by Rob May
Zeb shook her head. ‘I do not have a criminal record—’ She paused for a moment, and Kal thought she detected a shadow pass across her friend’s face. ‘… in Amaranthium,’ she amended quietly.
‘In Amaranthium, yes,’ Firehand echoed, a predatory glint flashing in his dark eyes. ‘You know, I did wonder why a woman like you, facing such heinous charges, yet spared from prison by the wily tricks of your friends, didn’t up and run home when you had the chance. Perhaps it is because the fate that awaits you back on the Winter Steppe is a worse one than you face here …’
Zeb’s head had hung in shame. The court room was silent, hanging on to Firehand’s every word. Kal could only do the same, not knowing what the man was going to come out with next. Whatever Zeb’s secret was, she had hidden it well, even from her friends.
‘You do not deny then,’ Firehand continued, ‘that if you returned to your tribe on the Winter Steppe, then you would be arrested, charged, and most likely executed—in a far more savage manner than the mere hanging you face here—for the murder of your husband!’
Kal was stunned. Beside her, Ben groaned as the fight visibly left his body. Zeb, though, found her voice: ‘Yes, I killed a man once, a long time ago: a violent and cruel man!’
Zeb had hinted once that she fled an abusive relationship, but Kal had never pressed the issue. Firehand, however, had probably gone as far as sending spies out to the steppe to dig up a scandal.
‘Well,’ Firehand said. ‘I do not doubt that your husband was a monster. But if crimes of violence and cruelty were punishable by death, Miss Zing, then I would have my days taken up pushing for the death sentence for almost every person in this room … including your friend, Kalina Moonheart!’
Ben stood up. ‘Objection!’ he shouted. ‘All of this is beside the point; the law out in the Wild has no bearing on the law of this city—’
Firehand turned on him, a vicious rage distorting his features. ‘Oh, let’s not debate legal technicalities, Godsword,’ he spat. ‘There are some crimes where guilt is self-evident. Never mind the harsh laws of the Wild, or the refined laws of the city; the crime of murder is an anathema to humanity and to the very gods themselves!’ He turned and addressed the jury. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I put it to you that Amaranthium has been infiltrated by this murderous, venomous snake, who is poisoning this city by slowly, but surely, bleeding it dry of your hard-earned wealth. Zeb Zing must hang for her sins!’
The crowd were yelling and shouting, whether in agreement or opposition to Firehand, Kal could not tell, but the noise was so loud that even Greatbear could not bring the court to order with his heavy-handed claps. Firehand was standing triumphant, basking in the drama he had invoked, and Kal had a horrible violent urge to reach for the knife hidden in her boot and send it flying across the court room. In her mind’s eye, she could visualise the expression on his face as the blade stuck in his skull between his eyes.
Then her fantasies were shattered as the doors at the back of the court flew open, and the low afternoon sunlight streamed in. Firehand flinched as the sun hit his eyes. The court room fell silent, everyone’s attention arrested by an awful stench that suddenly seemed to permeate the whole building. Whatever had just entered the court house smelled of death and decay.
When Kal turned around to look, her mouth fell open at the sight of the monster standing in the doorway.
IV.vi
Judgement
The creature just stood there, lingering on the threshold of the court house, drinking in all the attention. Then behind it, Captain Dogwood (who had been stationed outside, guarding the court house doors) gave the thing a kick up the backside to get it moving so he could close the doors again.
Kal stared in horrified fascination as the strange being stumped up to the front of court. People on both sides of the central aisle gagged and spluttered as the stinking thing passed by. Finally, it stopped at the foot of the steps leading up to Greatbear’s seat. The two lictors stepped into position to prevent it from going any further. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ the magistrate asked.
Kal noticed Nim hand Ben a note. It seemed that somebody, at least, knew who this newcomer was. Ben looked at the note, blinked in confusion, then stood up. ‘This is my witness,’ he explained, in the tone of voice that suggested he couldn’t quite believe it himself. ‘His name is Drub Drogger. He is on the court schedule; his identity has been confirmed.’
The thing called Drub Drogger let out a hacking cough. ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ he croaked. ‘I had to get cleaned up.’
