by James Evans
Marrinek grinned and inspected the metal, which now had the same intricate pattern running all the way through it. He slid the iron back into the wooden casing.
Then he picked up the fourth tool, Chisel, and focussed power through it. He twisted the alignment of the wood to bond it to his touch and then twisted it again to fix the iron in place. He opened three holes in the wood and used Needle to embed a copper net under the surface, wiring it to the reservoir with copper wire. The actuators slipped neatly into their holes so that they stood just proud of the surface and he then linked them to the iron and the reservoir.
Swapping hands, he held the wood as he might hold a knife and then used Twig to close the remaining channels and holes and to raise subtle peaks and troughs to fit his fingers so that the tiny actuators sat comfortably under his thumb, one, two, three.
“Almost done,” he muttered, reaching for the finest of the tools, Needle. He swapped hands again and focussed directly on the wood itself, brushing the tool over the surface until it was smooth and regular and the deep dark green of Bone Dancer. Finally, he held the tool like a pen above the wood and, using the same elegant, flowing script with which he had named Bone Dancer, etched a single word, ‘Drake’, into the hardened surface of the wood. It glowed brightly against the green of the handle then faded.
“This,” he said, holding up the finished item, “is an altogether nastier piece of work. It’s called a shock cannon and, once powered, it produces a blast that can incapacitate or kill. I’ve aligned this one to me so only I will be able to use it.”
He paused, pondering.
“Or, I suppose, someone of very considerable strength, if they could break the alignment, but that’s risky and difficult.”
He held the weapon at arm’s length and pointed it at the wall, pushing power into it to charge the reservoir. Then he pressed the first of the three actuators. There was a dull ‘whump’ noise and the twins jumped again.
Floost glared at him, hands on her hips.
“Why would anyone want to make such a thing? What is it for? What are you going to do?”
“Do? Maybe nothing, but I need to speak to Hitton, privately, and Bone Dancer is a little too conspicuous for subtle work.”
Marrinek just slipped the shock cannon into his pocket. Floost was still glaring at him as he strapped on his sword.
“What, nothing to say about the sword?”
“That’s different,” she said, “at least a sword is...”
She stopped as Marrinek drew the sword and held it up in the pale lamplight.
“Different? Civilised? Familiar? Yes, you’re partly right.”
He sheathed the sword and unbundled his hair so that it fell naturally, covering his shoulders. He picked up his cloak and fastened it around his shoulders, twisting beneath it until cloak, sword and hair were arranged to his satisfaction.
“Think about this. The sword is an ancient weapon made only to threaten or kill people; it has no other purpose. It maims and destroys and corrupts. Anyone can use a sword but most people who try will die at the hand of someone faster, more skilled, more experienced or more desperate. For some, the sword becomes the embodiment of their purpose, the reason for their existence. Think carefully before picking up a weapon but especially one as obvious as a sword.”
He pulled the shock cannon from his pocket and held it up so that he could inspect it.
“This is the same, of course, except it can be used with finesse so that, with a delicate touch, it isn’t necessary to kill or to maim. It’s a more humane weapon, if such a thing can be said to exist. And the range is short, so you have to get pretty close to your enemy and look him in the eye.” He hefted the cannon, thinking, then he nodded. “You’re right, though. It’s a nasty little weapon, more dangerous than a sword in the right hands and easier to conceal.”
He replaced the shock cannon in his pocket, paused, then added the fire charm and slung his empty pack over his shoulder. He opened the door to the corridor.
“I’m going to talk to Madame Duval and then I’m going to visit Hitton. Lock the door, keep quiet and make a start on your reading, I’ll be back later.”
And with that he closed the door and was gone, leaving the twins alone with only their books for company.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MARRINEK AMBLED DOWN the steps at the back of the Jewel, thinking through the plan for the next few hours. He had been tempted by Hitton’s job offer - it would have provided a useful route into the gang and a lever he could have used to further his schemes - but the death of Gander had probably closed that opportunity. Not that Marrinek was particularly upset about either the death or the missed opportunity, it was just frustrating to have a perfectly good plan destroyed so soon after its inception.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and slipped out through the back door into the alley behind the inn. Even late in the evening there were still people on the streets, making their way home, searching for entertainment or, like Marrinek, looking for new opportunities. He joined the steady stream of people, pulled his cloak tight around him and, with his hood up, wound his way through the streets toward the house of Madame Duval.
The street outside the House of Duval was even busier and more crowded than it had been earlier in the day. Clearly the people of Vensille took great delight in both the bath houses and the establishments selling other, more specialised, services in the surrounding streets.
Marrinek walked up to the green door and stood, side on, in the light of the oil lamps, watching the street. He knocked on the door and after a few moments a small hatch popped open and Shad’s face appeared, round and sweaty.
“Oh, it’s you.”
The hatch closed and bolts slid back on the inside of the door before it opened just enough for Marrinek to slip into the hallway. Shad closed the door quickly, ramming home the bolts and dropping a bar into a discreet set of supports on the walls either side of the frame.
“You don’t seem to be welcoming many guests at the moment,” said Marrinek, gesturing at the empty sitting rooms.
