The Boy with the Porcelain Blade

by Patrick, Den

  They walked in silence for a moment. Dino had often visited the sanatorio, which Lucien had claimed for himself, turning the place into a school. The previous tenants had been moved to a new sanatorio nearer the coast with better conditions and a score of nurses. Banners the colour of newly turned earth flapped and rippled in the wind behind them, suspended from each of the gargoyles on the building’s roof. Seven triangles in turquoise ran down the left side of each flag, a device of Lucien’s own design.

  ‘How’s it going in there?’ Lucien gestured to Demesne. He’d not been back in a year, busying himself with the school and Rafaela. The corridors held memories he was in no rush to revisit.

  ‘It’s all piss and vinegar,’ replied Dino casually. ‘Anea has curtailed House Fontein’s influence somewhat. The guards answer directly to her. Duke and Duchess Fontein have attracted a clique of blacksmiths and armourers, most of whom they had to poach from House Prospero. They still have the Maestri di Spada. They’re an academy and an armoury now, nothing more.’ He smiled at the older Orfano before continuing.

  ‘Duchess Prospero is up in arms of course. The capo de custodia looks like he can’t tell his arse from his elbow. Nothing new there. And there’s talk of a new Majordomo being appointed.’

  ‘Sounds like something you could do,’ said Lucien, waiting for the riposte.

  ‘Not likely,’ replied Dino. ‘I’m only thirteen. Besides, look what happened to the last one.’

  ‘Good point.’

  They were outside Demesne now, not any of the houses but the gates of King’s Keep itself. A triumphal arch led from the gates to the exterior doors of the keep.

  ‘Don’t think I’ve ever passed this way before.’

  ‘Probably as a good a day to do so as any. Long live the king.’ Dino laughed. There was a flicker of movement at one of the narrow windows two floors up, and then the mighty wooden doors were opening outwards, pushed by teams of men, each four strong.

  ‘All this for me?’

  ‘They call you the Jack of Ravens now,’ said Dino.

  ‘And what do they call you?’

  ‘Well, Virmyre calls me “that bastard Orfano who swears too much”, but it’ll never catch on.’

  ‘He could shorten it to “bastard”.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dino, ‘and I could shorten his life expectancy. And yours.’

  ‘I’ve heard you’re the quite the prodigy.’

  ‘I know the hilt from the blade. I find that helps.’

  ‘Such modesty in one so young.’

  ‘Shut up, Lucien.’

  The doormen bowed and the man and boy entered the yawning portal. It was a vast and ornate threshold with six colonnettes on each side, each sporting a raven etched in stone. New additions since the king’s demise. No sooner had they passed under the arch than the doors were drawn shut again.

  The circuitous corridor was barely recognisable. Oil lamps lit every alcove and new tiles had been laid in turquoise and white, Anea’s house colours. The doors to the king’s chambers had been replaced and painted white. Outside stood a hooded figure in deep crimson, clutching a silver staff. Lucien fought down a shudder of grim remembrance. The Majordomo had worn similar robes the day he’d been sworn in as a Fontein. And at Duke Prospero’s funeral.

  A slender hand reached up to draw back the hood, revealing Russo’s oval face.

  Dino let out a low whistle. ‘I guess I should have seen that coming.’

  ‘Surprised?’ she asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Just glad she didn’t ask me to do it.’

  ‘Hello, Lucien.’ Russo smiled warmly

  ‘Anea found you a new job then, did she?’

  ‘You’re not afraid of women on top, are you, Lucien?’

  ‘Not at all, just ask Rafaela.’

  Dino rolled his eyes. ‘Can we go now?’

  Russo turned to the gates, producing the two-pronged key that Lucien had wrested from the old Majordomo. Some things hadn’t changed after all. They entered the library, where Virmyre leafed through an old tome while he waited for them.

  ‘Remarkable,’ he whispered to himself.

  ‘Find anything interesting?’ asked Lucien.

  ‘Interesting?’ Virmyre turned to the Orfano. ‘Everything in this library is interesting, Lucien. There are things written here we couldn’t have imagined.’

  ‘How have you been keeping?’

  ‘Good. Anea has been keeping me busy.’

  ‘Don’t you mean Lady Diaspora?’ Anea had made a lot of changes in the last year, most notably reinventing herself.

  ‘Come on, she’s waiting,’ pressed Russo.

  The king’s chamber had been transformed, the laboratory on the upper level dismantled. White drapes cascaded from the ceiling, running down the walls. The floor had been tiled, polished and waxed. It was a place of light and beauty now. Three score nobles stood and preened. Duchess Prospero whispered to Lady Allatamento. Lucien ignored her, nodding politely to Stephania instead. Stephania returned a tight smile and looked away, fanning herself.

  ‘She hates me, doesn’t she?’

  ‘It’s not your fault, but she’s not exactly drowning in suitors.’

  The capo glowered at the Orfani as they passed. Lucien smiled cheerfully back.

  ‘Didn’t he throw you in the oubliette?’ enquired Dino.

  ‘I’d forgotten that minor detail.’

  ‘We could still arrest him, you know.’

  ‘I wish you would arrest him,’ grumbled Virmyre.

  ‘You could still arrest him,’ said Lucien. ‘I don’t live here any more, remember?’

  ‘I’m just saying. I don’t like him,’ added Dino.

  ‘Another thing we all have in common,’ said Virmyre.