Firehand was holding a silk handkerchief to his nose. ‘Well, ask the man your questions, Godsword,’ he snapped. ‘Then get him out of here, before I am sick!’
Ben shrugged and turned to Drogger. The filthy, hunched-up man was leering expectantly at him. Some brown, syrupy liquid dripped from his grime-soaked clothes and onto the spotless slabs of the court room floor.
‘So, Drub,’ Ben said, glancing down at his note, ‘I see that you are a farmer. Have you … had a good crop this year?’
Drogger cackled. ‘Aye!’ he said. ‘I’m a gong farmer. I harvest the night soil. There’s plenty o’ that to wade through ’round about election time. And this heatwave has made it ten times as bad!’
Kal heard low moans and polite coughing noises from around the court. She guessed the court room was probably the cleanest place that Drub had ever entered. Usually, his job would take him to the cesspits of homes not connected to the city’s sewerage system.
‘And you were at the Snake Pit on the night of the robbery, then?’ Ben queried.
Drub shook his head. ‘No, I’m the one who brought you all those papers, remember?’
Nim handed Ben a sheaf of documents. He flicked through them with interest. ‘These are court records of all the buildings that Firehand has put out of business in the past year: Bobbin’s Brewery, Karnog’s Burlesque, Amazot’s House of Mirrors, The Grapevine … The senator has been busier than I thought, stamping out vice and dissolution in the city!’
Nim handed Ben another pile, and his eyes widened when he saw them. ‘And these,’ he said, ‘are purchase and planning permission documents for the building of temples to Phanto around the city, on the sites of … Bobbin’s Brewery, Karnog’s Burlesque …’
There was a murmur of discontent passing among the senators in the jury and in the gallery. Nobody loved a religious maniac, not least one as powerful and influential as Firehand. Some of Amaranthium’s bloodiest tyrants in the past had been fueled by divine zeal.
‘And you just found these documents?’ Ben asked Drub incredulously. ‘Where?’
The gong farmer treated the court to a crooked gap-toothed grin. ‘In the shit pit outside Senator Firehand’s estate, as if he had just flushed them away! Couldn’t read ’em myself of course, but I have a nose that can sniff out things of value, so that’s why I brought ’em to you, Mister Godsword!’
‘This is an outrageous lie!’ Firehand interrupted. ‘This … person … couldn’t possibly have happened across these papers!’
Then, with his next words, Firehand condemned himself: ‘I would never have just thrown them away!’
* * *
When the jury voted, they acquitted Zeb Zing by an overwhelming majority. Their verdict, though, was more of a judgement on Felix Firehand, whose consular ambitions they ended that day. Although he was one of their own, the aristocracy of Amaranthium evidently now considered Felix to be akin to the mad, embarrassing relative—someone to be quietly pushed to one side, rather than to be held up as a shining example of their ilk.
Firehand kept his fury in check as he shook hands with Greatbear and Ben in front of the public gallery; the game of politics was a long one, and Firehand had to show a graceful acceptance of defeat. But Kal noticed that while Ben and Zeb celebrated with hugs and spontaneous kisses, Firehand yanked Gwyn by the hand and dragged him out of court with unconcealed fury in his eyes. The child looked back at Kal imploringly, and he
r heart went out to him.
Greatbear was full of praise for Ben’s handling of the case. ‘Your star is on the rise, Ben,’ he boomed. ‘Perhaps next year it will be you standing for election as consul!’
Ben shook his head modestly, still clinging on to Zeb. ‘Oh no, I can guarantee you that there is no chance whatsoever of me standing for consul next year.’
Kal left them to it. She would catch up with Zeb later. Right now, she slipped out of the court house with the crowds and, after pausing to sniff the air, headed down an alley at the side of the building. Drub Drogger was leaning against the wall smoking a fragrant roll-up that only barely concealed his stench. Kal went straight up to him, grabbed his matted hair, and kissed him forcefully on the mouth.
‘I think I love you,’ she said to him.
Will laughed and tried to push Kal away as he pulled off his grotty wig and spat out his false teeth. ‘I was worried I wasn’t going to make it in time,’ he said. ‘Firehand’s town house was as clean as a whistle—I had to ride to his estate outside the wall to dig up the real dirt.’