“We’re closed for the evening, Madame’s orders. She’s in her study.” Shad nodded toward the door at the end of the corridor and sat down heavily on the chair at the foot of the stairs.
“Right,” said Marrinek, moving past Shad’s chair and knocking on Madame Duval’s study door.
“Come in,” said a voice from within and Marrinek pushed open the door, finding himself again in Madame Duval’s study. The candles were lit, casting a pale glow over the room, but the window was shuttered and heavily barred. A long knife rested on the desk and Madame Duval’s hand hovered over it as Marrinek came in and sat down in the chair next to the fireplace.
She relaxed a little when she saw who it was but it was clear that the day had been trying. Madame Duval was sitting at her desk where Marrinek had left her earlier in the day but she had changed at some point and was now wearing a plain dress cut from nondescript brown linen. Her hair was different as well and she looked very plain without her jewels and make-up; still striking but now more like a peasant woman dressed for field work or a housewife ready for the market.
“I didn’t think I’d see you before tomorrow. Weren’t you going to speak to Hitton?”
“Soon. I have a few questions first,” said Marrinek, pulling his head off the chair to look at Madame Duval.
“Go on then, what do you want to know?”
“What can you tell me about Hitton? All I know is that he is moderately talented and that he runs his gang from the Snarling Goat. Where does he live?”
“Moderately talented? Is that how he seems to you?” she asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.
Marrinek just stared, saying nothing.
“Well to those of us not blessed with the power, even a ‘moderate’ talent can be very intimidating. We’ve all heard tales about what you Agers can do if you put your mind to it.”
She sighed and rubbed her temples, trying to soothe away s
ome of the pains of the day.
“Hitton’s been here a few times, as a customer, but I stay well clear of him and just make sure he gets what he wants. He’s a thug, a bully,” she said, “he intimidates people with his talent and his reputation but I’ve never seen him actually doing much more than light candles. That’s scary enough if you’ve heard the stories they tell about him.”
Marrinek pulled the fire charm from his pocket and focussed a little power into it to produce a small flame.
“He does this - I’ve seen it. Does he do more?”
“No, that’s all I’ve ever seen him do, but who knows what other skills or charms he has hidden away out of sight? They say he rarely leaves the Snarling Goat, and certainly not after dark. When he’s here, which isn’t often, it’s always in the early afternoon and he doesn’t stay long. Whatever business he does, he does it from his booth in the corner on the first floor of the Goat. You know the one?”
Marrinek nodded and Madame Duval went on.
“He comes here but his gang use the cheaper houses down the street. They boast, of course, and the girls gossip all the way down to the river and back, so if you keep your ears open you hear all sorts of things.” She paused for a moment, thinking, and Marrinek waited patiently. Then she went on, “They say he sleeps in a room at the top of the Goat on a pile of silver and gems. They say he has the dried ears of the people who have tried to relieve him of his wealth nailed to the walls of his room. They say he has traps and magic locks and all sorts of things. Most of it’s rubbish, of course. I don’t believe in the piles of gems or the magic locks but the ears,” she paused again and shuddered, “the ears I can believe. He probably thinks they deter burglars.”
She stopped again and Marrinek took the opportunity to ask a question.
“Is he the type to fear assassins or other night-time intruders?” he asked.
She giggled, and an edge of hysteria crept into her voice as she answered.
“Assassins? Dear god if he finds out I’ve been talking to you, if any of them find out, they’ll burn my house to the ground and I’ll be lucky if they just kill me. Assassins? I don’t know, but Hitton’s an arrogant swine and he’s been running that inn and that gang for a long time, decades maybe. I’ve never heard of anyone assaulting him or even thinking about it - his reputation is protection enough, I think, and his boys look after him.”
Marrinek nodded, thinking it through.
“He lives in the Goat and hardly ever leaves so that’s where I’ll need to go to talk to him. He has been there a long time and may have defences embedded in the structure of the building so I’ll need to be careful. He’s arrogant and probably not worried about thieves or other intruders. Thanks, that’s a great help.”
He stood up and walked to the door then turned back to Madame Duval.
“I’ll go back to the Jewel after I’ve spoken to Hitton so I won’t see you till tomorrow. The twins and I will need somewhere else to live soon, somewhere safe and comfortable. Find us somewhere near here so that I’m on hand if you need me.”
Madame Duval opened her mouth to say something snappy about taking advantage and making assumptions but Marrinek just shook his head and said, “You won’t need to run,” he waved at the travelling bag beside the desk, “but we’ll need to work together if we’re to make the most of the situation. You know the city and the people, so find me somewhere safe and close.”
He closed the door behind him and walked down the corridor, prodding Shad to open the front door for him.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. Stay alive, eh?”
He grinned at Shad, who tweaked his flabby lips into a rough smile.
“Sure, you too. Good luck.”
Then he closed the door, slid the bolts across and dropped the bar.
Marrinek stood for a moment, alone on the streets with his thoughts, then he rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck from side to side. He pulled his cloak around him and headed toward the Snarling Goat.
