by Tom Lloyd
They entered the courtyard and Kodeh closed the gate behind them, resetting the lock and heading out across the bare earth yard towards a door. On the ground were a handful of discarded children’s toys, with more on view in an open chest beside the far door – heaped inside without care to keep them out of any rain. The building itself had plain, arrow-slit windows all down the inside and a double-height coach-house door at the furthest corner.
This time Atash kept his mouth shut until they were through into the building beyond, where they were greeted by a middle-aged woman carrying a lamp. She had clearly just got out of bed and stood barefoot, rumpled clothes pulled on and a blanket around her shoulders, but what Kodeh noticed first was a trio of livid red scratch-marks down one cheek. The hallway itself was almost bare, a barred doorway on their left, a heavy, battered chest with a large lock on the right.
‘You need me ?’ the woman asked briskly.
‘One of the crazies almost got you, huh ?’ Kodeh said, pointing to the marks.
‘A patient became distressed,’ she said firmly. ‘They’re not always so easy to restrain – but I rather doubt you’re here to help me with that, Kodeh.’
In the distance, a howl seemed to echo out from elsewhere in the building – sounding louder now they were inside.
‘True, Mother Eyote,’ Kodeh agreed. ‘But I am here to make your life easier. We’ve come to take some crazies off your hands – and some coffins if you’ve got ’em.’
‘You can keep your hands off my patients,’ she said curtly before pausing. ‘You don’t mean the patients, do you ?’
He grinned and stepped to one side so he could look at his team as well. ‘I don’t mean patients. We’ve got orders – the artefact’s being moved in the morning and we need to set up a few distractions throughout the city to keep everyone looking in the other direction.’
Mother Eyote gave him a sceptical look while his team exchanged looks and Atash smothered a curse.
‘I thought we would be keeping a low profile over the next few days. Unleashing horror and death on the city might not be in keeping with that.’
‘So long as they’re nothing to do with us, we’re fine,’ Kodeh replied. ‘We need the Lawbringers busy, the city in uproar.’
‘Why the coffins then ?’
‘’Cos you’re going to dope our horrors up – as much as you can. Give us enough time to leave ’em across the city and be well away before they wake up.’
She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Whose mad idea was this ? It’s a bit bloodthirsty for Jehq or Terail. Is Pallasane giving you orders now ?’
‘Synter’s order,’ he said, adding, ‘on Father Jehq’s authority. We’re committed now, but with the attention of the city on us we need a bit of theatre.’
‘Theatre isn’t the same as mass-murder,’ Eyote said with a resigned sigh. ‘But perhaps she’s right, we’re too far gone now.’
‘Aye – you’ll be getting word from Jehq soon, though given what Synter’s planning I think they’ll be orders to stay until the moon’s ready to rise.’
She nodded and went to the chest against the right-hand wall. Beckoning over the nearest of the Denteii, Eyote set the lamp down on the ground and knelt beside the chest. The feet of the chest were just high enough to slip her fingers underneath it and after a moment she found the correct spot and pressed a button.
‘Pull,’ she ordered the Detenii. Together they hauled one end of the chest around and as they did so a section of floor sank as some counter-weight moved in the wall.
‘Kodeh, follow me – the rest of you, go to the coach house. We have no coffins, but there are crates in there. Empty them and there’ll be enough space. Bring the coach out into the yard and we’ll be waiting for you.’
The others jumped to obey, leaving Eyote alone with Kodeh. She gave him an appraising look as she retrieved her lamp and started off down the steps that had been revealed.
‘Have you ever seen them ?’ she asked, nodding towards the underground room at the far end of the stair. Kodeh shook his head.
‘It’s not pleasant,’ she warned him. ‘For Pity’s sake, don’t touch anything and don’t get close ! And remember some have a greater reach than you do, so don’t make assumptions.’
She descended into the gloom below and reluctantly Kodeh followed. He knew exactly what lay down there – the casualties of their forbidden arts, for whom the Blessings had proved curses.
Chapter 16
He dreams of late summer – the sun a smile’s gentle warmth on his skin, the air heavy with scents both sweet and sharp. Striated clouds fill the southern sky, turning pink in the early evening light. The palazzo is larger in his dreams ; it looms as imposing as the Imperial Palace when he approaches the open gate. Tall soldiers in blue watch him enter from the shadows, faces hidden by steel masks like the prow of a ship and muskets darkly gleaming.
He ascends a rich, carpeted stair. The walls narrow as he climbs and the light fades to shadow around him, but then he emerges into a grand reception room with a bank of archways leading out onto a terrace. Long hanging cloths keep the room cool ; diaphanous strips of linen decorated by paintings of exotic birds drifting in the desultory breeze. The terrace beyond it is a blaze of light, white marble catching the last of the daylight and reflecting it inside.
