The Fall of Ventaris (The Grey City)

by Neil McGarry

  Malleus appraised him coolly. “What’s this then? A wolf amongst the rabbits?”

  “If it thinks a snap or two will send us away, it’s wrong. So very wrong.” Kakios stepped forward, and Duchess noted with a sinking stomach just how large both of the Brutes were, as tall as Castor and much wider.

  “Walk away, wolf. Take your boys and your women. But leave the barrows.” Malleus smiled coldly. “And the rabbit. We’ll finish with him.”

  Kakios nodded. “We always like to finish.”

  Castor was an artist with his blade — she’d seen that underneath the city — and a part of her hungered to turn him loose upon the men who wanted to hurt her precious Lysander, to leave the street running red with their blood. One word and the Shallows would be forever free of their whispering malice. One word and she could banish forever from Lysander’s eyes the knowledge of that dreadful decision she’d made, the one that had nearly torn them apart. One simple, sweet word would close the tally sheet.

  She wavered. She knew that if Castor killed the Brutes on her order, by morning the story would be on half the tongues in the city. The news would bring Ophion’s attention, and only the gods knew how he might respond. Every blackarm in the Shallows was at his command, and he had influence higher on the hill as well. Even if he dared not strike at one who wore the cloak, he could still vent his ire on Castor, or Jana...or Lysander.

  Her moment of indecision was broken by Zachary, who leaned over a barrow and pointed. “I see you, damned ‘sider! Get the fuck out of here, Nell!” The child Duchess had taken for a boy had been quietly sliding around to the side towards the barrow that held Jana’s looms. From this distance Duchess saw this dirty-faced urchin was indeed a girl, and none other than the leader of the lightboy gang known as the Outsiders, the Tenth Bell Boys’ bitter enemies. So while the Brutes would be battling Castor, Nell and Zachary would be tearing at each other like spitting cats, and the tale of the night’s bloodshed would run up and down the hill.

  She could not allow this. Gathering her courage, she left the wheelbarrow and moved to confront Malleus and Kakios, Castor close at her heels. The Brutes seemed unarmed, but there were no doubt knives in various places on their very large persons. “Nell and the Brutes all in one evening? I’m honored.” She paused long enough to let all attention focus on her, while slipping an unobtrusive hand into her coin pouch, thankful she’d left the gold back at her apartment. “Drinks for everyone! I’m buying!” With that, she pulled out a large handful of coins and threw them high into the air. Copper and silver glittered in the last light of the day as coins rained down on the packed mud of Beggar’s Way.

  The effect was immediate. The beggars’ greed outweighed their fear, and in an instant every single one was scrambling for a share. The onlookers got into it as well, and soon dozens of grabbing, cursing and shoving people swarmed around the Brutes, fighting for the coins scattered on the road. Malleus and Kakios were lost in a boiling mass of humanity, and even they could not easily win free.

  Nell tried to slip away, but Castor reached out and snagged her in a grip of iron. Duchess turned to the others. “Push! Down that alley and around.” They put their backs into it and moved as quickly as they could along the narrow way between buildings, hoping to cut around the riot in the street. Ordinarily Duchess would never have dared travel the alleys of the Deeps, but today was hardly ordinary. Nothing ahead could be worse than what they were leaving behind.

  It was slow going in the narrow alleys choked with trash, and Nell kicked and scratched like a cat, but they finally struggled their way around a few corners and back to Beggar’s Way, now farther up the hill and above the mess Duchess and her money had made. The fracas could no longer be seen, but shouts could still be heard coming up the slope, just ahead of the evening fog. They crossed into the Shallows and Duchess breathed a sigh of relief. Even with Ophion’s protection the Brutes would not dare commit murder openly, not here. Still, it was best not to linger. They moved as quickly as they could, the six of them plus one struggling prisoner, passing north and east through the Shallows and back down the hill to the Wharves and the Foreign Quarter. A few passersby eyed them, but a dark look from Castor dampened their curiosity.

