The Court of Broken Knives

by Anna Smith Spark

  ‘The event will be in five days’ time,’ Lord Vorley said quietly. Your ways in will be arranged closer to the time: one of my associates will provide that information a few hours before.’

  ‘How will we know who the targets are?’ Geth asked. Indeed: it was hardly likely they’d be wearing signs round their necks saying ‘kill me’. And half the troop was illiterate even then.

  Lord Vorley smiled. ‘Oh, I thought perhaps small oil paintings. Or perhaps poetic descriptions would suit better? “You’re to kill a man with hair dark curling, bald spot concealing …” There are ten men who must not survive. Six others whose deaths would not be disastrous. So we’re keeping the plan simple. Kill everyone.’

  ‘Everyone?’

  A flash of irritation at that. ‘If it was just one person, we could have handled it ourselves. We’re not going to the expense of hiring a small army for nothing. Chaos and death, I was told we were buying.’ He looked at them keenly, studying their faces. Wondering if he’s shocked us, thought Tobias. Wondering if we really have the strength of will to butcher a load of unarmed men. When none of them spoke, Lord Vorley said: ‘Anything else you need to discuss now?’ He seemed almost disappointed they took it all so calmly.

  Skie thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No. It’s sometimes best not to plan too much, keep things open. We go in, we do it, we go out.’ Tobias and Geth nodded. It was the going out that was usually the interesting bit, but that wasn’t something you discussed in front of the important bloke. ‘Just ensure the gates remain unguarded.’

  Lord Vorley finished his drink and nodded politely at them. ‘Indeed. And on that note, I should be going. I can only apologize for the musical accompaniment. As I said, someone will be in contact with you soon. Good evening, gentlemen.’

  And he was gone.

  ‘Wept she, the princess, torn ’tween love and love’s desire,

  Proud Amrath or her noble father for to lose,

  Her own life, too, should Amrath she reject,

  Yet the price so terrible, a crown and bridebed dearly sold.’

  ‘What do you make of him, then?’ Tobias asked Geth. Skie frowned at him. Not really professional to discuss the employer quite so soon after meeting him. He’d quite possibly have left a spy watching over them to check they weren’t laughing at him or meeting his chief creditor or ex-wife.

  ‘Fine.’ Tobias stood up. ‘I’ll get the stuff as planned. We’ll talk after that, here again, say tomorrow same time?’

  Skie nodded. Fine, fine, thought Tobias. It’s all settled, don’t tell me anything more. He was about to leave when Geth said, ‘This, um, music reminds me. I picked up interesting news from the east back in my inn. It seems the Altrersyr heir is dead. Murdered, some rumours have it. Might be worth looking into, don’t you think?’

  Skie frowned. Looked … uncomfortable? Seemed to think about it, then said, ‘Murdered? Boy was headed for death anyway, if the stories are true. Not much for us there, I’d have thought. More opportunity if he’d hung on a bit and got to rule.’

  Geth said, ‘Yes, I thought so too, at first. But … The boy’s mother was Marissa of Ith. Selerie Calboride’s sister. And the very interesting rumour I picked up in the inn is that King Illyn himself had him killed.’

  A snort from Skie: ‘Probably can’t be blamed if he had.’

  ‘Well, no. But you can imagine what Ith has made of the whole thing. Not quite up there with parboiling most of the ruling family, especially as the boy was basically dying anyway, but you know how these things can go … And the new heir and his mother … Some of the other island lords are not best pleased at her family’s influence either. Weren’t happy when Illyn married her. Won’t be happy now. Definitely worth looking into, I’d have thought.’

  ‘No …’ Skie looked thoughtful. Still edgy, though. ‘No … You’re right, there could well be … opportunities. It can be a dangerous crossing, this time of year. But something to think on, you’re right.’

  Hmm. Something interesting in Skie’s responses there …

  Why, Tobias wondered, were the posh nobs so bloody keen on killing each other? Amrath had had the excuse He didn’t want to be burdened with influential and semi-divine new relations – cue several thousand very tasteless mother-in-law jokes – but really, most of them just seemed to be children kicking something to see what would happen if it broke. Nothing good, usually, despite various best-laid plans. But it kept the company in employment, and between him and Geth they usually got out all right. The Whites were supposed to be nice enough, once this was over. Pork sausages. Good beer. Not so bloody hot.

