by Rob May
He spread his hands. ‘I’m sorry, Kal. I’m not … solvent right now. My money is tied up in … things. I’ll think of another way I can help out, I promise!’
Kal squeezed her eyes shut. Her back-up plan was to find Zeb and leave the city altogether. It would have to be tonight.
She heard light footsteps in the gallery, and when she opened her eyes, she found herself face-to-face with a small boy. ‘Hello,’ she said, momentarily forgetting her troubles. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Gwyn,’ the boy replied.
‘And what are you doing here, Gwyn? Who did you come with?’
The boy looked over his shoulder, back down the gallery. ‘The bad man,’ he whispered.
A tall figure was drifting down the hall towards them. A man dressed in a plain but expensively-cut doublet and high riding boots, with a sabre at his belt. His hair was white and cut short, but his eyebrows were thick and black. His eyes flicked between Kal and Ben as he stood before them.
‘Hello, Felix,’ Ben said, with forced joviality. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.’
‘Believe me, Godsword, it was mere curiosity that brought me here. So many members of the senate gathered in one place, I would be a fool to think that they were not conspiring against me.’ Felix Firehand gave a languorous sigh. ‘But no, I was wrong. They really are simply here to dance and drink themselves into oblivion.’
Firehand scooped up Gwyn, and held the boy up to admire the painted dragon. ‘I thought that I might try to salvage the evening by losing myself in some fine, expensive art. Perhaps you have something here that is the equal of my collection.’
‘Vuda and the Dragon,’ Ben supplied helpfully. ‘Do you like it?’
Firehand stepped back to take in the entire frame. ‘A daring composition,’ he offered. ‘Who is the artist?’
‘Ah, that would be me,’ Ben admitted.
They all stared at the painting in silence for a long minute, before Firehand resumed his critique. ‘Yes, the amateur brush sometimes reaches beyond its own meagre talent, and approaches true art.’
‘I love the dragon!’ Gwyn piped up.
Kal laughed, and Firehand seemed to notice her for the first time. ‘Is this your son?’ Kal asked him.
‘No,’ the senator said. ‘Gwyn is my priest.’
Kal and Ben exchanged glances. Firehand let out a long drawn-out breath, then decided to explain. ‘Gwyn is the son of one of my kitchen staff. He was born with only three fingers on each hand, and once he was able to speak, he started to exhibit signs of premonition.’ Firehand spoke slowly, as if explaining the obvious to an imbecile. ‘It was clear that Gwyn carried within him the spirit of the god Phanto. I purchased the child from his mother and he will serve me for the rest of our lives. Oh, he is young now, but one day he will be a powerful voice at my side.’
‘Well, he shows a very highly-developed taste in art,’ Kal said.
‘Indeed,’ Firehand said. ‘In fact,’ he went on, evidently deciding to put his money where his mouth was, ‘I will trust the boy’s judgement and purchase the painting from you, Godsword. Or you can paint me another one, if you like. You can name your price.’
Ben and Kal smiled at each other as Firehand and his young priest took their leave. The senator paused at the entrance to the gallery, though, and turned back. He wasn’t done with them yet.
‘Oh, and I know who you are, Kalina Moonheart. Don’t think that you can persuade our friend Godsword to buy Zeb Zing out of trouble. That woman’s gambling den is a stain on our good city, and after this latest stunt of hers I will see to it personally that she is brought to trial for her sins.’
Kal rose from the bench in anger.
Ben stepped in. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said to Firehand. ‘I’ve already refused Kal’s request. Besides, I hear that Miss Zing is quite eager to prove her innocence in a fair and public trial. She already has a brilliant young advocate on her defence team.’
One of Firehand’s bushy eyebrows raised slightly. ‘Oh really? Someone actually believes her ridiculous story about this King of Thieves? Who is this brave fool who would defend her?’
‘Ah, well,’ Ben said, ‘that would be me again,’
* * *
Kal returned to the party in a much better mood than when she left it. The band was in full-swing now, going at it hammer, pluck and twang. The dancefloor was packed, and Kal had to shove her way through. On the opposite side of the crowd, she saw Ben’s friend Nim, still trapped between Greatbear and Raelo Redrake. Greatbear appeared to be telling her a story that involved him fiddling with the neckline of her costume. Nim raised her eyes to Kal in silent appeal.
