Needle Rain

by Cari Silverwood

  Frightened that she’d encounter some cutthroats or drunks or simply men of low morals and lower lusts, she shrank beneath the overhang of an awning. The street ended at a run-down warehouse a few houses down. Her eyes sprang wide. The other creature, ghost, whatever it was. The black thing. Could it return? Though she strained to search every corner of this dead-end street, she found no signs that anything supernatural had followed her – unless you counted a scruffy gray cat with moon-gray eyes.

  Which way back? The sea was to her left, she must be turned around. Nervously, she flicked her eyes back and forth, checking the dark places, and knew that all along the way back she’d be watching for that creature. Being possessed by a plain ordinary ghost had its advantages. Least then the other thing stayed away.

  The sobbing continued.

  Ah. It came from within. The child-ghost, Milly, remained, somehow huddled small and quiet in an offshoot part of her mind. Well, at least she seemed to be harmless.

  “Here, lady.” A man’s voice slurred from the shadows deeper under the cover of the awning, “You don’ wanna hang about here too long. Itsh...it’s not likely healthy. Somebody’ll deshide you’ll make a nice bedmate.”

  Peering closely, she made out a man in a dark overcoat, propped between the building and a crate. The smell of unwashed human blended with spilled alcohol to create an odor more pungent than a moldy rat. Ideal. She fumbled at her left hand, found the small garnet-inlaid gold ring that Kane had given her.

  “You. How would you like to make a profit? That coat for this ring.” She held it up and let the faint moonlight gleam off it.

  “Wha? That looks really, really, really lovel-ly. Sure thing girly. Here.”

  Within a few minutes she had the coat wrapped about her and had backtracked to head in the direction of the terraced district. The lights up there among the wealthier houses and the slope of the ground made it simple. The girl ghost still sobbed but she could stand it, she could...

  Or maybe not.

  Scummin’ hell! Why do you cry?

  The sobs turned into whooping gulps, louder and infinitely more distracting.

  You’re being cruel, she told herself. What could she possibly want from me that would be dangerous? Eleven years old!

  Crossing her fingers, and praying the child’s parents hadn’t poisoned her, she gave in.

  Milly. Milly, please, what is it you want from me? Maybe I can help you? Hey. Talk to me, kid. Finally the crying stopped.

  I need to find my ma and pa, but...but I don’t know where they are!

  Well. Where do they live?

  They’re dead.

  Oh. This was looking so utterly promising. Dead parents.

  Um. How did they die, Milly? Why do you need to find them?

  To tell them what happened to me. They’re with a lot of other dead people. But I don’t how to get there.

  Heloise swallowed. You mean a cemetery? A place with a lot of gravestones, sort of slabs sticking up in the air with writing on them?

  I think so. Some don’t have those stones. Some people are put in together, like my ma and pa. To save space, ma says. She likes it though, being together with da. I can see it, but I can’t find my way.

  A cemetery. A poor one from the description. Well, she had offered. Besides, this way she had a ghost inside her, a shield in a way, from the other.

  The graveyard for the poor was over south of a manufacturing district with its blacksmith’s, foundries and tanneries. At least it wasn’t the same as the one where she’d been attacked. They could get there before dawn, just, if she walked fast. Nighttime was a limiting factor with ghosts. It was raining heavier but at least this old coat was waterproof to a degree. No doubt due to the layer of oil and grime on the outside.

  A horse whinnied, then hoof beats clattered on the stones of the street, coming from where she’d seen the drunk. She pulled up the hood of the coat, turned her back to the approaching rider.

  “Heloise? It is you, girl!” Bull’s voice. He set the horse to a trot, and as he drew close, dismounted and ran to her before his mount had come to a halt. “Girl!” He gathered her in his arms, holding her tight. “Phew! You smell.”

  “Hey! It’s the coat.” But even in the excitement and joy at being found, she couldn’t forget Milly. “Oh, Bull, thank you for coming after me!”

  “You think I wouldn’t? ‘Sides. Once that sot back there pointed you out I’d have found you by smell alone.”

  She braced her shoulders and stepped away. “Can I ask a favor? I need your horse.”