  He strolled back to his lodgings feeling almost relaxed about things, only to discover his men had somehow got themselves into a fight with a bunch of street thugs. Made him look bloody stupid, it really did.

  Chapter Fifteen

  City after city falls before them. Elarne, the magelord Nevet burns to ashes with a single word. Telea opens it gates to them and they enter to cheers. They are turned loose on it the next morning and the streets run red. Samarnath they find empty, its inhabitants fled into the wastelands. They tear down its temples, poison its rivers, raze its palaces to dust. If a city resists them, they besiege it until it breaks. If a city yields, they slaughter its people, to show others that surrender is an act of cowardliness. Lanth gives itself to them by treachery, a small group of its nobles opening the postern gate at the dark of the moon. They despise them for it. Ten days, it takes the betrayers to die.

  They are the army of Amrath, the World Conqueror, the King of Dust, the King of Shadows, the Dragon Kin, the Dragonlord, the Demon Born. ‘Amrath the World Conqueror’, they call their master. Their god. And they have conquered the world for Him. But they do not want to rule the world.

  They want to destroy it. Burn it in fire. Drown it in blood. Make it hurt. Make it despair. Kill it all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rate’s arm was a bloody mess. Alxine had made an attempt to clean and dress it, but it was cut deep. Needed stitching. Tobias gave Rate a large cup of brandy, stuck a wooden spoon in the lad’s mouth and told him to bite down and sit still while he sewed it up. After three attempts he ordered Alxine to gag him and hold him firm. Rate went white, thrashed like a pig then vomited and fainted. Tobias sighed with relief and sewed him up neat as a well-made shirt. Should have just hit him on the head first off. He mended a tear in the lad’s jerkin as well while he had the needle and thread out. Nice soothing job, after ranting at them until his throat hurt for being such complete bloody idiots.

  Alxine’s face was a mess too. Red and puffy looking, with the beginnings of a black eye. They were supposed to be going out to buy some of the gear they needed tomorrow morning. Nothing said ‘all fine and above board, nothing to see here’ like a group of men buying weapons whilst nursing fresh fighting wounds. Marith had nearly disembowelled one of their assailants, apparently, so obviously it wasn’t like that would have drawn much attention either. Bloody stinking gods and demons, as Emit might say. Good lads, his men. Good lads. Gods only knew what would have happened if he’d left them alone for the entire evening.

  It was a sorry group that met him for breakfast the next morning. Tobias surveyed them wearily. Alyet laughed musically at Alxine’s face and asked him if he’d been uncomplimentary about her sister’s cooking. Rate struggled to eat left-handed and ended up spilling porridge on Emit’s boots. Emit swore at Rate and Rate swore back. Marith sat dead-eyed, not eating, rubbing his face in that incredibly irritating way he did when he thought nobody was looking at him. You’d have thought he had a skin disease, if he hadn’t had skin like new-spun silk.

  ‘Okay,’ Tobias said. ‘You lot fucked up totally yesterday. Let’s try to get through today without killing someone, shall we?’ Rate laughed, realized no one else was and went back to attempting to smear honey on a slice of bread. ‘The plan for today has been fucked up too. Rate can’t go anywhere for the next day at least, and Alxine has a face you w
ouldn’t trust to sell a fish knife to right now. So.’ He fixed Emit with a glare. ‘I’m sending Marith and Emit out for a few things. I have some things I need to do myself, so you’ll have to manage without me. Think the two of you can handle going shopping without incident?’

  Emit grimaced, saw Tobias’s face and attempted to look cheerful. ‘’Spect we can manage, between us. Ever been in a shop before, Your Lordship My Lord?’

  Marith flushed but said nothing.

  ‘You’ll need new clothes, first off,’ Tobias said with a sigh. The fight had finally marked the point of no return for Rate’s last remaining shirt and Marith’s jacket. They all looked tatty and worn anyway, they’d always planned to re-equip themselves once in the city, but it was still a part of their general stupidity that they’d managed to get themselves so thoroughly mucked up. Marith’s jacket had survived a bloody dragon, for gods’ sake. ‘Try to get something that doesn’t make us look too much like brothel boys. And good quality cloth.’ He sounded like an old fish-wife. He sounded like his mum.

