The hallways of Unity Hall echoed with the sound of their heavy boots as Fray and Byrne marched to the Khevassar’s office. Rummpoe, his ageing assistant, could see from their grim expressions that the matter was urgent. Even so he held up one hand, pointed at the chairs beside his desk and let himself into the Khevassar’s office. Less than a minute later he re-emerged and gestured for them to go straight in.
As ever the Old Man was surrounded by a stack of documents spread out across his desk. A stack of unopened letters sat on a side table awaiting his attention.
“Close the door,” he said without looking up, quickly scribbled a signature on one document and then put it to one side on the stack. “What have you found?”
They laid out the investigation so far, from the dockside workers to the arena, to finding the Flesh Mage and then Bav’s body. Byrne didn’t mention what had happened to Fray at the arena, but he knew now wasn’t the right time to mention it. When Byrne had finished, the Khevassar sat back with a thoughtful expression.
“Flesh Mage. Yes, I remember that first case,” he said with a sour twist to his mouth. “She was working her way up the social ladder. Killing people and becoming them for a short time, before they met with untimely accidents. By the end she’d accumulated quite a lot of wealth, but money wasn’t her goal. I think she wanted to kill the Queen and assume her position.”
“What can you tell me about Flesh Mages and their magic?” asked Fray. “How did my father beat them?”
“I can tell you about the cases, but little about magic. Your father never told me how it was done,” said the Old Man. “Don’t look so disappointed. I’ll have his old journals and Byrne’s brought up from the archives. They may give you some answers.”
“And in the meantime?” asked Byrne. “What do you want us to do?”
“In the previous cases the murders were almost incidental. They were a way for the Flesh Mages to manoeuvre themselves into position and gather power.”
“How?” asked Fray. “How does it work?”
“You’re the one with the magic,” said the Khevassar. “You tell me and I’ll share what I know.”
“From what I’ve seen a Flesh Mage is like a mosquito, or a sponge,” said Fray, and Byrne grunted in agreement. “They soak up energy from other people.”
“There’s more to it than that. Do you remember what you felt at the arena?” asked Byrne. “They also feed on strong emotions, but they amplify them, twist them, and feed them back to people.”
That made sense given the web of energy Fray had seen and felt at the arena.
“The organiser at the arena,” said Fray. “He said there was something in the air and that people were hungry for blood.”
“He’s trying to accumulate power for something. It’s just like the last time,” said Byrne. “But something must have gone wrong at the arena.”
Maybe the Flesh Mage had lost control or he’d tried to absorb too much energy and there’d been a backlash. Fray just didn’t know enough about how the magic worked and could only guess.
“With the fights shut down he’ll need a new source of power,” the Old Man was saying. “You need to focus on that and you’ll find him.”
Now more than ever Fray wished his father was still alive so he could ask him about all of this. More than once he’d tried to contact his father using his magic, but nothing of him had lingered. It was a small comfort to know he was beyond this place, but right now Fray could really have used his help.
“We’ll do what we can,” said Byrne, moving towards the door, and Fray stood up to follow.
“Give us half an hour,” said the Old Man, dismissing Byrne. A small frown creased the Guardian’s brow but he left without further comment.
“Tell me about Byrne,” said the Old Man without preamble.
Fray thought for a minute and chose his words with care. “He’s more callous than I remember. He’s completely focused on solving the case, but I overheard him talking to another Guardian about a missing person case. He just didn’t seem to care about the people involved.”
“Even you?” asked the Khevassar. Fray should have known better than to try and hide the truth. The Old Man had decades of experience with reading people. “Something happened, didn’t it?”
Fray felt guilty and said nothing at first, but the Old Man waited patiently. Eventually Fray told him what had happened at the arena and how unpredictable Byrne had become.
“He’s not the same man I remember,” said Fray. “The old Byrne was always calm and he genuinely cared about people. Now he’s angry and bitter most of the time. There’s also urgency to him, like he’s running out of time.”
