On the Matter of the Red Hand

by JM Guillen

  She was safe. She might never be the same young woman she had been, but she wasn’t in danger anymore.

  There were so many questions I still had. I still didn’t understand why everything had happened. Without that understanding, it was hard to feel as if this were resolved.

  The serum was quiet. The shadows behind my mind were at peace.

  Whether or not my heart agreed, it seemed as if my assignment was over.

  A Token of the Red Marquis

  Sundering, Sixth Bell, Eventide

  Half a bell later, Wil and I were in the back of a horse-cab, making our way to the Rookery. Santiago had sprung for our fare himself, loudly thanking us for seeing to his business.

  Santiago was a man who understood appearances. Still, he hadn’t been happy when he realized that Rebeka was a bit touched in the head.

  “No expense shall be spared.” He wrapped her in a fierce hug. “The finest dociere will see to my sister!”

  She didn’t seem to notice, and looked to be counting her toes.

  I wasn’t so certain a dociere would be able to attend to her, even in the ‘sylums, but I had given him a warm smile. “I think that’s for the best, Santiago.”

  “Heh.” He gave me his cat’s grin. “No more Senĩr now that it’s just us, hmm?”

  I offered my hand. “I like to think we have a mutual respect.”

  “Hmm.” He gave me a long look and then took my hand, shaking it firmly. “That we do, Tomás. Thank you. Thank you for what you have done for my family.”

  I nodded at him. He walked back into his alehouse, his arm protectively around his sister.

  Once in the horse-cab, Wil and I were quiet. I held Scoundrel on my lap as the carriage bumped over cobbles. I looked at the flat, round object in my hand, turning it over in the pale light.

  “Did Il Ladren give you a token?” Wil leaned forward, trying to see.

  “He did. Passed it to me when he shook my hand.” The Red Hand token was black erryxwood, with a scarlet hand on one side, palm forward. On the back, in tiny red letters, it read:

  Santiago Il Ladren, The Scarlet Cellar, Tuppence Road, The Warrens.

  Wil gave a low whistle. “What are Santiago’s guild tokens trading for now?”

  I shrugged. “Three or four salt notes. I won’t trade it, however.”

  “I wouldn’t either. Good for a favor in a tight spot.”

  I laughed, putting the token in my pocket. “I can’t imagine a spot tight enough where I ask him for any help.”

  We rode in silence for a moment before he spoke up again.

  “Did she shoot him on accident?”

  The question was nagging at me as well. As judicars, we were the hand of the law. We decided if something was a criminal offense. The only recourse against a judicar’s judgment was to seek petition with a barrister in the Legate Courts.

  “I don’t think so.” I gave Wil a look. “She didn’t drop the gun in shock or cry. It even looked like she took aim.”

  “Never prove it.” Wil was grim. “She’s not right, Thom. All that would happen is she would get shut away in the ‘sylums. Santiago could buy her out.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure she knew exactly what she was doing.” I gave Wil a look. “But I’m not certain anyone else will.”

  “Wil.” Scoundrel cocked her head at him, and he gave her a grin. My girl was exhausted.

  “Thing is,” I continued. “Eddie had a rough path ahead. Either Santiago would have killed him or the drops would have broken him.” I thought of Jakob the Fox, rambling and mad. Then I thought of the streets’ whisperings, and the horrifying things that happened to Santiago’s enemies. I had to suppress a shudder. “All Eddie’s roads led to horrifying ends.”

  “You don’t think we could have kept him safe? Or that he could have run?”

  I shook my head. “Santiago’s men are loyal to death, and the Offices of the Just wouldn’t keep him forever. Also, there’s only so far Eddie could have run. Even if he had made it to one of the Outliers, beyond the city…” I clicked my tongue against my teeth. “He would have been found, Wil. It wasn’t a matter of ‘if,’ but of ‘when.’ You must see that.”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “I do.”

