by JM Guillen
There were questions, but no answers, only the road forward.
I walked it, waiting for the turn.
The Argyrian House
Sundering, First Bell, Eventide
Apparently Barrens Avenue was where we wanted to be. If I had a wisp of an idea where we had been going, I would have paid a runner to tell me the way. Then again, guild runners probably rarely made their way to this neighborhood.
Moonrise House. Edgeborough House. Felling House. Some of the signs were untended and almost impossible to read. Many of the homes had yards where the grass had grown to my waist, waving in the wind. Still, I worked my way down the tattered cobbles, looking for any writing that vaguely resembled Argyrian House.
Three houses later and we still had nothing. I was starting to wonder if I had missed it when the Spider nodded.
When she looked to me, her grin was sharp.
“There we are.”
I looked for the name of a house, but all I saw was the guild sign.
“Oh.” A grin spread across my face as I realized my mistake.
“Thom?” My girl was excellent at reading my emotions.
“Nothing, pretty bird.” It was nothing. It’s just that I expected an actual house.
“The Old Argyrian House” wasn’t a house at all. It had been a guildhouse, once upon a time. It didn’t have an address sign on the front but instead had a silvery-colored pick-axe on a black background—the symbol for the Argyrian Guild.
“It’s literally the old Argyrian House.” I mused to myself. My good girl looked up at me but said nothing.
“Seems so.” The Spider chuckled to herself.
Probably, in the past, members of the Argyrian Guild had lived in the neighborhood and used the large building as a meeting hall and storage. Now, it simply loomed over the neighborhood, half hidden by waving vegetation the color of old wheat. Like many abandoned buildings, it didn’t truly seem empty. It seemed as if it watched, as if it waited, like a predator.
As I walked up the broken-down stairs to the door, I had only one thought: Maybe Wil should have come after all. I would have paid a good coin to watch him try to be smart with the Warren’s Spider.
That wasn’t the point, however. There was a miasma about the place, the kind of gloom that seeps into the bones. I didn’t just want Wil; I also wanted my mentor Alejandro, a few Saltmen, and a cadre of stoneworkers, just for effect. Tainted night, I’d even take one of the inquisitors. The building almost had an animate feel to it, looming over us as if it were a predator.
Well, at least I had a legendary assassin with me.
I loosened the strap to my ironwood stave and pulled it to my free hand. Scoundrel noted that I had the stave loose. She flapped away from my shoulder and took up sentry, a few strides to my right on a hitch-post. It wasn’t accidental positioning. This was her primary stance, a few steps from the judicar and off the ground. It meant that anyone I was attacking, she could strike from the side with her gaffs. From this position, she would strike low, preferring the heel tendons or hamstrings while I struck at the head.
It was her default position. “First.” She seemed so serious. “First, Thom. First.”
“It’s so interesting to watch how she behaves, when she isn’t being set against me.” The Spider’s tone was musing. “So much to learn.”
I scowled at her, stepping up to the door. I held the stave up on my shoulder, gripping it firmly. It seemed to rest easily there, but in a nonce I could flip it downward, swinging at skull-shattering speeds. I reversed the stave for a moment and used it to pound on the door with loud knockings that seemed to echo into the street.
“Judicar!” My voice was deep, rumbling with authority. I placed the stave back on my shoulder, holding my feet apart.
“What.” The Warren’s Spider gave me a look of disgusted disbelief. “You’re knocking?”
“I have to knock,” I gave her an irritated look. “If I don’t follow the Codices, I can’t bring a writ against anyone present. The legates will throw out my arguments.”
“Writs?” She scoffed incredulously. “Judicar, do you imagine that Santiago wants someone tried in a court of law? Do you expect they will be hiring barristers and dressing their best for a day in front of the legates?”
It was a foolish thought. Still, I couldn’t back down. I took my first stance, focused upon the door in front of me.
The stanza for the pose echoed in my memory.
Like a sky-born storm
A fierce strike from the heavens
Sharpness on black wings
I stood there, holding my feet apart, my gaze forward. A nonce passed, and then a second.
No one was coming.
I pounded the door again. It was like thunder echoing in the old building. Then, I retook my pose. I waited ten breaths.
Exhale.
“I guess no one’s home.” Sarcasm dripped like cold honey from her words. “Maybe we should go play draughts in a tavern and drink grain bitters all night.”
“Maybe so.” I tried the door handle, but it wouldn’t turn. I tried pushing the door, but it seemed quite secure. Too secure.
Strange. Why wasn’t the lock as rotten as the rest of the building?
I leaned back, glancing up and down the street. If anyone was out and about, they weren’t watching. Not that it mattered. I had legal right to go where I pleased. It just might not bear well in this neighborhood, to be seen as the judicar that would break into someone’s locked home whenever he wished.
Such a judicar might be seen as a problem. Such a judicar might not make it home safely.
“Let’s just go in.” She sounded bored now. “We both know I’m going to do all the killing anyway—”
“I’m entering!” I called toward the guildhouse. “I’m making a legal forced entry into a location of suspicion!” I waited.
No answer.
