Lamentation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 3)

by March McCarron

  Ko-Jin glanced up at the clock. It seemed impossible that it wasn’t even midday. He felt as if he’d already done three days’ work since rising.

  “Also,” Fernie went on, “Company A is moving on to knives, which you wanted to instruct yourself. And Company C is approaching a level test. And you asked me to remind you to speak to Enton about the—”

  “The swords, yes, good.” Ko-Jin kneaded at his forehead, unsure where to start. He wished, not for the first time, that they had more quality instructors in the capital, who might lessen his obligations. The exhaustion of his impossible schedule was beginning to mount—soon he would need to either sleep for a month straight, or die of fatigue.

  A sharp pop sounded, and Ko-Jin turned expectantly. “Good afternoon, Mearra.”

  The young woman appeared startled to find him in his office. Though, to be fair, she appeared startled by nearly everything. “Afternoon, General. Peer sent me with a message.” She said this in her usual near-whisper, which Ko-Jin could only just make out over the howl of the wind.

  “Let’s hear it. Nice and loud, now.”

  Her effort to increase volume still left her several decibels below common speech. “Quade was sighted in the Narrows.” Her hand, holding the note she had intended to leave him, shook slightly. Fernie jerked in surprise, his expression drawing inward. “A civilian rang their bell, the neighbors followed suit, and he teleported away immediately.”

  “When?” Fernie asked, his voice soft enough to match hers.

  “Not fifteen minutes ago.”

  “No deaths, then?” Ko-Jin asked. “He didn’t speak to anyone?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, that’s something. Pity there were no patrols nearby at the time.” He cracked his knuckles idly. “Maybe next time. Tell Peer his notion with the bells was clearly a good one. We’ll need to up their distribution.”

  “I will,” Mearra whispered. She screwed her eyes shut and disappeared on the spot.

  “The Narrows again,” Fernie said. “That’s the fourth time.”

  Ko-Jin rubbed his hand across his mouth, thinking. Despite Quade’s efforts to make his attacks within the city appear random, he continued to show his hand. The Narrows, a rough part of town, was commonly known as the home of the Pauper’s Men. Quade plainly wasn’t pleased with the Pauper’s King and his people. Ko-Jin made a mental note to increase patrols in that borough.

  A sharp knock on his office door pulled him from his contemplation. “Come,” Ko-Jin called.

  A young officer named Briggs entered and bowed. “Forgive the intrusion, General.”

  Ko-Jin’s back stiffened. “No problems down at quarantine, I hope?”

  “No, no problem,” Briggs said, standing stiff as a toy soldier. “But something unexpected. A large party just arrived from Adourra. Some three hundred and twenty-two people,” he said, glancing down to read the number from a note. “Their leader asked that this be delivered to you straight away.” He extended a letter to Ko-Jin. “She said you had history.”

  Ko-Jin accepted the paper with a frown of curiosity. He peeled away the seal and read:

  Sung,

  Though I hear it’s General Sung, now. Congratulations? It’s been a long time, old friend. I’ve been following you in the news. It sounds as if you’re in need of some assistance. I’ve brought you three hundred of my former students to shore up your numbers, as well as my and Nevrre’s services as instructors in the sword.

  Debts, as you know, are meant to be paid.

  Zarra Elver

  Ko-Jin stared down at the slip of paper for a long moment. He ran his thumb along the ring on his middle finger, spinning it. A smile spread slowly across his lips. “Excellent timing, Zarra,” he murmured, chuckling to himself. He succumbed, for just a few seconds, to the curious blend of nostalgia, old pain, and fond feeling swirling through his chest.

  “Who?” Fernie asked. “What’s going on?”

  “My first instructor in the sword,” he answered. “Head trainer of the finest school in the kingdoms. She’s brought us men to help patrol the streets.”

  “Wait,” Fernie said, sitting up straight. “The one you were talking about in Cagsglow? The blind girl you were in love—”

  “She and her husband will also help in training our recruits. We couldn’t ask for two finer instructors.” Ko-Jin laced his fingers before him. “Do me a favor, Fern, and forget what I said in Cagsglow. It isn’t worth mentioning.”