‘You did good,’ Kal told him. ‘For a change!’
‘I did it for you, Kal,’ Will said. He reached into the pocket of his dirty overcoat and produced a fist-sized pouch. ‘But here’s something to help Zeb get the Snake Pit back up and running: a gift from me. Well, from Felix actually … I wish I’d had time to root around his villa a bit more; there were a lot of interesting locked doors in that place!’
‘First, you need to get to the bath house,’ Kal said. ‘And burn these awful clothes! Where did you find them?’
There was the trill of a bell from down the alley, and Nim came scooting towards them on her two-wheeled velocipede. ‘I soaked the clothes in skunk spray I filched from the biology department,’ she said as she squealed to a halt next to them. ‘Did the nose stay on, Will?’
‘I can’t actually get it off,’ he said, tugging at the fake proboscis glued to his face.
‘Nim,’ Kal said suddenly. ‘Does the university have many books on Feron Firehand, the ancient general?’
‘A few,’ Nim said. ‘We even have some books written by him when he was Lord Protector. They’re on loan from the Firehand archive.’
‘Which is where? The Forum library?’
‘No, it’s a private collection, I think. It’s on the Firehand estate.’
Kal looked up at the sun, then at Nim’s wheels.
‘What are you thinking?’ Will asked.
‘There’s something I need to check,’ she said. ‘Something to do with the murders. Nim, I need to borrow your contraption. I can try and beat Firehand back to his estate.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Will said.
‘No,’ Kal said. ‘You’ll slow me down. And you really need that bath right now!’ Kal swung her leg over the frame of the velocipede, and set her booted feet in the pedals. ‘I’ll join you at the Thermalore later.’ She kissed him goodbye.
‘Hey, don’t I get a kiss, too?’ Nim said. ‘But seriously, Kal. Zeb is free now. You don’t need to go hunting this killer any more!’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Kal said. ‘If what I suspect is true, it’s not only the consular candidates that are in danger. The ghost of Feron Firehand could be eliminating all of his family’s enemies!’
She took off down the alley, turned into the Forum, and pointed the vehicle down Arcus Hill, letting gravity carry her down the Kingsway. People jumped out of the way as her finger flicked the trigger of the little bell.
Kal was worried: with this latest victory, Ben was going to be the talk of the city tonight, especially when all the senators and other influential citizens met later on at the opening of Cassava’s games. What vengeful spirit would be able to resist such a high-profile target?
Kal pumped the pedals. It was time to stamp out the Firehand dynasty’s remaining embers of power.
IV.vii
Deus ex Machina
Kal bombed down Arcus Hill; the cobbles of the Kingsway—worn smooth by millions of feet—offered almost zero resistance. The wheels of Nim’s velocipede were ringed with cuchuck—the same rare substance that soled Kal’s boots. Except that Nim had added a cushion of air between the tough, elastic substance and the rim of the wheel. The ride was smoother than the sprung coaches that senators were dragged around in.
The velocipede flew over Lovers’ Bridge, and even momentarily left the ground at the apex of the hump. This stunt elicited some cheers from pedestrians, and Kal chanced a glance back to flash them a grin. She was still on a high following the court victory. All her friends had worked together to help Zeb, and now Kal was doing what she loved best: setting out on a new exciting and dangerous mission. She wasn’t exactly sure what she would find at Firehand’s county villa, but then even the uncertainty was part of the thrill.
In Satos Square, Kal had to brake hard and thread her way carefully though the crowds. They were gathered around three large cages that had been set up in the centre of the square. Inside, wild animals prowled and paced: a panther, a gorilla and a horned reptilian creature that Kal couldn’t put a name to—exotic beasts the public could expect to see set upon gladiators and condemned prisoners at Cassava’s games. The crowds were taunting the creatures and throwing sticks and stones at them. But all Kal could think of was how funny it would be if she could somehow magic away the bars of the cages.
