Bloodmage

by Stephen Aryan

  Munroe shook herself and tried to focus. She still had no idea why the Don had chosen her instead of Vargus or the grisly Daxx for protection. There were fifty people more qualified, but not even his wife had been able to change his mind.

  “We’re almost there,” said Don Jarrow over his shoulder. “Keep your eyes open.”

  Munroe bit the inside of her mouth to stop herself from pointing out that she had to keep her eyes open to see where she was going. Another sarcastic retort bubbled up and she bit down harder until the pain made her wince.

  They turned a corner and at the end of the street the roof of the arena came into view. Munroe’s thoughts immediately turned to Choss. She’d not seen him since that night at the Emerald Dragon. She vaguely remembered their conversation and that he’d been quite sombre, which was unusual. Part of her recalled she’d made a pass at him, but the details kept slipping away. She would have to pay him a visit at home, if she made it out of this meeting alive.

  Munroe liked spending time with Choss and missed his gentle heart and his self-assurance. Some people were so uncomfortable in their own skin, so afraid of what thoughts might occur, they couldn’t sit quietly for five minutes. They had to fill the air with meaningless words, say anything to distract themselves from deeper thought. Choss knew exactly who he was and, more importantly, who she really was. She didn’t have a connection like that with anyone else.

  A massive bald man with tiny ears stood guard at the door to the arena. A dozen jokes sprang to mind and Munroe had to bite her mouth again. If this continued all night she’d bite a hole in her cheek.

  “Jakka,” said Don Jarrow. The big man studied them carefully, raising one eyebrow slightly when he spotted Munroe, but she gave him a look, daring him to say something. Instead he let them inside without saying a word and she blew him a kiss as she went past.

  She followed Don Jarrow between the rows of seats towards the ring at the centre of the arena. The ropes had been taken down from around the edge and a table and five chairs set up in the middle of the raised platform. Two of the other heads of Families had already arrived and were making small talk while their bodyguards glared at one another.

  Dońa Parvie wore the same grubby leathers as always and her long greasy black hair looked as if it hadn’t been washed this year. Parvie and her twin sister were ghastly creatures who relished violence in all its forms. They also had fewer morals than a cutthroat who’d steal the gold teeth from their dead grandmother’s mouth before the body was cold. But there was a sly rat-like cunning about her that enabled her to stay one step ahead of other people.

  Dońa Parvie lounged idly on her chair, but her beady eyes never stopped moving. When she saw Don Jarrow she sat upright and her burly bodyguard flexed his muscles. Munroe had never met him before but she knew the type. Huge muscles, except where it counted, and a cabbage for a brain. He glared at everyone but completely dismissed Munroe, which made her hands twitch.

  The other Don looked as if he’d wandered in by accident. Don Lowell looked and dressed like someone’s grandfather, with wispy grey hair, round glasses and a kind face with so many wrinkles he resembled a piece of crumpled paper. He smiled often and with genuine warmth, but he was also known to smile as he watched people being butchered and fed to his dogs. Behind Don Lowell stood a scarred woman with a face only her mother could love. It looked as if someone had repeatedly hit it with a shovel until all of her features were flat. Worst of all was her eyes. There was nothing inside, just two black holes as if she were already dead.

  “Ah, Don Jarrow,” said Don Lowell, getting up slowly and warmly greeting his competitor as if they were friends, or perhaps father and son. No one knew how old Don Lowell actually was, but he played up the part of being the most senior. He’d probably outlive everyone, just to be spiteful. “Come, join us.”

  Don Jarrow glanced at Dońa Parvie, who just grinned, showing a set of yellow teeth which she’d had sharpened to points.

  “And who is this lovely young lady?” said Don Lowell. Munroe felt his gaze settle on her as if it had actual weight. His eyes moved over her in a way that made her skin crawl, and when he looked towards Don Jarrow she couldn’t repress a shudder. “Not your usual. Is Vargus unwell?”

  “He’s fine,” said Don Jarrow. “This is Munroe.”