  “You know I never forget a thing.”

  “Yes, and a more irritating gift I can’t imagine.”

  Ko-Jin stood and stretched. He wanted to go down to the gates and meet Zarra—to measure the quality of the men she had brought him, to thank her, to see her. He was only curious, he told himself. But as he couldn’t speak with her until she’d spent five days in quarantine, there was no sense in lingering on the matter. He had too much to do.

  “Let’s trot over to the University, see Peer and Dedrre.” Ko-Jin strapped Treeblade to his hip, then checked the knives concealed beneath his sleeves. Maybe, just maybe, Quade would choose a poor time and place. If so, Ko-Jin would be ready for him.

  Fernie hopped to his feet and the two of them set off. The palace was abuzz with activity: servants and valets paced purposefully up the halls, post boys delivered telegrams, and officers in well-pressed uniforms marched down the main stairway. All of them bowed to Ko-Jin and murmured a hurried, “General.” He nodded to each in turn, all the while keeping his eye out for the princess. She did not appear.

  Ko-Jin exited through the main doors, striding out into a bright, cold day. As they progressed across the grounds, he heard the distant clacking of many dozens of wooden blades. He smiled. A good sound.

  He caught sight of Britt speaking with a young Chiona man, her blonde braid swinging as she gesticulated. He nearly crossed the lawn to ask her how the first week in her new position had gone. But then he caught the angry pitch of her voice, and decided to keep moving. He might not be a coward in combat, but he was not yet brave enough to approach an ill-humored Britt. He picked up his pace, marching down the sloping laneway to the gates.

  The university was so near the palace that Ko-Jin preferred to walk, if only as an excuse to stretch his legs. He exchanged a quick nod with the guards manning the entrance and proceeded out into the street. Where the palace grounds had been full of motion and activity, the streets of Accord, even in the city center, were vacant and quiet. No carriages trundled up the cobbled roads, and all the clothiers he passed were shuttered and closed.

  A stray dog knocked over a garbage bin up an alley, and the racket that ensued echoed in the silence. Fernie, at Ko-Jin’s side, attempted to look everywhere at once.

  Ko-Jin’s lips thinned. The city was choking on its fear, smothering under it. The people were right to be wary—Quade Asher was like a child’s nightmare come to life. But Ko-Jin wished that rather than succumbing to panic, more of them might get angry. Angry enough to arm themselves and take their city back from Quade, once and for all. It would take only one well-placed arrow, one lucky bullet.

  They were nearing the stone archway to the university when Fernie tripped over an uneven stone and just barely caught his balance.

  “Okay?” Ko-Jin asked. And then he saw that there was something more than ordinary fear in the lad’s eyes. He looked to be on the verge of hyperventilating. Ko-Jin reached out to stop him with a hand. “What’s going on?” The young man shook his head and tried to push past, but Ko-Jin didn’t release his grip. “Hey, talk to me.”

  “It’s…” Fernie began, then exhaled heavily. “I don’t know how to explain…”

  “Try.”

  “Ko-Jin, do you ever…” Fernie began, in a smaller voice, “get this sense that you know where Quade is?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Fernie flushed red beneath his white hair. “Do you ever, you know, have this feeling like you could point in his direction? Like, he’s a magnet an
d he’s pulling at you? Like—I don’t know—like you’re connected somehow?”

  “No,” Ko-Jin said slowly. “No, I don’t. Do you?”

  Fernie shrugged and looked away. The wind gusted, and up the street a group of people hurried from one building to another. They knocked urgently and then slipped within as if hesitant to fully open the door.

  “I…”

  “Fern, whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  Fernie licked his bottom lip. His young eyes appeared haunted. “I asked some of the other Elevated, and they said the same as you. Which means it’s just me. And I don’t know why…” He ran fingers through his shaggy white hair. “I hate him,” he whispered, speaking to his boots, “but I’ve sometimes got this sense that he’s tied to me. Not because of his gift, even. Something else, something deeper. The handful of times that he touched me, I felt it. Earlier today, I just had this hunch that he was in the city. And it turned out that he actually was…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I sound crazy, I know. But, I used to get the sense, sometimes, that Quade felt it too. That it unnerved him. That he kept his distance from me.”

