by Toby Frost
The thin woman helped Giulia to get Falsi out of the boat. They took his weight between them, but he groaned as if they were pulling him apart. People glanced at him and looked away. Giulia reckoned they assumed that he was drunk, or simply didn’t care.
“In the back,” Frannie said. Like most of the brothels Giulia had seen, Frannie’s house served food and drink on the lower floor. They put the Watchman on a bed in a back room, and he lay there, sweating and grey-faced.
They stood beside Falsi’s bed, watching him.
“You know a doctor?” Giulia said. “A crooked one would be best.”
The big woman nodded. “There’s an apothecary who checks the girls. I’ll send my boy for him.”
“Make sure Falsi gets proper treatment,” Giulia said. “He’s worse than he looks: cracked ribs, I think.”
“Oh, I will, trust me. He’s a sensible man, good for business. Someone really beat the shit out of him,” Frannie said. There was pity and a sort of awe in her voice. “Where d’you know him from?”
“He arrested me,” Giulia said. “It wasn’t me who beat him up, if you’re wondering. His friends did that.”
“I’ve got a couple of real friends,” Falsi croaked. “Get Seb and Rupe from the Watch-house. They’re good people.”
“We need to tell his family,” Giulia said. “When your boy gets back, send him out to warn them.”
“I know how to cover tracks,” Frannie replied. “It’s not the first time someone’s got hurt here.” She brushed her hands together. “What a mess,” she added. “We’d better get some slack from your people for this,” she told Falsi. She looked at Giulia. “He’ll be fine. You can go.”
Giulia said, “I need a room.”
“You’ll have to pay.”
“Half-rates. I’ll be on my own.”
The big face scowled for a moment, and Giulia wondered if the red fists were going to rise to threaten her. “Fuck it,” Frannie said, “it’s a slow night anyhow.”
Giulia woke up in the cold. She lay clothed on top of the narrow bed, arms folded and hands jammed into her armpits to keep them warm. She sat up, her cloak falling off her, and sat on the edge of the bed in the dark.
Her bandaged arm didn’t feel too bad. There was a steady numbness, as though it was not so much healing as stunned. But at least it didn’t hurt. Whatever Sethis had done to it, it had worked.
Or else it’s about to drop off. Giulia sniffed the bandage: no rot, at least. She rubbed her eyes and stood up. Here I am, hiding out in a whorehouse, looking for someone to kill. Somehow it didn’t seem terribly surprising. She picked up the crossbow. The wood felt smooth and natural against her palm.
There wouldn’t be any Hugh this time, but she didn’t mind. This was better done on her own, without anyone to slow her down. Giulia stretched in the darkness until she felt ready and keen. Then she crossed the room to the stripe of weak light that filtered under the door.
A young man sat in an armchair in the hall, a girl on his lap. They were both quite small, and looked as if the big chair had made them shrink. The girl was sleeping. Giulia wondered where she’d seen her before.
Giulia stopped before the chair, and the young man looked at her apprehensively. Softly, she asked, “Are you the doctor?”
“Yes,” he said. “Are you a friend of the man in there, the Watchman?”
“Sort of. How’s he doing?”
“He’s badly hurt, but yes, given time…” The girl stirred and rubbed her face against his shoulder as if to mark it, and he reached down and stroked her hair.
“How long will it take him to get better?”
“Weeks, if not months. Anything faster and you’d need a magician.”
It’s a shame our magician has gone, Giulia thought, and then: What did Falsi say? That they’re still here? Why would they stay?
The doctor sighed. “Maybe a good alchemist could speed it up, but that’s not really my area. They sent a runner to his family. I don’t know whether they’ll let him stay here for long.”
Giulia nodded. “Thanks.”
The girl opened her eyes. “So the Watch did let you out,” she said drowsily.
Giulia realised where she’d seen her – she’d been in the same cell when Falsi’s men had first brought her in. “Yes. But I didn’t suck the guard off, if you’re wondering.”