  “Ah, the infamous Munroe,” said Don Lowell. She didn’t know which disturbed her more, the way he said her name or that he knew who she was. “Perhaps I could persuade you to come and work for me. I’ll double whatever you’re being paid.”

  Don Jarrow had told her this might happen and that she had to be nice.

  “That’s generous, but no thanks,” she managed to say.

  Dońa Parvie laughed, a nasty snuffling sound like a rutting pig. “I wouldn’t pay two copper pennies for her. She couldn’t protect a warm cup of piss.”

  “Is that what he’s for? Guarding your piss bucket?” said Munroe, jerking her chin towards the muscle-bound idiot behind Dońa Parvie.

  “Otto can do a lot more than that.”

  “I’m sure. He looks very… dense,” said Munroe, remembering that she wasn’t supposed to provoke anyone. Otto glared at her and took a step forward, which was probably supposed to be threatening. Munroe just rolled her eyes and ignored him.

  “Don’t,” said Don Lowell, giving Dońa Parvie a warning shake of his head.

  “Why are you all afraid of this little whore? Otto could snap her like a twig.”

  “What did you call me, you skanky cunt?” asked Munroe. Technically she was the daughter of a whore, but that wasn’t the point.

  “Otto, teach her some manners,” said Dońa Parvie. Otto took another step towards her and Munroe pointed a finger at his chest. He stopped suddenly, expecting a weapon, but when she didn’t produce any steel he grinned inanely. Otto took one more step and then collapsed on his back, choking and grabbing his chest as his heart and lungs started to burn. Dońa Parvie looked at the others for some help, but everyone was watching Otto turn purple.

  “That’s enough,” said Don Jarrow and Munroe relented, withdrawing her curse. Otto fell unconscious but his face returned to its normal colour. Dońa Parvie stooped down to check he was still breathing but left him on the ground. She glared at Munroe with murder in her eyes.

  “It looks like I missed all the fun,” said a rich, cultured voice, which broke the tension.

  Tonight the Duchess wore an emerald silk dress edged with white lace and a swooping neckline that revealed a generous portion of her cleavage. Munroe wished hers were a little bigger, like the Duchess’s, but then again she’d probably look weird with a small body and giant tits constantly pulling her off balance. At least the Duchess had the build to carry them. Her luscious red hair was gathered on top of her head revealing an elegant long neck and gold earrings with red stones at their heart. A simple silver chain and a tiny locket was her only other piece of jewellery, but she didn’t need gold to turn heads. Munroe had seen a lot of women during her time at the Emerald Dragon and the Duchess pissed all over the others in terms of natural beauty. Not that the Duchess would actually piss on someone, unless that was her kind of thing.

  The two Dons politely rose from their seats as she climbed the steps to the ring, while Dońa Parvie just rolled her eyes and spat onto the floor. Behind the Duchess was a tall Seve man with a shaven head and keen blue eyes. His build was lean compared to the others, but he walked with a certain grace Munroe had seen in dancers.

  The two Dons waited until the Duchess had sat down before retaking their seats. The Duchess was first cousin to Queen Morganse, putting her about fifth in line to the throne. She lived among the nobility and yet none of them knew that all of her wealth came from running one of the city’s crime Families.

  “Always lovely to see you gentlemen,” said the Duchess, completely ignoring Parvie.

  “Sorry to hear about your cousin getting his balls chopped off,” said Parvie, feigning concern about the Crown Prince. “Still,
it does mean you’re one step closer to the throne.”

  “Where is our fifth?” asked the Duchess, not rising to the bait.

  “Here,” said the raspy voice of Don Kalbensham, who stalked towards them with a strange grace. Morrin weren’t like other people. They had all of their bits in the same places, at least on the outside, but they were a different breed. When Munroe stared into a Morrin’s eyes she had no idea of what they were thinking. That wasn’t to say they couldn’t be nice, but Don Kal wasn’t the best specimen to represent his people. The Morrin was at least twice as old as everyone, including Don Lowell, but he moved like a man in his thirties. The only clues about his age were the small patches of white hair among the brown. Long before DonJarrow had cheated, murdered and bludgeoned people to take control of a Family, Don Kal had been here in Perizzi, selling flesh and drugs.

