He heard a sharp intake of breath.
“Whose body?”
“There was nothing in the pockets to say who he was,” Pyke said, fumbling inside his coat for the fingerless gloves. “But we did find these nearby.”
He held them up to his shoulders and they were accepted. A moment later the dagger was retracted and the soft glow of a hooded lamp came up from behind. A woman’s voice said, “Oh no …” in a hoarse, aghast whisper followed by quiet sobbing.
Pyke turned in his seat to see the seamstress slumped on her knees, head bent into one hand, weeping, while the other held the gloves. Quickly he repositioned the chair behind a potted bush and helped her up into it.
“So you did make the gloves,” he murmured.
“Hidalio was my brother,” said the seamstress, fumbling a handkerchief from a fold in her bodice. “Wouldn’t listen to me—told him I didn’t trust that cold-eyed man!”
“Do you know who it was that hired your brother?”
“Didn’t then but I do now!”
Pyke leaned closer. “How did you find out?”
The seamstress glanced up at him. She had a sallow, freckled complexion but her eyes were sharp and angry.
“He came into my shop!” She mopped her eyes. “And he lied right to my face—I asked where Hidalio was and he said he was still talking to a fence about the loot …”
“When did he turn up?”
“Yesterday evening, before nine chimes, wearing crow-black as before … and Hidalio would have been dead while he was lying to me …” She started crying again, choked off miserable sounds.
If this guy hired Hidalio, murdered him and grabbed the book, Pyke thought, why take the risk of visiting his victim’s sister?
“So what was his reason for coming round?” he said. “Not just for a chat about the weather, I imagine.”
“Oh no, he started asking me about the work I’ve done for the 25th …”
Pyke’s eyebrows went up. “The 25th Brigade?”
“That’s them—whenever they need new banners and pennants they come to Flett’s.” She offered a thin smile. “That’s me, Tiselio Flett.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Tiselio. So was he after anything specific?”
“Yes—he started asking if I knew anyone in the 25th by the name of Magni. Well, Magni is quite a common boy’s name, or it was, but I told him I only ever dealt with the quartermaster at the barracks …”
Pyke recalled what Klane had told him about the 25th, and Sergeant Dalyak’s role in all this. That murdering scumsucker has Dalyak’s journal but he can’t figure out what it’s saying! he realised. So now he’s trying to pick up clues wherever he can.
“You’ve not put a name to this man,” Pyke said. “But you said before that you knew who he was.”
“Don’t know his name but I know his type, first time I saw him.” A look of loathing passed over Tiselio’s face. “Willing servants for powerful men, loyal dogs who’ll do anything for their masters.”
He smiled. “So, did you follow him?”
She mirrored his smile. “I did. Waited till he left the shop, then locked up behind me and followed him through the streets. It was already dark so it was easy. I thought he was heading for the western barracks, maybe one of the pubs that the 25th drink in when they’re back from duty. Instead he veered into the Shalmy District and hurried down to the bit where the banks and the merchants have their big offices. He went up to the doors of an outfit called Inox & Throm, just strolled in past the guards as if he owned the place.”
Inox & Throm? he thought. Could that be where the book is? And why is Mr. Henchman asking about someone called Magni?
“Y’know, my companions would really be a lot of help with what you’ve told me.” Pyke glanced over his shoulder at the street below—the two Shylan guards hadn’t shifted in all this time. “Nothing’s happening down there just now, and my companions are up on that roof there—we can go up and join them if you wish.”
“Yes, I’ll talk to them,” said Tiselio as she got to her feet. “If you promise to help me get some justice for Hidalio!”
“I think we can make that happen. Now, can you manage climbing a ladder to that roof?”
She gave him a look. “That was how I got here so I should think so.”
Pyke went first and a few minutes later he was introducing her to Vrass, Klane and T’Moy. He then rushed through a summary of what he’d learned from Tiselio about her brother and the man who’d hired him, where he worked and what he’d said during his visit to her shop.
“Magni?” said Vrass. “What makes you think that has anything to do with the journal?”