Kal surged forward to try and close the distance, but someone stepped in front of her and took her by the hands: a man in a masked costume, with a firm grip and a playful smile. He led her in a confident series of dance steps that took Kal by surprise. She felt a thrill run through her body; the man was both strong and light on his feet.
Kal put her hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. His mask was part of an elaborate highwayman outfit that consisted of an outrageous hat, long-tailed coat and breeches. All Kal could see of him was his chin and mouth: he had a strong jaw and a wide smile.
She almost tripped over her own feet as they danced. ‘You!’ she hissed.
‘Me!’ he laughed. ‘Shush now, though. Don’t talk. Just dance!’
II.iii
Murder on the Dancefloor
As they danced—a fast triple-time waltz—Kal leaned in to the King of Thieves and put her mouth to his ear.
‘I’m not going to let you leave here, unless it’s in chains or in a coffin.’
He just smiled. ‘I’ve gotten out of much trickier entanglements with women before.’
Kal was furious; her heels banged the wooden floor hard as the pace picked up. ‘Well, you’ve tangled with the wrong girl this time,’ she told him. ‘I’ll get my money back. I don’t expect you to tell me where—’
‘Oh, I’ll tell you where it is,’ he said. ‘I’ve given it away. All six million crowns of it!’
‘What?’ Kal yelled, a little too loudly. Several other dancing couples turned to look.
‘It’s true,’ the thief said, delighted at the expression on Kal’s face. ‘Why should the rich and powerful have the best party tonight? I hear that someone’s laid on one hell of a bash down in Crab Corner. Some people there are eating more food tonight than they have managed to scavenge all month.’
Kal was gobsmacked. There were a lot of poor, hungry people in the Corner—people whose menial jobs barely covered their taxes; and also people who didn’t pay taxes, but who couldn’t claim a decent wage because they were illegal immigrants. Kal was friends with a lot of them. She was one of them.
The band picked up pace once more, and the ordered dance broke down into a free-for-all swing.
‘My friend is going on trial because of you,’ Kal panted as she clumsily hopped about.
‘So I hear,’ he said, in a tone as light as his moves were fluid. ‘Don’t blame me though. There are people in the Senate who have always had it in for Zeb Zing, probably because everyone seems to enjoy the Snake Pit a lot more than they do the Senate’s officially sanctioned entertainments. I’ll do what I can to get the place back open again. After all, in my line of work, it doesn’t do to slay the dragon that lays the golden egg!’
Kal opened her mouth to reply, but the King of Thieves was suddenly gone. He had snatched Senator Grey’s partner away, and now Grey and Kal found themselves with no choice but to dance with each other. The thin senator, with his black skin and white hair, looked elegant in his monochrome costume: a bright white robe—the traditional senatorial dress from the early days of the Republic. He took a moment to recognise Kal under her dragon headdress.
‘Hello, Kal!’ he shouted over the music as he jiggled awkwardly on the spot. ‘How much did you lose at the Snake Pit last night?’
‘A lot,’ she said abru
ptly, standing still, not even bothering to dance anymore. She was looking over Grey’s shoulder to where Greatbear was still bearing down on Ben’s little girlfriend, Nim. Where was Ben anyway? Nim needed rescuing fast. Raelo had made himself scarce too; the bald senator had evidently got tired of talking to the back of Greatbear’s head.
‘Well, that makes a change,’ Grey was saying. ‘I lose all the time anyway, so it wasn’t much different to any other night for me! Oh well, you know what they say: don’t gamble with more money than you can afford to lose!’
Kal looked at Grey sharply. ‘You mean you’re not one of the senators clamouring for Zeb’s blood?’
‘Oh no, of course not. I’m hoping she gets back on her feet as soon as possible. After all, what else am I going to do on Tuesday nights if I can’t lose at cards? No, it’s just Firehand that’s got it in for her—’
Kal suddenly found herself being dragged backwards across the dancefloor. She twisted her head and saw that the King of Thieves was actually pulling her by the tail of her costume. In his free hand he held two bottles of beer. ‘Fancy a drink?’ he asked her.