“Are you serious right now?” The Spider seemed floored. “We should just—”
I struck at the door with my stave. The old, rotting oak was no match for my ironwood. The door broke in where I struck it. Another couple of swings, and I was able to peer inside.
“Hello?” I called through the hole I had made. I couldn’t see anyone inside. I could smell the place though. It had the dead smell of dust and rot, the smell of abandonment. The empty smell of things forgotten floated in the air.
Satisfied that no dire ogriim was on the other side of the door, I reached through the hole and found the lock-fob. It only took a quick turn, and I heard the heavy thunck of the tumblers giving way behind the door. I swung the door open, casting light into the shadows inside.
Emptiness waited within. Nothing lurked in the shadows, with sharp teeth.
I turned and looked at the lock I had tripped. It was new, made from brass. I could still see the stamped seal of the lock-hawks on the bottom.
“Who paid for you, I wonder?” The lock-hawks did keep records, and any legate could give me a writ demanding them, but I imagined that would be a dead end. It would show that some great-father, dead two years ago, had somehow risen again and bought this lock.
“That’s a good eye.” The Spider peered at the lock as well. “Proof someone’s here, that’s sure.”
Scoundrel bounced in through the door. “Thom.” Even her squawking sounded muted in this shadowy room. “Good Thom. Good.” I held out my arm, and she jumped to my shoulder.
The three of us looked around.
It seemed like my initial assessment had been correct. This room looked to have been a front parlor, a place where men had come and rested after a long day of working on mining equipment or selling ore. Everything was covered in dust, but it was apparent what this room had been. Some kind of small table had fallen apart. Two candles and some old tubing lay scattered next to the chairs. I picked up the tube, noticing that it opened on one end.
Sulfur matches, still good. I set them on the floor and peered around.
There was a half-r
otted lounge in the center of the room with three smaller plush chairs around it. In my imagination, I could see men using the room, men tired from working on greasy machines, coming here to have a cold bitter and grouse about the foreman before going home to the missus.
Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust. Everything except the floor.
The floor had been swept clean.
“Well now.” I furrowed my brow as I looked at the wooden boards. “If the lock wasn’t proof enough…” I let the words trail off.
“What?” The Spider walked over to me, staring at the floor at the same spot I was.
“It’s clean. The floor’s swept.” There was cleverness here, something I wasn’t used to seeing with most of the undereducated thugs I dealt with.
“They’re hiding their prints.” She nodded. “It’s a reasonable idea.”
“Someone went to a little trouble, not only to make it difficult to get in but to make certain that no one could see how many people had been here.” I looked at her.
“Caution, then.” Her hands fell to her sides, and she pulled two gleaming shortblades to the ready.
I looked down to my good girl.
“Wary, Scoundrel.” She preened herself nervously, but said nothing as I crept forward through the room. Silence was impossible. The boards creaked and groaned with every step. I crossed the room toward a large, glass-paned double door in the far side. Carefully, I pulled the door open. It squealed on a rusty hinge.
The hallway beyond was empty.
“Thom?” Scoundrel was nervous. I knew she was actually picking up on cues from me, so I took a deep breath.
“Don’t worry, pretty little bird.” I scratched her head. “We’re fine. Everything is good.”
“Good. Good.” She preened.
2
That’s when I heard the laughter.
It was more giggling than laughing, high and childlike. The laughter echoed eerily down the long hallway, but no one stood within it.
The sound sent chills racing down my back.
“That—” The Spider stopped in mid-stride.
“Right.” I brought my stave to the ready and stepped into the dim hallway.
The only light in the hallway was from the room I had just been in, so it was difficult to see. I could tell there was a thick, green carpet on the floor that sounded and felt slightly damp under foot. There were two doors leading out of the hallway at the sides, with an additional door at the far end. I took another step into the hallway and then called out.
“I am here on official city business!” The words echoed in the passage. I heard the giggling once more and then silence. It seemed as if the sound had come from the far door.
“No one cares, Judicar.” I could hear the tension in the Spider’s voice. “Particularly anyone who sounds depraved.”
Two more steps. Then three.
“Here.” The word was a rough whisper, like the cry of someone who had gone too long without water. “Here. Here. Here.” I heard a scratching, as if, on the far side of the door, some misbegotten thing was clawing at it with fingernails.
“Show yourself!” I put bravery into my voice that I did not feel.
The scratching continued and became louder. With my stave in front of me, I crept down the hallway.
“You are hereby detained for questioning.” It was difficult making my voice firm. “I seek information regarding the disappearance of a young woman.”
“You are unbelievable,” the Spider whispered but did not sound certain.
The laughter came again, more shrill this time.
“Here. Here.” The scratching sounded painfully fierce; I was certain now that it came from the far door. Step by step, I grew closer.
A Fox.
The serum thrust itself into my mind. Almost by instinct, I spun as a man burst from one of the side doors.
Oh, lost gods.
It was Jakob.
He quickly lays down four others. A Fox.
He looked ragged, the white in his eyes now blood red. Rivulets of yellowish ichor ran along his face, as if he did nothing but weep.