  Emit glared at him then looked down and spooned up his porridge in silence. All mouth, he was. Marith was … like Marith, only rather worse. There were faint scratch-marks round his eyes. Like something had been clawing at him. All that bloody face-rubbing, must be. Made Tobias’s own skin crawl to watch it. Maybe he should send the boy to a pox doctor …? But he looked healthy enough, just miserable as buggery with eyes like he’d been crying and a new status as someone who filleted people with a pocketknife. The gods themselves probably couldn’t understand that one.

  Didn’t really like sending the two of them out alone, Mr Grumpy and Mr Increasingly Frigging Weird, but there were things they needed that really couldn’t wait. Clothes and whatnot. Things. And he could probably trust Marith. Yeah? The boy looked at him and smiled sadly, rubbed his eyes again, frowned.

  ‘Here.’ He handed Marith the purse and the map. ‘Bloody well look after it, and don’t get lost this time.’

  Rate was looking at him too. Seemed to be about to say something. Tobias fixed him with a glare and Rate shrugged and went back to his breakfast. Marith opened the purse, looked carefully at the money inside and tucked it away in his belt. He nodded to Emit. ‘Shall we get off, then?’

  ‘Still need to finish my breakfast,’ said Emit, chewing so slowly the bread would probably go stale in his mouth.

  They stopped at a tailor’s shop first, recommended by Alyet. Marith felt a weight lifted from him. He ran his hands over the fine cloth heaped on the counter. Silk the colour of pale roses. Heavy brocade winking with gold.

  All for show, of course: the clothes actually for sale were cheaper and more practical. He bought two slim-fitting silk shirts and a pair of dark grey leggings. A deep blue jacket, entirely unnecessary given the city’s warm climate but elegant, with a grey fur trim at the collar. If he had to play a role, he’d do it properly, at least. If Skie was mocking him, he’d make what he could of it. Would have liked new boots, too, the mixture of dragon’s blood, rainwater and human entrails not having been particularly kind to his old ones, but Tobias’s purse wasn’t generous and there were other, more pressing things, he needed to buy. Emit bought a shirt and leggings, a jerkin. Similar clothes were parcelled up to be sent back to the Five Corners for the others. They might even just about fit.

  ‘How about we stop for a drink?’ Marith said casually as they left the shop. ‘We can spare a couple of coins, I should think, without Tobias noticing.’

  Emit looked at him, then grinned. ‘Most sensible thing I’ve ever heard you say, boy. Almost makes up for the fancy coat. Bit early, but I wouldn’t say no.’

  They strolled down the street and came to a small, expensivelooking tavern. It was only just opening, it still being well before midday, and they were the only customers. Emit selected a table at the back and Marith ordered the drinks. Emit had a cup of beer. Marith had something else. Emit raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. They sat in silence for a while.

  ‘What was all that fuss about black for?’ asked Emit. Idiot had asked if they had a shirt in black and the tailor had been shocked and embarrassed enough it looked like he could have done with a drink himself.

  He really didn’t know? Although obviously he didn’t. Astonishingly stupid thing to ask, here. Marith said, ‘Sumptuary laws. Only the Emperor is permitted to wear black cloth. He is only permitted to wear black cloth, in fact. It marks him out against everyone else in the city, signals his status. In Chathe, only the ruling family may wear pearls. In Tarboran, it was peacock feathers.’

  ‘Sumptuary laws … How d’you know all this stuff?’

  ‘I—’

  Emit sniggered at him. Vile man. ‘Your tutor, yeah, I remember. You going to lecture me on the name of the King of Chathe’s pet dog, next? Bloody odd place, this, though. Sumptuary laws … An Emperor’s an Emperor. He doesn’t need to wear a different colour to show it, I’d have thought. Sodding big crown and people grovelling before him should be enough of a clue.’

  Old lessons. Repeated until he could chant them off by heart as a child. ‘The way power works is more complicated here. The Asekemlene Emperor and his court control the bureaucracy of the Empire. Or did, rather, there not being an Empire any more to speak of. The great families control the wealth and the land. The Nithque to the Emperor liaises between the two. The sumptuary laws … I don’t know, they mark out the difference. The great families hate the Emperor. The Emperor hates the great families. The Emperor wears black because the great families want to outshine him. Or the great families aren’t allowed to wear black to show how much lower they are than the Emperor, who doesn’t need the false trappings of money to show his power and prestige. One or the other. Maybe both. If anyone ever knew exactly why, it was forgotten centuries ago.’ Marith rubbed his face wearily and drained his drink. Glanced hopefully over at Emit’s cup. It was still more than half full.