Kal grabbed one of the bottles. ‘Where did you steal these from?’ she snapped. ‘Or did I pay for them?’ She tore her dragon headdress off, shook out her hair and put the bottle to her lips.
‘I found them in the kitchen while I was snooping around,’ he said. ‘I was looking for something else to drink other than that horrible fruity fizz. Can you believe I had to wrestle three goblins to the ground to get my hands on these? I’ve always wanted to know what goblin beer tastes like.’
Kal choked and sprayed the beer all over the back of a nearby dancer. Fortunately he didn’t notice.
‘And that’s why it’s bad etiquette to take drinks onto the dancefloor,’ the King joked. ‘Anyway, I meant what I said earlier. I can help you, Kal.’
Kal wiped her mouth. Across the room, Ganzief Greatbear was dragging an unhappy-looking Nim to the dancefloor. Kal nodded towards them. ‘If you want to help, then you can start by helping me split that couple up,’ she said.
The robber looked over at the large man and the small girl. ‘Alright then,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think much of yours!’
Kal shimmied through the crowds, twisting away from flailing legs and elbows. She slipped deftly into the space between Greatbear and Nim, put her hand on the senator’s wrist and twisted until it let go of Nim’s arm.
‘Mind if I cut in?’ she smiled, and then turned and marched a wide-eyed Nim off across the floor, leaving Greatbear and the King of Thieves standing staring uncomfortably at each other.
Freed from the attention of Greatbear, Nim let loose on the dancefloor, throwing her body about like a snake, a huge grin on her impish face. ‘Thank you!’ she yelled. ‘I thought I was going to get eaten alive!’
‘My pleasure,’ Kal said, trying to keep up with Nim’s moves. The music was getting faster and faster, and the heaving party was generating a great deal of body heat. Both Kal and Nim were sweating freely. ‘I’m sorry I stole Ben away and left you with that old letch!’ Kal said.
‘That’s okay,’ Nim said. ‘Ben told me all about you. I know you and him always have lots to do and discuss.’
‘He did?’ Kal was surprised. ‘He’s told me nothing about you!’
What was that strange burning smell?
‘Oh, I’m just his little secret!’ Nim exclaimed, her large eyes flashing. ‘I’ll let him explain—’
And that was when Kal tripped backwards over the body. People were screaming and clearing the dancefloor, leaving Kal to pick herself up and stare in horror at the mutilated victim who was lying face-up before her. Kal had seen a lot of gory things before; she wasn’t squeamish usually, but this was different. This was awful, and Kal felt the sour taste of bile in her mouth.
Something truly evil just did this.
II.iv
Enemy Action
Captain Dogwood pulled a stick of chalk from his pocket, dropped to his haunches and traced a neat, clear outline around Senator Grey’s body. The fat captain stuck his tongue out in concentration as he worked; to Kal’s eyes, he resembled a fat toad squatting on a lilypad.
When Dogwood had finished, he looked up at his squad and grinned, as if he was expecting a round of applause for his efforts. ‘Alright, people,’ he ordered, ‘let’s get the stiff on the wagon. Careful where you grab him; don’t touch the … wound.’
Kal sat and watched from a nearby stone bench just outside on the terrace. She had shed her wings, claws and tail, and was now dressed simply in a shiny black catsuit, heels and smudged eyeliner. Most of the party guests had fled at the same time the Senate Guard had arrived to set up a perimeter, and now only Kal, Ben and a handful of other responsible or interested individuals remained. As Grey’s body rattled off on a cart to the city morgue, Dogwood went around taking statements.
Kal waited for her turn with her head in her hands, unable to shake off the gruesome image that still hung around in the back of her mind. Grey had been branded in the middle of his chest: the design on the hot iron must have been a foot square, and it had been pressed deep—agonisingly deep—into Grey’s flesh. The white bone and bright red flesh surrounded by charred black skin served to highlight the frightening mark with a horrible clarity. Grey must have been in agony before he died of either the pain, the shock, heart-failure … maybe all three—
‘Moonheart!’
