by Tom Lloyd
The crack of gunpowder breaks the quiet – the dirty yellow muzzle-flash casts a sudden light over their attackers, illuminating bloodied knives and cleavers. A man falls, one side of his face torn open by the shot, and the rest hesitate, realising they have left the prohibited weapons alone after killing their owners. One looks down for the body of the nearest soldier and Narin lashes out, hammering his stave into the man’s shoulder.
Enchei drives forward, dachan stick in hand. With the same casual flick that had the beating of Narin earlier, he shatters a man’s jaw. In the next movement he kicks forward to catch another in the midriff. As Narin readies for a second strike, Enchei spins and deflects a wildly-swinging cleaver. The weapon flies away and the butt of Enchei’s stick is driven into the owner’s throat.
Another lunges and Narin dodges, turning the movement into a shattering blow. Before the man he kicked can recover Enchei has made up the ground between them, striking down at the man’s head. Narin sees blood fly like a soul escaping and the man is dead before he hits the ground.
The man Narin hit staggers towards Enchei, weapon abandoned and clutching his shoulder. Enchei senses the movement and strikes as he turns, a near-perfect horizontal sword-stroke that the assassin never sees coming. Soon he joins his comrade lying supine and pawing feebly at a shattered throat. Enchei glances around and sees only the dying. He abandons his stick and runs to the humbled nobleman, assessing his wound then tearing away a piece of his shirt to staunch the blood.
‘Thank the Gods you came, Investigator,’ Enchei says in a strangely level tone – not even needing to pause for breath. ‘You’ve saved the life of a Wyvern lord.’
‘No,’ Narin finds himself saying feebly, still stunned by the deaths happening around him. ‘No, it wasn’t me.’
‘Of course it was,’ Enchei says, turning to look at Narin. Over many such dreams his eyes have become black and empty in Narin’s memory. ‘You saved this man’s life. Who else could it have been ?’
‘Emari ! Emari ?’
Kesh put her head around the door and surveyed the empty hall beyond. A long wooden table occupied the centre, over which hung a wide wrought-iron chandelier. The bright morning light streamed in through the open shutters off to her right, showing Kesh the chandelier had fresh candles in at least, though the floor remained unswept. The young woman paused to listen, head tilted to one side, but there were no sounds of sweeping from elsewhere in the boarding house either.
‘Honestly, that girl,’ Kesh said with a small smile. ‘Give her one job she finds boring and suddenly she’s as flighty as a butterfly. Lord Monk give me patience !’
Her eyes twitched to the left as she spoke, instinctively looking towards the grey sweep of the temple’s concave roof as she invoked its Ascendant God.
A muscular woman of twenty with a sailor’s tan and long plaited hair, Kesh stepped inside the doorway, brandishing her rug beater.
‘Emari ?’ Kesh shouted again, ‘I’m not so tired I can’t swing this a few more times !’
There was no response from the house beyond. Kesh gave a tut of annoyance and returned to the warm sunshine outside, as aware as Emari that her threat was empty until their mother, Teike, returned. Though the woman loved her adopted daughter no less than Kesh, she had fewer qualms about smacking Emari’s nut-brown behind if she slacked in her duties.
There was no one else in the house ; each of their five lodgers was out at work and Kesh was unmarried, having been promised to a young man who’d drowned alongside her father several years back.
The slow, sonorous clang of the wreck buoy beyond the harbour wall carried up to her on the breeze. From where Kesh had laid out the rugs, she could see its red-painted flanks bobbing on the tide. Further out, past the limits of the Harbour Warrant’s authority, floated the threatening shape of a House Eagle warship.
Kesh frowned at the sleek warship before returning to her work. It had been there for a week now, not interfering with trade yet, but a silent threat that the harbour folk recognised well enough. With a shake of the head she attacked the rugs again, hammering away with the beater until her arm was near-shaking with fatigue, then moving on to the next after a gulp of lukewarm yellow tea.
