And interrupt them arguing, Aoife responded. I think not. I find their quarrelling amusing.

  That makes one of us, at least.

  With Aoife’s presence hovering at the edge of her mind, enjoying the entertainment that was Hunter and Orm, Nessa took in her surroundings, wondering why, of all places, the directions had led them there.

  The bridge was one of the largest in the city, wide enough to allow multiple carriages to pass side by side, and it was long, stretching over the great expanse of the Serpentine, which ran slow and steady beside her. Thanks to the tall arches, the underside of the bridge was high enough for them to stand without having to stoop, and there was a small pebble beach on which they waited, hidden and secret. The bridge concealed the little beach from prying eyes in nearly all directions, and there was nowhere for anyone to hide should someone approach from the street. Nowhere, that was, except for the storm drain that resided in the arch’s wall to Nessa’s right. Not that it really offered much in the way of a hiding spot or an escape route, seeing as it was set low to the ground, only coming up to knee height, and was securely barred, the rusted grate padlocked shut.

  For a second, Nessa’s mind went elsewhere, fogging over slightly, and she half-expected someone’s head to pop up from behind the grate as they had…like in…at…

  The memory was gone before it could properly form, just like they always were. The memories, for that’s what she presumed they were, appeared reluctant to be remembered, only offering tantalising hints of things that were both alien and familiar.

  Nessa blinked as the fog lifted and sighed, and then blinked again.

  A shadow moved behind the grate, and to Nessa’s bewilderment, a pale hand reached through the metal bars and began tinkering with the padlock.

  Orm and Hunter spun around at the noise, both of them clutching a dagger, alert and ready to pounce.

  “Put those blades away, lads,” said a gruff voice. “They aren’t needed. Not for the moment, at least.”

  Nessa frowned, knowing instantly who that voice belonged to and finding herself a little perplexed as to why their landlord was standing in a storm drain. She looked to Hunter and Orm for an answer, but they seemed just as flummoxed as she was.

  “Jerome,” Nessa hissed, “what in the Nine Devils are you doing here?”

  “Come now, lass,” Jerome snorted, “that should be obvious.” The padlock clicked and the metal grate swung open without a sound. Surprising, given the level of rust on the hinges. “I’ve come to take the three of you to the den.”

  “You,” Hunter all but sputtered. “You’re the one who left the invite in Orm’s room?”

  “Indeedy I did, and at the boss’ orders too.”

  Whilst most of Hunter’s features were lost in the darkness, and though it was hard to tell, Nessa was pretty sure that he was scowling. “Bloody hell,” Hunter growled, sheathing his dagger with an angry jerk. “You’ve led us on a right royal run around. You know that, right? What kind of game are you playing with us, eh? Because it’s not one we care to be a part of anymore.”

  “The games are for later, lad,” Jerome chortled, “and mostly for Orm, considering you’re shit at pretty much everything played down here. But the boss told me to extend the invite to Orm and his friends, and so I did, and here you are.”

  Hunter scoffed. “Do you honestly expect us, me in particular, to believe that you’re part of a secret criminal network?”

  “I don’t much care what you do or don’t believe,” Jerome sighed. “But since you seem of a mind to think that I have, for some devil’s reason, lured the three of you here under dark pretences, I’ll ask you one simple thing: why would I be standing in a storm drain unless it was to take you somewhere that’s best kept a secret?”

  “I don’t know, Jerome,” Orm mumbled, taking a draw on his cigar, which was now little more than a nub, “you’re a pretty strange man. I wouldn’t put anything past you at this point. For all I know, you might have a storm-drain fetish.”

  “A storm-drain fetish?” Jerome wheezed. “Where in the Nine Devils do you come up with this kind of crap?”

  “I don’t know,” Orm said airily. “It just comes to me.”

  “I wager your mother dropped you on your head a great many times when you were a young’un.”

  Orm nodded. “And almost drowned me on one occasion.”

  Nessa looked at him in alarm.

  “She was young,” Orm shrugged, “and has since assured me numerous times that it was an accident.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Nessa turned back to the dark shape that was Jerome. “It’s not so much a question of if you’re taking us somewhere secretive, but of what that secret place might be.”

  “You think I’m lying about the invite and the den?”

  “No,” Nessa said diplomatically.

  “Yes,” Orm and Hunter grunted simultaneously.

  “Look at this from our point of view,” Hunter murmured. “You lure us here with an invite to join an underground gambling network, a network that’s operated by a bunch of smugglers, high-profile thieves and I don’t even know what else. Now, this we’re perfectly happy with. After all, these are our kinds of people. However, your alleged knowledge of supposed criminal networks raises the question of whether this ‘den’ you want to take us to is actually a den of fun and gambling or a cover for some other activity of a less favourable variety.”

  Jerome reluctantly asked, “A less favourable variety?”

  “Indeed, you might have lured us here under the pretence of gambling, something Orm particularly enjoys, but you actually plan on taking us to our doom.”

  “Your doom?”

  “Yeah. You might be intending to sell us into slavery or…or…”

  “To a brothel,” Orm helpfully supplied.

  Nessa rolled her eyes in exasperation. This was not how she thought her night would go. I can’t tell which is worst: their bickering with each other or this ridiculous conversation.

  Shh, Aoife murmured. I’m pretty sure this is the best thing I’ve heard all week.

  “A brothel? Slavery?” Jerome was incredulous. “What kind of ship do y
ou think we’re sailing here?”

  Orm and Hunter shrugged.

  “I’ve heard some particularly strange things in my day,” Jerome muttered. “Especially of late, but this has to be one of the most bizarre.” He shifted and turned to Nessa. At least, Nessa presumed he did, for it was hard to tell in the gloom. “You seem to be the voice of reason here,” Jerome stated, “so I’m just gonna talk to you until these two buffoons realise how ridiculous they sound.”

  Nessa grinned. “That seems fair.”

  “You think I’m running an elaborate operation of luring people into slavery or selling them to brothels?”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, I reckon that if you were, then you’d have a far better house than your current one.”

  Jerome snorted, then burst into laughter, wheezing a little. “Good gosh, my dear girl. If I were a slaver, with the money they make, I sure as the Nine Devils wouldn’t be standing in a bloody storm drain speaking to the likes of you.”

  Nessa chuckled. “No, I don’t suppose you would be, would you?”

  “And I sure as the Nine Devils wouldn’t be running a guest house in the Stickworks either.”

  Nessa could hear the truth behind Jerome’s words. He was no human trafficker. “Would anyone in that position?”

  “No one but these two fools.”

  Orm turned to Hunter. “How very insulting.”

  “I know, right.”

  Nessa crouched down by the storm drain and peered into the endless darkness that stretched out behind Jerome. “It’s rather grim, isn't it?” she said, with equal levels of intrigue and dismay. “And a storm drain makes for a very unusual entrance.”

  “Ah, lass. This is but one of several entrances to the den,” Jerome explained. “The others being a fair bit more pleasant, I might add. Just around the corner, though, I have us a fair old lamp to light up the way. So don’t you worry about the likes of rats and whatnot.”