  Walking behind Don Kal was another over-muscled specimen like Otto, who stared at the others with open hostility. The Morrin took his seat and everyone looked at Don Jarrow expectantly.

  “I think you all know why I requested this meeting,” said Don Jarrow.

  Just as he was about to continue something whistled through the air, making everyone look around. A meat cleaver landed in the middle of the table with a thunk as it bit into the wood. All of the bodyguards drew their weapons and put their backs to the table.

  “I assume my invitation was mislaid,” said a man as he calmly walked towards them. One look at him and Munroe knew exactly who he was. So did everyone else by their expressions. The Butcher was taller than she’d expected, a burly Seve dressed only in trousers and a white leather vest which showed off well-built arms and shoulders. An intricate black tattoo of swirls and knots ran up his left arm into his vest and came out down his right, ending at the wrist.

  Don Lowell touched his bodyguard on the hip and she lowered her weapon. Slowly the others followed suit but kept them drawn. The Butcher picked up a chair from the front row and dragged it up to the table. He sat down and nodded amiably to the others as if they’d been expecting him.

  The Butcher didn’t seem worried by the armed bodyguards who were watching his every breath for the first hint of violence. The Dons just stared and not even Dońa Parvie had anything to say. In fact, Munroe thought she looked afraid. After all it was her territory that the Butcher had cut into to create his own little empire. Also, the majority of people who’d been found hacked into neat packages of meat like cuts of beef had belonged to her.

  “Welcome,” said the Duchess, almost without stuttering. “Don Jarrow was just about to talk about the reason for this meeting.”

  “Ah, yes, the lethal venthe. Nasty stuff,” said the Butcher, nodding his shaven head. Munroe tried to fix his features in her mind so that she would recognise him later but they were unremarkable. She’d probably seen him in the past and not realised because he was neither handsome nor ugly. If not for his dramatic entrance and the cleaver, she wouldn’t have known who he was.

  “The venthe killed over thirty people and several fighters in one night,” said Don Jarrow. “And we all know where it came from.”

  All eyes fell on Don Kal but he didn’t squirm under their scrutiny and his face gave nothing away.

  “Where is your proof? Show me?”

  Don Jarrow smiled in a way that made several people shift uneasily. Munroe pulled on her gloves and unwrapped the cloth bundle on her back. The gnarled venthe plant thumped onto the table beside the Butcher’s cleaver.

  “This was taken from one of your warehouses in the meat district,” said Don Jarrow. “There would have been more, but unfortunately the building burned to the ground.”

  “That was an unfortunate accident,” said Don Kal.

  “And the venthe farm inside?” asked the Duchess. “Do you deny that was yours?”

  “One of my people must have been growing it. I knew nothing about it.”

  “Come now,” said Don Lowell, trying to be amicable. “We can all move on if we just put this in the past. Assure us that the rest of this batch has been destroyed and then business can go back to normal.”

  Munroe noticed sweat trickling down the sides of Don Kal’s narrow face. “I knew nothing about it,” insisted the Morrin.

  “My people tell me otherwise,” said the Duchess. “They saw you leaving the warehouse just before the fire.”

  “You were spying on me? On my turf?” said Don Kal. Munroe thought he sounded aghast, but it was hard to tell.

  “Yes, yes. We’ve all done this for years,” said Don Lowell. “You spy on me, I spy on the Duchess. Round and round it goes. Has all of the venthe been destroyed?”

  “I will not sit here and be accused by you,” said Don Kal getting to his feet. “Someone in my Family was responsible for this. I will find them and they will be dealt with. It is not a matter for you to interfere in.”

  With that he stormed out of the arena.

  “Did anyone believe him?” asked the Butcher, crossing his arms. No one rushed to defend the Morrin.

  “Something needs to be done about it,” said Don Lowell. “He puts us all at risk.”

