Shadow of the Raven (The Reckoning Book 1)

by Ward, Matthew

  Arianwyn continued as if I hadn't spoken. "Two things made this stone more important." She looked around again but, having seen nothing to alarm her, continued. "First, uncle seemed certain it had come from Darkmere..."

  She was lying. She had to be. "No one goes there. Certainly no one who lives to speak of it."

  She shrugged. "I grant you it's rare. Anyway, from the fragment, Uncle Stefan calculated that the full thing must have been three times the size of a normal watchstone."

  "Interesting. Did he have any theories as to why?"

  "I think so, but I don't know what they were. I was due to meet him this morning to discuss it."

  "Ah."

  We stood in silence for a time after that, the only sounds the soft swish of rippling water, and the patter of rain upon stone. Arianwyn had yet to press me into helping, but somewhere along the line I realised I'd already made a decision. Had done, in fact, before I'd even left the Silverway. Perhaps I thought I owed it to Stefan. Maybe I simply felt an urge to be doing something – anything – useful again. Maybe I still felt guilty for my rudeness. I wasn't too bothered about clearing my name, I knew that much. If Quintus was convinced I was innocent, I didn't have much to fear from Tressian justice – if I could at least refrain from manhandling constables, anyway.

  "And you're certain this watchstone fragment, or whatever it is, has something to do with Stefan's death?" I asked, fairly certain I already knew the answer.

  "Yes. If for no other reason than he gave it into my keeping a little over two days ago. He was most insistent."

  "Do you have it with you?"

  Arianwyn reached beneath her cloak and hand me a fist-sized lump of rock. It was curved across half its surface, jagged over the rest. As I turned it over in my hands, I could see how this fragment could once have been part of a larger sphere, but what struck me most was the colour. The swirling patterns that broke and reformed across its surface should have been a pale orange; instead, they emitted a vibrant green light. I'd seen several watchstones, and I knew without doubt that this was something different.

  My curiosity sated, I returned the fragment to Arianwyn and peered out from under the bridge. The rain was finally clearing, and I saw Ashana gazing down upon me with approval. Had she convinced me to help, or had she merely given me the strength to make my decision?

  I turned back to Arianwyn. "What do you suppose the time is?"

  She was about to speak when a clock tower chimed somewhere in the distance. Nine o' clock. The night was young.

  "Come on." I nodded towards the steps. "I think it's time we consulted your uncle's library." I walked a pace under the open sky, then moved by an emotion I couldn't quite identify, turned back to face Arianwyn. "Oh, and please call me Edric, not 'Ambassador'. I do so hate that bloody title."

  Five

  As it happened, we didn't go straight to Stefan's house. Arianwyn wanted to travel via her own residence and, whilst I inwardly chafed at the prospect of another delay, it seemed churlish to refuse. Besides, she'd assured me it would require only a small detour. And so it proved. After half an hour of brisk travel through the waterlogged streets, we arrived at the door of an unprepossessing townhouse.

  At first glance, Arianwyn's neighbourhood wasn't particularly remarkable. We'd passed many similar streets upon leaving the riverside but here, as with much of Tressia, the details were everything. These dwellings were in good repair, whilst the stonework frontages of those in the lower reaches were battered and unkempt. There were also other, less obvious telltales, from the beautifully-hewn detailing upon finial and lintel, to the flowery inscriptions set above every door.

  'Te magnis cala nomaris, magnis vratis', read the words above Arianwyn's door: The power of justice is power indeed. I had no doubt each entranceway was guarded by a similar homily. Tressia's wealthier citizens, I'd found, loved to set store by such principles, provided those principles didn't provoke questions of how their riches had come to be. So much of the wealth in the city came, I knew, not from the toil or cleverness of the current generation, but a history of colonial adventurism spanning back centuries. The truth was that those of Tressia's upper classes who didn't subsist off the labours of their own people supported their lavish lifestyles with the exploitation – and sometimes the ruin – of other nations.

  I found it distasteful, but was in no position to judge. The Hadari Empire was no less rapacious, and my own lineage meant my hands were at least as blood-stained as those of the pre-eminent Tressians whose pristine streets we now walked.