The Khevassar grunted, as if he’d been expecting Fray to say that. “I think Byrne needs some help and time away from the job. In fact I can’t remember the last time he took a day off.”
“He’s determined to solve this case,” said Fray, still feeling guilty.
“There are many capable and experienced Guardians, Fray. He’s not the only one.” The Old Man’s tone was one of reproach.
“Yes, Sir.”
“But I admire your loyalty to him, in spite of everything.”
“When will you tell him?”
“Today. I’ll assign you to another Guardian for the remainder of your apprenticeship.”
The Khevassar waved him towards the door and turned back to the endless mountain of paperwork. Fray felt ashamed but he didn’t think he could make the situation any worse, so he stayed in his seat.
“What is it, Fray?” asked the Old Man, tapping his pen in the ink pot.
“How did my father really die?”
The question floated around the room and then settled on them both with the weight of iron manacles. Fray would not be moved until he had some answers and the Old Man knew it. He suspected that both the old Guardian and Byrne knew more than they were saying, but now it might be important to solving this case. He needed to know.
The Khevassar heaved a long sigh, cleaned the nib of his pen and laid it to one side.
“Five years ago a man came to the city,” said the Old Man. “We didn’t know at first, but later we realised it was what your father called a Flesh Mage. Then there were a series of events, each one more violent and widespread than the last. The Flesh Mage was feeding and building up his power towards something catastrophic. Your father explained it to me at the time and I’m still struggling with how it works, but I accepted it.”
Fray was shocked by the admittance and how rattled the Old Man looked, even all these years later.
“What was it?”
Instead of answering directly the Khevassar took a key from a chain around his neck and unlocked a drawer in his desk. He drew out a series of pages torn from a notebook, which he passed across the desk. Even before he saw the familiar handwriting Fray knew what they were.
“I took these from your father’s private journal,” he told Fray. “I told him not to write it down in his official report and he agreed. The information is just too dangerous. I was going to destroy it, but I thought you had a right to know.”
“How much does Byrne know?”
“Not much. His memory of that time is patchy. I think what he saw at the end, as much as what happened to your father, is responsible for how he is now.” The Khevassar pointed at the pages in Fray’s hand. “It’s all in there, but don’t tell anyone, especially not Byrne. Read them, and then burn them.”
Fray tucked the pages away safely inside his jacket but he didn’t make the promise to destroy them. He might change his mind later, but right now it was another link to his father and finally the answer about how and why he’d died.
Byrne was pacing in the waiting room outside and immediately set off at a fast pace when Fray appeared.
“What did he want?”
“To see how I was getting on,” said Fray. Byrne seemed uninterested and his eyes were distant as they marched along the corridors.
They left Unity Hall and w
alked through the city in silence for a time, each wrapped up in their own thoughts when the sound of raised voices caught their attention. He exchanged a look with Byrne who pointed off to the right and they both sprinted towards the disturbance.
As Fray came around a corner he saw an angry mob was trying to attack someone huddled on the ground. Crouched over the fallen victim was another Guardian who had her sword in hand, but it was still in its scabbard. The crowd were screaming and shouting, a few tried to shove the Guardian aside but she knocked down four men with sharp punches to the face that sent them reeling. But those four were quickly replaced by several more angry faces baying for blood.
Byrne didn’t hesitate, he launched himself at the crowd, elbowing a man in the face and kicking a second in the stomach. He laid into the crowd using fists and knees to create a pool of space around the Guardian. Fray followed closely behind him, using his sheathed blade on anyone who tried to attack Byrne’s exposed back. The crowd fell back at the viciousness of their combined assault, which gave the other Guardian a chance to get to her feet.
A tall shadow fell over Fray and he tilted his head up to stare at Tammy Baker, the tall Guardian.
