by Glen Cook
“The normal course of business here could put us on the Society’s list. To do my job right I have to take into account the misbehavior of beings that I’m not supposed to believe exist.”
“You can believe. You just can’t call them gods.” The old man chuckled. “We need to find out what unusual things have happened in the areas the rings marked.”
“But …”
“Not just something that might be Rook scattering maggots. Any unusual, unexplained events. Any unusual histories. At this remove, even the most ancient folklore.”
“Titus could send people to find out. But we can’t twiddle our thumbs while he does.” The Connec was growing less restive. The flood of Grolsacher refugees had begun to dry up. The disorganized bands of Amhander crusaders had decided to wait on Sublime because it had begun to look like the Patriarch meant to let them do the dying before he swooped down on a province too exhausted to resist.
“Doneto’s party must have the upper hand, now. That can’t last. But I’ve had a thought about the ring business. Suppose those are places where someone liberated scattered bits of the Old Gods?”
“Deliberately?” Hecht asked.
“Deliberately.”
“Why would anyone do that? The Night is bad enough now. Who’d want to bring back the Old Ones?”
“That would be the question, wouldn’t it? Who and why. And is it real? Is it just a partisan campaign using fragments to create terror? Are the fragments themselves genuine? I could pull together an artificial monster able to ape the more blatant traits of one of the Old Gods.”
“There was a god in the north. Who predated the Old Gods, even. Kharoulke the Windwalker. Who couldn’t come past the edge of the ice. There’s a Windwalker supposedly loose, now. Almost as bad as the original. That couldn’t be a modern recreation, could it?”
‘Today’s Kharoulke the Windwalker is an example of an unforeseen consequence.”
“Your Grace?”
“Certain fading Old Gods sent soultaken to destroy someone they called the Godslayer. Because they did, several unwittingly positioned themselves to be slain. One of the soultaken, connected too intimately to divinity, ascended to become a Great Demon himself. The ascendant, lusting after revenge on those who conscripted him, went after those still surviving. He confined them in a pocket world he created inside the pocket universe they had created for themselves as their realm of the gods. That isolated them so completely that they couldn’t constrain the monsters they put down in the dawn of their time. So things like the Windwalker can now come back.”
Hecht stared. He realized his mouth was open. “Uh … How did you put all that together?”
“I pay attention. You can pick the trick up if you want.”
Titus Consent rematerialized. “Here’s the journal, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Are we in imminent danger from a ferocious Connecten horde?”
“There may be ferocious Connectens, Your Grace, but those people couldn’t put together a horde if they promised twenty gold pieces to every man who showed up.”
“Then you can afford to take time to relax, Piper. That would be good for your soul.”
Pinkus Ghort returned. In his train were prisoners, plus hostages given by the Three Families of Sonsa.
The Captain-General arranged a meeting as soon as he could.
Ghort came in saying, “Shit, Pipe, that was exhilarating. Ain’t nothing better than catching your target with his pants down.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I’ll let you try your luck on Antieux next.”
“I’ll hang back and take notes on that one, you don’t mind. Them folks won’t get caught napping or stupid again in this lifetime.”
“So what did you get?”
“I got Bit and Tiny but the Witchfinders was long gone. Bit thought they ran off to the Durandanti but we didn’t find them there. It does look like they made that one gold shipment disappear, though. What’s this I hear about Bronte Doneto running off to Viscesment?”
“We surprised them, too. He went to take charge of Immaculate.”
“He didn’t do so good, eh?”
“One wonders.”
“Meaning?”
“Let’s talk to Bit.”
“Figured you wouldn’t want to give her no more time to think. She’s downstairs.”
“Good. Two more Principatès turned up. They haven’t come to see me yet. They’re very interested in Sonsa, I hear. One is from Aparion. Keep him away from our newfound friends. If you can. Bring her up.”
Ghort bellowed down the stairs.
