Blood Under Water

by Toby Frost

  Cortaag stood in the doorway. He wore a silver breastplate over a black shirt. “All the guests are inside,” he said. “The lower ranks are eating in the main hall. The officers are ready to meet you.”

  “What about the servants?”

  “They went on the last boat. The dining room’s ready. The food’s keeping warm downstairs. My men can send it up on the dumb-waiter whenever you need.”

  “Excellent,” Azul said. “Then we’re all set.” He examined his reflection again. Some faces didn’t look right until they had aged sufficiently. Twenty years ago, he had looked like an angry little man: now he had the tough, weathered dignity of a Quaestan senator.

  Yes, he thought. I am in my prime, a leader of men.

  “Let’s meet the others,” Azul said. “They’ve been waiting long enough.”

  They left Azul’s suite and headed down the corridor. Cortaag led Azul down three flights of stairs. Their boots sank into thick carpet. Azul heard his guests as he approached the head of the grand staircase.

  They stood below, talking and drinking a Lyre Valley white wine that he had chosen especially. As Azul started down the steps, they fell silent. Then they started to clap.

  Some of the faces he recognised from long ago, although they had been stretched, coarsened and puffed-up by age. Others belonged to old fighters he didn’t know, men recommended by others or by their own reputation. There were even a couple of professional gangsters from out of town, people with useful connections among the young. But of all the guests, there was only one that Azul actually feared: the man his superiors had sent along to check the smooth running of the project. He was a small, bland man with a chubby face – Brother Praxis, the direct link to the masters of the conspiracy.

  Cortaag clapped his hands. “Gentlemen, your host! Brother Colonel of the Fifteenth Legion, Lord Commander of the Cerandis District and Guildmaster of the Glassmakers’ Guild: Ramon Azul!”

  Azul stood on the stairs and gave them all a bow. “Good afternoon, everybody,” he said. He had to strain his voice to be heard across the hall. “I’m very glad you could make it here.”

  A fat man in a long tunic called out, “It’s a pleasure, sir!” There were laughs and a brief patter of applause.

  “Gentlemen,” Azul croaked. He felt an uncomfortable scratching at the back his his mouth: his throat was going to ache tomorrow. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  More laughter.

  “I hope you didn’t have too much trouble in getting here. We’ll be eating early: there’s a lot to discuss, and no doubt you’re hungry after travelling here. Your guards will have their supper with my men in the main hall here, directly below us. We, however, will be eating upstairs, at the very pinnacle of the Tower of Glass. Before we go up, I would like to thank you all for taking the trouble to attend. I believe that the business proposal I have for you will more than make up for the distance of the journey – and all the flights of stairs.”

  The laughter was a little quieter. Several of the old warriors winced at the mention of stairs.

  “Some of you I recognise as old comrades from the Holy Legions. Others I have only known by repute until now. Still others are new friends, people who travel towards the same destination as us, even though they make the journey via different routes. You are all most welcome here. Please, follow me to the dining room.”

  ***

  The wind turned and caught the sails, and suddenly Sethis and Giulia were skimming over the water, paddles whirling. Giulia’s hood fell back, and the rain and the spray pattered against her cheek. She looked down into the dark water, and tried not to think of the things that lived in there.

  Something glowed behind the mist like a rising, toxic sun.

  Sethis sat between the great wheels, working the rudder. With each beat of the paddles, Giulia drew closer to Azul, nearer to Hugh and nearer to her revenge.

  “We’ll be there soon,” Sethis said, his voice straining above the wind. “Didn’t I say this boat was fast?”

  A big wave tossed the bows up, and as they slapped back down Giulia queasily reflected that it was indeed an unusual craft.

  “Of course, the mechanism’s enchanted,” Sethis called out. “But we dryads built the hull. There’s magic in the very trees they used. I helped organise it – a gesture of friendship between the races, you see!”