“Not having met this black-clad gentleman,” Pyke said. “I’m willing to bet that he’s the kind who’s always following a purpose. Never says anything that doesn’t serve it.”
“If this man from Inox & Throm killed this lady’s brother,” said Klane, “it was likely part of his orders. No loose ends. And, as you say, returning to her shop can only increase the risk of suspicion, as demonstrated.”
“Who are Inox & Throm?” Pyke said.
“Coachbuilders, wagons, wains, carts,” Klane said. “Wealthy company with considerable influence, until recently when the Emperor cancelled the long-standing contract they had to supply the army with various kinds of wagon. The contract was very lucrative …”
“Good motive for resentment and the murder of a monarch, even,” said Pyke.
“More than likely,” said Klane.
“So someone at Inox & Throm went to a lot of trouble to lay hands on Dalyak’s book—seems only right that we pay them a visit and relieve them of this hazardous burden, wouldn’t you say?”
Klane and the others shared a conspiratorial smile.
“And I’ll be going with you,” said Tiselio Flett.
The seamstress adopted a pugnacious stance, hands on hips, as if daring them to deny her demand, reminding Pyke sharply of a certain first mate of his acquaintance.
“Wouldn’t dream of leaving you out, Mistress Flett,” said Pyke. “You’ll know the best way there—then we’ll need advice on getting inside …”
“I’m not some oozler-frill, I’ll have you know,” she said, folding her arms. “But I might offer a few tips, once I get a look-see …”
“Captain,” said T’Moy. “You better see this.”
T’Moy was over at the streetward end of the roof’s walkway. He was pointing when Pyke stepped over to join him. “Look who just showed up.”
Down in the dark, wet street, a couple of figures were standing in an alleyway along from Tiselio Flett’s shop, staying out of the Shylan guards’ view while keeping a watch on the shopfront. There wasn’t much light but a glow coming from a rear alleyside window was enough to reveal that one of the pair was bare-headed and tall with a straight-backed posture, and the other was burly, had a slight stoop and wore a cap.
“Old friends,” Pyke muttered.
“You remember them?”
“Oh aye, Pazzyk’s got a good memory for faces and beatings.” Pyke quickly reminded the others of how he’d been ambushed by a pair of thugs in the Nightmarket the previous day, and how T’Moy had intervened and gave them a hiding. “This pair of gougers tried to get the key to Dalyak’s lockbooth off me. My guess is they’re hired muscle working for another party keen to get their mitts on the blood-poison …” He glanced down at the street. “… wait, they’re on the move. And they’re staging a speak-and-peek, the cheeky maggots!”
“What are they doing?” said Vrass.
“Watch—one of them goes up to ask the guards something weird or stupid or both while his mate ambles along the other side of the road, scoping out the setup and how the guards react.” He turned to the others. “I really need to know who they’re working for ’cos it feels like I’m flying blind, not knowing who’s coming at us next. T’Moy, can you and Klane get yourselves back down to the street and tail those skaggers, see where it leads yo
u, all right? Myself, Vrass and Mistress Flett are off to the offices of Inox & Throm for a bit of undercover book retrieval! Regroup at the western entrance of Haxy Nightmarket by noon.
“Right, everyone knows what they’re doing? Good, let’s get rolling!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Pyke, on the planet Ong, in the wreck of the Mighty Defender, in the Steel Forest
“Okay,” said Pyke. “Let’s go over this again.”
“It’s pretty straightforward,” Dervla said testily. “Raven and a couple of her bootlicking louts are—”
“Barricaded inside a storage room and they’ve rigged the barrier with charges, aye, I get that. It’s this whole thing with these Steel Forest factions, this three-way alliance of minds.” He turned to Shogrel. “What is it that they actually want in exchange for my crew? Help me out here.”
Shogrel, whose head was a dense interweave of rootlets and tendrils, smiled. Her eyes, ears, nose and mouth nestled solidly in the dark brown tangly mesh—her eyes were a clear limpid blue and tiny leaves wreathed her amused lips.
