Needle Rain

by Cari Silverwood

  Finding them would be easy. Here, where neither man nor woman had set foot for many years, they’d left a scent trail as thick and substantial as a rope.

  C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - S E V E N

  Every needle placed by a needle master costs the recipient some of their lifespan.

  *****

  “Omi was right,” Heloise whispered, staring into the trapdoor hole. “Vassbinder. He’s down there, ugly as ever. I can feel him.”

  “In the daytime?” Thom questioned.

  “Yes.” And she wondered at the strength and strangeness of a ghost who could deny the natural pull of light and darkness. “Do you still believe there’s anything left? Any manuscripts, books? It’s all decayed, rotted.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Not up here. If there was, it’s buried beyond where we can find it. But maybe down there.” He looked to where Bull was patiently widening the rusted-out section, slicing away the fragile rust on the trapdoor with the back of his knife.

  Heloise swung around at a rushing noise, wincing as a needle stub in her shoulder twisted. She was in time to see a man clad in black dash into the room so fast he did a hop and a few sideways skips before he stopped. Bull was large but this man was enormous. Every muscle stood out, bulging and gleaming, as if sculpted with a knife.

  She knew who it must be, despite the changes in his physique and the lack of visible needles. Samos Goodkin, the Immolator she’d last seen cradling his wife-to-be, Pela. Her eyes widened. He had to still be needled, which meant he’d broken them off.

  How had he found them? If she’d been followed, surely he would have turned up before this? His hand dropped to his waist in a well-rehearsed movement, as if to draw a sword, and he looked at Thom, and she knew why he’d come. To kill.

  Bull straightened, knife in hand. Thom stood stock still, mouth agape, a dull look of resignation mixed with fear slackening his face. He knew.

  A thump made the floor vibrate. More rust slid into the hole. Heloise turned back in time to see the Immolator leap and bounce off the leaf-strewn ground. He was in mid-air three yards away, hurtling forward, his arm drawing back for a killing blow, his eyes targeted on Thom.

  She flung herself in front of Thom though unsure why. Caught in a split second decision she realised this would hurt. A shadow flickered overhead as Samos somehow flipped and went over them, to land and roll on the mulch heap beyond the trapdoor.

  Momentum made her stumble. So fast, and he was on the other side of Thom now, behind them both. Too fast for anyone to stop him. She scrambled to brace herself, anticipating the blow as cold goosebumps prickled her skin with fear.

  Nothing happened.

  Samos stood, glowering, his black hair as wild as a medusa’s. Sweat gleamed on his forehead and his thick neck. His arms were loose at his sides, his legs were flexed at the knee, a shoulder-width apart. Relaxed, yet ready.

  “Stay right there,” growled Bull. The gheist weapon, Toad, was cradled in his arms, pointing to the ground. He snicked back the loader, then raised the muzzle.

  Wham, Samos had flash-moved nearer. He stepped, his hand flicked out, and he wrenched away Toad. With one finger in the trigger guard, he casually dangled the weapon.

  “No shooting. Let’s talk. Two minutes.” Samos paused, as if listening for something. “Yes. Two minutes. Why? Why are you protecting him?” Chest heaving, he waited for a reply.

  Waiting for her reply, Heloise realized, as his gaze settled.

  Thom stepped forward, hands palm outward. “Whatever argument you have, it’s with me. You want revenge? Here I am.”

  “Thom...” First she wanted to kill him and now she was defending him.

  “Revenge? No. I want my life back. That’s all.” Samos flicked a switch then tossed the gun onto the debris pile. “There’s a turncoat Imperial Investigator headed this way with thirty, forty men, and one Immolator who thinks she’s his commander. I need your head, Drager, to get a pardon from the Imperator. And I need it before they get here. I can’t fight that many.” He shrugged. “Sorry, but you’re dead anyway once the enforcers get hold of you.”

  “My head?” Thom swallowed. “For your pardon?”

  The logic of it evaded Heloise. “Why are you so sure this will get you a pardon?”