  She glanced down and saw that the body of the boat was one piece, a single bit of timber somehow shaped into a hull – or somehow induced to grow into one. To the east, something broke the surface of the waves. Giulia peered out, thinking she saw a thing like a smooth rock protruding from the water, half-expecting some monster to rise up and lunge at them – but it was gone as soon as she looked, yards behind them as the boat carried them across the bay.

  The mist parted and the island spread out before her.

  It was long and flat, lit by great torches at its ends, covered in warehouses and living quarters for the artisans of the guild. Like a little village, she thought, and more of the island revealed itself as they came closer.

  In the centre stood a mansion, from which rose a great tower. The entire tower was covered in glass the colour of a young lizard’s back: it shone out of the fog as if it were a gigantic emerald. As the boat turned to compensate for the waves, the weak sunlight struck the tower and rippled over its surface like lightning. For a moment it blossomed with colour, and then it faded back into the grey mist.

  Something sank inside Giulia’s chest. The Tower of Glass was ingenious but malign, like a device for collecting poisonous gas. She pointed to a low point in the cliffs, where sand formed a natural ramp. “There’s a dock there,” she called. “Drop me off there.”

  They came in fast and low, and as they passed the rocky edge of the island she heard the screech of a bird of prey. Giulia squinted up at the tower. There were massive arches set into the glass, near the pinnacle. A platform stuck out of the side: half-fortification, half-nest. The edge of the platform was encrusted with white dung. Pale sticks lay scattered around it: bones.

  Behind one of the archways, something colossal moved.

  “Griffon!” Giulia yelled. “There’s a griffon in there!”

  “I’ll bring us in,” Sethis called back. The water was choppy now, gearing itself for a storm.

  “Do it, quick!”

  An eagle’s cruel head appeared in the arch and, behind it, high, muscled shoulders. Huge claws gripped the edge of the masonry. The griffon threw back its head and screamed a challenge that rang across the island.

  It drew back into its lair. For a moment the monster was out of view, and then it bounded to the edge and sprang into the sky. It sailed out, massive wings unfolding, and suddenly the beast soared above them, riding the growing storm.

  “Oh, shit,” Giulia cried, “it’s seen us! Get us to the land, quick!”

  Her crossbow was already in her hands; she struggled to load it in the rocking boat. The griffon twisted in the air, fighting the wind to stay in place.

  “I’m trying!” Sethis sprang around the boat like a goblin, pulling levers and spinning wheels. Slowly, too slowly, the boat began to change course. Above them, wings batting the air to keep it in place, the griffon shrieked into the wind.

  It dropped, shooting down from above, its wings folded against its sides. “Get down!” she yelled, writhing in her seat to get away from it.

  “Lean to the left!” Sethis yelled. “Left!”

  The dryad’s voice cut through Giulia’s mounting panic. She threw herself left, and the boat turned. They swung in close to the island. She heard the griffon swoop, felt the rush of air, and suddenly there was a sound like someone smashing down a door, and the starboard paddle-wheel whirled uselessly, half of its spokes shattered, flapping like a hand on the end of a broken arm.

  The griffon shot past as fast as a cannonball. It folded its win
gs and curved away with lazy, contemptuous grace, ready to make another pass.

  The boat started to spin.

  “Giulia, we’ll have to jump!” Sethis called, and she realised how close they were, how fast they were coming in to the rocks.

  She swung her crossbow across her back. “Right!” she yelled, and Sethis ran to the bows and crouched beside her.

  He flicked his hand out, and his belt was in it. “Hold this.”

  She gripped it, looped it round her fist.

  “Are you ready?” he called, and she nodded back. “Now!”

  They leaped. Giulia hit the water just in front of the rocks, grabbed hold of an outcrop and clung on. Water poured onto her back, over her face. Cold flooded across her arms and back, down her legs and spine. A flash of terror – the memory of drowning, her face freshly slashed – and she was clambering out onto the rocks, spitting out water. Sethis scrambled up beside her. The griffon came down again, screeching, and she heard the splinter of wood as it tore their boat apart. Great wings drummed against the air.