  Arianwyn opened the iron gate, walked up the short flight of steps to the door, and rapped hard three times. Apparently it was bad form for the nobility to carry their own keys. After a moment, the door swung inward upon oiled hinges and she beckoned me inside.

  As the door closed, Arianwyn gestured to the black-clad servant who'd opened it. "Edric, this is Constans, my manservant."

  Constans smiled and gave a small bow from the waist. I found it hard to place his age; shoulder length black hair framed a face that belonged a man of perhaps thirty summers or so, but there was a calmness in his eyes that belonged to someone much older. The small goatee lent Constans' face a slightly sardonic aspect, except for when he smiled, which was often.

  "He's been in the family for years." Arianwyn spoke as if talking of a particularly treasured piece of furniture. "You may rely entirely on his discretion." With that, she vanished out of sight through a door at the end of the passage.

  Constans was quick to provide clarification. "What Arianwyn means is that her father retained me some time ago, and she inherited my services when her father departed."

  "Hereditary butlers," I said politely. "An interesting concept."

  Constans smiled, but said nothing more.

  As we stood in polite silence, I took the opportunity to look around the room. As was the tradition in many families of Arianwyn's presumed status, there was an obvious effort to display the household's wealth. The dark green wallpaper was barely visible beneath a collection of gilt-framed watercolours – a mixture of landscapes and portraits – whilst the carpet was thick and as richly coloured as the walls.

  Constans made no move to invite me deeper into the house. I wondered whether he'd remained at my side out of politeness or as a guard. I was just contemplating testing the theory when Arianwyn re-emerged, having exchanged her skirt for infinitely more practical trousers. "We're taking a look around Uncle Stefan's study." Constans' brow furrowed so briefly I nearly missed it. "I don't know when I'll be back."

  "Understood." He crossed to the front door and hauled it open once more. "Will you be needing me to do anything?"

  "Not as yet. I'll let you know if things change."

  *******

  A walk across town later, I felt my patience fraying. Upon arriving at Stefan's townhouse, Arianwyn and I discovered it to be under guard, and not a light guard at that. Two constables stood sentry at the front gate, and another pair watched leerily from the main door as Arianwyn and I unsuccessfully tried to negotiate our way in. This property was the site of a major investigation, we were told, and no one was permitted entry without authorisation.

  I tried logic, persuasion and even dropping Quintus' name, but all to no avail. Similarly, Arianwyn's family connection to the deceased held no sway. Even her icy stare had no effect; not even when its temperature dropped considerably lower after one of the guards – a broken-nosed warning against the dangers of brawling – addressed her as 'missy'.

  As Arianwyn delivered an increasingly loud – but sadly ineffective – dressing-down, I decided we were drawing entirely too much attention to ourselves to no good effect. Without preamble, I grabbed Arianwyn by the arm, apologised to the guard, and led her away around a corner. That I got even that far was purely down to the fact that I'd taken Arianwyn by surprise. As soon as we were out of sight, she tore free of my grasp.

  "How dare you," she hissed. "I was..."

  "...busy providing entertainme
nt for the entire neighbourhood?"

  The frosty hauteur returned to Arianwyn's expression but, like the guard I'd just dragged her away from, the righteousness of my cause ensured I felt only the slightest of chills.

  "The streets might be empty," I said, "but who knows how many eyes were watching from the comfort of their houses?"

  Arianwyn's stare thawed a little, but she said nothing.

  "They weren't going to let you in," I insisted quietly.

  "But we can't give up. If Uncle Stefan had any information on the fragment, that's where it'll be. We need to get in there."

  I held up my hands in a placatory manner. "I quite agree, but let's try another tack. The constable said he'd only admit those with proper authorisation, so let's go get some."

  "You're saying we should talk to Quintus?"

  "Exactly so."

  She scowled. "Very well. I'm sorry. I overreacted."

  She really had, there was no question about that, and I wondered why that should be. Then I remembered that she'd just lost a close member of her family, and felt slightly ashamed. Not everyone was as dead inside as I often felt. "Don't worry about it. Let's talk to Quintus."