  In front of them was Araneae Oscuro Diaspora, ruler of Demesne and all of sixteen years old. There was no throne or sceptre, no crown or tiara, not even a banner to proclaim her authority. She’d carefully avoided the trappings of power while wielding it absolutely. A pair of pageboys lurked nearby, but there was meagre evidence that she was the island’s ruler. Her turquoise gown was belted by a white silk sash which matched her veil and gloves.

  Russo joined Anea, nodding politely to her. ‘Lady Diaspora welcomes you back to Demesne, where you have been sorely missed.’

  Anea’s eyes flickered with amusement above her veil. Smiles and greetings were exchanged and then the group retired up the staircase that led to the gallery. Below them the nobles muttered and seethed.

  ‘I see the Orfani are as popular with the nobili as ever,’ said Lucien, remembering a time he might have been tempted to spit over the railings.

  ‘They’re anxious,’ said Russo, her staff tapping out a regular rhythm on the wooden floor. ‘They know that taking power from House Fontein is just the start.’

  ‘The Contadini don’t care much for the other houses,’ said Virmyre. ‘They might prove useful in the years ahead.’

  Anea took Lucien by the hand and led him to an alcove off the dome. Sunlight streamed in around them. He looked down, unable to believe this was the same place he’d confronted the king. Russo, Virmyre and Dino waited at the railing, talking between themselves.

  In the alcove was a plinth carved from pure white marble, a rosewood box four feet long resting on it. Lucien instinctively knew what it was. He turned to Anea and she nodded, her eyes filled with happiness. He reached forward and undid the brass clasps, lifting the lid reverently. Inside was a replica of the blade he’d carried into his final testing, perfect in every way. It could have been the same blade. He ran his fingers over the smooth ceramic and looked at Anea.

  Anea brought a notebook out from one of her sleeves, turning to a page marked with a black ribbon. Lucien looked down at the words she’d prepared for him: I wanted you to have these also.

  She circled the plinth and stooped, retrieving a smaller rosewood box. Lucien waited, unsure of what to expect. He took the container and opened it, feeling his throat grow thick wi
th emotion. Inside were the porcelain ears that Raul da Costa had made him when he was twelve. They were smaller than he remembered them. Pitiful and yet perfect somehow, despite their ruin.

  ‘You kept them all this time,’ he breathed. ‘You kept them even though I was awful to you, or neglected you or failed you.’

  She hurriedly wrote something in her book, then turned it to him: You never failed me. You saved me. We saved each other. And from now on I think I’d like to call you brother.

  Lucien lent forward and kissed her on the forehead.

  ‘You know, if we accept that we’re brother and sister, we have to accept Dino as part of this too.’

  Anea cocked her head to one side, taking a moment to write a response: A girl can never have too many brothers.

  She took a moment to scratch down something else in the book: What do we call you now?

  ‘I think I’d like to be Lord Marino from now on.’

  ‘Lord Marino?’ interrupted Russo. ‘What sort of name is that?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ said Lucien with a slow smile. ‘You’ll see.’

  Acknowledgements

  Or the Real Dramatis Personae

  HOUSE PATRICK

  Duchess Szalkai

  who never told me to get a proper job or a haircut

  Margravio Patrick

  provider of encouragement and praise

  Squires Perry and Shurin

  friends, educators, encouragers, enthusiasm monsters

  Viscount and Viscountess Odd

  providers of shelter to waifs and strays

  Lord Morgan and Lord Bailey

  generous gentlemen

  Maestro di Spada Andrew James

  an intellect matched only by kindness

  Master of Scribes Tom Pollock

  a comrade in arms

  Archivist Julie Crisp

  who knows a thing or two about books, throws good shapes

  Matt Rowan, Lizzie Barrett and Matt Lyons

  test readers and providers of wise counsel

  HOUSE GOLLANCZ

  Chief Archivist of Landfall Simon Spanton

  champion of the Orfani

  Exemplar Gillian Redfearn

  wielder of red pens and longbows

  Faithful Messengers

  Jon Weir, Sophie Calder

  Captains of the Watch

  Charlie Panayiotou, Jen McMenemy and all at Gollancz

  Agent extraordinaire Juliet Mushens

  tiny, leopard-print tornado

  INFLUENCES OF ESPECIAL IMPORTANCE

  Frank Herbert’s Dune, Mervyn Peake’s Gormenghast, and all of Joe Abercrombie’s output. Not forgetting Jon Courtenay Grimwood’s Assassini trilogy, Scott Lynch’s Gentlemen Bastards and Use of Weapons by Iain M. Banks. I’d be remiss for failing to mention Chris Wooding, Steph Swainston, Richard Morgan, China Miéville and M. John Harrison.

  Also by Den Patrick from Gollancz:

  The Naer Evain Chronicles

  Orcs War-Fighting Manual

  Elves War-Fighting Manual

  Dwarves War-Fighting Manual

  The Erebus Sequence

  The Boy with the Porcelain Blade

  A Gollancz eBook

  Copyright © Den Patrick 2014

  All rights reserved

  The right of Den Patrick to be identified as the author

  of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in Great Britain in 2014 by

  Gollancz

  The Orion Publishing Group Ltd

  Orion House

  5 Upper St Martin’s Lane

  London WC2H 9EA

  An Hachette UK Company

  This eBook first published in 2014 by Gollancz.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available

  from the British Library

  ISBN 978 0 575 13416 4

  All characters and events in this publication are fictitious

  and any resemblance to real persons, living

  or dead, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in

  a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means,

  without the prior permission in writing of the publisher,

  nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or

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  on the subsequent purchaser.

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