  They crouched there, pressed together. Twenty yards away, the griffon ripped the clockwork out of the boat. Broken wood lay around it, bobbing on the waves. The massive beak swung down and gutted the seats.

  Giulia glanced at the dryad. He looked scared and utterly determined. “That way,” he said, looking along the island.

  She worked her way right. Beneath the cliffs was a jumble of rock, enough to give them handholds and keep them out of the sea. They crept across the jagged boulders, the water breaking on the rocks at their feet. Sethis pointed: Giulia followed and they struggled onto the slope leading to the dock.

  Together they stumbled upward, onto the island itself. Sethis pointed to an outhouse and they ran towards it. The door was bolted on the outside. Giulia tore the bolt back and they hurried inside, into the smell of tar and old rope. Sethis sat down. Giulia stopped beside him, panting, dripping wet.

  “By the Lord and Lady,” Sethis said. “That was close. And I used to think I was agile,” he added, and he managed to smile. “Are you hurt?”

  Giulia looked out of the door, at the sky. Far away, the griffon turned lazily back to its lair, no longer interested in them. It had seen off the competition, and the island was its own again. The waves were still loud, but muffled now, as if they beat against the outhouse walls.

  “I’m fine, considering. How about you?”

  “A little bruised; nothing more. Unlike the boat.” Sethis looked through the open door, towards the great glass tower. The dryad hissed something in his own language, a long, sibilant word that was definitely a curse. “Looks like I won’t be going back, then.”

  “Sorry.” The only way out is through.

  “There’s a storm coming,” Sethis said. “Where now?”

  Giulia looked across the island. She pointed to the tower.

  “I’m going up there,” she said. “It’s where Hugh will have gone. You should hide out in one of those buildings there. Arashina said she’d come and help.”

  He shook his head. Rain glinted on his face and hair. “I ought to help you.” He had to raise his voice. “And Hugh, for that matter. He helped us out at the Scola. It wouldn’t be right for me to leave him. Besides,” he added, glancing around, “I’d rather not stay here on my own.”

  Giulia looked at him. If Sethis was cold, he didn’t show it. His resolve impressed her. He was much tougher than he looked. Who knew what he had seen during the War of Faith, what he had done to stay alive? She held her hand out and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

  ***

  The gatehouse of the Tower of Glass stuck out of the smooth exterior of the building like an afterthought, crude stone against glass and smooth white plaster. Hugh hid in the bushes twenty yards away.

  The wind blew the long grass flat, threw chilly rain against Hugh’s armour. He crept out of hiding, leaned around the side of the gatehouse and put his ear to the door.

  “It’s no good if no-one knows,” someone said. It was a man, quite young. “All this pulling-strings shit: it’s no good if people can’t see us, is it?”

  “They will know.” An older man, middle-aged. “Pass the bread over, would you? Thanks. But it’s all about faith, right? You’ve just got to have faith. Then, come the moment – bang! All the pixie-lovers and foreigners and New Church and all the rest of them. And those soft bastards in Sanctus City, too. Then they’ll see.”

  Voices muttered their approval. There were three of them in total, maybe four. The gatehouse was not a large building. There would be clutter inside, and narrow walls. Hugh drew his sword and a long knife, ducked under the window and rapped on the door with the pommel of his dagger.

  Boots scuffed on the ground. Have to work quick, Hugh thought, can’t let anyone get away. His heart felt high and fast in his chest.

  The door opened a crack and Hugh shoved it open and barged straight in. A guard stumbled back, cried “Fuck!” and reached to the pistol at his side. Hugh shouldered him off-balance and stabbed him in the neck. The man dropped and the other two guards scrambled to their feet. Hugh brought up his sword and blocked a thrust from a meat-knife, then jabbed the second guard in the thigh with his dagger. The man doubled over. Hugh pulled the blade free and drove the point into the side of his neck. The third guard scrambled towards a rope in the corner of the room. Hugh hurled the dagger; it missed, and he stepped in and knocked the man’s hand down from the rope as he reached for it. The guard howled and folded over, clutching his broken hand. Hugh struck him across the skull with the pommel of his sword. The guard grunted and fell.