  They reached the building Tyford had rented her: a three-story wooden construction not far from the docks. A wooden stair zig-zagged its way up the side of the building, providing access to the third floor. The second could be reached from an internal stair. Duchess was relieved to see a red hand painted on the door frame. The protection of the Red did not come cheaply, but it was a necessary expense for a Domae who hoped to trade unmolested. Not even Malleus and Kakios would dare rouse the wrath of the Uncle. That gave her a notion. She handed the key to Jana and started the lightboys unloading the barrows, then turned to the girl Castor still held. She was thin as a broomstick and dirty as might be expected of any Shallows child, but had a fearless look and what Duchess suspected was a rather heavy purse in one of her pockets.

  “Let her go,” she said, and Castor released his grip and stood back. The girl shrugged her stained tunic back into place and shot the man a spiteful look, then faced Duchess squarely. “Hello, Nell,” Duchess said, calm as if they’d met in the middle of Market Square. “I’ve heard a good deal about you.” Most of what she’d heard had come from Zachary, before that business with the baron’s dagger. It seemed a lifetime ago, but clearly not much in the Deeps had changed. Rumor held that Nell ruled her pack of lightboys more ruthlessly than any male, having risen to its primacy by wits, cunning and, some insisted, murder. Rumors were as common as rats in the Shallows, but whatever the truth, Nell certainly seemed unfazed by her current plight.

  Lysander regarded her sternly, shaking his head. “What on earth possessed you to take up with the Brutes? Is business slow, or are you running out of lightboys to kill?”

  Nell sneered. “I thought I’d try killing men for a change. Do you know any?” The Thomases snorted laughter, but Zachary never cracked a smile. Malleus and Kakios were, technically, blackarms, and by custom lightboys never cooperated with blackarms.

  Unruffled, Lysander flashed a grin. “I know a few men. How is your father, by the by? You don’t take much after him, do you? He was uglier but his tits were bigger.”

  “The only tits you’ve ever seen are on those Shallows dogs you fuck.”

  “I knew you looked familiar!” Now Zachary was guffawing loudly and the Thomases were egging on the combatants, but Duchess decided to intervene before Nell responded with something sharper than a jibe.

  “I respect your nerve,” Duchess said, “although I wish you’d found another use for it tonight besides harassing me and my business partner. But that’s all behind us.” Duchess found herself admiring the girl’s grit. She herself might have ended up like Nell were it not for the intervention of Noam and the Grey. She considered how best to handle this situation, then remembered what the Uncle had said about friendship. “I don’t know who hired you, but I imagine from that purse in your pocket it was someone with a bit of coin to spare. Considering how things fell out, I doubt you’re going to get the rest of your pay. Still, you obviously have good sources of information. You knew exactly where we’d be tonight, and when. I could use a friend like that.” She let that sink in. “I can pay for any other information you come across...so long as you whisper your secrets only to me. That’s how friends should be, don’t you think?”

  Nell watched her warily, and Duchess was nearly taken off-guard when the girl lunged suddenly towards Jana and the loom she was removing from one of the barrows. Nell was as quick as a cat, but Duchess had caught cats who were quicker and she seized the girl by the arm before she could do any damage. She whirled and Duchess snatched back her hand when she saw the gleam of metal from her sleeve, slicing down where Duchess’ fingers had been. Duchess whipped out her own blade and held it at the ready, but before Nell could make a second strike Castor seized her. “Drop it, girl,” he said almost casually. His hand ti
ghtened slowly on the arm that held the blade. Nell hung on grimly for a long moment, teeth gritted. Lysander was shaking his head, the lightboys were goggling, and Jana looked shocked at the whole affair. Finally, Nell released her knife, which Castor swept up with a deft motion and handed to Duchess.

  Duchess took a deep breath to focus her anger. Minette had once said that a quiet word was louder than a shout. “I’m disappointed, Nell, but I guess I can’t blame you for trying. Your job was to break the looms, wasn’t it?” Nell glared at her and did not reply. “If you’d like to make the other half of your pay you can talk to me. If not, you can leave with no harm done. But if you turn down my friendship now, I don’t want any more trouble from you. Ever. Because the next time I have to draw a blade on you will be the last.”

