Steelhaven 02 - The Shattered Crown

by Richard Ford

As Nobul made his way up to Northgate, all he could think about were those Zatani and how, after everything they’d been through, that leader of theirs appeared to hold no grudges.

  Could Nobul Jacks have been that forgiving? Could he be slighted so badly and just put it down to fate?

  The house was on a little street just west of the market. There was a single door at the front but Nobul wasn’t interested in that. He made his way down a back alley, ankle deep in piss and shit. The night was drawing in fast and he could barely see where he was walking but he managed to find another door to the rear. Locked. Nobul nudged the single window beside it and it gave a little. A bit more muscle and it slid open. The sound of it was a bit too loud but Nobul didn’t care, there was nothing to fear. Not for him at least.

  Inside was dark. As his eyes adjusted to the light of a single candle he saw the one he’d come for. The lad was slumped over a table, empty bottle of spirits next to him, cup overturned. There was a knife too, just a few inches from his hand.

  Nobul crept closer. Well, he wouldn’t want to wake the lad up while he was sleeping so peaceful, would he. He picked the knife up off the table and rammed its blade into the doorjamb.

  The sound woke Anton up with a start.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he asked, his eyes looking all bleary as his hand felt around in the dark for a weapon.

  ‘Thought you’d have been miles away by now,’ said Nobul.

  ‘Oh fuck,’ Anton breathed in the dark. ‘Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.’

  ‘What’s the matter? The Guild abandon you? They hang you out to dry when things went tits up?’

  ‘They’re looking for you,’ said Anton, staring wide-eyed. ‘They’re probably watching the house right now. They’ll be turning the city upside down after what you did. You shouldn’t be here.’

  Nobul shrugged. ‘I’m willing to take the risk.’

  Anton was shaking, and Nobul had to admit he liked that.

  ‘What now?’ Anton asked. ‘You gonna kill me?’

  Nobul stared at him awhile.

  Well, are you? Isn’t that why you came here? He’s wronged you worse than most. After what you’ve been through, it’s only right.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Nobul replied. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think I’m a dead man.’

  ‘Maybe that’s what you deserve.’

  ‘Then get on with it,’ Anton screamed, rising to his feet.

  Even in the gloom, Nobul could see tears in his eyes. He’d probably been waiting here to die for days. Had no idea what to do about it. He was only a lad too, didn’t have a clue how to get himself out of this mess other than with a bottle of booze.

  ‘Forgiveness is a difficult thing,’ Nobul said. ‘If I let you walk away from here, make sure you never fucking come back.’

  Anton clearly suspected a trick. ‘Honestly?’

  Nobul nodded. ‘Never come back.’

  ‘I won’t. I won’t ever. You won’t ever see me again.’

  ‘Then you’d better make tracks, boy.’

  Anton turned hurriedly. His bag was on the floor and he bent to pick it up.

  And just like that, you’ll let him go? Just like that, Nobul Jacks will take being treated like a cunt. That what you gonna do when the Khurtas get here – offer them forgiveness? And expect to survive the first day?

  As Anton stuffed something into his bag, Nobul found himself taking a step towards him.

  That’s it. You’re a cold bastard, Nobul Jacks. This city’s gonna need cold bastards just like you. There’s got to be a reckoning for what he did. Got to be some payback.

  Anton was just there, his back turned, ready to start life anew, away from this city and its poison. Away from the Guild and the Khurtas and Nobul fucking Jacks.

  And all because of your forgiveness.

  Nobul’s hands closed around Anton’s throat. The lad gave a choked gasp, his last sound before the air was cut off. He struggled, but there was no escaping it.

  Give him his due, he tried to fight, fingers scraping at Nobul’s fists. The pain was good, and Nobul gritted his teeth, squeezing all the harder, tensing those arms for gods knew how long until Anton wasn’t moving no more.

  The lad finally fell dead to the floor.

  Nobul looked briefly at that body lying there in the dark. It had been a quick death all in all.

  That was about as much forgiveness as Nobul Jacks had left in him.

  FORTY

  Waylian could still taste the bile in his throat. All he wanted was a cup of water to wash the smell away, and perhaps a lie down to let his nausea pass, but Magistra Gelredida was in no mood to be stopped.