A smile appeared on Kesh’s lips as she took a second swallow. The spring sun was warm on her shoulders, the breeze coming in off the sea clean and salty. On such a day she could only enjoy the exercise as she put the strength of her thick arms to work. The courtyard faced south, catching the morning sun and affording her a fine view of the harbour’s three main wharves. The nearer two were long, wooden affairs for the fishing fleet and trading cutters that plied the Horn Coast – while the furthest was the old stone deep-water dock for ships ranging all across the Inner Sea and beyond.
Kesh crossed the courtyard and hopped up a few makeshift steps until she could look over the perimeter wall. Their house was on an outcrop that loomed above the road leading to the nearer docks ; a district of taverns and cramped markets that had been Kesh’s whole life until her father died. From there she could see the glazed blue tiles of the fishermen’s market and glimpse piles of yellow cockles gathered from the sandflats off the coast.
‘A good crop,’ Kesh muttered, looking around the various stalls for her mother. ‘Let’s hope Mother thinks so and brings a bag home.’
She sat on the top of the wall, brushing her fingers over the yellow petals of a flowering gull’s foot as she listened to the clatter and voices of the harbour. When she had gone away to sea to cover the last seasons of her father’s bond to the Vesis and Darch merchant house, which controlled the harbour and much of the shipping that used it, this view had been what Kesh had missed. The breeze over the wildflowers, the cries of gulls and the bustle of busy lives – not the unearthly sight of the Imperial Palace or the ice-white roofs of Coldcliffs to the east. As arresting as those enormous, ancient structures were, they never changed. The harbour was man-made and ugly to some, but it lived and breathed in a way the places of the old ones didn’t.
She returned to her work and finished the last few rugs before hauling the pile up onto her shoulder and returning inside. There was still no sound of activity from her little sister so Kesh dumped the rugs over her father’s chair at the head of the table and headed through to the corridor beyond.
‘Emari,’ she called ahead, ‘Mother won’t be long coming back.’
‘Kesh, come look,’ came Emari’s reply at last. ‘Come look at this !’
She followed her sister’s voice through to the stairs that ran up the centre of the house. Emari was sitting on the windowsill on the second floor, her favourite place to watch the busy streets of the Harbour Warrant and marvel at the Imperial Palace on its distant island hilltop. The street curved around the outcrop of their house so from that window Emari could see a hundred yards down the warrant’s public thoroughfare with the Palace rising behind. Today however, Emari was looking up towards the roof.
‘What have you found, little one ?’ Kesh asked, slipping an arm around her sister’s skinny shoulders. Emari was a bundle of scrawny arms and legs ; still of that awkward age where her body didn’t quite seem to fit together yet.
Emari turned to face her, big black eyes wide and questioning. ‘There’s a rope on the house.’
‘A rope ?’ Kesh laughed. ‘What do you mean ?’
She leaned out across the little girl. As she looked up, a seagull on the roof just above them cried loudly, making Kesh jump in surprise. Emari below her dissolved into giggles, prompting Kesh to laugh and tickle her sister into submission before again looking out. It seemed Emari was right ; there was a cable attached to the apex of their roof which ran taut across the street to the tavern there.
‘So there is,’ Kesh mused, ‘painted grey too – to blend in with the sky maybe ?’
‘Why’s it there ?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said with a shake of the head.
Kesh ushered her sister off the window sill and stood where Emari had
been. After a few seasons on a merchant ship she had no fears about clambering around an open window and levered herself almost entirely out to inspect the cable more closely. Reaching up she could just about grab it and an experimental tug told her the cable was securely fastened to the main beam of the roof, tied with a knot that wasn’t meant to be undone easily.
‘Maybe this is what Master Greycloud heard a few days back,’ she called down to Emari. ‘Remember he complained about a cat or something making a noise on the roof ? That’s his room right there.’
Emari nodded, hands clasped together in delight. ‘It was someone tying the rope on ! But who ? Oh ! It could be Master Shadow ; I told you he was an Astaren !’
Kesh tutted at her sister. ‘Don’t be so silly, and don’t say such things where the guests might hear you, Master Shadow in particular. He’s not the sort to take kindly to idle gossip about him. As for this, I think it’s a thief’s road – an escape route over the rooftops.’
‘Really ?’ Emari squealed. ‘What sort of thief ?’
