Goldenfire

by A. F. E. Smith

  If you’re so useless to the woman you love and the country you’ve devoted your life to, go ahead and drink.

  A long, breathless pause, during which Penn could clearly hear the pulse of his blood in his ears – and then the smash of breaking pottery, and the spilling out of bitter words. Never in Penn’s wildest dreams could he have hoped for such an honest display of weakness.

  I’m not good enough. I’m terrified that I’ll screw it all up. That I’ll fail again.

  ‘We shouldn’t be listening to this,’ Ree said in a tiny voice. Penn glanced down at her. She was pale, her eyes wide. For the second time that evening, she looked as though she wanted to cry. Of course, she didn’t know what Caraway was. To her, those words weren’t a potential weapon but … what? The fall of an idol? Or something more complicated?

  Fear just means that what you’ve got is worth holding onto, Bryan said, inside the office, and Penn grimaced. His own fear of failure didn’t mean anything of the kind. It just meant he was more afraid of letting his father down than he was of killing a man. But if Caraway’s greatest fear was losing the life he didn’t deserve –

  ‘Penn.’ Ree whispered his name, tugging on his arm. ‘We should go.’

  Damn it, Ree! With a snarl, he rounded on her. He wasn’t sure what was showing on his face, but she took a step back. For an instant they were frozen, staring at each other. Then the office door swung wider, casting a square of yellow light into the corridor where they stood, and Caraway’s voice said, ‘Ree? Penn?’

  Slowly, Penn turned. The captain was standing in the doorway, one hand on the frame as if to support himself. He looked exhausted, but he managed something that appeared to be a genuine smile. ‘Were you looking for the weaponmaster?’

  Penn opened his mouth to say something blistering, but Ree spoke first.

  ‘Oh, hello, captain.’ She was close enough to Penn that he could feel the tension in her, but her tone was one of casual ease. ‘I didn’t know you were here. We were just dropping off a sword.’

  ‘All right,’ Caraway said. ‘Well, it’s late. You two should be getting some sleep.’

  Again Penn opened his mouth to speak, but Ree grabbed his arm.

  ‘Yes, sir. Of course.’

  She turned and strode down the corridor, pulling Penn with her. He didn’t object. She was doing him a favour. Though he’d wanted desperately to say something to Caraway, it could only have given away his own feelings towards the man – and now was not the time for that.

  ‘You can let go of my arm now,’ he said, once they were out of the training hall and heading for the barracks. Ree glanced up as if she hadn’t realised he was still there, despite her death-grip on him; after a moment, she blinked and released him.

  ‘Did you know?’ she said softly. ‘That he used to –’

  I know more about your precious captain than you could possibly imagine. Penn shrugged. ‘People don’t remember that part of the story, do they? They want to make him into a hero, and the fact that he was really a second-rate alcoholic doesn’t fit the narrative.’

  Ree didn’t say another word until they reached the turning to the women’s barracks. Then she said softly, not looking at him, ‘Maybe he was both.’

  And before Penn could reply, she walked away.

  NINETEEN

  The address that Don Callero had given her was a warehouse down by the docks. Since there was never any point using stealth when openness would suffice, Sorrow tagged onto the back of a group of workers and walked straight in behind them. She’d dressed in the plain, hard-wearing clothing of a Kardise dock-worker, and with the battered bag slung across her body – emptied ready for the stolen ledger, in her case, rather than containing a midday meal and protective gear like all the rest – she could easily pass for one of them. The only difference between her and the others was the holstered pistol at her hip, but the bag concealed that well enough.

  Once they were inside, the workers headed for the far side of the warehouse in a chattering stream, winding their way through the aisles created by stacks of crates and pieces of machinery. No-one noticed when Sorrow slipped away as casually as she’d arrived, turning down one narrow channel and then another until she was out of sight and earshot of the main group. Then she walked swiftly and silently back through the maze in the direction she’d come, towards the office she’d noticed on her way in.