  Hugh looked down at the bodies. The first man he’d killed had a brace of pistols on his belt. Normally, he disapproved of guns, but when you were rescuing a damsel, the rules could be bent. And when you fought the Inquisition, you did not expect a fair fight, and you did not give them the opportunity to cheat.

  Two minutes later, Hugh left the guardhouse with the keys in one hand and his sword in the other. He pulled the door closed behind him.

  He walked up the path, towards the gates of the Tower of Glass. They were three times his height and smooth as ice. There was a large keyhole with a brass escutcheon: the longest of the keys fitted it. A small door built into the gate swung open. Hugh hadn’t even noticed it before.

  He stepped through the doorway and let it swing back behind him. He stood at the edge of a courtyard, the floor made of dark grey flagstones. There were no plants or decorations.

  On the far side of the courtyard hung the Inquisition flag: a simple banner quartered in black and white. Smaller white banners flanked the main one, each bearing an inverted sword.

  Hugh remembered passages from the Holy Codex and The Death of Alba: Though I am delivered into the furnace, my faith shall be like armour unto me… And the king beat on his door and called for the false knights to come forth and do battle with him… “Sons of whores,” he said.

  He took a deep breath and checked the weapons strapped to his arms, back, thighs and belt, and jogged across the courtyard towards the tower. They meant to hurt Elayne. There was no time to waste.

  ***

  Giulia and Sethis crept towards the Tower of Glass. A clump of tough, weather-worn trees stood between the outhouses and the tower itself, and they used them for cover and shelter from the rain. Water dripped from the branches. Giulia felt the cold weight of her sodden clothes. At least they were out of the wind – and hopefully out of view of the griffon.

  Giulia looked over the smooth flank of the tower. “I don’t know how we get in,” she said. “There don’t seem to be any windows. Or else the whole place is one big window… What do you think?”

  Sethis frowned. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he peered up at the fortress, searching for a weakness in its armour. “There!” he exclaimed.

  “That’s just the gatehouse,” she
replied, unimpressed. Was this how the fey fought battles, by knocking at the front door? Then she saw what he meant. The light caught on something like a crack in the flat glass of the wall, a vertical line of shadow. She realised what it was: a small door, very slightly ajar. “You’re right. Let’s try it. But go carefully. There’ll be men in the gatehouse.”

  Sethis took the lead this time. The rain muffled his footsteps, and he slipped between the trees as easily as a dog on a scent. Giulia ran behind him, the crossbow in her hands. Sethis bent almost double as he ran the last dozen yards. He reached the gatehouse. Giulia stopped a little way back, covering him with her bow.

  Sethis turned the handle and pushed the gatehouse door. It swung open a little way and stopped. He leaned around and looked through the aperture. For a moment, he was still. Then he beckoned to Giulia.

  She ran up and looked into the gap. The door wouldn’t open fully, because there was a corpse behind it. Three men lay dead in the gatehouse. Their deaths had been bloody and quick.

  “Hugh did this, I assume,” Sethis said.

  “Yes. They weren’t expecting him.”

  “Odd that he left the gate open,” Sethis said.

  Giulia shook her head. Droplets fell from the edge of her hood. “He’s in a hurry. Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  They ran up to the main gates. Giulia pushed the glass door. It opened silently, revealing the wet expanse of the courtyard. “Keep to the edge,” she said, and she entered.

  A hiss from behind, and she turned to see. Sethis was looking across the yard, his small mouth closed and hard, big eyes vicious and sharp. She saw the three banners, symbols of the Inquisition, and a jolt of fear and awe ran through her like a spark. Then she pushed it away, angry that they could intimidate her. We’ve got the right place, then, she thought. Sethis muttered something under his breath, either a prayer or a curse.

  They followed the edge of the courtyard. Rain pattered down on the stone and glass. Giulia watched the rooftops, remembering the beasts swarming over the skyline outside the House of Exchange. The memory made her seethe with fear and rage. At the far side, they stopped.