  “Because I am. Likelihood of ninety, ninety-five percent.” His gaze was steady, showing not an iota of doubt. “The memory worm was useless, damaged. That was the purpose of this whole shambles. Mr. Drager here is now the only way for them to get the Immolator recipe. They’ll suck it out of him somehow. Torture maybe, if he doesn’t give it freely.”

  “Well,” Bull muttered, smiling. “Ninety or ninety-five. That’s not quite certain, is it?”

  “So? I’m not perfect.”

  Thom sighed. “But I don’t have it. The recipe. I’m no longer a functioning Needle Master.”

  Samos had asked why, Heloise suddenly realized, because he had his own doubts. Too many people needed Thom intact – herself, Omi, even that little girl, Mara. “There has to be another way!”

  “Tell me then,” Samos snarled. “Tell me!”

  “Your two minutes...” Bull looked around at the door. “Are they coming through?”

  Thom fell to his knees. “Do it quickly.”

  She couldn’t think her way through this maze in time to convince him.

  Her stomach churned. If there’d been any breakfast left in it she might have been able to think. Breakfast. She remembered the spoon, pointing it. Remembered her thoughts. She spun, looking round, examining the structure, the way the walls had crumbled in parts. This was like a big jigsaw puzzle. Maybe. The floor was solid... Maybe there was a way.

  “Samos! Wait! If he dies, many, many people are going to suffer. And I know a way out of this. I do.” And there appeared, at the back of her mind, another hazy, mad idea, that might work. And because this building had just delivered one answer to her, maybe her other idea would work too.

  Samos shut his eyes a second then shook his head crazily as if shaking something loose. He crunched his hands into fists. “I’ll hold you to that. Thirty seconds. Give me an answer!”

  Even she could hear the sound of people running.

  A chunk of rubble the size of a large pumpkin would do for this.

  “Samos, grab that. When we’re all in the trapdoor hole, I need you to hit that spot near the door as hard as you can.” She pointed. “Now. Everyone. In the hole.” Though puzzled, Thom and Bull jumped in and she followed them. Dirt and rubble had flowed in over the years through smaller rusted-out holes and she could stand with her head and shoulders still in the room above.

  With ease, Samos lifted the stone, carried it over, slid in next to her. “I see the spot.” And he looked at her, studied her face. “You mean to collapse the upper stories down on us.”

  “Yes.”

  “How do we get out afterward?”

  Say this steadily, as if you know for sure. “I have a plan.”

  “A plan.” He blew out his cheeks. “It had better be a good one.” And he threw the stone.

  It flew, tumbling, straight as a bolt from a crossbow, and hit the door lintel with a crump. Cracks appeared, a piece of the wall the size of a shield peeled away and toppled out. Then, with a thunderous sound, everything came down.

  A storm of dust roiled toward them. Chunks of wall fell like gigantic dominoes. The building shuddered underfoot then roared.

  “Run!” someone screamed.

  Heloise couldn’t tell who. Besides, she was already running then half-sliding down the mound into a hallway, then tripping. Her arm was grabbed by Samos and wrenched half from its socket as he dragged her deeper, following the madly bobbing light of the trink lamp that Bull carried. The dust swallowed them. Heloise pitched forward on her stomach and the world was lost in blackness.

  Seconds or minutes later, she coughed and spat out half a mouthful of grit before dragging herself to her knees. Light glowed through the fog. Dust hung in the a
ir. Her knees were stinging and poking out through rips in the fabric. Damn, her leggings were going to be ruined. She choked out a laugh.

  “That you? Heloise?” Bull croaked. He spat. “This place tastes awful.”

  “Where are you?” The light came toward her.

  “Here.” Bull shuffled up and took her hand. Thom emerged behind him. This must be a small room. She blinked, feeling the dust lingering in her eyes. Footsteps crunched behind her and Samos appeared, ducking through a doorway that had the door wrenched half off.