  “Hey. Tell me the story and you can have it, but I come with it.” Moonlight silvered the tips of Bull’s short spiked hair. He looked her square in the eye.

  She barely hesitated. “Sure, but it’s complicated.” If any man could look after himself, it would be Bull.

  “The interesting things generally are.”

  “Um.” She wriggled her bare toes. “Could we get going? I’ll explain as we go.”

  It wasn’t as difficult as she’d thought, telling Bull. The man was unrockable. Though she’d not told him of the other. She sat behind him on the horse and felt the warmth he radiated – comforting, manly, solid. If she’d known her father, this is how she’d like him to be.

  “So,” he said in his deep voice. “The south-side cemetery? Any more details than that?

  No, Milly whispered shyly.

  In the pause before she could answer, Heloise felt Bull tense.

  “Are you talking to that ghost now?”

  “Yes. I am. I guess that’s a bit creepy?”

  He grunted.

  “She says, no. Maybe when we get there she’ll know more?”

  “Tell her, we’ll find her ma and pa, and tell her if she messes round with what’s inside your head she’ll be in big trouble.”

  Heloise grinned. “She heard you.”

  The ride there took barely an hour. The streets grew steadily less respectable, while the number of people out foraging, profiting, having fun, or fornicating grew steadily greater. Sour and speculative stares came their way, as though some were calculating the price of the horse. Sobering. If she’d walked by herself, the odds were she’d never have made it without being molested.

  Bone Street, a short but straight thoroughfare leading up to the cemetery, was bare of people.

  The entrance to the cemetery went under a metal arch half-conquered by tangled vines. One street lamp shed a weak yellow light. Crickets chirped from the low weeds and scattered shrubs, and gaggles of fruit bats squabbled in the wide canopies of a few trees to the left.

  Bull held the mare to a slow trot, gravel crunching under her hooves. Tendrils of the vine dangling from the arch stuck to Heloise’s hair when they passed beneath, as if making a half-hearted attempt to guard the cemetery from intruders.

  “Where to now?” Bull asked.

  Milly?

  Almost before Heloise finished the thought, Milly piped up, There! And her presence flowed outward, reclaiming control of fingers, toes, muscles...and space inside Heloise’s head. Her hand pointed a few degrees to the right.

  He guided the horse slowly between the mounds of overgrown plots and the gravestones – some tumbled or leaning dirtward, some upright and draped with garlands or posies of flowers. A few were mere boards of timber with burnt-on writing. At last they came to an unmarked grave. Heloise/Milly slid from the horse, stumbling then crawling the last few feet to the grave.

  A jingle and thud behind her, told Heloise that Bull had dismounted. She couldn’t turn to look, or open her mouth to speak, Milly had utter control. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Mother, father? I’m sorry.” Milly choked on the tears. “I’m so sorry I ran! I wish I had-of stayed and helped you. I could’ve... I could’ve...”

  A voice seeped in like winter rain, pattering, chilling, flowing where it wished. It washed away Heloise’s sense of her own self. Milly, Milly, don’t chide yourself. Shush. Oh, child, shush...come to me. We�
��ve been waiting for you so long. It weren’t your fault. The plague took us, it weren’t your doing. Don’t fear. Come to us.

  The flow of entity as Milly left tugged Heloise along with it, she couldn’t free herself, didn’t want to, and for an instant there was the promise of a never-ending void. It beckoned and tantalized, as startling as a splash of color on a blank canvas.

  No! No, lady! Milly had turned and was pushing her back. Stay there! You cannot come too!

  A veil fell upon the world, wrapping Heloise up, keeping her safe. Holding her. Rocking her.

  “Heloise! Heloise?”

  She opened her eyes and found her head cushioned in someone’s arms. A few obstinate stars sprinkled across the sky. A wash of orange tinted the horizon. The sun. She breathed in deep. Nothing special in the air, just a hint of cut-grass, a few dollops of new-turned earth, a veritable cacophony of late blossoming passacandra, scorched timber, oiled metal, leather, blood, spit, snot, vomit, urine...

  She sat up, bolt upright. “Oh, my gods!”