The red-haired man swung at me, but I easily dodged and pushed him back with my stave. He stumbled, and I kicked at his knee, knocking him back some more.
“Inevitable.” Jakob’s voice was a distant, rasping sound. I had no idea what he meant.
I threw out the stave in front of me, sliding as best as I could into stanza three. Scoundrel knew the stance and hopped behind me.
The ancient stone wall
May conceal secrets unknown,
Swift strike, victory.
I held the stave forward, vertically, ready to parry a knife or club that might be coming my way.
“This is your only warning, Jakob. I am licensed to use deadly force.”
“He’s mine.” The Spider’s voice was right behind me. She slipped to my left, her blades at the ready.
“Hello, Spider.” Jakob’s grin danced with madness. The man was lean once, but now appeared absolutely cadaverous. He was unwashed and had flaky sores mottling his skin.
“We have business, Jakob Winters.” Her tone was low, deadly.
“How many times does a man have to squash a spider?” His raspy voice held hidden laughter and madness.
Then, he lunged at us.
The man clawed at me, cackling maniacally as he swiped with cracked, blackened nails. His body odor was thick, with a strong scent of pepper, like the man was sweating rotten, spiced ginger. His hoarse cries rambled off into nonsensical gibbering, with only the occasional bit intelligible.
But I wasn’t his true target. From the folds of his clothing, he produced a longknife, grooved down its length. He swung at the Spider once, then twice, wielding the knife as did a man who knew how to use it.
“Ware him! Ware the Unreal! He walks where no one sees!” Jakob cackled as he spoke, completely unhinged. Drool ran from his mouth like tiny, mucus-filled rivers.
Somewhere, at the end of the hallway, I heard the giggling.
“Here. Here.”
Jakob lunged again, trying to get past my parries with his swiping hand. This time I was ready. I stepped aside and ducked low.
Like a bolt of midnight, Scoundrel flew at the man’s face, gaffs flashing.
It is not a widows’ tale about ravens and their attraction to eyes. It has to do with seeing their reflections, the rookmasters say. Regardless, in our training, we exploit that tendency. As Scoundrel dove at the man’s face, I stayed low and brought my stave into a block.
The Spider leapt forward, just as Scoundrel slashed once, then twice, leaving long scores of crimson down the man’s face. He screamed, stumbling back into the doorway from whence he had come. He slid down the wall, his hand over his eye.
Then, he began to laugh.
“Thom, you need to step away.” The Spider’s tone was tight, intent. She did not look to me as she spoke.
“I think we have him.” I kept my eyes on Jakob as he pushed himself up.
“Thom?” My girl hopped up to me. She was more than a little macabre, with Jakob’s blood on her talons and gaffs.
“No.” The Spider sounded certain. “You don’t underst—”
Then, an invisible hammer the size of a mountain smashed into my mid-section. I was hurled through the air as simply as a child’s plaything. I didn’t see Jacob move, and I didn’t think anyone was behind me—
“Thom!” Scoundrel was far away.
I was on the squishy carpet, leaning against a dilapidated wall. Every ounce of my will was focused on attempting to breathe. For a long moment, my vision swam with red shadows.
Something was happening, down at the end of the hallway. I could hear rapid movement, and the singing of blades against one another. The Spider grunted, but I could not tell if it was pain or exertion.
“Bad Thom.” Scoundrel bounced up to me, close enough that I could see her.
There was a long moment of darkness, where I felt li
ke I was falling. When I fought my eyes open again, Scoundrel was much closer.
“Thom!” She pulled at one of my hairs.
“Fecking damn!” I yelped. I gave her a dirty look. The sounds at the other end of the hallway entirely faded as I rapidly blinked my eyes, trying to get myself straight.
Had I passed out?
“Thom.” Scoundrel’s voice seemed almost smug, satisfied.
What had that been? I weakly pushed myself to my feet, peering down the dim hallway. Are they gone? It was impossible, I knew.
But still, it had grown quiet.
There had been a door that Jakob had come through; perhaps their fight had led them back that way. Or maybe, even past the door to the foyer we had come through?
I spent long moments thinking before I realized the truth—it didn’t especially matter where Jakob was or the Spider. Tainted night, but the Spider had told me I needed to step back, was this why? Had she intended to fight Jakob, freeing me to move forward and find Rebeka?
The more I thought about it, it made sense. The Warren’s Spider certainly had tricks I didn’t ken to, and she had obviously used one of them to remove me from their duel.
“Unless that’s just what I want to believe.” I sighed, peering into the darkness. In the end, it didn’t matter much.
My job was the same—Rebeka was somewhere in the shadows.
Turning, I moved along the hallway, my hand against the moldering wall. I considered pulling the lucia back from my bag, but some deep, instinctual part of me felt as if that were quite a bad idea, as if I would alert the house to my presence.
It was then, as I was alone in the awful darkness of that place, that I heard the eerie, haunting giggling again.
3
“That does not sound friendly,” I peered into the shadows, intently listening.
I heard the giggle. It was muffled and quiet.
“Hello?” I lent my voice as much weight as I could. “Jakob is hurt. Come out here, and we can get him help.”