Shale walked into the meeting room, dark and windowless, dominated by a large table in the center. The walls were lined with NEST. Some wore uniforms, others didn’t. All were armed. Her heart sank.
Murray’s hand was on her back, pushing her into the room. It abruptly tightened as he gripped her hard through her cloak. “I’m sorry, Shale,” he whispered. “They have my family. I fought as long as I could.”
Shale refused to turn, waiting for whoever led the NEST detail to begin some display of bravado over her capture. To gloat over her. Monte was probably dead. Seven Streets was lost. The octopus’s fifth arm had been severed. NEST would round up the rest of them. Murray would help with that. She’d be taken to the Shields, tortured. Maybe she could find a way to die right here so she couldn’t be slowly broken under Bray’s hard gaze. The NEST men hadn’t moved. A filthy beggar sat huddled on the floor next to the door, toying with his beard as he watched her, looking out of place among the starched blue uniforms.
First things first. In the stillness, Shale turned to Murray. With a sudden movement she flung a hand out from under her cloak, burying a knife in his throat. She said nothing as he crumpled and fell. There may still be a chance a few of the Seven Streets EU would make it out alive. A searing pain shot up her arm as her wrist was smoothly seized and twisted. The knife fell to the floor and she turned to see the beggar, up and in her face, giving her a smile with a mouth full of broken teeth. He struck her in the head and the darkness took her, led her back into even darker halls than these.
Chapter 19. A Favor
A short, polite cough from next to the bed woke Cal. He lifted his head with a start, then immediately groaned as the motion stretched at his aching ribs. Eyes closed against the bright light streaming into the room, he took a quick damage assessment. He ran his tongue over his teeth, all still there, a few a little loose. He flexed his hands. No broken fingers. Though his torso was battered and the wound on his side still hurt, he would be able to get up under his own power. Waking to injuries wasn’t unusual to Cal. What was unusual was that he was apparently lying on silk sheets.
The cough came again. Cal eased open his eyes. A servant, head bowed, stood next to the large bed Cal was sprawled on. They were in a vast, glamorous room. There was no ceiling to keep out the sunlight. Or rather, Cal noted, there was a ceiling far above them but it was made of glass. Which put him on the uppermost level of the Shields.
Cal slowly sat up, surprised to find he was unbound. He was still shirtless but it appeared his wounds had been dressed, even the healing ones on his hands. He still wore his black pants. No boots or swordbelt in sight.
“Sir,” began the servant, “I hope you don’t mind rising for a sunset drink with Mr. Bray.” Cal gave the man a dark look. He was dressed something like a palace butler but a little less formally. A thin wisp of a man with carefully pulled back hair. Cal immediately wished him ill. “I could make you a drink right now, sir, if you would care for it.” Cal immediately wished him less ill. He nodded. The servant went to the bar and began placing ice cubes in a glass.
Cal climbed out of the bed, warily found his feet. His sore ribs fussed as he stretched a little, giving himself a better range of motion. He studied the room as the servant poured him three fingers of a strong whiskey.
“I hope you don’t mind walking with this, sir. You’re due to speak with Mr. Bray in a few moments. Would you care for a cigarette?” Cal nodded and the servant produced a silver cigarette case and lighter. Cal took one and accepted the light. He drew deeply.
“Unfortunately, there is one more thing.” The servant produced a set of steel manacles and looked meaningfully at Cal’s wrists.
“I wouldn’t have pegged Hideon Bray as so worrisome,” Cal said.
“Something like that,” the servant said coolly.
Cal nodded and held out his hands. No point in forcing the servant to summon reinforcements and do it the hard way. “Bring the bottle,” he said when the manacles where firmly locked to his wrists and the men moved towards the door.