  A man was in there, making a note in what looked like the very ledger she’d come to steal. Sorrow found herself a hiding place behind some boxes, from which she could keep an eye on the door. When the man emerged, whistling, and walked off in the direction the workers had taken, she sauntered into the office and – with a quick glance around to make sure she hadn’t been followed – flipped the heavy book to read the first page. Once she’d confirmed it was the one she was after, she stuffed it straight into her bag and left the office again.

  Easy.

  Too easy?

  No such thing as too easy, she told herself. You’ve got what you came for and now you need to get out.

  She was nearly back at the entrance when she spotted two more men approaching. One, the older of the two, was tall and stern-looking, with dark hair fading to silver at the temples. The other was a young, curly-haired man with an earnest expression. She whisked back round behind a crane, heart racing, and waited for them to pass. They were deep in conversation – probably too deep to notice her even if she stood right in front of them, she reassured herself – and as they drew level with her, she overheard a little.

  ‘… why you agreed to see me now,’ the younger man was saying.

  ‘I felt it was time,’ the older man replied. ‘Goldenfire has already been set in motion, so there is no longer any need for secrecy …’

  As their voices receded, Sorrow found several different things clamouring for her attention.

  Goldenfire has already been set in motion. She recognised that voice. It belonged to the man her employer had identified as Eight – the man she’d stolen a document from, back when all this started.

  You are involved in the Goldenfire business. And that was what the woman with him had said that evening. Goldenfire was their code name for the assassination of Ayla Nightshade.

  It’s important that you do as I’ve asked without deviation, Fourteen’s voice added to the mix. He’d been quite adamant that she shouldn’t use her initiative this time. Given her precarious position in Sol Kardis, it would be incredibly foolish of her to disobey. And yet she’d agreed to spy for Mirrorvale. What use would she be as a spy if she didn’t take a risk now and then?

  If there was a chance she could find out anything more about Goldenfire, she couldn’t ignore it.

  You’re going to regret this, Naeve Sorrow, she told herself; but nevertheless, she turned her back on the exit and followed in the wake of the two men. They were heading in a different direction from the workers, so at least it was unlikely she’d bump into anyone else. She ghosted along behind the stacks, taking a parallel path to their own, until they walked through an archway into a part of the warehouse that was walled off from the rest. Sorrow waited to make sure they had enough of a lead, then followed.

  On the other side of the archway were several large crates stamped with the same design that had been on the owner’s sign outside the warehouse, and covered in labels that suggested they were due to be sent out of the country. Sorrow tipped her head and managed to read one of them sideways. EXPORT: MIRRORVALE. She snuck along behind the crates until she reached the last one, which she peered around cautiously. The two men were a short distance away, shoulder to shoulder, looking down at something in the middle of the floor. It was a trunk: an ordinary-looking wooden thing, rather battered around the edges, though still solid and sturdy enough for years of use.

  ‘Here.’ Eight gestured to the trunk, and the young man with him frowned at it.

  ‘This is how you get firearms across the border?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But
–’

  ‘Why don’t you try and find the pistol?’ Eight invited him with a smile.

  Looking sceptical, the young man crouched down beside the trunk. He opened the lid and reached inside. After a very brief search, he straightened up with a thin, rectangular piece of wood in his hands.

  ‘A false bottom?’ He sounded disappointed. ‘Hardly an innovation. The border guards must be asleep on their feet if they’re missing that.’

  Eight laughed. ‘Really? Then where’s the pistol?’

  Leaving the false bottom to one side, the young man leaned back into the trunk. Sorrow heard the scrape of his nails against the wood, but the length of time he spent in there suggested that he couldn’t find what he was looking for – and sure enough, when he emerged for the second time, he was empty-handed.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said plaintively, and Eight clapped him on the back.