Two men brought the woman. Titus Consent trailed them. Principatè Delari came along behind Consent.
Ghort whispered, “You all right with them?”
“They may be useful.”
Bit remained uncowed. Not defiant, though. Just accepting. Fate had overtaken her. That happened in life.
She had chosen a hard profession.
She recognized Hecht immediately. “Mathis Schlink. I thought you were more than you seemed. Why drag an old whore all the way up here?”
“I have questions. I’m too busy to come to you.”
She forced a smile. “Of course.”
“Be seated, if you like.”
The old woman settled into a canvas chair. She glanced around. Principatè Delari examined her intently, moving several times to get a different view. That troubled her, clearly. Maybe she feared recognition.
Hecht said, “You know Buck Fantil. The youngster is Titus. He’s more dangerous than he looks. The other gentleman is an eye for the Collegium.”
Bit was a practical sort. “What do you want to know?”
“You were involved with men from the Special Office of the Brotherhood. What were they up to?”
“Special Office? They didn’t mention that. Some had been hiding at the Ten Galleons since the Deve riots.”
Principatè Delari positioned himself behind Bit, out of her sight. He nodded. She was telling the truth.
“You had to think they were up to something, working out of your place all that time.”
“Yes. But they paid well for the privilege.”
“I’ll turn you over to Titus eventually. Tell him the story from the beginning. Name any names you heard.
And anything you overheard that seemed unusual.”
“I … Of course.”
“The reason being, those Witchfinders were working against the Patriarch and the rest of the Brotherhood. They may have been seduced by the Adversary.”
Bit did not buy that.
Neither did Hecht. But it was a hypothesis fit to make people think.
“Tell me about Vali Dumaine, Bit.”
The old woman frowned. “Give me more to go on. I don’t know the name.”
One of the staff assistants showed himself long enough to beckon Titus Consent, who went over, whispered, then followed the man downstairs.
“Buck and I came to the Ten Galleons. We did our business. You helped us disguise ourselves to get back out. So you wouldn’t get burned out by the thugs then closing in. Women and children were part of our disguise.”
“You’re asking about the one who wouldn’t come back.”
“I am.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That isn’t the subject. The subject would be, who is she?”
“A natural-born liar. She convinced the other girls that she’d been kidnapped …”
Bit was a hard woman who had survived in a difficult trade for a long time. It took a lot to intimidate her.
Principatè Muniero Delari was a lot, however.
She stammered.
“Bit, cut through it. I want to know who the girl is.”
“I said. A natural-born liar. A natural-born actor. I bought her from her mother. Doing the woman a favor. She needed the money. And I’ve been sorry ever since, haven’t I?”
Hecht glanced at Delari, who shook his head. Bit hadn’t gott
en up close with the truth yet. Hecht said,
“Real name, Bit. Mother’s name.”
This line of questioning was not what the old madam had prepared for. “I think it was Erika Xan.”
Titus Consent came back to the head of the stairs. He waved for attention. Hecht nodded, held up a finger. “Your Grace, this woman is incapable of telling the truth. Why don’t you work on her for a few days?” He went to see what Consent wanted.
Titus said, “Colonel Smolens wants to know if you want to keep control of the Viscesment bridges.”
Surprised that Consent would interrupt with that, he said, “Yes. Even if we don’t need them ourselves, we decide who does use them. Has he dealt with those assassins?”
“Three. He sent us the fourth. Who wants to buy his life by spinning tall tales.”
“We can see about that after we’re done here. Is that it?”
“No. There’s news out of the Connec. Duke Tormond’s uncle, who rules Castreresone on Tormond’s behalf, has died.”
“And that’s important because?”
“Castreresone passes to Tormond’s sister Isabeth. Who is the wife of Peter of Navaya. Meaning Peter now has cause to take offense if we attack Castreresone.”
“I don’t like it. That sounds contrived. Report as soon as you know anything for sure.”