  We bounced along the cobbles for long moments before he spoke again.

  “So you think it was a mercy.” It wasn’t a question.

  I sighed. “Rebeka Ortiz is one of the most humble, open-hearted women who ever gave her time to the Havens. If you asked me if she was a merciful soul, I would say yes.” I sighed. “But if you asked me if she could shoot a man in the face, I would say no. Yet I saw what I saw.”

  He leaned back in his seat. “I suspect she’s the only one who knows the truth of it. She looked to be killing for vengeance. That’s the story that will be all across the Warrens by morning.”

  No one could prove Rebeka was sane enough to shoot the man in cold blood, but the streets cannot keep secrets. The streets whisper to anyone who will listen, and the whisperings surrounding this night would be stories that few would forget.

  Who was she? Rebeka Ortiz, or Rebeka Il Ladren?

  Only the woman herself knew.

  2

  The next couple of days were mostly debriefing and paperwork. Before that particular horror visited, however, we assembled a detail to return to the Argyrian House. Legate Madigan filed the writs, and Wil and I led the delegation of three judicars. We even had a special assignee, a young, dark haired woman who was apparently going to be requisitioned for training in the next few weeks.

  It seemed we might actually get an extra pair of hands in the Warrens.

  Unfortunately, we found nothing. Not even Rebeka’s shoes.

  The lock had been removed from the door, and there was no trace of any of the bodies or strange alchemy. It was a frustrating day and did nothing to quell the secret worry that was gnawing away at me.

  This wasn’t over. Not really. If I had any doubts of that, I lost them the moment I saw the scrawling back of the door, mocking me.

  Next, Wil, Alejandro, myself, and four other judicars served papers at the Gallery Auric, the guildhouse for the Twilight Blades. It seemed that Sebaste had been having difficulties all his own with almost two dozen of his men abruptly vanishing, the most prominent of which was thirdman Blythe. In the end, Sebaste was obviously as confused about everything as we were and even claimed he had no idea that Rebeka had been taken to begin with.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  Once everything was clear, Legate Madigan asked me to file my forms with the Forge of Altheus as well. Even though, in the end, it seemed as if there was only alchemy and madness at the Argyrian House, the legate liked to be cautious.

  If later, we discovered that there had been taint in the area, then we would know we had followed protocols.

  Unfortunately, that also meant I had a nice visit with the inquisitor who was responsible for my borough, Lilah Crucian. Dealing with Lilah was one of my least favorite activities, as it always brought back memories of the Haven’s fire and the inquisitors who had questioned me after.

  Needless to say, we didn’t exactly have the friendliest relationship. I gave her as little information as I could get away with and left her to file the paperwork on her end.

  Within five days or so, Scoundrel was up and around again, begging me for food and making a nuisance of herself. Her wing was only lightly sprained, according to the Rookmaster.

  “You did fine by yer girl, Thom!” The man gingerly felt her wing. “Keep this bound for a few days, and she’ll be back by yer side by Sundering morn, I’d say.”

  I grinned. “For a nonce there, I thought I’d need a new bird.” I scratched her head.

  “Bird. Good bird.” She cawed at me, eating a small wafer from my hand.

  “That’s right. Maybe I’d get a good bird. For a change.” I shrugged. “I had hoped so, at least.”

  Scoundrel croaked. “Good, pretty girl.” She canted her head at me, one eye
gleaming.

  “My new bird might have been pretty. That would be something new.” I laughed.

  “Yer cracked, Havenkin,” Rookmaster Aeriin gave me an odd look, but I just smiled.

  I was just happy Scoundrel would be well.

  One afternoon I came home to find a small envelope pressed in the crack of my door. I unfolded it, a little concerned.

  “That’s how far this has gone,” I chided myself quietly. “You’re afraid of envelopes now.” I was a city official, after all. My post came by runner or raven, not secret notes.

  The writing was familiar.

  We still have business, Havenkin. Don’t forget.