‘I don’t know !’ Kesh clambered down again. ‘How would I know that ? All I’m saying is everyone knows thieves use the rooftops to keep off the streets when the fog comes, but this road’s too wide for anyone to jump. You can get all the way to Dragon District from the tavern, but you can’t cross this road easily because we’re on the public thoroughfare – it has to be wide enough for nobles of different houses to pass without starting an argument.’
‘The thieves run across it ?’
‘No, but I used a cable like that a thousand times on board the Piper’s Lament. You hang under it by your hands and feet, and crawl like a monkey underneath. Even at night I’d be across in no time and ready to cut the cable if anyone tried to follow.’
‘Or a goshe !’ Emari gasped. ‘A goshe could run across and anyone following would fall !’
‘Not at night,’ Kesh said dismissively. ‘You’d need eyesight like a cat to see it on the run and balance better than the best-trained goshe could have.’
‘Do you think Master Shadow is a goshe, Kesh ?’
She ruffled Emari’s tangled dark curls. ‘How should I know, little one ? But it’s not polite to ask ; some people don’t like the goshe and might take offence. He carries himself like a fighter – I bet you he’s good too – but he’s not warrior caste, that’s for certain. Most likely he trains at a Shure, yes.’
‘He is goshe ! I’m sure I’ve seen him dressed like one, all in black. Do we like the goshe, Kesh ?’
‘Of course ! Whatever folk whisper about them, they cured your fever when you first came to live here, remember ?’
‘So why don’t others like them ?’
‘Money and tradition mostly,’ Kesh said with a sigh. ‘Some members bequeath their money to the Shure they trained at rather than their relatives and high-castes don’t much like low-castes being taught to fight at all. ’
‘So Master Shadow might take it as an insult if I asked him ?’
Kesh shrugged. ‘All I’m saying is think before you speak, understand me ? Don’t ask such things of folk you don’t know. If it turns out they’re warrior caste, you might get a slap for the insult.’
‘Or Master Shadow might turn out to be an assassin and kill us in the night to protect his secrets,’ Emari said gravely.
‘No ! Pity’s light ! Have you been listening to old man Pethein again ?’ Kesh demanded, wagging a finger in Emari’s face. ‘I’ve told you not to loiter in the tavern once they’ve got stuck in for the evening. Next time I think you have been, I’ll slap the brown off your legs, hear me ?’
‘Yes, Kesh,’ Emari replied in a quiet voice. ‘Sorry, Kesh.’
She grabbed the little girl and hugged her. ‘I know you are, but you’ve got to be more careful round these parts. Sailors come from all over and get troublesome when they’re out drinking. You keep clear after dark, you hear me ?’
‘I will,’ Emari promised.
The girl fell silent for a while, her lips pursed as she thought. Kesh saw she wanted to ask something, but the little girl was trying to be mindful of what she’d just been told about thinking before she spoke. It was enough to make the older sister laugh, but she fought the urge. Emari tended to blurt out every thought that crossed her mind ; it would be good for her to start controlling that before she got much older.
‘Kesh ?’ Emari eventually said in a small voice.
‘Yes, little one ?’
‘Is there going to be a war ?’
‘Between the Houses ?’
Emari nodded.
‘Well, I don’t rightly know,’ Kesh said, kneeling on the landing to look Emari in the eye.
When they’d taken Emari in, her father a shipmate of Kesh’s father, Kesh had promised herself she’d never lie to her new sister. Something about hearing their neighbours tell Emari her father had sailed off with the Gods had jarred with Kesh. The Empire was not a happy place to live in sometimes, and Emari needed to know what it was really like without fearing it.
‘The Houses like to fight,’ she said by way of explanation, ‘it’s what noble folk do a lot of the time. If you’re high-caste you’re not allowed to work or learn a trade – House soldiers are warriors trained from birth to do that job alone. Now it might be that Eagle and Dragon end up fighting, but the Harbour Warrant isn’t controlled by either and they have to respect the Emperor’s domains – otherwise the other Houses would step in against them.’
‘Master Steelfin said House Eagle could attack the harbour all the same, block us off so we can’t fish or trade.’