  Jana gave her a wide-eyed look, but Nell’s gaze was more speculative, and just as Duchess was about to speak she said, “They told us to take ‘em or break ‘em.” She gave Duchess a defiant look. “But I won’t tell you who paid me, so you can keep your gods-damned money.” She spat on the street.

  Duchess smiled. “Fair enough,” she said, tossing the dagger at the girl’s feet. “Come back and see me when you’re ready for my friendship. And my gods-damned money.” Nell snatched up the blade and ran off, disappearing around a bend.

  “Are you sure you want friendship from that one?” Lysander asked. “She didn’t tell you anything about who hired her.”

  “That’s a point in her favor,” Duchess replied, shooing the lightboys back to work. “If she won’t give up someone to me, she probably wouldn’t give me up to someone else.”

  Lysander and Zachary exchanged a dubious look. “All the same, I wouldn’t turn my back on her if I were you,” Lysander said. “Last person to do that got his head bashed in with a rock.”

  Duchess flapped a hand. “People are always saying things like that about women who make their own way,” she told him. “That rumor was probably started by whatever lightboy lost the leadership of the Outsiders to her.” Lysander said nothing more, instead accepting Zachary’s help to heft a rolled carpet from the wheelbarrow.

  Duchess felt a touch on her arm, and turned to see Jana, looking both frazzled and weary. “Those men, who made their threats...they were thieves?”

  Duchess saw no point in lying. “Blackarms, actually. I’ve had...some dealings with them in the past.”

  “But do not blackarms keep the peace?”

  Duchess frowned. “Well, yes, but sometimes...in the Shallows, you see, there’s a man named Ophion, and he...” Jana was already giving her a puzzled look. She thought for a moment of trying to explain the whole ordered insanity that was Rodaas. Instead, she just threw up her hands. “I’ll explain later. Let’s just get you unloaded.”

  * * *

  The barrows had been unpacked, the lightboys paid and dismissed, and Castor had gone to a tavern and fetched them supper: cold meats, bread, and ale. They were finished most of the remaining work by the time he returned and were ready for a break. The Domae weaver had a way of making even the rudest accommodations seem comfortable, and that night was no exception. Jana had unpacked and arranged all of her floor-pillows and spread out some fabric like a tablecloth, making an impromptu but suitable dining area.

  Duchess appraised her new rental. The place needed a serious cleaning, but any repairs would have to wait until she and Jana actually began to sell cloth. The first-floor room would soon serve as the main shop area and work space, Jana would use the second floor for storage and her own sleeping quarters. The third floor they had yet to find a use for. Perhaps Tyford would allow her to rent it out herself, so she could reduce costs. Of course, that would mean letting a stranger hang around the property, but Lysander would no doubt know of someone trustworthy who was looking for a place to live.

  Jana’s distress brought Duchess back to the present. “We have still to unpack the teacups!” the weaver lamented, wringing her hands.

  Lysander grinned. “No worries...ale’s better than tea after you just escaped the Brutes.” He seemed jovial enough, but Duchess could read his unease. It matched her own. As they settled down to eat, she ran over the evening’s events in her mind. The Brutes had merely been the glove for another hand, she was sure, and not Nell’s. No lightboy had the coin to pay for the services of Malleus and Kakios. First to business, they’d said, but whose? Smashing Jana’s looms would have set back Duchess’ fledgling business, but who would want to do that?

  She briefly considered Jadis, but dismissed the thought almost instantly. The First Keeper had no reason to strike at Duchess, and every reason not to. The shared secret of Castor was enough to get them both hanged. If he wanted to seal her silence he would have sent the Brutes to kill her, not to destroy some looms. Hector was petty enough to try something like this, she supposed, but not bold enough to approach the Brutes to do so. She considered Baron Eusbius, who had used Malleus and Kakios in the past, but Eusbius had no way of knowing that Duchess was behind his humiliation, and she could not believe that Ahmed would want his own association with House Kell brought to the baron’s attention.

  She came out of her reverie to find the others looking at her. Jana’s expression was wary, Castor’s serious, and Lysander’s knowing. “You’re wondering who sent the Brutes,” he said, swirling the ale in his cup.