“I’m sure it was arranged. This might be why Sublime hasn’t given the go order.”
“Maybe. But this isn’t critical. And I’m busy.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Consent retreated downstairs.
“What was that?” Delari asked.
Hecht sketched the news.
“A scheme to keep Sublime preoccupied sounds likely. Sit down. The lady has been made cognizant of the implications of her situation.”
“You ready to cooperate, Bit?”
“Your sorcerer convinced me. It makes more sense to fear the devil at hand than the one lurking in your imagination.”
“Absolutely true. Tell me about the girl.”
“Erika Xan brought her. She said she was the girl’s mother. She wasn’t. Erika Xan had dark hair, dark eyes, and dusky skin. The child doesn’t. She speaks Firaldian with very little accent. Erika Xan had a heavy Artecipean accent. She paid me well to hide the girl. She never came back to reclaim her.”
Hecht looked for Principatè Delari’s opinion.
“She’s telling the truth she believes.”
“Artecipea again.”
“Yes.”
“Bit, why hear this Erika Xan’s appeal in the first place?” Her scowl told him that was a question she had hoped she would not be asked.
“She was my cousin. On my mother’s side. At one time she was in the life, too, but she found a sponsor.
She was scared to death when she came to me. She was mixed up in something really wicked. She wouldn’t talk about it.”
“And she was Artecipean. Meaning you’re Artecipean.”
“Yes.”
“I missed. I thought you sounded Creveldian.”
Principatè Delari asked, “Where is your cousin today, madam?”
“I don’t know. I assume that what scared her caught up with her.”
“And she told you nothing about the girl?”
“No.”
“Piper, I believe her. She didn’t want to tell the truth and only sidled up to it, but she told it in the end.
Madam, what is the child’s real name?”
“I don’t know.”
Hecht asked, “Where did she come up with Vali Dumaine?”
“She never used that around me.”
Delari said, “Yes, Piper. Ever more threads lead to Artecipea.”
Hecht asked, “Bit, did your cousin mention where she’d come from? Or where she’d gotten the money she paid you?”
“She came from the island. I expect she stole the money.”
“And she told you nothing about what was going on?”
With strained patience, “She was running. She didn’t have time.”
Principatè Delari stopped Hecht’s interrogation. “Wait, Piper.”
He waited. The old man meditated more than a minute, then said, “Other lives, other ways of thinking, Piper. You can understand that.”
Hecht nodded. A brothel was foreign territory. How could he understand how things were done there?
“Who else did Ghort bring back?”
“Mostly hostages from the Three Families, but some relatives of this woman as well.”
“I want a girl Vali’s age. This one’s granddaughter. I don’t remember the name.”
“I think we have that one.”
The old woman showed no reaction. A hard life had schooled her well. She said, “Interrogating the mistress of a sporting house is a waste of time, Captain-General. The essence of the profession is discretion. Clients expect you to fail to pay attention.”
Delari responded, “That, madam, is first cousin to your earlier fabrications. Every whore or whoremaster who ever was looked for ways to squeeze their marks. You may not be able to provide the answers the Captain-General wants. But you will be honest when you answer him. Or this will be a long visit for you.”
Hecht had the old woman returned to Ghort. “We have to explore this Artecipean connection. It just keeps coming up.”
“Knowing my grandfather, that’s already well under way.”
“He’s out there, you know. Sniffing around like a wolf scouting a sheep cote. Which reminds me. Mutton would be a nice change.”
“Are you ready to question the Society assassin?”
“It never ends.”
“If you’d stayed a spear carrier you’d be somewhere loafing right now, hoping your petty officer won’t find you and make you dig a latrine or cut firewood.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you made your choices. You said yes every time someone handed you more work. Oh!”
Delari went white. He slammed both hands to his chest. For an instant Hecht thought it was his heart.