‘Pah, Master Steelfin’s a stupid old man,’ Kesh said quietly, ‘and he knows little more about the Empire than I do. If they do blockade us, it won’t be for long. The warriors have their own code for fighting ; they’re only allowed to kill other warriors. The Gods say it’s a sin to kill someone of a low caste – as you’d remember if you came to temple a little more often.’
‘Doesn’t stop them all, mind,’ called a voice from the bottom of the stairs.
Kesh turned to see her mother, Teike, leaning against the banister post and looking up at them, a wicker basket full of food slung over her shoulder.
‘But don’t you worry about the Eagles, my girl. It’d embarrass House Dragon if the city began to starve and Dragons don’t like losing face.’
Teike slipped her scarf off her head and brushed her hair back away from her face. Once order was restored again she nodded towards the common room, one eyebrow raised. ‘If you don’t hop to your sweeping however, you might have me to fear !’
Emari gave a squawk and jumped up, clattering down the stairs and barely stopping for a kiss on her forehead on the way. Teike smiled after her and beckoned Kesh down also.
‘Help me with the shopping ?’
Kesh pulled the load from her mother’s shoulder. ‘Emari’s seen a rope attached to the roof, it looks like a thief’s run.’
Teike made a dismissive face. ‘Tell her to look out for Master Shadow, not thieves. The man promised to give me the next week’s board by yesterday and has yet to show his face.’
‘He must have left very early this morning,’ Kesh said, ‘or he didn’t get in last night. I was up with the dawn and heard no one before you.’
Her mother scowled. ‘I knew he was going to be trouble, that one. Too full of himself was Master Tokene Shadow, all but propositioned me his first night here. I’ve seen his type before ; in debt or in trouble, and either way he’ll cost me money.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Kesh said as she headed for the kitchen, ‘his sea-chest is still in his room ; he’d have to be dead not to come back for that. It’s not like he’d just forget it.’
‘Well, boy, I’m inclined to agree.’
Narin narrowed his eyes at the older man. Enchei sat back and looked down at the long-knife in his hands. It was a street fighter’s weapon, not a soldier’s, yet it couldn’t have looked more natural in the man’s callused hands. Enchei tucked a stray tra
il of grey hair behind his scarred left ear and returned the weapon to the pile at his feet.
In front of him was the half-naked body of the goshe, still unconscious. The man was bound to a makeshift bed, ankles tied to the frame Narin had dragged out of his bedroom and a sheet wrapped across his chest to pin his bandaged arms. He had no idea if it would hold the man, but he was terrified the goshe would wake and disappear when his back was turned, leaving him to explain that to an angry God.
‘You think the tattoos are fake ?’
Enchei glanced up, a sly smile on his face. ‘I meant you really are buggered.’
Narin sank down in a chair, too deflated for any sort of joking. They were in his assigned quarters in the Imperial District ; a two-room affair on the first floor of an Imperial housing compound. Sunlight streamed in through the open windows, the brightness of spring after a long, damp winter. Enchei took a deep breath of the fresh afternoon air that raced through the quarters. He touched a palm to the injured man’s chest.
‘He’s hot,’ Enchei commented, ‘even in this draught.’
‘Fever ?’
‘Mebbe.’
Narin jumped up again and crossed the room to stand over Enchei. ‘But what about the tattoos ?’
‘Ah yes, the tattoos. Seems your Investigator instincts are gettin’ better.’
‘They’re fakes ? Truly ?’
Enchei squinted up at the younger man, silhouetted against the bright window frame. ‘Aye, they’re fakes.’
‘But how ? Magic ?’
Narin walked back to the table, unable to stay in one spot for long. By contrast Enchei slowly lifted himself up out of his chair and reached for his pipe to fill it.
‘Magic ?’ he said eventually, ‘mebbe.’
He jammed the pipe in one corner of his mouth and shrugged off his long leather coat. The old man wore it most of the year round ; it put Narin in mind of a fussy little boy the way he always kept the coat to hand, even on warm days.
Enchei had re-stitched the lining with dozens of patches ; some sort of protective charms, Narin guessed. Feeling like a child himself, he’d once sneaked a feel of the coat. Each closed pocket seemed to contain some sort of coarse powder or soil rather than padding.