  Bull had ducked his head back to avoid a collision. They were his arms. The old drunk’s coat lay crumpled next to her.

  “Girl.” He shook his head. “Don’t ever do that again. You were not breathing. I almost had to give you the kiss of life!”

  Despite the morning shadows, Heloise was sure he was blushing. She rested her head against his chest. “She’s gone...to her parents. Oh, Bull. It was so sad, and yet, it was right. You know? What she wanted.”

  “I know,” he growled. “Don’t ever do that again.” He smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead. “I couldn’t stand losing you.”

  Oh, dear. Despite everything, all the muddle of life around her, she realized that soon she would have to tell Bull she didn’t feel that way about him. Though she wished she could. Right now...right now, she was way too tired. She closed her eyes, and fell into sleep.

  C H A P T E R S E V E N T E E N

  Herbologist – a magience practitioner who studies herbs

  and masters their use in magience.

  *****

  Samos sighed. He hadn’t meant what he’d said about scaring the rats. They were in the next room and unlikely to care anyway. It had been a long umpteen minutes of silence and an even longer endless age of hearing thunk, thunk, thunk as Joss played try-not-to-stab-your-fingers or mumbely-peg with his pocket knife. So far he’d missed.

  “Stop!” He snatched away the knife. “Right, boy, if you know so much, tell me what that bat trinketton up on the main mast is for. Any ideas?”

  “I did ask,” Joss said slowly. “Cork said it was for finding ships that you couldn’t see. But...if you can’t see them, they’re not there. Are they?”

  Samos shifted his back along the slats of timber, searching for a comfortable spot without a nail head sticking out.

  “Hmm. Ships you can’t see?” That would be handy in battle. Or for following those who didn’t want to be followed. But surely it wouldn’t help Tatiana find the Sungese ship since that was days ahead of them.

  “Time to see if we’ve caught any rats.”

  At the back of the hold, they found the plate of food. Much of the it had been scattered across the floor, though it was difficult to judge whether any had been eaten.

  “You go down the outside,” he said, directing Joss to the gap between the hull and the cargo. Meanwhile, he searched every other nook and cranny, lifting up the heavier crates, listening for odd noises. They found only two rats. One of them stiff and dead; the other flopped in Samos’s hands. Not taking tails into account, both were almost as long as his forearm.

  “Wow,” said Joss. “I’ve seen dogs smaller than this.”

  “Hmm. It proves the cook did poison my food.” He laid the sleeping rodent back on the floor and poked the carcass of the dead one. “This one bothers me more.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s dead! I was supposed to eat that stuff.”

  “Yes, but...” Joss clammed his mouth shut. Looking as if he had something to say but was unsure of its reception.

  “What? I’ll not bite you, Joss. I’m not that sort.”

  “Uh.” He screwed his foot nervously back and forth in a half-circle. “That one, the dead one – it had a bad heart. That’s why it died after it ate the food.”

  Samos stared from the rat to Joss and back again. It was very dead. Even a good bio-energeer would have a hard time getting any worthwhile data out of the rat’s body. The thought led to another thought and that led to a startling idea. Lips pressed tight, Samos studied Joss. But a very, very good bio-energeer, and he’d heard of a few through the army’s gossip channels, a very few, could read a dead body, tell you what the corpse had died of, what the person had in their stomach and who knew what else. One in a thousand could do that.

  What he needed was some sort of test.

  “Hold this for me.” Samos scooped up the sleepy rat and gave it to him. “Now, think hard, can you tell me anything about this one?”

  Joss shrugged. “Not really.”

  “Sure of that?”

  “Um. It’s got gut worms?”

  That could be a guess. Most everything had worms at one time or another. Wait, he was using the wrong animal. “What about me. What can you tell me?” He’d been speared once, by an irate drunken soldier who’d thought he was the one doing his girlfriend. He wasn’t doing her, though the man had been close to right. He’d thought about it a lot.

  “No. Can’t look inside you. The needles.” Joss pointed. “They make it hard to see.”

  “Then, you can see inside?” He ran a hand through his hair and scuffled it round. Last try. “What about Tatiana?”