  The hallway they’d run down would be through there, where he’d come from. Once this dust settled more they’d be able to see better. She put a hand to her stomach. That sick feeling had returned. It wasn’t from the nearness of death. It was Vassbinder’s ghost. And the awareness went both ways. He knew she was coming.

  “The hallway to the trapdoors is jammed with rubble,” said Samos. “You’ve gained us time, girl. Now tell us this plan.” His face, hair, and clothes were gray.

  Heloise shook herself and watched the dislodged dust coil and writhe in the light. “We go down. There’re two stories below this. From what I saw yesterday, there’ll be another opening to seaward further down and we can climb out. If not, we’ll dig our way through. It’s possible, I know it.”

  “That’s your plan? There are enough holes in it to drive a cart through. If we can all climb out, they can climb in.” Clearly disgusted, Samos put his hands out to prop against the doorway. Head slumping, he stared at the floor. “I’m mad, aren’t I? Gave up my only chance for this idiocy.”

  “Not idiocy,” she snapped.

  “No?” He raised his head. “Then tell me how I’m to get back to my Pela when I’m wanted across all of the nation? How I’m to be a father to my child when I’m dead?”

  She had to say something. “There’s more to it, only it’ll sound so crazy. Just...trust me. Please.”

  “Funny.” He smiled in a joyless way. “Heard that, trust me, only a few days ago from the very woman who’s now up there trying to kill us all. You have no idea what I’ve been through to get here.”

  “And you have no idea what I’ve been through to get here! Maybe we can compare histories some other time!”

  He put his arms down and stood there quietly. “I’ll trust you. For now. No choice, really. Lead on.”

  ****

  The trapdoors marked a transition in the sea-mansion. They’d gone from the above grand palatial surroundings, with hints of broad staircases and rooms situated to make the most of the sea views, to architecture that was a cross between a dormitory and a prison. They advanced along a corridor running parallel to the cliff face, where the rooms to either side were small and square and identical. Heloise was in no doubt that the children Vassbinder had experimented upon had once lived and slept, perhaps died, in those rooms.

  “There are no ghosts here,” she murmured, pausing in the doorway to peer into yet another gray cell-like room. But Samos and Bull had gone past. Bull was carrying the trink lamp and sticking close to Samos. The two of them made a curiously well-matched pair. She listened to their banter and matter-of-fact exchange of information.

  “How much ammunition in that thing?”

  “Toad? Five only. Expensive stuff. Lucky to sneak it out as it was.”

  “Bastard things those. Never liked ’em. Could be your great-grandfather in that ectoplasm, for all you know.”

  “Yeah. Know what you mean, but they have their uses.”

  “For amateurs, maybe.”

  “Better than being a butt-kissing pavement pounder in a garrison.”

  “Watch your tongue, man.”

  If taken literally, it sounded like war was imminent, but the words were said in a light-hearted tone.

  Another voice spoke next to her. “No lights or windows.”

  She jumped, but it was only Thom, standing close behind her and peering into the cell. “Vassbinder could afford trink lights; perhaps they were removed. We’d better follow them or we’ll be without light ourselves.”

  “Imagine, living down here without light.” In the dimness, Heloise could see Thom staring over her head into the tiny room.

  “Don’t,” she said, shivering. “I’ve had enough frights for one day, already. Has any of this stirred your Needle Master ability to life?”

  “No. I’m sorry. Nothing as yet.”

  “Come.” She briefly touched his arm. “Let’s catch up.” Though, of course, Bull had already stopped to wait for them.

  Touch was such an intimate sense. Like a spark set to dry tinder, her fingers had registered the feel of his skin, relished it, and sent mild pleasure racing through her.

  Only a fraction of a second had she paused, but he’d noticed.

  Nervous, she looked up at him. His face was all dark shadows and ravines. Unreadable.

  He lightly rested his hand on her shoulder. If the other had been a spark, this was the heat of fire.

  She resisted flinching away.

  “Thank you for what you did back there,” he said, softly. “I owe so much to so many that I don’t know what value my own life is any more. If I have to, I’ll go with Samos, though preferably not dead.” He half laughed. “But not until I’ve done my utmost to help you also, and Omi.”