She looked up and saw Dogwood looming over her, a notebook in his hand. As he proceeded to work through his list of what he considered to be vitally important questions, Kal provided him with terse, one-word answers.
‘… and did you notice anybody leaving or entering the party just before the body was discovered?’
Yes, she thought.
‘No,’ she told Dogwood. The captain was Felix Firehand’s man, and Kal’s loyalties were with Ben.
‘Finally, have you ever seen this symbol before?’ He showed her his sketch of the brand on Grey’s chest.
Yes!
‘No.’
Dogwood had reached the end of his list. He thought for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek, then decided to dig deeper.
‘How well did you know Senator Grey?’
Kal shrugged ‘I’ve played cards with him at the Pit occasionally,’ she replied cautiously.
Dogwood licked his pencil. ‘He was a regular, I hear. And so are you. You know him quite well, then.’
Kal bit her lip. She had played thousands of hands of cards with Grey, and shared a lot of jokes and Senate gossip, but she knew next to nothing about his personal life.
‘Did Grey owe you money?’ Dogwood asked.
‘Yes,’ Kal had to admit. Lots of people she gambled with owed her money. Dogwood must have known before he asked the question, so there wasn’t much point in denying it. She tried not to show her impatience with the interrogation, lest it arouse suspicions. Dogwood seemed satisfied with what he had though.
‘You’re on my list, Moonheart,’ he said as he snapped his notebook shut. ‘What with last night’s robbery, that’s two lists with your name on. You know how the old saying goes: once is happenstance; twice is coincidence; and three times is …’
He stopped mid-sentence.
‘Is … ?’ Kal prompted, but Dogwood had obviously forgotten
‘Don’t make me start another list!’ he barked. Then the fat captain turned and marched away, shouting orders at his squad, arranging for guards to stay at the scene of the crime. Kal watched him go, a sour look on her face.
Buffoon, she thought to herself.
* * *
Kal stepped out into the gardens to get some fresh air. Some hope of that; the night was still and the heat was oppressive. She found a balustrade that overlooked the city. Sounds carried up from the metropolis below: merriment, laughter and revelry, and the occasional scream. A fire had broken out on the East Bank, and over on the Kingsway a troop of city watch charged in pursuit of an unknown perp
etrator. The King of Thieves perhaps? Kal hoped that they didn’t catch him before she did. She needed to see him again, to find out more about the man behind the mask … and of course to get her revenge.
Fireworks crackled overhead. Kal smiled wryly; if an army ever wanted to attempt to breach Amaranthium’s walls, the chaos of Midsummer Night would be the perfect time. She looked out over the dark forest that surrounded the city. Far to the east, a thousand flickering bonfires filled a series of forest clearings.
There was an army approaching!
Kal just hoped that it was the one that everyone was expecting. General Cassava and the legions were returning to the city tomorrow.
‘Psst! Kal!’
She turned. Half-hidden among a grove of cypress trees was a small stone rotunda with a domed roof; a tomb or memorial of some kind, Kal guessed. The gated entrance was open a crack, and a soft light glowed from within. She approached cautiously; even though she recognised the voice, Kal knew better than to ever lower her guard.
The rotunda housed life-sized statues of the gods Banos and Arcus, standing back-to back, brandishing swords at some unseen foe. Ben was standing in front of the pair, a lantern in his hand. ‘Ill met by moonlight, Kalina Moonheart,’ he said dryly.
‘Nice little summerhouse you’ve got here,’ Kal said. ‘Are you hiding out from that nasty Mister Dogwood? I’ve been trying to find you, Ben; I think I have an idea who—’
‘Tell me in a bit, Kal,’ Ben said. ‘The Senate is now in session, and you’re invited. Follow me.’ He went over to the wall and pulled on the head of an ornamental gargoyle. In response, the plinth that supported Banos and Arcus split in two, and with a quiet rumble slid apart, revealing a narrow staircase that descended into darkness. Ben stepped between the two gods and started down. Kal followed, ducking her head as the plinth closed up again above her.