“You the one who beat Lieutenant Falsi up?”
“No.”
The girl nodded slightly, as if Giulia had passed a test. “You staying here?”
She shook her head. “I’m going out. I’ve got things to do.”
THIRTEEN
The bells tolled three in St Agorian’s Church. Giulia hurried past, away from Printers’ Row and towards the Great Canal. She felt tough and dangerous.
A skinny, nervous-looking man moved aside as she approached. Drunken, educated voices rippled out of an upstairs window as she passed one of the big townhouses. Laughter tinkled above her like breaking glass.
Shops stretched out on either side. In the daytime their fronts would be open, making the ground floors into little markets for spices and fine goods. Now they were closed up, padlocked and chained.
Five minutes more and she saw Varro’s yard. She pulled her hood down low and continued.
The warehouse she wanted was a hundred yards further on, behind a brick wall almost twice her height. That was where Falsi’s book had said the two hulls had been delivered. She stopped and listened. Nothing.
Giulia followed the wall to a small iron gate, scabby with rust. It took fifteen cold minutes to crack the lock.
She pushed the gate open until she could slip through. She waited there in the dark as her eyes took in the buildings and the cover she could use.
Junk lay around the edges of the big yard, as though a great broom had swept it out of the way. The warehouse stood alone. It was a huge brick cube, four storeys high and almost without windows, butting straight onto the canal. It looked like a fortress from here. Behind it, she could see clockwork cranes and the masts of harboured ships.
She began to sneak towards the warehouse, using the junk to cover her approach.
At the back of the warehouse, a pair of doors opened into the yard. Three men stood outside the doors, each holding a crossbow. They talked quietly, but their eyes stayed on the yard. Damn, she thought. What the hell are they doing?
People in Averrio didn’t put three armed fighters outside a building for no reason. Azul had to have brought them in after he captured Falsi. Maybe he had found Cafaro’s body, and it got him worried. Or the crossbowmen were guarding something especially valuable. Something big must be happening tonight.
Perhaps she could create a distraction. Giulia doubted it. They looked competent and smart, too shrewd to go charging off after a noise in the undergrowth. Best check the last side of the warehouse.
Giulia crept past the doors, behind an upturned rowing boat riddled with holes, and slipped into the wood-strewn area on the far side of the yard.
Suddenly she was in the landscape of a nightmare. Like tree-stumps given life, women sprouted from blocks of wood, white faces staring towards the moon as if pleading for the power to change their shape. Giulia froze.
Figureheads, that’s all. Silly, getting scared by things like that.
It was then that she realised how afraid she was.
She wouldn’t turn back. She’d see this business through tonight. Giulia kept low and jogged between the figureheads, weaving through the forest of bodies.
One of the guards cried, “Look at this!” and she dropped down, crouching beside a half-carved nymph, a white-painted breast at the level of her head. She heard the other guards laugh, and she moved on.
There were no windows in the first three storeys of the warehouse. For a moment she wondered about finding a grapple and a rop
e – not difficult in a dock, surely – and then rejected the idea. It would be far too easy to spot. By the time she was halfway up she’d have three crossbow bolts sticking out of her back. She retreated, looking for a plan.
Along the canal, rows of ships were tied up for repairs. They began just past the warehouse doors. She could see cranes and offices beyond the yard, and for a crazy moment she imagined swinging out one of the cranes, to make its boom connect with the warehouse roof. The canalside was deserted now, and the boats looked like abandoned hulks.
Coils of rope lay on the ground like snares. Tools were propped against the walls. Ropes ran from each ship to the dock, holding them in place while they were repaired.
But the warehouse was unassailable. “Shit,” she hissed. Apart from the windows in the top floor, the only opening was a square hole in the roof, from which a thin trail of smoke trickled into the sky. She peered at the side of the warehouse, looking for something to hold on to, to climb. There was nothing: only the brick wall, too smooth to grab.