  ‘The false bottom is just a decoy. Any guard worth his pay would notice the difference between the height of the trunk inside and the height outside, and deduce the presence of a secret compartment. When he opens it and finds it empty – or finds something private but innocuous inside, like a bundle of love letters – his job is done. But in fact, there’s also a much subtler secret compartment on one side. Here, look.’ He gestured to one of the trunk’s thick walls. ‘See if you can open it.’

  There was a long pause whilst the young man ran his hands over the trunk, trying to find the catch that would release the secret compartment. Finally he shook his head with a rueful grin.

  ‘I can’t detect anything there at all.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Eight said with some satisfaction. ‘It’s a puzzle drawer. Only by pressing the right parts in the right order will it slide open.’

  He began to demonstrate, his long fingers gliding over the wood. Sorrow risked emerging a bit further from the shadow of her concealing crates, but men and trunk weren’t close enough for her to make out the details. Still, no matter. She had the most important piece of information; Caraway would have to work the rest out for himself.

  The young man gave a low sigh of satisfaction as the drawer popped open. He reached down, then straightened up with a pistol in his hand.

  ‘Another compartment on the other side, for the accoutrements,’ Eight said. He opened the second drawer in the same way as the first, before passing its contents to the younger man. ‘Balances out the design of the trunk, you see. Makes it less noticeable.’

  I could use one of those trunks myself. Soundlessly, Sorrow retreated, one backward step at a time. She’d seen enough. Better get out before she was caught.

  ‘Remarkable,’ the young man said. With a click, he set his empty pistol to the firing position – and like an echo, a second click sounded behind Sorrow’s right ear. Like an echo … but not.

  Someone was behind her with another pistol.

  She froze. She knew better than most what firearms were capable of, after all. And the first step in any situation that involved someone holding a pistol to your head was don’t make any sudden movements.

  ‘Turn around slowly,’ a female voice said. ‘Hands where I can see them.’

  Step two: cooperate fully and completely until the pistol is no longer in danger of shattering your skull like an egg.

  Arms held away from her body, fingers spread, Sorrow turned. She didn’t recognise the woman holding the pistol: tall, slender, dark brown eyes and hair to match. Yet her voice had been … familiar. Almost. Like something Sorrow had heard once or twice before …

  The woman with the document.

  Yes. She was the one who had been there that first night, when Sorrow found herself tangled up with the Brotherhood in the first place. She was one of them.

  Which made it even more important to proceed to step three: take control of the pistol.

  Yet before she could come up with a way of doing it without being shot, the woman gestured with the pistol, indicating that both of them should move out from behind the crates. Then she tweaked Sorrow’s own pistol from its holster. By now, the man whom Sorrow had identified as Eight was alone beside his trunk, gazing in their direction; the young man he’d been talking to was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Five?’ Smiling, Eight crossed the floor towards them. ‘Have you got her?’

  ‘Like a rat in a trap,’ the woman – Five – said.

  They knew I was here, Sorrow thought uneasily. Which means –

  Yet she didn’t have time to examine the implications. Her emergence from the shadows had brought her a step closer to the other woman, and that gave Sorrow her chance. Before Eight could reach them, Sorrow curled her toes to extend the blade from the sole of her boot, jabbing it swiftly into Five’s shin –

  But the other woman wasn’t there. Even quicker than the weapon had moved towards her, she’d spun out of the way. Almost as if she’d known what Sorrow would do. And now she was behind Sorrow again, the pistol pressed to Sorrow’s head.

  That’s not good.

  ‘Do that again and I’ll kill you,’ Five said coolly, and Sorrow believed her. She’d made enough of her own threats over the years to know which ones were real and which were merely bluff. So she retracted the blade. With any luck, it had gone unnoticed and she’d be able to use it again later.

  Of course, relying on luck in this situation would be a stupid thing to do. She couldn’t fight someone holding a pistol to her head, so the next best thing was to try bluffing her way out. Spreading her hands again, she addressed Eight directly.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry if I’ve intruded on private property. I didn’t mean any harm by it. I only came in here because …’ Yes, why, Sorrow? What sort of shitty cover story are you going to come up with this time? ‘I thought you might give me a job.’