  “I vote we kill him and cut up his turf,” said Dońa Parvie, looking around the table for supporters. “More for all of us.”

  “Killing him would only anger his people and start a war,” said the Duchess, dismissing the idea with a wave of her hand.

  “Whatever Don Kal’s original purpose for the new venthe, it failed. It’s lethal and must be destroyed or it will continue to cause problems for us all,” said Don Jarrow. No one wanted more squads of the Watch trooping through their territory, or worse the Guardians digging into every crime, turning every building inside out for clues. That kind of scrutiny would drive away customers and cost all of the Families a lot of money.

  “We all have eyes and ears,” said the Duchess. “It wouldn’t take much to find out the location of his other venthe farms.”

  “A coordinated strike,” mulled Don Lowell. “On the strict agreement that this is only to remove him from the venthe business, not claim territory.” The old man stared at Dońa Parvie and she showed her pointed teeth, but eventually grunted in agreement.

  “If we all send people to take out one or two farms at the same time, he won’t risk attacking us all in retaliation,” said Don Jarrow and the others agreed.

  “I know I’m new at this compared to some, but aren’t you risking a war?” asked the Butcher.

  “Don Kalbensham is many things, but he’s not a rash man,” said the Duchess. “He will pout and sulk for a while, but he won’t attack us. He can’t. He doesn’t have the numbers.”

  “He’s very patient,” said Don Lowell. “I’ve seen him wait a decade before settling a score. Time moves at a different pace for the Morrin.”

  “But the rest of us have to live in a world where we don’t live for two hundred years,” said Dońa Parvie. “If we’re going to do this we need to hit him soon.”

  For once she was talking sense and no one disagreed.

  “Tomorrow, or the night after at the latest,” said Don Jarrow.

  “Agreed,” said the others.

  “One thing,” said Don Lowell. “I don’t want to see any of your people getting involved,” he said to the Butcher.

  “Why not?”

  “You might sit at this table, but you’re not one of us. I don’t trust the others, but if they give me their word I know they’ll stick to it. I have no idea what you’ll do.” The old man suddenly didn’t look so kindly and Munroe saw some of the steel beneath his deceptively soft exterior. She managed to repress a shudder this time.

  “I agree with Don Lowell,” said the Duchess. “While we’re burning down venthe farms you could be expanding your territory. If you move against one of us, we will all retaliate in kind.”

  “So keep your fucking hands off,” spat Dońa Parvie, clearly still stinging from having some of her turf taken over by the Butcher.

  The Butcher smiled at Dońa Parvie like a cat
staring at a mouse but to her credit she didn’t look away.

  “We’ll be watching,” said Don Jarrow, drawing the Butcher’s attention.

  “As you wish,” said the Butcher, getting to his feet. “I’ll stay out of this, but next time there’s a meeting, make sure I receive an invitation.”

  He yanked the cleaver out of the table with one hand and sauntered away. Munroe could admit it to herself, even if none of the others would say it aloud. The Butcher scared her and had rattled the others. Between him, creepy old Don Lowell and making a new enemy in Dońa Parvie, Munroe hoped this was her first and last meeting.

  Not for the first time Munroe wondered what she was doing with her life and how she could escape her prison.

  CHAPTER 29

  Fray spent the morning training with the other novice Guardians and for them nothing had changed. If anyone noticed that he was pushing himself harder than normal they made no comment.

  At lunch in the mess hall he sat alone and although he was hungry he barely tasted the food. Fray’s mind kept going over what he’d read in his father’s journal. He had always thought his father had written the journals as a way of exorcising some of the darkness inside by committing it to the page. Throughout the many notebooks he’d read, the tone of voice had never changed. The Khevassar had known the truth from the beginning. They had been written for Fray, to guide him if he ever became a Guardian.

  After lunch Fray would normally have gone out on patrol with Byrne, but when he approached the Old Man’s office his assistant had a note for him. Fray would be assigned a new partner tomorrow and for the remainder of the day he was to go home and rest.

  At first he was angry at being dismissed like a child, but then he was glad for the time to be alone with his thoughts.