As he entered the area of the city known as The Narrows, Marrinek slowed his pace, hunched his back and broke his stride, taking on the slight shuffle of the vagabond. His cloak didn’t quite fit the disguise - it was too new, too clean, too complete and it lacked patches, stains and holes - but he didn’t think anyone would notice in the dim light of the streets. And even if they did it wouldn’t matter, as long as nobody recognised the tall stranger who had made such a mess in the Snarling Goat earlier in the day.
He shuffled along, keeping out of everyone’s way, until he reached the row of buildings where the Snarling Goat stood. He leant against the wall of a closed shop opposite the inn, fading gently into the shadows, watching people come and go and feeling the mood and atmosphere of the street. People were passing in and out of the inn at a slow but steady rate; Marrinek couldn’t be certain but it looked like a normal evening’s trade, customers coming and going as the fancy took them.
He turned to look at the buildings around the inn. Entry through the front door would not be a smart move - his disguise wouldn’t stand close inspection by someone who had seen him before, especially if he had to lower the hood of his cloak - but maybe he could gain access through the stables next door. After a few more minutes, it seemed that the stables were quiet except for the occasional snorting and neighing of the horses.
Decision made, Marrinek shuffled across the narrow street to the gate at the entrance to the stable’s courtyard. He reached out gently with his power, sending thin tendrils of flow to feel for people or animals inside the courtyard. He could sense the slow thoughts of the sleeping horses and, above one of the stables, the fast urgent thoughts of a pair of lovers. In the courtyard itself, there were no people, as far as he could tell, but there were definitely at least two guard dogs sleeping just inside the gate. He paused. The gate was locked and bolted, too high to climb without attracting attention from passers-by.
Marrinek turned away and walked along the front of the building until he reached the corner, where an even narrower alley led between the stable block and a tenement building. The upper floors of the tenement were built out over the alleyway so that they almost reached the stable. He reached out again, ever so gently, and found within the tenement the signs of multiple people, mostly sleeping or dozing, filling the tiny rented rooms. He nudged open the front door, moving quietly into the dank and narrow hallway beyond.
With the door to the street closed the hallway was almost completely dark. He stood for a few seconds to allow his eyes to adjust but it didn’t help much. Marrinek grunted to himself, slightly frustrated at the paucity of the tools available to him. He made a mental note to begin crafting a full set of equipment as soon as he could acquire the requisite resources but, for now, he would have to make do. He pulled out the fire charm and brought forth the smallest glow he could, just enough light to show him the stairs.
The attic space at the top of the building, three stories up, was open and half full of sleeping bodies. A shuttered dormer window let in a little air and Marrinek picked his way carefully across the floor, stepping between rough mattresses and over piles of possessions to reach it. He eased open the window, which ground on its hinges and squeaked, but nobody in the room woke. Anyone living in a place like this quickly learned to sleep through the building’s strange noises.
Marrinek extinguished the fire charm and put it back in his pocket. He pulled himself out through the window and onto the roof of the tenement. There he stood for a moment, balanced on the pitched roof of the building, staring out across the rooftops. From here he could see only a short way towards the centre of the city but he had a clear view to the river and the warehouses on the other side. The docks were full, crowded with river barges waiting to travel inland. To the north, along the line of the river, were the closest of the massive towers that ringed the inner city, the lamps on their ramparts casting thin streaks of light down the inner walls.
Even now there was traffic on the river as barges loaded or unloaded a
t the docks. Two of the huge river vessels were loading supplies and cargo, judging by the noise and movement, preparing to set sail as soon as there was enough light. There was activity in the streets too, as revellers made their way to the next pub or party and workers made their way home to bed.
A sudden noise in the alley below him brought him back to the present and he crouched low to the roof, looking around at the nearby buildings and rooftops, checking that nobody had seen him. After a few moments he relaxed again. There were no shouts of alarm, nobody knew he was there, he was safe for now.
He edged around the roof until he was opposite the stable then stopped, sitting low against the roof of the tenement. Again he reached out gently, sending tendrils of flow through the nearest part of the stable, searching for anyone who might be disturbed by his unexpected arrival. Again he found only sleepers and, a little further away on the right, the pair of lovers still working urgently in the hay loft.
Satisfied, Marrinek stood and stepped lightly between the roofs of the two buildings then began working his way around to the Snarling Goat. A few more minutes of quiet, careful creeping and he was able to climb up from the stable to the roof of the inn. He stopped again, pausing to catch his breath and to check for sounds of alarm but still there were none. He laid back against the rooftop of the inn, resting for a few minutes, and made another mental note to get more exercise; his time in prison had done nothing for his overall fitness.
As the Watch called midnight Marrinek edged around the roof of the inn, searching for a way in. Eventually he found a shuttered hatchway that opened into a loft space of some sort. He reached out gently, oh so gently, with his power and tested the sky light for traps or alarms; nothing. He searched the floor below the window and then the room beyond; still nothing. Happy that there were neither alarms nor traps nor people, he slid his knife around the window frame and flicked open the catch, lowering the sky light into the room. He squeezed through the frame and slid quietly to the floor of the cramped room, hardly breathing as he lowered his feet to the boards.