The halls were made of a smooth white substance like porcelain with walls that rose only about ten feet. High above, long curving sheets of glass wove in and out. Everything looked seamless as though the wind had been captured and convinced to stand still long enough to become a building. Ribbons of amber were folded into the glass, creating bronze shadows on the gleaming white floor. Cal had never seen a structure of greater beauty. After only two turns in the twisty halls the vast center of the Shields opened up before Cal. His breath caught as he saw the true heart of the Palace.
Larger than a city plaza, the open area had no walls to interrupt the view. Hundreds of dragons rested and played in the pure white sunlight and bronze shadows. It was a nest, the largest Cal had ever seen many times over. He stopped to take a long drink and hide his awe from the servant, who continued straight out towards the center of the vast space.
Cal felt the eyes of the dragons on his exposed chest. They knew his marks, knew he was a rider. If they looked closely enough, they would know he’d killed their own kind. But they were also seeing he was in chains, a captive.
As they neared the center, two chairs came into view. The man Cal could only assume was Hideon Bray sat in one. His hand rested on a dragon’s snout, affectionately rubbing it. Bray was shirtless and barefoot, long hair loose down his back. As he saw them approaching, he gave the dragon a pat, dismissing it. It slowly turned, giving Cal a chance to see the massive bulk of the thing. It was far larger than any of his. Cal turned his attention to Hideon Bray. The man he and Aaron had hunted in the Ashlands for nearly a year. The Prisoner.
Bray stood and gave Cal a welcoming smile. “The dead walk,” he said. “And drink. And con my men into giving them a ride to treat with the Borhele. Cal Mast, I have wanted to meet you for a while.”
“Likewise,” Cal said.
“Have a seat,” Bray said. “We have some short business to attend to, then I look forward to getting to know you better.” Cal took a chair. There were just the two dark red upholstered chairs, seeming to float in a clear white ocean. In place of a table between them, there was some odd device composed of a few thick ribbons of steel. Cal had an ominous feeling he’d learn its purpose soon enough. Bray’s servant poured a glass for Bray and handed it to his master, who remained standing.
“Nice place,” Cal said, looking for a place to put his ash that wasn’t beautiful white porcelain. The servant smoothly produced an ashtray, left the pack, lighter, and bottle, then headed back the way they’d came. As he left, Cal saw another group of men approaching. Three guards and another prisoner, too distant for Cal to recognize faces.
“Wait until you see the sunset. The few who have seen it from this spot all agree it is one of the marvels of the world.” Bray studied Cal’s face. “My men did a number on you. That wasn’t at my direction, though not totally unexpected. You made them look foolish two nights in a row. Add to that their other recent mistakes, they had some frustration to release.”
Bray suddenly laughed. “Though, I was quite pleased to hear you broke Miles Gerben’s nose. You would have laughed to see him complaining to me this morning when you were brought in. He’s a born bleeder who likes to pretend he’s strong because we occasionally let him spend time with my riders. Thinks he’s more than a government bitch. He told me he wanted a chance to have at you. I told him I might allow a duel. That shut him down quickly. He didn’t like the idea of facing you untied so much. Started making excuses immediately. What do you think of that?” Bray looked closely at Cal, who kept quiet. “Ah, well. Here we go.”
When Bray turned to the group of approaching men, Cal had a chance to look at him closely. He appeared happy and content. A man in his element. The kind of seething ambition Cal had expected didn’t often leave room for warmth. And Cal would have thought no warmth would have survived a prison term with the Chalk. But Bray was solicitous, despite Cal’s manacles. He was playing the role of a courteous hos
t. Maybe he was just a better actor than Cal had expected, but it was surprising he even cared enough to put on an act.
The group of approaching men halted a few feet away. Three falsemarked, arms exposed. No one Cal knew. Their prisoner was a dark man with a ruddy face, hands manacled behind his back. Cal didn’t recognize him, but from the furious look he shot Cal that didn’t work both ways.
Bray walked up to the closest falsemarked. “First things first. You have the sword?”