“They are exhibiting graduations of anger and resolve, Captain. The Blackmoss is the most moderate of the three, willing to discuss options, open to negotiations up to a point. The Thornscar has the largest most battle-ready forces and while it is ready for conflict it is not rash and will consider other suggestions. The Biteclaws, however, are a belligerent collective with a small force of very hostile stabwings, acid-worms and spring-hooks, hostile and barely kept in check. Those three allies have much to disagree upon but they are all determined to hold onto your people until you yourselves take action against the ravagers who have been cornered and trapped.”
“You’ve told them that Raven is our enemy, too, yes?” Pyke said. “And that we’re short on weapons and ammunition?”
“The alliance is not interested in the nuance of such concepts,” Shogrel said. “They distrust all intruders, you as much as the others. And if you do not intervene they are determined to use your crewmen in the battle to come!”
Pyke stared in disbelief. “How is that even possible?”
“Are these allies going to hypnotise our people somehow?” said Dervla. “Fry their brains with those hallucinogens?”
Shogrel looked uncertain. “I am not aware of any such intentions, but I know that your friends have been enfolded.”
“Enfolded?” said Pyke, feeling the heat of his temper.
“There is a variety of tendril plant which looks like a heap of roots and strands and which can move around by itself,” Shogrel said. “They can also be used to move or carry things from place to place. From what the allies have said, I think that your friends have each been enfolded in a tendril plant, up to their shoulders. In this way they could be made to walk along to where the ravagers are and attack the barrier shielding them.”
Pyke gritted his teeth. “And Raven will just fire back with all she has and enjoy every shot and blast. Cannon fodder, that’s what my men are …”
His words trailed off and he clenched his fists as his fury threatened to boil over. And a good portion of that anger was directed at himself for not preparing properly before entering the wreck. But how could I have known that Ustril would ditch us like that? If my distrust had been cranked up to full strength I would have insisted on everyone taking a breather mask with them, but that Sendrukan was just so helpful, so bloody useful …
The others were regarding his moment of rage, Shogrel with a kind of curious, studied demeanour, Kref with his usual stoic patience, and Dervla—she gave a slight, knowing smile and a half-shrug that fitted right in with what was going through his head. He breathed in deep and exhaled through pursed lips as if letting off steam. Then he turned back to Shogrel.
“Tell the three mental allies that I’ll go along with their demands, but I have a counter-proposal—before me and my comrades take up arms in this spat of theirs, I want a chance to talk to Raven, to persuade her to surrender peacefully, as long as yer allies agree to eject her from the wreck, with no further harm on either side.” He laughed dryly. “And if she won’t go along with it, at least we get a close-quarters look at her setup. Then we fall back, get tooled up for the scrap and try to figure out how to break through their defences without getting killed. Let’s see what they say to that.”
“I will present your proposal to them,” Shogrel said and strode away.
They kicked their heels and otherwise rested in a small, creeper-lined, moss-floored recess for nearly half an hour before Shogrel returned. They all got to their feet in anticipation as she came up to Pyke.
“They have agreed to your plan,” she said. “Now you must all follow me. This area is very tense—my flowers will keep you safe as long as you walk where I walk.”
In single file they started along the foliage-hung passageway, Shogrel then Pyke, Dervla, and Kref bringing up the rear. The bio-luminescence here was all yellows and oranges but it soon altered hue, darkening to coppery shades, sheens of ochre, with rubescent tints coming through the leafy bushes and masses of vine.
Ahead was a T-junction and as they drew near Shogrel spoke:
“Here we shall be turning right. Whatever else you see you must not move towards it!”
Pyke had no one to exchange looks with, only the woven-root back of Shogrel’s head, and a suspicion forming in his thoughts. As they approached the junction the coppery colours darkened to brass and the rubescence turned into scarlet. Violent leaves on dark blue bines fringed the opening on the left, guarded by buzzing clusters of insects. Drawing level, Pyke and the others couldn’t help staring into the side passage as one, but Pyke was the first to see them—Ancil and Moleg, encased in brown and green tangles, for all the world looking like bizarre spacesuits, with heads and shoulders clear of it. He heard Dervla curse, and moved into a sidestepping movement as he tried to keep Kref in view.