Giulia gritted her teeth and clenched her cold hands into fists until the knuckles were little white bumps of bone. No going back, not now. She’d hack handholds into the walls if she had to, heap timber outside the doors and burn the whoresons out.
There was a way. She turned to the nearest ship and looked up the mast and across the yardarm. It stuck out towards the warehouse like an accusing finger. Giulia licked her lips, barely believing herself. There was a gap between the tip of the yardarm and the roof. It could not be more than eight feet. You lunatic, she told herself as the plan formed inside her head. You absolute lunatic. You must be crazy to even think of it…
Grinning, she jogged towards the ship.
Giulia ran up the gangplank and onto the deck. She stopped in front of the rigging.
This is insane. She looked at the ropes, glistening with the first touch of frost. Who cares if it is? Do you want to get this bastard or not?
The ropes were cold and rough on her palms. She climbed up the rigging, hand over hand. Look straight ahead. It’s just like a ladder.
The creaking of the ropes seemed painfully loud. Her weight dislodged bits of ice like dust, stirring up little clouds where her hands and feet had been. Just keep looking forward. Enjoy the view, she thought, and she felt a crazy urge to laugh.
The rigging narrowed as she approached the top. She didn’t need to look down now to be afraid: she was at the height of a siege tower, the cold wind shaking her, slicing at her cheeks. Her hands trembled. Gloves, she thought. Why didn’t I get some gloves?
This ship was too small to have a crow’s nest, but there was a flat point at the top where the rigging joined the mast. She reached it, scrambled on and wrapped her arms around the mast.
Something caught her eye below. She didn’t want to look down, but her vision moved there anyway, drawn towards a light on the dock. No, not the dock itself: it was a lantern on the next ship down. People had stepped onto the deck.
There were two of them: a hulking fellow with a beard and a broad, tallish man. They were leaning over the rail, their backs to her, and the bearded man was showing the other something on the waterline.
Giulia waited for them to go.
The bearded man stood up and turned, gesturing across the deck. His face caught the light. It was the man from the cellar, the one Hugh had impaled, the one who had helped to torture her: Cortaag.
The sight of him flooded her with rage. Giulia hugged the mast and stared down at him, wishing that the force of her gaze could punch through his head like a musket-ball.
I’ll kill you, you bastard, you and your fucking master.
The other man turned around. It was Edwin.
She nearly lost her grip. Her hand slipped; she grabbed hold of the mast and clung to it like an ape to a tree.
What in God’s name is he doing?
Edwin said something to Cortaag, and the torturer nodded. They looked like the best of friends.
No, surely not. They can’t know each other. That makes no sense.
Cortaag smiled and gestured at the city, as if to say that it was all his. He put out his hand.
Don’t take it. Don’t do that—
Edwin shook Cortaag’s hand. Cortaag stepped back and walked down the gangplank. The cabin door opened and a woman emerged. Her hair was light, almost blonde.
“Goodnight!” Elayne called.
Cortaag turned and waved, then carried on walking, off towards the warehouse. He passed the ship on which Giulia hid, his stride long and businesslike. Someone called to him from the warehouse and he grunted back. He reached the warehouse and was lost to view.
Giulia looked down. Edwin was showing Elayne the thing on the waterline, the thing that Cortaag had been pointing out. They straightened up and Elayne kissed his cheek. Then they both crossed the deck, steadying each another against the ice, and disappeared inside.
The deck was empty. It might never have happened. I could have dreamed it, she thought, and wished that she had.
They’ve been bought. They’re in league with Azul. They must be. Why else would Cortaag be there, otherwise? Were they working for him all along? They set us up, they fucking set us up!
Her head was full of a shoal of thoughts. Her mind swam with shock, outrage, disbelief. Giulia wanted to turn it over, to work it out and feel either anger or relief, but there were other things to do. Whatever Edwin and Elayne had done – and whatever they deserved to get – had to wait.
“God damn it!” she muttered, and she discovered that her hands had gone numb. She flexed her fingers and blew across her knuckles to make them warm.