The falsemarked nodded. He pulled a sword and scabbard from his back. It was Cal’s, the one they’d taken from him last night. Bray took it in one hand, turned as if to show it to Cal. He gripped the hilt and tossed the scabbard off. He approached the odd metal contraption in the center of the small sitting area and slid the blade between two of the steel ribbons. The sword was suspended, tightly gripped near its point and near the hilt. Bray returned to the falsemarked, who was now holding out a large blacksmith’s hammer.
Bray took the hammer in one hand and walked back to the sword. Without pause he brought the hammer up over his head and down onto Cal’s sword. The resounding clang echoed through the open space. Cal saw that all the dragons were paying attention. Bray brought the hammer down again, even harder. Then a third time. At the third impact, Cal’s sword shattered. He wouldn’t have thought it brittle enough, but apparently Bray had done this before. The shards settled on the porcelain floor, large pieces of blade and the hilt clumsily sliding out of the contraption.
Bray, showing no signs of exertion, handed the hammer back to the falsemarked. “Now, Cal, do you know this man?” He pointed to the prisoner held between the other two falsemarked.
Cal hesitated, but saw no reason to lie. “No,” he said.
“Well,” Bray continued, “he knows you. Or at least, he’s been looking for you. He’s been in our fair city of Ellis for several weeks, but only recently came to our attention. Once rumors of Cal Mast’s body arriving in the city started circulating, our friend here became very curious. Over the next day or so he asked a lot of people whether he could see the body. Then when the rumors turned towards the body in the morgue not being Cal Mast, he started asking a lot of questions about where Cal Mast might be. We thought it might be interesting to talk to him. Turns out he’s got a bounty in hand. He seeks your death. It didn’t take too long for him to give up his employers. Do you know who they are?”
“I can guess,” Cal said.
“Do so,” Bray said.
“Someone in the House Avlor. Given as how last I heard the Duke was still eating nothing but porridge and his own saliva, I’d have to guess one of his sons, Edmund or Mathos. Probably Mathos. Always had a bit of anger hidden in him.”
Bray laughed. “Quite right. Full marks all around. It was Mathos Avlor.” He looked long at Cal, then at the bounty hunter. “A favor for you, Cal Mast.” He gave a gesture to the falsemarked.
One of the falsemarked bent over and picked up a shard from Cal’s broken sword in a gloved hand. “Wait,” the bounty hunter said, eyes on the shard as it neared him. The falsemarked didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the bounty hunter’s chin, forcing it up and away. With his other hand he brought the shard across his throat. Blood sprayed on both men. The two falsemarked on either side released the bounty hunter. He staggered and fell to the ground where he gave a single gasp, a shake, then was still.
Bray took a seat, appearing indifferent to the drama which had just unfolded. He took a drink and looked at Cal. “Remove his chains before you go,” Bray said, nodding towards Cal.
The falsemarked still holding the shard let it fall to the ground and began wiping blood off of his face and hands. He waited while the other two unlocked Cal’s manacles. They left. None made any move towards the bloody body lying facedown near them. It remained.
“How much of that do you think they followed?” Bray asked, making a sweeping gesture towards the dragons which ringed their conversation.
Cal shrugged. “Some of the finer details may have slipped past. But they were definitely watching. You bring me here in chains, break my sword, kill him with a piece of it. They probably think he was my ally. I’d say if your goal was making sure they think you are stronger than me, it worked.”
Bray gave a smile and raised his eyebrows. “Think?” He took a long drink. “Thank you for your patience with that little dance. I’ve found many dragon riders to be far too lazy with their dragons. They earn their loyalty and then forget it must be renewed every day, with every encounter. They begin to treat the dragons like horses rather than the fickle and wonderful allies they are. They forget the attention dragons pay to their actions. Then they are surprised when the dragons spurn them for another master or simply leave, ashamed of their master’s weakness.” Bray continued, “It is a lesson you know well, I think. After all, you’ve stolen several of my dragons from my weaker men.”