“Get back!” Byrne bellowed at the crowd, drawing his sword with a flourish which made the steel ring. Fray heard another sword being drawn and followed suit. Some of the aggression seeped out of the crowd now that they were facing three armed Guardians. Byrne swung his sword in a few wide arcs, which made the mob move back a few more steps. “The next person who gets within arm’s reach is going to bleed.”
“They won’t cut us,” sneered one woman, boldly stepping forward with two men. When nothing happened the woman grinned at them. “Told you they wouldn’t do nothing.”
She screamed and fell back as Byrne’s sword left a long trail down her left arm. Baker sliced one man above his eyebrows and the other on his outstretched hand. Fray could see the cuts were just scratches, but they all bled profusely, which convinced the crowd to keep their distance.
Baker and Byrne were both exceptional with a blade. Despite his moderate skill Fray wouldn’t have attempted such a trick. He’d probably cut off someone’s ear by accident.
“Who’s next?” asked Byrne, but no one volunteered. “What’s going on here, Baker?”
Fray risked a glance at the figure on the ground behind him. A local teenage boy with pale skin and red hair lay on his side. One half of his face was bruised and his clothes were soaking wet and smeared with dirt.
“They were trying to drown him in a trough,” said Baker.
“He’s not right. He’s cursed,” said one woman, stepping forward and then quickly retreating as Byrne’s blade whistled through the air in front of her.
“Give us to him and go on about your business,” said one doughy man with a bristly moustache. “There’s nothing here for you. Just family business.”
“Twenty adults trying to drown a boy isn’t family business,” said Baker.
“I’m his mother,” said the woman with the cut on her arm. “You’ve no right to get involved.”
“This gives me the right,” hissed Byrne, gesturing at his uniform.
“It won’t happen again,” whimpered the boy, who seemed confused and dazed. “I’ll be good. I promise!” he pleaded, reaching out a beseeching hand. His mother recoiled in horror as if he were a venomous snake.
“You’re no son of mine,” she said before spitting.
“You can’t stop us all,” said a chubby man, finding his voice. “And you can’t stay here all day. Just walk away.”
Despite their injuries the crowd had not dispersed. Even without using his magic Fray could sense the pressure was building. Their anger had not been sated and, worse, they still felt they were in the right. The other two Guardians sensed the shift in the mood as well, as they simultaneously fell back a step into a fighting stance.
“No one has to get hurt,” said the boy’s mother. “Just leave him to us.”
Fray could hear the boy weeping; horrible wrenching sobs. Everyone knew what would happen if they walked away.
“This is your last warning,” said Byrne. “Walk away now. I will kill the first person who crosses the line,” he warned them, sketching a line in the air between them. A few in the crowd looked uneasy, but most seemed to take strength from their numbers. Fray wasn’t sure Byrne’s had been an idle threat and he believed he was capable and willing to carry it out if they pushed him.
As the hair began to stand up on the back of Fray’s neck he heard a strange thumping in his ears. At first he thought it was just his frantic pulse, but he soon realised it came from the boy. There was a peculiar echo and he sensed a connection with the boy. He’d not felt anything like it since waking up to find a masked Seeker in his room.
“He’s not cursed,” said Fray. Byrne raised an eyebrow but there wasn’t time to elaborate. The mob started to move towards them en masse, one step at a time. Part of Fray didn’t believe the crowd would actually do this. Try to get past three armed Guardians to injure a defenceless boy. He expected members of the Watch to turn up any second but no one appeared.
Just as he’d been instructed, Fray took a deep breath to centre himself and then picked his first target.
“Stop,” said a woman’s voice. The sound was so loud it made his ears hum. “Do not move,” said the commanding voice and everyone looked around in surprise. A figure dressed in black, with gloves and a deep hood, marched towards them up the street. The woman’s face was covered with a gold mask which Fray recognised, but no one else showed any signs of recognition. He didn’t need to hear the uneven breathing to know it was Eloise.