I must be mad.
She looked down the length of the yardarm, at the tapering end of the wood. It reminded her of aiming a crossbow, looking towards the tip of the bolt.
Except this time it’s me being fired. She took a deep breath and thought, Saint Senobina, blessed patron of thieves, watch over me. She had a sudden image of the bald-headed saint, looking down from Heaven as she watched Giulia clinging to the mast, and she thought, Fuck it, woman, do you want this or not? Then what are you waiting for?
She turned, ran, tore down the length of the yardarm, feeling ropes and wood under her boots, faster and faster towards the tip of the beam and the empty space beyond – and leaped, legs bent, crossbow clutched to her chest like a child. Cold, she thought as the air rushed past her face, then I’ve made it! and her boots hit the roof and she rolled on her right shoulder, came up into a crouch and was still.
Something hissed beside her. Her hand shot out and grabbed a tile as it began to slide. She laid it carefully on the roof beside her boot.
The guards were talking below her.
“Probably bloody crows,” one of them said, sniffing loudly. “Dammit, it’s freezing out here! Soon as I get paid, I’m getting a decent coat.”
Oh, yes! Here I fucking am!
Wisps of smoke curled up from the hole in the roof. Giulia crept to the edge of the hole and looked down. She saw a hearth below, with a fire that was not quite out. Coals glared at her like evil eyes.
Giulia climbed onto the edge and dropped down. She landed, kicked the fire-screen over and scuttled into the room.
It was windowless and hardly furnished, apart from a tatty armchair and a desk piled with paper. Giulia stepped to the door and put her ear to the wood. She heard nothing. She slid back the bolt and tried the handle. It was locked.
She stood in the dark, watching the door as she loaded her bow.
Voices from below. Men called to one another in the warehouse. Clumsy, heavy noises accompanied the shouts. They were moving things about, dragging metal on stone, banging boxes together.
She had an image of iron-bound treasure chests, fat with gold and dripping coins as the smugglers hauled them back and forth. Perhaps they were emptying their boats, taki
ng out the goods they’d somehow sneaked past the city Customs, preparing to load them onto wagon trains and other ships.
Like Edwin and Elayne’s.
Giulia pulled out her picks, bent down and got to work on the lock. It took five minutes before she felt the last tumbler give, twist slightly and spring back. She stood up and listened at the door again. Nobody outside, just the thumps and voices of men working below.
She opened the door gently and slipped through, shutting it behind her. She was in a corridor, the walls raw brick. The only light came from the narrow staircase at the far end. There was a door on the opposite side of the passage.
She stepped across and checked the door – unlocked. No sounds from within. Giulia opened it and peered inside. A little light seeped through a small window. There were several large boxes on the floor, locked with chains. A mattress and a few sheets showed where someone had been sleeping. A guard, presumably. Best of all, there were several coils of thin rope in a heap in the corner. The window-frame looked just wide enough for her to fit through. Quickly, she tied one of the coils to the catch and looped the rope around one of the strong-boxes, just in case. She returned to the corridor.
Giulia crouched down to hide her outline. She crept to the top of the stairs, towards the noise, and squatted in the shadows with the crossbow ready to fire.
The staircase led down into a high, open hall, lit by lanterns. Massive doors stood at the far end of the hall, facing onto the canal. They were closed. A channel full of water ran down the centre, broad enough to allow a large boat to be rowed inside for repair. Eight or ten men waited around the channel, talking in little groups and passing round a bottle of wine. One of the men was Cortaag. Giulia lifted the bow and lined it up with his head. It would be a pleasure to kill that bastard, but he was not the man she wanted most of all.
Chests and boxes stood against the walls, but they were open and empty. Giulia peered down, feeling anticipation stirring within her gut. Something was going to happen, and soon.
Cortaag nodded to two men at the far end of the hall, and they hauled on chains hanging beside the door. With a slow, metallic rattle, the pulleys in the rafters spun and a dripping portcullis rose behind the doors.