  They were back in the bowels of the Tower of Magisters, back in the warren of passageways and chambers beneath the city, secreted away where no one could hear them. It was obvious why – Gelredida wouldn’t have wanted anyone to hear the screams.

  Nero Laius was stretched out on a block of wood, his arms and legs manacled tight. He was naked, his skin slick with blood and sweat, shivering in pain and fear. The block was set at forty-five degrees so Magistra Gelredida didn’t have to stoop too low to administer to him. Nero had protested at first, had demanded to be released, had shouted that he was an Archmaster of the Crucible and he had the right to a trial. His protestations had soon turned to screams.

  Waylian watched in horror, hand clamped firmly over his mouth as his mistress carefully selected her instruments and went to work.

  She used the blades and hooks with precision, swift clinical strokes. At first she didn’t even ask him any questions, just let Nero’s screams ring out, echoing around the chamber. Waylian had clamped his hands firmly over his ears then, but after watching for several painful minutes he’d decided it was more prudent to cover his mouth. It wouldn’t do to puke all over the floor again – he was making a habit of that, and it was just getting embarrassing.

  ‘So, Nero,’ said the Magistra, taking a step back. ‘Archmaster. Keeper of the Ravens. And Master Diviner? It’s a little remiss of you, isn’t it? Not seeing this coming. Hardly a master of your Art.’

  Nero whimpered his reply. As much as Waylian had feared and loathed the man, he still felt a little pity for him now. Blood ran in rivulets down his legs and into a little gutter that sat beneath the block. There were myriad cuts on his body and sections of skin had even been peeled back and pinned in place with steel clips.

  ‘You were clearly aided in all this by Marshal Ferenz. Are there any other Raven Knights involved in your little scheme?’

  Nero mumbled something and Gelredida cocked her head, wincing in annoyance when she couldn’t understand him. She grasped one of the steel clips in a gloved hand – now stained with blood – and twisted it.

  Waylian looked away as Nero screamed.

  ‘Yes!’ he bellowed, blood and phlegm spurting from his mouth. ‘I’m the Keeper of fucking Ravens! Of course some of the knights are on my side. I’ll tell you who they are. I’ll give you all their names. I’ll tell you everything.’

  Gelredida leaned back away from Nero’s spit. ‘I know you will,’ she replied.

  There was silence then, and in some ways that was worse than Nero’s screams. Waylian could just about handle that, but the long quiet made him wonder what was to come next. Which new instrument would his mistress pull from her bag of tricks?

  Instead she leaned in closer as Nero gasped for air. ‘Your conspirators in the tower can wait, Nero. I want to know who you’re working for.’

  ‘You know who I’m working for.’ Nero’s voice was high and desperate.

  ‘So say it.’

  ‘Amon Tugha. I’m in league with Amon Tugha.’

  ‘Yes, Nero,’ she said with relish. ‘That much is obvious. Why else would you be so keen for the Archmasters to do nothing as the enemy besieges our city? But that’s not the name I’m after.’

  Nero stared at her, his eyes wide, tears running down his filthy blood-encrusted cheeks. When he said nothing Gelredida glanced acr
oss at her instruments laid out on the table.

  ‘Waylian. Be so good as to pass me the saw.’

  He usually obeyed without question, but Waylian couldn’t bring himself to do it. As much as he loathed Nero, he didn’t want to aid in his suffering.

  Luckily he didn’t have to.

  ‘All right!’ Nero screamed. ‘There’s a man in the city. He’s an agent of Amon Tugha.’

  ‘A name,’ Gelredida demanded.

  ‘He calls himself the Father of Killers.’

  ‘Not good enough. Waylian, the saw.’

  ‘That’s all I know, I swear it.’ Nero began to sob and whine. It was pathetic, Waylian knew, but he felt sorry for the man. ‘If I knew anything else I’d tell you.’

  ‘Then you’d better start thinking.’

  Suddenly the sobbing stopped and Nero opened his eyes wide. ‘He’s known in the city’s underworld. He runs assassins. The deadliest in the Free States.’