  Ko-Jin put a firm hand to the boy’s shoulder. “This world is full of weirdness. You say you can sense him; I believe you. Can you feel him now?”

  Fernie shook his head. “I don’t think he’s anywhere near. But sometimes it’s all confused, because he’s inside other people too. I can be standing in a crowd of him.”

  Ko-Jin contemplated the lad. “Well, if you get another hunch like you did today, you tell me, okay? I can’t imagine how that must feel, but if you could use this connection against him…”

  The lad nodded his head solemnly. “I will. Can we, ah, not talk about it anymore just now?”

  “Sure,” Ko-Jin said. He thumped the lad’s shoulder with the flat of his hand. “Let’s get going then.”

  They strode through the gate and onto the university grounds. Once again, he found himself awed by the number of historic, towering buildings that made up the campus.

  “Any notion where Dedrre’s set up shop?”

  Fernie pointed left. Ko-Jin allowed the lad to lead the way, while he scanned the grounds. He noticed that many of the Chisanta who were outdoors were walking in pairs—Chiona and Cosanta. He wondered how Peer’s experiment was faring. No punches were being thrown that he could see, which was an improvement over his last visit.

  One such couple crossed his path and he nodded a greeting.

  “Good to see you, brother,” Arric said, with a short bow. “Fernie.”

  “And you,” Ko-Jin said. “I hope Mella is well.”

  But he didn’t pause any longer to chat. He strode onwards.

  “Dedrre’s shop is just up here,” Fernie said, pointing.

  As they approached the workshop, Ko-Jin heard the sound of rapid gunfire coming from within. Six shots.

  Curious, he knocked on the outer door and popped his head within. His confusion mounted when he found not six gunmen, but Dedrre alone. The old man wore muffs over his ears and stood before a makeshift target. He held an odd-looking pistol in his right hand. It smoked slightly.

  Dedrre didn’t hear his approach, so Ko-Jin called out, “Brother!”

  The inventor pulled the muffs from his ears. “Ko-Jin,” he said, and they shook hands. “Glad you’ve found the time. Think I’ve got something here that’ll interest you.”

  He extended the pistol and Ko-Jin took it in uncertain hands. “It can fire more than one round?”

  “Six.”

  Ko-Jin opened the chamber, and thought he understood how it worked. “Not front-loading…”

  He gazed down at the gun in his hand with doubtful eyes—this weapon could kill six people without pause. Impressive though the invention might be, it filled him with dread. He would hate to find himself on the other end of it.

  “Here,” Dedrre said. He proffered a handful of bizarre-looking bullets. “Put one in each slot. No need for powder. Yes, just like that. Then click the chamber closed.”

  Dedrre secured the muffs over Ko-Jin’s ears and gestured that he should shoot.

  Ko-Jin squared his hips and raised his arm. He exhaled, focused on the center, and fired. The recoil was minimal, and the aim true. He heard the chamber turn, readying another round. He squeezed the trigger five more times.

  To kill should not be so easy…

  He removed the protective covering from his ears.

  “I know,” Dedrre said, his tone dour. “Spirits forgive me for it, but…”

  “But, in the right hands, it could put an end to Quade.” Ko-Jin said, his voice equally black. “Yes, we’re of the same mind. It can be reproduced?”

  “I’ve already partnered with a few local blacksmiths. If the crown will fund it, we can have one in the hand of every soldier in a month.”

  Ko-Jin returned the weapon. “I’ll speak to the king, but expect an affirmative.”

  He bowed his head in parting, already mentally moving on to his next task. If he focused on only one responsibility at a time, he was less likely to feel as if he were drowning.

  “Ko-Jin?” Dedrre called after him. “You haven’t heard any news of Yarrow, have you? I’m worried for the lad.”

  Ko-Jin paused and turned. “I haven’t. Not yet.”