  “Among other things,” she replied, fiddling with a crust of bread. “I’m also thinking that I can’t let this pass.”

  Lysander’s gaze sharpened. “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” she said, feeling anger intertwined with fear, “that by this time tomorrow half the Shallows will have heard about tonight’s little adventure, and the rest will know soon after. They’ll all be talking about how Duchess almost took one in the teeth.”

  “Almost,” Lysander pointed out. “They’ll also know how cleverly you avoided the Brutes.”

  She rose to her feet and stalked to the window. “Maybe,” she mused, looking out into the Wharves. The street was empty except for two Ahé women who were passing, carrying a large, cloth-wrapped bundle between them. “Or maybe they’ll wonder when the next blow will fall.”

  “Everyone in this city, up and down the hill, knows the meaning of that red hand,” Lysander said, gesturing to the door. “Malleus and Kakios are scary, sure, but not as scary as Uncle Cornelius.”

  Duchess turned back to face him. “It’s not the Brutes I’m worried about, but the one who paid them.” She paced back and forth, like a restless cat. “Nell knows, but she won’t say, and I doubt the Brutes will be more cooperative.”

  “Perhaps there is nothing to be done,” Jana suggested. “No one was hurt, and we are all safe here.”

  “From the Brutes, perhaps, but if anyone gets the notion that I’ll take this lying down...” She clenched a fist. “I need to send a message. She was thinking of Tyford and his tale.

  “What message?” Lysander asked, although he looked as if he knew.

  “That no one, up or down the hill, Brute or blackarm or lightboy, fucks with me.”

  PART TWO

  FALL

  “Your Imperial Majesty,” she intoned, in a voice stronger than Duchess would have expected. “It is a great honor for us to stand before you, on this day of all days. As Ventaris — ”

  Tick.

  The sound rang out loudly in the quiet chamber, the clack of wood on wood, and Green hesitated, looking confused. Then she composed herself. “As Ventaris begins — ”

  Tick.

  “ — His long twilight struggle against the darkness, we, His children wish nothing more than — ”

  Tick, tick.

  Now Green’s speech trailed off, and she turned to look at the cask, clearly the origin of that strange clacking noise. The others exchanged glances, the herald looked mortified, and even Violana blinked and leaned forward in her chair to see what was the matter. Two of the Whites on the dais stepped to her side, hands on sword-hilts, cat-like in readiness.

&nbs
p; Tick, tick. Tick, tick tick.

  Chapter Seventeen: Pacing the cage

  A tiger ate her sleep.

  Duchess had never seen such a creature, and knew of them only from a lushly illustrated manuscript that had belonged to her father. The document was in a language she did not recognize, but about the first letter was curled some great cat, striped in golds and reds and browns, all staring eyes and fangs and claws, drawn so vividly it seemed ready to leap and pounce and grab and tear. Many strange animals were depicted in that scroll, but the cat had preyed on her mind so long she’d finally gone to her father’s library to satisfy her curiosity.

  She’d scoured the shelves and read of the creature’s habits and temper, its hunting practices and preferred prey. The tale she best remembered described the efforts of a previous Rodaasi emperor to capture a tiger for a menagerie he intended to build, written by the hunter who’d made the attempt. The cat had been captured without much difficulty, but when they’d caged it for the trip back to the empire, everything went wrong. The tiger paced unceasingly, hour after hour, day after day, neither eating nor sleeping. Several days into the journey bloody streaks appeared across the bottom of the cage, left by the tiger’s paws, which were worn and tattered by its constant movement. The great cat grew thinner and weaker, and yet still would not rest. It died before the end of the voyage, so that in the end, the emperor was presented not with the prize he had so coveted but merely its skin.

  At the time Duchess had wondered what it might be like to be so trapped and frightened and angry. In the days and weeks since Jana’s move and the Brutes’ attack, she realized she knew. The tiger of her worry paced and fretted and growled and would not let her rest. She spent many a sleepless night at her window, waiting for the morning sun and the fog that came with it, bringing another day of worry and dread and anger.