“Kref, listen to me!”
The big Henkayan had stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the two entrapped crewmen.
“Kref, they’re safe, ould son! We’ll do what we have to do, get it done, and come back for them.”
Pyke could hear the pitch of the insects’ buzzing growing sharper and louder as they started to perceive Kref as a threat. Then the big man turned and resumed following Pyke and the others, his craggy face dark with anger. Shogrel had slowed her progress after turning that corner but with Kref back on course she picked up the pace.
“That was the gathering place of the Blackmoss host that we just passed,” she stated. “I was not permitted to warn you of what you would see. The alliance insisted that you be tested.”
Pyke snarled wordlessly. “Any more surprises in store?”
“They insisted on other things,” she said stiffly.
It wasn’t long before they found out what those things were. After leaving Ancil and Moleg behind, they turned left, continued for about seven or eight paces where Shogrel halted near the opening to a side passage on the left.
“This is the gathering place for the Thornscar host,” she said. “Only Captain Pyke may proceed beyond this point—the others must remain here until his return.”
“Nice, very nice,” said Pyke. “So now they get to double their number of hostages! Sorry, that’s not going to happen …”
“The Thornscar mind made a vow that Kref and Dervla will not be enfolded like the other crewmen.” Shogrel looked unhappy in this situation but Pyke didn’t have much sympathy for her.
“The captain must go on to make contact with the wreckers alone,” she went on. “This, too, is seen as a test.”
Pyke exhaled through gritted teeth and glanced back at the corridor they’d just walked along. He ran fingers through his grimy hair and grabbed a handful, feeling the pain of tugged hair-roots. Bastards have me over a barrel—hope Raven’s in a listening mood.
He looked round at Dervla and Kref. “You okay with this?”
Kref nodded and Dervla gave a shrug. “We’re kinda stuck for alternat
ives.”
He gave a single nod, and turned to Shogrel. “Fine, I’ll do it. I’ll go on alone.”
“Your crew-people will not come to any harm,” she said.
“I really hope so, because otherwise my remarkable and judicious cool will most certainly be lost and king-hell mayhem may ensue!” He glanced at Dervla. “I’ll need a white flag—got anything that’ll do?”
After a minute or so he found himself holding a scavenged plastic strut from which hung a gauzy yellow and blue scarf which Dervla had grudgingly extracted from an inside pocket.
“What’re you carrying this about for?” he had said.
“Eh? You’re saying that I shouldn’t have nice things?”
Immediately sensing that he was on thin ice, he had accepted the scarf with pleasantries and a deflecting smile. Now he held it balanced on his shoulder as Shogrel led him past another side passage on the right.
“Do not pause, Captain, do not even slow your pace. This is where the Biteclaw collective has amassed its forces—they are dangerous and unpredictable.”
Pyke’s sideways glimpse lasted just a couple of seconds but what he saw was unnerving—spiked vines writhing and lashing at each other, dog-sized things with six legs and fanged jaws that took up about three-quarters of their heads, small red and yellow insects hovering around large purple and crimson ones out of whose backs jutted fuming pipes …
Then they were past, and Pyke found himself prickling with sweat, from scalp to neck. Talk about nightmare horrors …
A short distance further on, the corridor opened onto an open area, what might have served as a space for communal meetings or some recreational activity. Now it really was like a forest, clumps of creeper-wound bushes, veils of shiny leaves trailing from thick roots half embedded in the ceiling, a proliferation of plants and foliage that obscured the other side from view. There was also a strong smell of burned metal and plastic and smoke haze drifting through the branches.
“A battle between the destroyers and the local aware-minds took place here not long ago,” Shogrel said. “One of the lesser consciousnesses was completely obliterated when the invaders lined one particular corridor with charges and set them off when Thornscar units came after them in pursuit. As I said, feelings are very tense.” She pointed diagonally through the masses of growth. “The intruders’ lair lies in that direction. I am to wait here and witness the outcome.”
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