  Fernie cleared his throat and withdrew the packet of telegrams from his pocket with a flourish. “One of these telegrams is from Bray, you know.”

  Ko-Jin wrenched the envelope from his assistant’s hand. “Why didn’t you say?”

  “I said you had—”

  Ko-Jin hushed him and sifted through the stack of small slips, searching for Bray’s name. He stopped, however, when he spied a message from a different quarter altogether. A person he had not thought to hear from again: Arlow Bowlerham.

  Ko-Jin read the short script twice, then sank slowly to his knees, his head bowed.

  Spirits, Rinny…

  He was vaguely aware of his companions’ efforts to comfort him, but in his mind he had retreated into the past, to a time when a young Dalish girl had first taught him how to pick pockets on a pebbly shore. “It’s a real art, you know,” she had said, with a gap-toothed grin.

  Quade had killed many people, and Ko-Jin had long felt burdened by those deaths. But this was the first that struck at his heart and left him bleeding.

  Arlow gazed down at his sooty fists, bleary-eyed and numb. Even covered in ash and dried blood, the gold band encircling his ring finger was the strangest thing upon his hand. It felt cold and heavy. Foreign.

  “Mr. Bowlerham?”

  Arlow jerked his head up, blinking. “Will you be needing anything further, Constable?”

  The lawman appeared nearly as weary as Arlow felt. The incident had occurred the previous evening, and it was now dusk. None of them had slept.

  “If not, I should very much like to retire.”

  The man pressed a hand to his sandy mustache, covering a yawn. “One moment.” He rose and strode to where two other constables compared notes. As Midington was not a large enough town to have its own regular lawman, others had been called in from the surrounding cities. A murder-suicide that claimed sixteen lives was sensational enough to attract them.

  Arlow fixed his eyes on the place where the floor was in ruins. Snow had fallen through a hole in the roof, shrouding the gore in a white veil. The remains of the dead, such as they were, had been taken away. There had clearly been an effort to clean away the blood, but it remained visible all around him. It was in the grain of the wooden beams crossing the ceiling, and had seeped between the floorboards.

  The room still appeared hazy and smelt charred. The innkeeper was fortunate that his common room had vaulted ceilings, so the guest rooms had been unaffected.

  Arlow shivered and rubbed his hands together. Someone sank down in the seat beside him and extended a mug that wafted temptingly with the smell of fresh coffee.

  “My thanks,” he said, taking the hot ceramic in hand, but not drinkin
g. He desired to sleep, not rouse himself.

  “I’ve been trying to think how we’re going to break it to Ko-Jin,” Roldon said. “About Rinny.”

  “I had a telegram sent already,” Arlow said. “He deserved to know.”

  Roldon’s back curved, his head bowed. “Did you see her face,” he asked his boots, “before she…?”

  He had. And her beaten, vacant expression haunted him. “I did not know,” he began, his voice flat and detached. “I didn’t—I never could have imagined that Quade’s gift could go so far.”

  The man could turn his friends into living bombs, one by one. And he would, given half a chance, as retribution for Arlow’s betrayal. It seemed no matter what he did, he brought death upon the people around him.

  Unbidden, the image of another bloody scene flashed before his mind’s eye: the throne room after the assassination, filled with the moans of the injured and dying. A boy who had asked Arlow if his feet were moving, before he too had turned still.

  “He needs to be dealt with,” Roldon said, a new grimness in his demeanor.

  Arlow let his head loll back and thump against the wall. “More easily said than done, I’m afraid.”

  The blond constable returned. “We have no more questions for you at this time, Mr. Bowlerham. Get some sleep.”

  Arlow hauled himself to his feet and set his untouched coffee on the table. He waved Roldon goodnight and traipsed across the hall. Many Pauper’s people were gathered in the common room, despite the cold. He tried not to look too closely at them, not wanting to witness their grief. His gaze skimmed the room, seeking the only person he had any desire to see.

  “Are you looking for your wife?” the Pauper’s King asked, unexpectedly close at hand. There was no bite in his voice; his face was haggard.

  Wife. Spirits… “I am.”

  “She just went up to your room a few moments ago.”