  Five laughed; Sorrow felt it on the back of her neck, uncomfortably intimate. ‘Really? Then I suppose we won’t find stolen property in that bag of yours?’

  Great job. Stick to the fighting next time and leave the bluffing to someone with a modicum of intelligence. Sorrow opened her mouth to begin explaining away the ledger, but the pistol dug harder into her skull and she shut up.

  ‘We know exactly who you are, Naeve Sorrow,’ Eight said. ‘So you might as well save your breath.’ His smile was unpleasant. ‘You’re going to need it.’

  That didn’t sound good at all. Sorrow could see her future rapidly diminishing to a single point – the point at which they shot her stone dead – and so she decided to cooperate. The chances were looking slim, but it was possible she’d find an opportunity to escape later on. Trying to escape now would only result in a bullet to the head.

  That decision sounded sensible right up until Eight brought out a rope and she realised they were going to tie her. Since that would reduce her chances of escape to almost zero, she struggled after all. She couldn’t help herself. Yet it did no good. The most she achieved was a few glancing blows before her own pistol came down hard against her skull and knocked her into darkness.

  A week after Zander’s arrest, Ree finally gathered enough courage to go and see him.

  She wasn’t sure quite why she was finding it so difficult. It shouldn’t matter so much that he’d deceived her; after all, it wasn’t as if she were in love with him. That would have been far harder. Oh, she liked him well enough, of course. She thought he was a good person –

  Had thought.

  And that was probably it, she reflected as she stood outside the jail. She didn’t want to see Zander because that would force her to recognise the extent of her failure to judge his character. She’d have to admit to herself that she’d talked to, and laughed with, and slept with a man who was secretly plotting murder. No-one would want to accept that as a truth. Far better to stay away and pretend the whole thing had never happened than to hear him confirm it in person. As long as she didn’t see him, she could convince herself that it had all been a mistake.

  But that was the cowardly way forward. And Ree refused to be a coward.
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  After a final deep breath, she walked briskly through the entrance. Zander was being held in the fifth ring’s tiny prison, a set of four cells that were usually used for warriors who’d breached the Code. Most people didn’t stay in there long; they either admitted their transgression and did the kind of tedious penance that Zander and Penn had been given after their fight a few weeks ago, or – for a serious enough misdeed – were banished from the fifth ring for good or moved to another jail in the lower rings. Yet Zander was a special case. His crime was against Darkhaven itself, which should have meant the Helm took him into custody, but Captain Caraway hadn’t wanted to move him any closer to Ayla. So he simply stayed where he was, waiting for the date of the formal trial that would determine his fate.

  Ree realised, now, as the guard showed her past the three empty cells, that she didn’t actually know what that fate would be. Anyone who killed a member of the Nightshade line would be executed; that went without saying. But a failed assassin? A man who’d planned regicide, but never carried it out? She didn’t know, but she found herself hoping he might be deported from the country instead. Whatever he’d done, she didn’t want him dead.

  ‘Here you are,’ the guard said. They’d reached the last cell in the row. Like the others, it was a small room with the closest wall made up of vertical bars. ‘Not too long, now.’

  Zander was sitting on the narrow cot that was the only item of furniture in the room, staring at his hands, but he looked up at the sound of the guard’s voice. His eyes were creased with tiredness, and his usually bright and mobile face was set in solemn lines. Ree’s anticipation and her nerves had been so intense, and her thoughts so turbulent, that it was a shock to see he hadn’t changed at all – not beyond those superficial signs of strain. He wasn’t a different person, the hard and mocking assassin of her imagination. He was just himself.

  ‘Ree,’ he said hesitantly, as she approached the bars and the guard walked away. ‘What are you doing here?’