Cal didn’t even bother shrugging, took another drink. They’d been coming for his. It had taken the falsemarked a long time to figure out the Unflagged didn’t fall as easily as other isolated riders.
“The sun nears its setting point,” Bray said. “I did not bring you hear to make a point or seek retribution for what you’ve stolen from me. I have a few questions for you, maybe an offer as well.” Hideon leaned closer, putting his large elbows onto his knees. “Your history is incomplete. I know much of it. As you can imagine, I have more than a handful of men whose sole task in NEST is to gather intelligence on you. Not so many as watch the SDC but more than any other independent operator by far. If you really are an independent. But I asked them a question when you were brought in and they couldn’t answer it. I want to get to know Cal Mast better. Will you answer my question?”
Cal refilled his drink from the whiskey bottle before answering. “What’s in it for me?” he asked.
“Aside from a few more hours free of torture worse than you can ever imagine? I actually do have something to offer you in exchange. Something rare. Let me clarify. The question is simple. I want to know why Mathos Avlor has a contract out on you.”
Cal interrupted, “Because I put his father in a hospital. That’s no secret.”
Bray raised his large hands, fingers spread. “I know. I guess I must clarify. I want to know why you put Duke Avlor in a hospital. No one seems to know. It was the talk of the west for a time. Before I tell you what I’m willing to offer in exchange, tell me this, how many others know why you attacked Duke Avlor?”
“Not many. Not even the Duke himself, probably. Definitely Mathos and Edmund. One or two of their cousins.”
“But I imagine there are one or two who could have put the pieces together?”
Aaron. He was talking about Aaron. Cal nodded. He’d never talked to Aaron about the attack, but Aaron knew the events which had precipitated it. Perhaps the clearest sign that Aaron knew was that he’d never asked Cal. He’d never forced him to relive his shame.
“Good,” Bray said. “I want the story. In exchange, I will tell you where I was all those years you searched for me.” Bray was leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It is a story I have never told before and only one other knows it. I’m offering you priceless information in exchange for a bauble. A curiosity. You don’t bore me the way the rest of this world does. Maybe if I learn more of your secrets you will begin to. Or maybe this could lead the way to something better. A chance for you to be more than merely the second to the loser of this war. Tell me, Mast, why did you attack Duke Avlor?”
Cal looked up at the glass high above him, the light of the setting sun. The dragons were growing more active around them, some stretching, preparing to hunt with the falling light.
“Don’t worry,” Bray said. “We have a few more minutes before the sunset. Just enough time for both stories, perhaps. Begin whenever you’re ready.”
Cal realized he was rubbing his wrists. The grooves of the manacles on his skin still hadn’t faded. He was no less imprisoned with them off. He took a cigarette and lit it, leaned
back in his chair.
“It all began in Castalan, close to ten years ago.”
Chapter 20. The Bay
“Most of my childhood is part of the public record. I was basically raised in court, even if it was a small corner of it. I’m sure your spies can tell you most of it.”
Bray nodded and made a gesture for Cal to continue.
“But my father kept certain things out of the public eye. We were expected to present a carefully cultivated image at all times. If you strayed from that, he would intervene. I had some trouble with it. My older sister, my only full kin, had some problems. She struggled with madness. My mother was already dead. She passed when I was about ten. My sister wasn’t doing well without her. My mother had kept things quiet, managed, but when she was gone, my sister couldn’t get straight. She proved an embarrassment and was sent away. She was one of my few friends. I wasn’t happy with the way she was treated. I acted out. The Steward didn’t appreciate it. I found myself in a sort of military academy, a boarding school. A lot of bastards, other lesser children of rich men. I acted out there too. Got a reputation as a troublemaker. I became kind of a big fish in a small pond. I didn’t really have any perspective. I was a kid.”
The old, familiar shame began rolling over Cal, the way the fogs used to drift into his bedroom window from the Bay.
Rise of the Falsemarked (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 2) Page 15