Someone in the crowd decided to ignore the latest distraction but as they tried to shove the Guardians aside, Eloise intervened. She made a small twisting motion with one hand and the attacker’s forearm snapped in the middle. Suddenly his clenched fist pointed at the sky. Fray could see broken white bone and stringy muscle poking through the skin.
Shrieking in pain the man stumbled back, clutching his ruined arm. The rest of the crowd took several steps back. Eloise stood in the middle of the two groups, completely unafraid at facing down a hostile crowd.
“Leave this place,” said the Seeker, pointing one finger at a couple of people. Those targeted quickly ducked or moved to one side, trying to avoid being in front of that dangerous finger.
“What about the boy?” persisted the mother.
Eloise stared at the woman and, despite the mask, Fray could feel the hatred in her stare. “He doesn’t belong to you.”
The other Guardians exchanged confused glances, but they both knew not to upset an already delicate situation. Any orders they gave, even if they didn’t conflict with the Seeker, might upset the balance and reignite the crowd’s ire. Instead, they stayed silent and immobile, carefully watching for signs of violence.
“Good riddance,” muttered the boy’s mother. She tried for a sneer until Eloise pointed at her and started to twist her hand. The woman screamed and ran, quickly followed by the rest of the crowd. Within less than a minute the street was empty.
“Who are you?” asked Byrne but the Seeker didn’t answer. She looked at Fray and seemed to be waiting.
Eloise had told him that when he discovered a child with potential, someone would find him. He hadn’t thought it would happen so quickly.
“She’s a Seeker from the Red Tower,” he said. “The boy should go with her.”
“We can’t just give him to a masked stranger,” said Baker, kneeling down beside the boy.
“What other choice is there?” asked Fray, directing his question at Byrne. “We can’t take care of him. He’s too old to go into an orphanage, and we can’t just leave him here. They’ll come back and finish the job, or he’ll end up on the streets. If he’s really unlucky he could get pulled into one of the Families.”
“I will make sure that his natural magical talent is nurtured,” promised Eloise. “He will never go hungry and we will teach hi
m to control his power. What he does after that will be his choice.”
Fray noticed the other Guardians still had their blades held ready. Neither of them trusted the masked Seeker, but Fray felt an innate sense of kinship with her. He could feel the echo of power that connected them in a way he’d never experienced before.
“Take the boy,” said Byrne, sheathing his sword, but Baker didn’t follow suit.
“This isn’t right,” she said.
“What other choice is there? At least this way he has a chance.”
Baker and the Seeker stared at one another in silence. For a long time neither moved and they barely seemed to blink.
“We will look after him. I promise,” said Eloise.
Eventually Baker relented, sheathing her sword and stepping aside. The Seeker crouched down beside the boy, quickly running a hand over his body, looking for injuries. The boy hissed when the Seeker touched his shoulder.
A strange prickling sensation ran across Fray’s scalp and the boy twitched in surprise. “My shoulder. It feels better.”
“I’ve healed your injuries,” said Eloise, helping the boy to stand up. The bruises on his face had also disappeared.
“How did you do that?”
“If you come with me then you’ll learn how to do that and a thousand more things with magic.”
“You don’t have to go with her,” said Baker, trying one last time. “We can find somewhere for you to live. You can stay in Perizzi.”
The boy considered it but eventually shook his head. “I want to go. There’s nothing for me here any more.”
As the boy walked away Fray could feel the other Guardians staring at him, waiting for some answers, but he said nothing. It seemed as if he would have to keep secrets for the rest of his life. What was one more secret on top of the others?
CHAPTER 24
Katja stared at the steam rising from her cup of tea, but her mind remained in the recent past. Her thoughts swirled in slow muddy circles and she felt as if she were teetering on the edge of an abyss. Every time she closed her eyes she could see him, smell his body pressed against her and hear his frantic heartbeat. She’d held him like a lover at the end. No one deserved to die alone.
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