  She didn’t need to sign it. It was exactly like the script she had left in the Deepingway—Judicar, she lies ahead. At some point, I knew, the Warren’s Spider was going to show up, demanding some artwork that didn’t exist. I half thought I should commission it, just to have something to hand over but I thought that might be a poor idea. What if she was watching and then believed I was having a second portrait created?

  That was a meal I was going to have to eat, I just didn’t know when.

  Admittedly, things were still a bit on the wind. I still had no idea how Thane had gotten everything so tangled, or how he had known so much about me. I was a touch suspicious of drunks on the street, of street orphans. Were they addicted to his mysterious “drops”? Were they watching everything I did? Where were the missing Twilight Blades?

  My days were held shadows in every corner.

  I took to taking extra-long patrols. Wil had more free time because of my diligence and made good use of it training the young woman that we had been assigned. Seven days passed, and I was really only returning to my flat for sleep.

  Still, there was nothing to be found.

  The Red Hands all greeted me like an old friend when they met me in the street, a situation I found uncomfortable. On three different occasions, they offered to buy me something to drink. Latigo even offered a shot of his snuff, but I didn’t partake.

  Everything should be fine. The world was moving on.

  But I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t.

  Ware the Unreal Man.

  The Last Home of Man- An Epilogue

  Year 607 of the Forsaken Age, Month of Nighharvest

  Ripened week, Sundering

  Second Bell Dusking

  I should have known that it would take a woman to put me at my ease.

  I was still half-sleeping one morning when my fat, loud bird slipped through her wind-door and leaped onto my head. I rolled away from her, cursing.

  “No.” I opened one eye. “Rutting damn, bird. Absolutely not. There is cheese set out for you.”

  It was my own fault, of course. I was the one who had gone to the Firstreaping masquerade and stayed out until third bell, Dawning. I had certainly had too much sachrae.

  Still, I could hardly be blamed.

  “Thom?” My good girl hopped closed, and I covered my head with my pillow.

  “Let. Me. Sleep.” I growled, wishing I didn’t feel quite so hung-over.

  It had been a busy night.

  I had made a promise to Sefra, after all, before all this began. She had a surprise for me and she had been quite good about waiting. There had been questions I had needed answered, and so it seemed as if a meeting should be arranged. I sent her a message, and her reply, by runner, was more than intriguing.

  There’s a Riogiin masquerade, over by the Trickledowns, Ninth bell, Eventide. I’ll let you wonder about my outfit.

  It had been a stunning harlequin outfit that left almost nothing to the imagination. When she saw me, she laughed and covered my lips with hers. We spent the evening making certain we understood one another and she explained what had happened.

  “I owed Blythe, plain and simple.” She scowled as she spoke of the man. “My brothers had borrowed money from the Blades and skipped out on paying.”

  “How?” I was into my third cup. “I mean, where can you possibly run to escape the Blades?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I suspect they may have run off to some outlier of the city, but that’s just a suspicion. Blythe made it clear that I personally owed him.”

  “Yeah?” I grit my teeth at the thought of Blythe pawing Sefra.

  “True fact.” She took a sip of night-cherry bitter. “When he told me he would let me be clear and that all I had to do was go on a date with a judicar—”

  “A dashing and daring judicar.” I nodded sagely. “Sounds like the better choice.”

  “I was completely unawares that the man wanted you dead. When he gave me the pin, I had no idea why he would want you to have it.”

  “I still don’t know.” I smiled, although the pin was not something to smile over. It was still in my desk, and as far as I was concerned, it could stay there.

  “He was powerful angry at the Coilwerks. Said you weren’t wearing it, and asked if I had cried him out.” She threw up her hands. “I didn’t even know what I was crying him out over! Our deal was ‘take the judicar out. Give him this.’ I didn’t see the harm.”

  I grunted, not enjoying the topic. So many things about all this were unanswered.