  Silence. The boy half-closed his eyes, looked at the ceiling and revolved his neck as if the thought had unearthed some deep seam.

  “Her. The pretty lady? She’s got a heart problem too. Sort of. It was there but it’s gone. What’s there now I can’t see into – like your needles.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s it?”

  “Mmm, ’cept that her body needs something. I felt that real strong, and if she don’t get it, she’ll die.”

  Samos swallowed. Damn. Die?

  “Maybe you could ask her what it is? I’d hate it if she died. She’s been nice to me.”

  “Yeah. She’s like that, isn’t she?” Asking her was exactly what he should do, but how could he? Getting close to her was as healthy as patting a snake. He didn’t need any freaky compulsion to have sex, no matter how pretty she was. And for all his plans to avoid being an Immolator, he’d ended up worse than he’d started with. Years of his life had slipped away by now.

  He curled both fists. The jade pendant dug into his palm. If she died, he imagined this ship would turn straight around and head back to port. With his luck, they’d even pin her death on him. He had to find out more, and the only one who held the answers was Tatiana.

  Up on deck, Teo was training with a number of the off-duty crew. Though the crew eyed Samos with their dubious hostility, Teo spun to a stop, stood back from his three opponents, and beckoned Samos over. He was bare-chested and clad in only black hose. The gold needle heads on his chest and arms sparked with sunlight. Off to one side, his gray Immolator tunic and bandolier of bronze-handled knives sat in a heap.

  “Fight?” Teo growled, raising his eyebrows. Arms hanging loose, he shook out his long fingers, and his blond dreadlocks writhed.

  “No thanks,” Samos said languidly and raised the rat he carried in his hands to eye level. “Got things to do.” That really made Teo’s eyebrows pop up. Samos grinned and walked on, knowing they were all staring at his back. It was fully twenty seconds before the slap and boot-thudding-on-timber sounds of sparring returned.

  Joss jogged alongside. “Where are we going, Samos?”

  “My bunk.” He thought on the location of his bed. Not with the rest of the crew, not in some makeshift jail where they might watch his comings and goings. No, he had a cabin within yards of Tatiana’
s. Cautiously, he probed his mind for signs of the compulsion. Nothing. But smell...his nostrils widened. Ah, there was something tantalizing. Like a perfumed scarf trailed across his skin, soft and sweet. He shook himself.

  “If you’re plannin’ on keeping the rat, don’t you need a cage, sir?”

  He blinked, glanced down at Joss. The stay on the ship was doing him some good. His hair, once a greasy mud-colored mat, though still mud-colored, now shone and shifted in the breeze. “A cage?” He stopped. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Have you got one?”

  “No.” He couldn’t recall seeing anything like a cage down in the hold, and although there might be something useful somewhere on this ship, with all its convoluted passageways, the crew wasn’t going to help him. “I’ll think of something.”

  The sight of his bunk, with sheets and thin blanket pulled up neat, poured potent lead into his eyelids and limbs. One tiny salt-crusted porthole looked out onto the gangway. He yawned.

  “Close the door, Joss. Here, hold the rat.” Still fast asleep, the creature slid limply into Joss’s cradled arms. Its gray pelt was thick and soft, almost inviting pats, its protruding front incisors strong and white. “You ever had a pet, Joss?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Help me look for holes.” If he couldn’t get a cage straight away, he’d try letting it loose.

  Where the ceiling met the wall there was a gap and he sent Joss away to find timber and nails, figuring the ship’s carpenter would be more likely to donate such things if Joss asked. By the time Joss returned with a chunk of timber, a hammer and nails, the rat was stirring. It lifted its head, peered about blearily then flopped back down.

  “Thanks, Joss.” He eyed the timber. A foot of planed pine, it would do. “Would you like to sleep here?”

  Joss shifted from one foot to the other, studied the rat, then looked up again. “Here? You’re planning on letting her loose, aren’t, you?”

  “Yep.” Damn, it was a she. He’d not seen that. “The rat won’t do more than nibble a bit, as long as we keep it fed.” He hoped. “Oh, and we might get a few droppings, some smell.” Surely the boy had seen worse at the docks.