  ‘And …’

  Nero gritted his teeth, as though desperate to keep the truth in his mouth. ‘They were the ones that attempted to murder the queen.’

  She just stared at him, then held out her hand to Waylian.

  Saw, Grimmy, I think she wants the saw.

  ‘There’s going to be another attempt,’ Nero cried. ‘The Father of Killers won’t stop until she’s dead.’

  ‘What have you done to aid him in this, Nero?’

  He shook his head vigorously, sweat and snot and blood flying from his damp curls. ‘Nothing. I haven’t done a thing, I swear it.’

  She stared at him for the briefest of moments, then held out her hand again.

  ‘All right! All right! He asked for help with some magicks, Elharim magicks. I didn’t really understand. I gave him nails from a witch’s coffin and mantikore venom, but that was all!’

  Gelredida nodded, and backed away slowly. ‘You know, I think I might actually believe you, Nero.’ She turned and regarded her table full of instruments. ‘But you realise I have to be sure.’ She picked up the saw.

  As she approached him, Nero began to scream anew. This time it was high pitched, like a cawing bird.

  Waylian’s hand tightened over his mouth, but it would do no good. The room felt as if it was spinning, his ears filled with sound as if a flock of angry ravens were pecking at his brain. He turned, his hand fumbling with the handle until he finally managed to open the door. It slammed behind him as he stumbled into the corridor. The noise stopped and Waylian felt relief wash over him, just before he threw up again.

  He wasn’t sure how long he waited in that dark corridor. Occasionally the moans and screams would escape through the door and he would wince as though he were in pain himself.

  Count your lucky stars and say your prayers to Arlor you’re not next on her list.

  Eventually the door opened. Waylian tried to avert his gaze from what lay in the room, but he couldn’t help seeing. There was little left of the Nero he’d known. Just a mass of mutilated flesh, now still and silent in the shadows.

  Gelredida closed the door mercifully quickly, stopping to dab at her bloodstained robe with a filthy rag. Good job she was wearing her usual red – it disguised the amount of blood she was drenched in.

  ‘Come along,’ she said, as though she’d just finished pruning roses rather than a man’s limbs. ‘We must away to the palace, immediately.’

  As they made their way up through the maze of passageways he realised his hands were shaking. The nausea was gone, so that was something. All he had to do now was cope with the memories of seeing a man brutally tortured.

  Oh, and the fact that you crushed a man’s head with the power of your will alone. There was that too. But one thing at a time, eh, Grimmy?

  He took a deep breath when they got outside, which was a feat in itself considering how fast Gelredida was walking and how little breath he had to spare just trying to keep up. It was a relief to be outside, to clear his head, though it was racing with questions now he had a chance to think.

  ‘Mistress, I don’t understand.’

  ‘Understand what?’ she replied.

  ‘The last time we asked the Archmasters to join with the city against the Khurtas they refused. Why did they change their minds so quickly?’

  Gelredida glanced at him, and had he not known better he would have sworn there was a half smile on her face.

  ‘That, young Waylian, was mostly down to you.’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘Don’t make me repeat myself. You know how tiresome I find it.’

  ‘Of course, Magistra.’ Waylian did his best to keep up as Gelredida squeezed herself through the thickening crowd. ‘But I still don’t understand.’

  ‘Did you think those errands I sent you on were just for your health?’ she said.

  ‘Well … no. But I …’

  ‘Milius the apothecary – what did you think of him?’

  ‘He kind of gave me the willies.’

  Gelredida chuckled. ‘Yes, I’m sure he did. But then he is the foremost poisoner in the city. And I had to ensure he knew the ingredients for a very specific poison. One used not too long ago in the Tower of Magisters.’

  ‘Someone was poisoned in the tower?’

  ‘Come, Waylian. Surely you must have heard the rumours of old Archmaster Gillen’s death? Who do you think it was I dissected in the lower chambers all those days ago?’

  Waylian thought back to when he had first come to the city and the rumours he’d heard flying around the apprentice chambers. Archmaster Gillen had been Lucen Kalvor’s tutor. Kalvor had succeeded him when the old man died quite suddenly.

  ‘Are you suggesting Archmaster Kalvor actually killed Gillen?’