  *******

  Unfortunately, it seemed we'd be no more successful with Quintus. We'd been waiting at the guard house's front desk for what seemed like an age before the captain appeared. Finally, a door to one of the interview rooms at the rear opened, and Quintus emerged. He was preceded by an ashen-faced merchant who he all but thrust into the arms of a waiting constable. The merchant was quickly led down a flight of spiral stairs to one of the guard house's cells. For a brief moment, Quintus looked reasonably satisfied. Then he caught sight of Arianwyn and I, and his mood blackened visibly.

  "What do you want?" he demanded.

  "We were hoping you might help us circumvent an unfortunate obstacle..." I tailed off. "Was that the merchant from this morning?"

  Quintus snorted. "Aye, guess whose men were operating out of that warehouse I sent Nierev to investigate? No wonder he was leaving in such a hurry. Don't change the subject, my lord. What do you want?"

  "Your guards have closed off Dalrand's house."

  "And you want me to help, is that it?" he growled. "There's nothing I can do."

  That was unexpected. I'd anticipated this might be hard work, but I hadn't expected a direct refusal. "Can't you make an exception? We all want the same thing."

  "Oh, do we now?" Quintus asked sardonically. "You were in here, this very morning, politely informing me that it was none of your concern. Is it the lassie here that's changed your mind? I'll grant you, she's prettier than I am, and rich enough to tempt a man to rediscover his principles."

  I winced inwardly, hoping Arianwyn wouldn't rise to the provocation.

  For a wonder, she didn't, and instead fixed Quintus with a sweet smile. "Perhaps I just made a better case than you?"

  The desk sergeant, a handful of constables and their charges were now visibly interested in our exchange. On one level, I didn't blame them. Quintus in full flow was never anything less than entertaining, but I wished that he'd taken us up to his office before settling into his routine. On the other hand, I realised that whilst I'd slept since this morning, he almost certainly hadn't. No wonder he was barely holding onto his temper.

  "That's all very nice, I'm sure, but you're still not getting clearance." He jabbed a finger at my chest. "You're still the best suspect we have, and there's no way I can let you wander around in there again until this matter's cleared up."

  "Understood," I said. "But what about my friend? Surely there's no harm in letting her in. She is Dalrand's niece, after all, and..."

  "I know exactly who she is." For a moment Quintus looked ready to expand on his theme, but then seemingly changed his mind. "Look, I can't let you in because it's not me that's had the house sealed up. I've had orders – direct from Lord Solomon, mark you – that no one's to go in or out until he says otherwise. Those aren't even my men guarding the place. They're council praetorians wearing constabulary overcoats so as to not draw attention."

  That certainly explained a lot; not just the unforeseen difficulties we were having, but also Quintus' black mood. Solomon was one of the city's senior councillors, any one of whom had the authority to order Quintus around. Such authority was seldom exercised, however, and Quintus probably interpreted the current situation as a direct criticism.

  Worse, Solomon had what could only be described as a sinister reputation, as was inevitable for one whose own duties were steeped in espionage, and the nebulously defined 'internal security'. Before arriving in Tressia, I'd seen his shadowy hand touch the Empire, leaving murder and terror in its wake. Rumour had it he was no less ruthless with his own people.

  Arianwyn's expression went rigid with what I took to be annoyance. "There's nothing you can do?"

  Quintus shook his head. "I can't be seen to offer any assistance. This is no longer a matter for the guard."

  "Why?" she said. "What's going on?"

  "The noble Lord Solomon does not confide in me, lassie. You'll have to ask him, though I doubt you'll get an answer." He rounded on the desk sergeant, who wasn't even pretending not to listen. "Sergeant Aldor, perhaps you'd do me the honour of checking that the patrols know to keep an eye on number twelve Highvale whilst its owner is touring the border? When you're done inveigling yourself into my private conversations, that is?"

  The terrified sergeant scurried away. Quintus turned back to me and, to my astonishment, winked.