  I was fairly certain they would remain that way.

  “Maybe I can make it up to you?” She ran her finger up the inside of my leg. The woman took delight in teasing me.

  To be fair, I took delight in it as well.

  As the month passed, the Reaping festivals were really starting to get going. It seemed as if Sefra knew where all the good ones were. Sometimes, we would go to three parties in a single night, and she exhausted me.

  I liked the ways she exhausted me.

  She could dance like the wind off the ocean. When I was with her, I wasn’t thinking about the Argyrian House or the plague-masked man.

  Sefra made me smile. She set my mind at ease.

  Finally.

  This morning, the woman kept me out far too late. Honestly, I almost hadn’t made it home at all. She certainly hadn’t wanted me to leave. Sefra was positively wicked, and creative enough to always keep me guessing. The last revel had still been going at fourth bell, Dawning, but I had finally given up and stumbled to a foot-cab.

  Once home, I collapsed into my bed.

  “Thom.” Scoundrel’s rough squawk was almost exasperated. “Here, Thom. Here.” She jumped closer to me, holding out her leg.

  “What—?” I paused. For a long, terrifying moment, I thought Scoundrel had brought a small phial of serum from the Offices of the Just.

  I was not ready for another assignment.

  “Here, Thom.” She hopped closer again. I could see the small silver trinket she was playing with. She had obviously stolen it, or found it in the gutter.

  Thank the lost gods, not a phial. I sighed in relief.

  “Fine.” I sat up, giving her a foul look. She gave me a fowl look in return.

  “Good Thom.” In one hop she sat on my lap.

  I sat on the edge of my bed, blinking against the morning light shining in the wind-door. I could smell the city, hear her waking up.

  I could breathe. For the first time in days, it seemed.

  Children were laughing outside, and a street-crier was calling the day’s news. I could even hear the bells on the shoes of a runner and smell the mist off the ocean.

  “Pasties! Sweetmeats. Come on out! Break-fast treats!” It was Nans, the woman who made rounds every morning on my street, selling her baked goods.

  If I hurried, I could get one.

  I sat, in my shortclothes, listening to Teredon awaken. A slow, lazy smile spread across my face.

  For the first time in days, the world was not made of shadows.

  ###

  Author’s Note

  I wanted to take this moment to share with you how much it means to me that you read this story, and also to demand your complete fealty to me as your new world leader.

  Cæstre, the world Thom lives upon, i
s unique in the Irrational Worlds. It had a long history, with several stories that take place within it, including Slave of the Sky Captain and A Hand against the Wind. Here, there are thousands of years of history involving the Shroud and the creatures that dwell within it, and here also are the clues on what may drive that darkness back.

  If you enjoyed this story on any level (or even if you hated it and want to set me on fire) few things could help me more than reviews online. Here, for the first time, I can offer that anyone who takes the time to leave me an Amazon review will not be disintegrated.

  Guaranteed*.

  What are people saying about

  “The Herald of Autumn?”

  “Beautiful. It whisks you along with all the grace and power of an autumn wind, biting at times with its chill and whispering always at more to come. The blend of myth and modern, action and love, was superbly done. Definitely want to read more.”

  “The story is compelling. It is brisk. It hints at other and deeper stories. It is, in all the senses of the word, captivating. If you don't think you like myth, legend and stories, this one - with ancient roots but a modern touch in the telling - might be a nice place to start.”

  “I can honestly say this is one of my favorite books that I have read this year - and it's November so I've read a good many books. The Herald of Autumn earns a place on a very exclusive bookshelf - the one with books I will read over and over. I suspect each time I read it, I will find more I did not perceive before. There is no doubt that I will be buying more books by this author.”

  The Herald of Autumn

  JM Guillen is a supervillain who also dabbles in weird fiction. When not attempting to make his foes rue their actions, he writes. Other than science fiction, fantasy, and horror , he is best known for implementing schemes, plots, and ploys.