  Bull was watching. What would he think they were talking about?

  Thom’s meaning sank in. Aghast, she drew back, whispering, “Don’t talk about being dead.”

  The closeness stifled her. She felt her breaths merge with his, and with the wall at her back, Thom seemed to be closer than before. She reached up, hesitantly, until her fingertips grazed his face and felt the lightest stubble.

  When he leaned in to kiss her, she was slow in reacting and his lips brushed hers before she managed a shaky no. Her palm on his chest convinced him.

  Thom stopped and nodded then straightened. His sorry was so light only she could’ve heard it. Her wry shrug was so infinitesimal only the two of them could know. It was nobody else’s business anyway.

  Stupid of her though. “I...I gave the wrong signals. It was my mistake.”

  “Mutual. At least now I know.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Hah,” Samos muttered further up the corridor. “So that’s why she didn’t want me to kill him. Thought you said he’d done something awful to her?”

  That brush of his lips on hers had felt so good, the thrill of awakening desire unmistakable. He hadn’t moved farther away and her hand remained flattened to his chest. Each breath he took communicated to her through her palm, as did his heartbeat.

  This was wrong. Had to be.

  They might die soon.

  She clenched her hand, gathering the cloth of his shirt, then she rose to her tiptoes and kissed him, once, but long enough to make both their hearts accelerate. As she lowered herself to stand flat-footed again, his eyes followed hers.

  “Don’t say anything. That was just...a maybe.” Reluctantly, she released his shirt.

  He studied her then nodded.

  This wasn’t the time for more than promises.

  “I won’t,” he murmured, so close she felt the heat of his body. “And I won’t talk about being dead again.”

  “Good.” Her laugh broke the tension and he smiled. As they both turned, she said under her breath, “I’d like to talk some more, one day, about everything.”

  They needed to say more to each other. Much more.

  “Sure. Now, we need to concentrate on surviving.”

  “Of course.”

  “The next stairs down are here,” announced Bull, as they approached, giving her the dirtiest look she’d ever had from him.

  She really should have told Bull that she’d never seen him in the way that he hoped she did. Later. It had to wait.

  These stairs were an anomaly.

  “I think there should have been another set near the trapdoors. Buried further back, perhaps.” Though this came second-hand via her borrowed architect sense, it made sense.


  Bull grunted. “Well, these’ll do. They’re here, we’re here.”

  “Sure.”

  The stairs were stone, as everything seemed to be, and the next level down was lower than expected. Following the slope of the cliff? That would be also sensible, as the alternative would have been to chip away at rock. The stairwell was the deepest black at the bottom, as if it had become another color altogether.

  “This is the lowest level,” she found herself saying as they took the final turn of the stairs.

  How did I know that?

  Every hair on her body slowly stood up.

  Her knowledge had come from outside her own self – from Vassbinder. How quietly he’d penetrated her thoughts. If he could do that so easily, what else might he do?

  No. No. Think. Be logical. She mustn’t let fear control her.

  It couldn’t be deliberate. This was as relentless and natural as the sea washing onto the beach and wetting the grains of sand.

  Down here, his influence pervaded every particle of air and structure. Down here, he had been god for more than a hundred years. The god of ghosts, for there were more ghosts than she could count.

  “Can you see them?” she asked. “Turn up the lantern!”

  They flitted across her vision, dark as a shadow, and barely as high as her waist.

  On the sea-damp floor lay many child-sized skeletons. Fifteen, or twenty, perhaps. Those close to her bore the marks of an unnatural death. Gold needles lay among the bones, still whole and shining despite the passage of time and the salt-moistened air. Gold didn’t rust.

  The room was wide and long. The trink light only illuminated thirty feet of its length. The stairs had turned them about and this room ran beneath the area they’d traversed upstairs. At the farthest end, a broad set of iron doors spanned the left wall, and near them spear-thin rays of sunlight pierced through. The room that the doors opened onto must be in daylight, its walls broken and exposed to the sea.