  Gelredida shook her head. ‘No, I’m not suggesting it, Waylian, I’m saying it outright. Those other fools in the Crucible Chamber are too blinded by Kalvor’s charm and power to see it, but the signs were all there. The poison he used leaves almost no trace … almost. The evidence is there for those who know what to look for. There are only two people in the city who could have crafted such a potion. I’m one of them, Milius is the other. I knew if you went to him with a list of just the right ingredients it would spook Milius enough to try to kill you.’

  ‘It would what?’ Waylian stopped in his tracks, staring at his mistress. She’d put him in danger before, he knew that, but to stand there and admit it.

  Gelredida stopped and looked at him. ‘Come, Waylian. Don’t be such a fusspot. You were never in any real danger. Had Milius succeeded in poisoning you I’m confident I could have found a remedy before you expired.’

  You’re ‘confident’?

  Waylian shook his head. ‘What about the other business? Was my life in peril there too?’

  ‘Of course not … not really.’

  That’s reassuring.

  ‘So who is Josiah Klumm?’

  Gelredida eyes shifted to left and right as though someone might be listening in. She had been happy to talk in public about Lucen Kalvor poisoning his former mentor but this, it seemed, was something she wished to keep private.

  Satisfied no one was eavesdropping on their conversation, Gelredida moved closer to Waylian. ‘Josiah Klumm is the illegitimate offspring of one Drennan Folds. If news of this was to become public knowledge it would be very embarrassing for the Archmaster.’

  ‘So you blackmailed him? You threatened to tell his secret?’

  The Magistra looked at him as though it was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard him say – and there was plenty to choose from.

  ‘Of course not. I threatened to kill the boy. Now,’ she said matter-of-factly, ‘shall we be off? We have pressing matters to attend to.’

  With that she set off through the crowd.

  Waylian followed his mistress with thoughts of what he’d done coursing through his head. He was the one who’d brought Josiah Klumm to the Magistra in the first place. Did that make him complicit? Would Drennan Folds eventually want revenge? The prospect of th
at did not sit well at all.

  ‘What about the other Archmasters?’ Waylian asked, pushing his way forward to trot alongside his mistress. ‘How did you persuade them to change their minds?’

  ‘I didn’t. I gambled on the fact that once Kalvor and Folds were on side the others would follow. Marghil and the unfortunately deceased Crabbe didn’t disappoint. The only one I was unsure of was Nero, and once he’d shown his true colours I knew we’d won.’

  ‘But we were nearly killed.’

  Gelredida raised an eyebrow. ‘Which is hardly the same as actually killed, is it, Waylian.’

  He supposed it wasn’t.

  The rest of the way they walked in silence. Even as Gelredida passed through the gates of the Crown District she said nothing. The Greencoats on the gate stepped aside as though they had expected her arrival. When they reached the gate to the palace of Skyhelm, however, things weren’t quite so simple.

  Four Sentinels stood guarding the way, their spears shining in the winter sun.

  ‘I must speak with the queen,’ said Gelredida.

  One of the knights looked down at her then shook his head.

  ‘I need a hundred crowns and a good night’s sleep,’ he replied. ‘But neither of us is going to get what we want today, old woman.’

  Gelredida fixed her gaze on him.

  Waylian could see the knight staring back from within his great helm. His three fellows shuffled uncomfortably. For some reason none of them could find the courage to speak and tell this old lady to be on her way.

  After what seemed an age, the first knight suddenly moved from their path.

  ‘All right then,’ he said, his voice quaking slightly. ‘Come in.’

  FORTY-ONE

  It seemed with every report from the front the news became ever more dire. The numbers of men lost, the increasing need for reinforcements, requests for supplies they simply didn’t have, the villages burned, the townsfolk raped and murdered. The trail from Dreldun to the gates of Steelhaven would be thick with graves, yet the sacrifices made by the soldiers of the Free States might still all be in vain.

  Janessa felt wretched. Felt that every man that was killed, every person that starved or died of cold or perished from infection was a result of her failure to make a deal with the Bankers League. And every passing day she knew the chances of her being able to ensure her city’s survival were slipping through her fingers.