  ‘Still odd, if you ask me. Emperors should wear cloth of gold. And it’s the Yellow Empire. The Yellow Emperor. Why’s he called the Yellow Emperor, if he wears black all the time?’

  Oh gods. Marith remembered his tutor laughing at him for asking the same question. He’d been five or six at the time. ‘I think it’s not quite as simple as that.’ ‘Not quite as simple’ as in ‘a joke’. Sekemlenet: golden dawn light. Yellow: so cowardly you’re scared to fight. He said casually, ‘I’ll get some more drinks.’

  Emit laughed. ‘There was me thinking you were a lightweight boy, Marith. No, we should be going.’

  Damn. ‘It wouldn’t hurt. Just another one.’

  Emit frowned at him. ‘It’s Company money and we’re on Company business. And Tobias’ll have us whipped if we fuck up again.’ Got up and headed for the door.

  Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Misjudged the man. Marith gazed around the room with longing eyes. No point in trying to slip away, Emit would be after him in a moment. Emit didn’t trust him. Didn’t like him. He’d put him on his guard now, too.

  They walked south in a rambling fashion, looking at the shops and the crowds. Marith had the map. Slowly, cautiously, he began to lead them away from the larger streets, back towards the squalid quarter they’d stumbled into yesterday. That had been a stroke of luck, now he thought about it. A good and hopeful place. He had a good memory for directions. The streets became dirtier and more run down, the air dustier. He lowered the map. Stared around him. Tried to look afraid.

  ‘We’re lost,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Emit said stupidly. He stared about in turn. ‘Oh fuck. Fuck, Marith, you stupid bastard. Not again.’ He bent forward to grab the map from Marith’s hands. Marith pulled his knife out from under it. Pressed it into Emit’s gut, just under the ribs, breaking the skin.

  ‘What the hell—?’

  ‘Stay perfectly still and don’t make a sound.’ Marith pressed a little harder. Felt Emit flinch. ‘If you try to shout or break away, I’ll stab you. Understand? Now walk.’

  He guided Emit i
nto a narrow alleyway. Dark. Cold even in the warmth of a sunny morning. The corpse of a cat lay stretched out near the entrance, writhing with maggots. Blank walls leaned together overhead, blocking out the light. Didn’t look like much came in here. Didn’t look like much left. He pushed Emit up against a wall. The brickwork was crumbling. Stank. Dust and mildew and rot grinding into Emit’s face. He kicked Emit hard in the back of the knees and pushed him to the ground. Looked down at him and smiled. Emit looked back up.

  ‘Don’t say anything.’ He knelt down and placed the knife against Emit’s throat. ‘This is going to hurt. A lot. And then you’ll die. Are you ready?’

  Emit made a horrible whimpering sound, deep in his throat.

  Marith drove the knife in.

  Emit screamed. And then he was dead.

  He’d sworn to kill the man, Marith remembered. Only a few days ago, though it felt like months now. Maybe Emit had even deserved it. But … but …

  But nothing, he thought then. I killed him. It doesn’t matter whether he deserved it or not. I killed him and now he’s dead.

  I’m sorry, Emit, he thought.

  He wiped his hands on Emit’s nice new shirt and walked back out of the alley, stepping neatly over the dead cat. Glanced at the map and began to walk hurriedly. The streets were becoming more and more run down, the flagstones of the road broken and overgrown with weeds, the buildings dilapidated and decayed. The air stank. Dog shit and human shit and rotting filth. Nervous excitement building within him. Please. Oh, please. A group of children stared out at him from a doorway, then came out at a run behind him, throwing stones and dirt. A lump of something hit him on the back. He walked on hurriedly, barely noticing.

  He came to a small square, centred on an ugly statue of a man holding a sword. A dead dog lay below the statue. Two girls played in the bowl of a broken fountain, splashing and laughing, their skirts soaked. A young woman came out of a boarded-up house, gaudily dressed in faded, mismatched clothes. She walked slowly around the edge of the square, holding on to the walls with her hands as if she was blind. Turned her head towards Marith for a moment and her face was covered in scratch-marks, raw red lines spiralling out from her eyes and mouth. Oh gods. He almost fell. Please. Oh please. Her head twitched and she raised her hand to rub at her eyes. Black fire on her skin, burning. Black flames on old stone. Shaking, he walked over to her. Finally. Finally. Finally. Please. Please. Please.