Then —
The earth slammed up, fell down, shimmied like a belly dancer’s bottom. There had been tiny, barely perceptible tremors for days. Nothing like this. Accumulated dust and dirt fell from higher up in the mill.
Chunks followed. “Downstairs!” Hecht ordered. “Everybody out! Earthquake!” Hecht’s left wrist itched cruelly. “It’s sorcery, not …”
Principal Delari, a ghastly pale, already starting down, said, “I know. Get out. Get the situation under control.”
The panic faded. Hecht got down and out. He pushed through a mob of gawkers, all facing downriver.
The ruined castle could not be seen. A cloud of dust, or fog, intervened. A breeze shredded that and carried it westward, over the river into the Connec.
Principatè Delari poked Hecht in the ribs. “Don’t gawk, move.”
Hecht moved. Toward the cloud. Which faded to a trace.
His wrist continued to nag. He barked, “Colonel Sedlakova! Have the officers assemble on me immediately.”
The earth continued trembling.
From the vantage of a hummock two hundred yards southeast of the mill Hecht could see that a quarter mile of hillside, sloping toward the river, had split like a rip in the seat of too-tight trousers. At several points he saw a pale bluish mother-of-pearl surface. Pulsing.
Puffing, Muniero Delari trudged past. “Come along, Piper. Come along.” The old man’s course angled uphill. He wanted a closer look at the crack.
The ground shivered. The pearlescent blue moved.
Pinkus Ghort caught up as Hecht and the old man climbed to where they could look down the length of the tear in the earth. He blurted, “Holy shit! It’s a giant-ass fucking worm!”
“Grub,” Delari corrected. “A larval stage.” A wave of motion ran along the thing in the crack. Its downhill end moved forward slightly. The itching at Hecht’s wrist amplified severely. “Piper! You should …”
Hecht had decided what he should.
“Consent!” Puffing, Titus was catching up. Random officers followed, seriously confused. “Bring out the falcons! With special loads! I need them up here yesterday! Your Grace. Are we seeing what I think we’re seeing?”
“The birth of a god. More or less.”
“But what …?”
“I don’t know anything you don’t. This could be the hatching of an egg left over from before mankind reached this part of the world. But we don’t have the luxury of taking time to worry about who, what, where, and all that. We have to act.”
True. That thing would be no friend of Piper Hecht’s. Or anyone else round here.
It was Esther’s Wood all over again. Another race against time. That thing was maturing. He could sense it nursing on what little free power was in circulation nearby. Soon it would want to feed in earnest.
A backward curved horn began to form atop the downhill end.
“That the head down there?” Hecht asked.
“It would seem,” Delari replied.
“Pinkus, you aren’t in the chain of command but you have a way with words. Go make those gawking fools take this seriously.” The whole army wanted to see the monster. No one seemed smart enough to be scared. “Tell my idiot officers I want everyone moving upriver. With the animals. Except the artillerists.”
The falcon crews were running round in confusion in the meadow where they had built bunkers to store their weapons and firepowder. Hecht hoped they would not try to tow the weapons. No. Here came Kait Rhuk and his gang, two men dragging the falcon and three lugging ammunition. The other crews seemed intent on following Rhuk’s example.
Hecht told Principatè Delari, “I should go run this show. They know what to do only in theory. If you think of anything useful to do, don’t hesitate.” He stumbled down the slope. Several officers intercepted him. He repeated his orders to get everyone out of harm’s way. “This thing is going to want to eat. Let’s don’t be its first meal.”
Clej Sedlakova asked, “What’re you going to do?” Hecht thought it worth noting that the handicapped officer was among the first actually to come for instructions.
“I’m going to kill it.”
Seven falcons were in position. The other three crews were still getting organized. There would be personnel adjustments later. If there were survivors.
The god grub continued trying to shake the chains of the earth. Hecht moved down to the front end, which had come out of the ground a few dozen yards from the river. That end had developed obvious mouth parts and dark patches where eyes might appear.