She considered running up to her apartment to fetch some more weapons and equipment, but it would be too risky to leave her vehicle unattended. She would just have to improvise if she got into any trouble. Trying to steer the velocipede around the perimeter of the square, Kal found the pedals hard work at such a slow speed. She tried flicking the levers on the handlebars, and after a series of jerky clunks, found that she was suddenly able to accelerate away with ease. Nim really was a genius!
Kal passed through the East Gate and onto the Field of Bones. Preparations were underway for the elections: wooden palisades were being set up in order to manage the hordes of voters who would descend on this place to mark their ballot cards. Kal sped right though, crossing the long shadows of the statues that lined the road to the city: the giant stone soldiers of General Truebolt’s lost legion. What had Ben said their motto was? Oh, what did it matter? They were all long dead.
Kal was pedalling alongside fields of corn and cabbage now. Although still within the outer ring between Amaranthium’s two walls, this was the closest most people ever got to the country. Here, in the fertile flood plains of the Cold Flow, the humble hovels of lowly farm labourers shared the same address as the opulent country villas of Amaranthium’s wealthiest families. The Firehand estate was three storeys high in places, but it was so wide, with many wings and extensions, that it seemed to lie low on the ground, hugging the earth like a sleeping dragon.
There were lights on in the villa, and a guard at the gate, so Kal left the road, stashed the velocipede behind a hedgerow, and skirted around the estate’s red brick wall until she found a point of entry: a spot on the wall where the chance arrangement of a poplar tree, a corner of the villa, and the blinding glare of the sinking sun made it a perfect spot to scramble up and over without being seen.
Kal climbed onto the stables, then onto the terracotta-tiled roof of the villa itself. In the eaves of what she guessed was the servants’ wing, Kal spied an open window. She approached it from above, then dropped off the guttering and swung inside.
A young girl of perhaps fourteen was sitting on a simple bed, darning a sock. Her mouth gaped open when Kal dropped in, but she didn’t jump or make a sound. In Kal’s experience, it took a lot to provoke an extreme reaction in household staff. Kal smiled at the girl and flipped her a silver shilling. The unspoken deal struck between them was, you didn’t see me.
Kal slipped down shadowy corridors and stairs. It was that time of day when it was dull inside, but too early for the lamps to be lit: the perfect time for creeping around. Kal waited in the darkness at the foot of a stairwell as
a guard strolled past, then continued on in her search for Firehand’s library.
She ended up stepping through a door that led to the entrance hall of the villa: a vast space with twin sweeping marble staircases and a tessellated glass roof that let the sunset flood in. Kal closed her eyes against the sudden light, then opened them again slowly. When she did, she came face to face with …
… herself.
It was the painting that Firehand, on the advise of Gwyn, had purchased from Ben: Vuda and the Dragon. Under a blood-red sky, on the slopes of an ancient pyramid, Vuda faced off against the nemesis of the gods. Her hair was black and her skin was dark. Her bosom swelled and her eyes were steely and set wide-apart. Kal laughed every time she saw it. Her own hair was a muddy brown, her skin was pale, and her bosom rarely troubled the seams of her clothes, but Ben had captured her eyes perfectly. She wondered if Firehand had noticed.
She turned her back on the painting, and continued looking around. There was a set of stairs at the back of the hall that led down to a heavy-duty metal door in the basement. It was protected by what looked like an incredibly complex warded lock, so even if Kal had brought her tools, she would not have been able to get through. Will had been right when he said Firehand had lots of interesting locked doors. Oh well, she’d keep looking around and worry about this one later.
Kal found what she was looking for on the second floor: a long room lined with bookcases that doubled as a museum and art gallery. Pedestals around the room held up busts and small statues of various gods. Cabinets supported large glass cases that displayed ancient religious relics. Kal lingered over one of them: the hoof of Mena. Seriously? Whether it belonged to a god or a goat, it was certainly old.
At the far end of the room, Kal discovered what was surely the Firehand archive: hundreds of books on the life and times of Feron Firehand. One section of books was locked behind glass: The Lord Protector’s personal memoirs! Kal ripped the leather cover off another book, laid it over the glass, then put her elbow to it. The glass broke quietly. Taking care not to cut her arm open, she reached in and extracted the volume labelled 505, the year of the revolution.