  "All I can suggest for now is that you go home, and leave this matter to the professionals..." This word he emphasised ever so slightly. "...of the praetorian guard. I'll be sure to let you know of any developments, or if we need impose on you further."

  That, it seemed, was that. I exchanged a look with Arianwyn. She shrugged, frustration plain upon her face, so I moved to leave, only to be checked by Quintus' voice before I'd even taken a step.

  "My lord, whilst I remember. You left your coat here this morning, and in the excitement we've not had the opportunity to return it to you."

  He walked over to a series of hooks affixed to the main staircase, took down a dark blue hooded greatcoat and handed it to me. I fought to keep puzzlement from my face – I hadn't left any such thing in the guard house that morning, or any other before it.

  "Best you take it with you, my lord. It'll be raining again later."

  I shot Quintus a querulous look, but he just gazed innocently back. Perhaps he was just showing me a kindness. I didn't believe that for a second. I shrugged the greatcoat on and put the hood up. It was a reasonable fit, and it'd be nice to have some protection from the elements.

  Then I slid my hands into the pockets and smiled. "Thank you, captain. We'll not trouble you any longer."

  Arianwyn was looking at us both as if we were mad, but said nothing. This time Quintus didn't stop us from leaving.

  *******

  It was raining again as we entered the street. I set off briskly, aware we'd lost plenty of time already, but Arianwyn easily kept pace.

  "Well," she asked. "What now?"

  I smiled. "Now we take a look at your uncle's study."

  "What? How? We've not got the authority we need." She came to a halt and stared at me. "You're not thinking of forcing your way past the guards, are you?" Her eyes widened in horror. "They're praetorians. They'll tear you apart." Realising I hadn't stopped, she ran to catch up, her boots splashing across the rain-slicked cobbles. "You can't do it. It's madness."

  I shook my head in exasperation. "Yes, it would be. No, I don't intend to fight them. I think I can get you, and me, into the study without the guards even knowing we were ever there."

  She pursed her lips. "How?"

  "Wait and see."

  *******

  The guards were still in place at Stefan's house, but it didn't matter – we just walked straight past them without so much as a glance. I turned right at the end of the street, and then right agai
n onto an avenue of tight-knit three-storey townhouses, each with a small hedge-enclosed garden in front. I squinted in the flickering lamp light, searching for one house in particular. Having found it, I checked the street was empty and strode purposefully through the gate.

  Like most of the gardens, this one had a man-sized guardian statue standing beside the front path. It took the form of an armoured warrior, with a key in one hand and a sword in the other. The traditional deterrent to housebreakers credulous enough to believe that watchful demons were bound into the stone, ready to steal the souls of those who crossed the threshold uninvited. I didn't know how many Tressians believed the legend any longer, but I certainly didn't.

  What this garden had that the others didn't, however, was a living counterpart to the guardian statue, a thing of leaves and branches that were presumably grown or twisted around a wire frame. I preferred the more traditional guardian. The other reminded me a little too much of cautionary tales from my childhood, and legends I did believe.

  Arianwyn followed me every step of the way, her waning patience written plain across her disapproving face. "What are we doing?"

  "This house is empty." I halted in front of a door emblazoned with a large brass '12'. "It also backs onto your uncle's street. We'll use this one to get onto the roof, and then get down into Stefan's study from above. It'll more or less be the same route I took the other night, but hopefully without the suicidal fall at the end."

  "How do you even know this house is empty?"

  "Quintus told me." I paused. "Well, sort of."

  "Quintus told you," she repeated flatly. "Fine. How do we get in?" She broke off in amazement as I reached into my pocket and pulled out the bundle I'd discovered back in the guard house. "Are those skeleton keys?"

  "I believe so." Indeed my hand held a ring of perhaps fifty keys of various shapes and sizes. "Knowing Quintus, I'll bet they'll open pretty much every lock in the city."

  I bent over to take a good look at the lock, and started sorting through the possibilities. I was a little nervous doing this in such plain view, but I hoped the hedge would keep me concealed from curious eyes. At the very least, the greatcoat's hood would hide my identity, if not my actions.