He blinks and turns away, realises he is not alone and drops to one knee.
‘Master Narin,’ she calls from the far reaches of the room, distant through the shadows in his eyes until he blinks away the terrace’s lingering brightness. ‘Please, rise. We remain in your debt and will not have you kneel here.’
‘Lady Vanden,’ he hears himself say, standing once more.
There is a woman beside her, one Narin does not recognise. A bodyguard he guesses ; warrior caste by her blood-red collar but dressed in the easy luxury of a noble rather than a soldier’s uniform.
‘Come, Master Narin, we are friends now. Address me as Lady Kine.’
A spark runs up his spine as he bows his head in acknowledgement, hoping she cannot see the flush of pleasure on his face at such informality.
She has turned away by the time he approaches to stand uncomfortably before her. Legs tucked underneath, Lady Kine is curled like a cat upon a divan, upright and elegant. She wears a dress of yellow with orange script-like embroidery swirling diagonally down. Her brown arms are bare and perfectly smooth, slender golden bangles hanging loose on each, while her long dark hair curls down over her chest. Beside her on a rosewood stand is a lyra, the bow discarded casually on the other end of the divan.
‘Siresse Myken,’ she says in a honey-sweet voice that he feels like a blow to the chest, ‘you may leave us. I am quite safe.’
The warrior-woman bows, eyes never leaving Narin all the while. Siresse – he finds himself surprised by the term, having never heard it used formally. Warriors are normally referred to by military rank, but remain knights by birth and female warriors are dubbed Siresse rather than Lady, as they would be as the wife of a knight.
‘Come, Master Narin,’ she says once they are alone, ‘sit with me.’
He awkwardly eases himself into the grandest chair he has ever used, one of four arranged for high-castes attending the lord or lady of the house. She snaps a fan open and cools her face with it, her mouth hidden from view as he thanks her gracelessly.
‘My husband sleeps,’ she explains, gesturing to the enormous gilt chair beside her divan. ‘His wound troubles him still.’
Under the gentle regard of her almond-shaped eyes, Narin feels transfixed – suddenly panicked that he is alone with a high-caste lady. His mind goes blank as he wonders what conversation he can make with a woman of refinement, but with a twitch of her fan his anxiety evaporates. He finds himself watching it silently, entranced by each lazy movement.
‘He recovers,’ Lady Kine continues, ‘but slowly. The doctor has given him something for the pain. He tells me that wounds to the stomach are slow to heal, but this one will in t
ime.’
Narin seems to jerk awake. Her knowing eyes tell him that she is aware of Lord Vanden’s true injury, then he chides himself. Of course she is aware – how could a wife not be that her husband lies castrated in their bed ?
‘I am glad,’ he says with gruff shortness.
‘My apologies,’ Lady Kine replies, ‘you are a busy man and came to call on my husband, not be bored by pleasantries from his wife.’
‘No !’ he says anxiously. ‘I mean – no, you do not bore me, my Lady. Quite the opposite, I ah …’ He tails off, realising he should have not spoken that way and terrified he has acted in a forward or offensive manner towards a married woman.
The fan snaps down briefly. ‘I am glad,’ she says softly, the hint of a smile on her full lips before once more concealed.
‘I, ah, am … also glad.’
‘Then you will sit with me a while longer ? I would hear the tale of my husband’s rescue, if you care to tell it.’
Narin frowns at the memory. He has told the story a dozen times or more. In his mind he half-wonders if in fact he was the one to save Lord Vanden, but then the hot sense of shame fills his mind.
‘My apologies, Master Narin,’ Kine adds, seeing his reaction, ‘I should not have asked. I am used to the presence of warrior castes whose honour rests on their feats of arms, but I should have realised a Lawbringer does not see violence in that way. You are not trained to kill but to protect others, I know the oaths.’ She pauses, then adds almost shyly, ‘I admire that, the desire to protect and uphold the law rather than fight and kill.’
He bows his head, unsure quite what to say in response but filled with pleasure that such a beauty might admire him.
‘Tell me about yourself instead,’ Kine suggests. ‘Your parents, your life.’
‘My life ?’ he asks hesitantly. ‘It is unremarkable, I’m afraid, not fit for your company.’
‘Still I would like to hear more about you,’ she presses. ‘You were born into the Imperial House ?’
He nods. ‘My parents too, I have lived here all my life.’
‘You look happy,’ Kine says, ‘you are very close with them ?’
Not even realising he had been smiling, Narin nods. ‘I was. They’re both dead now. White fever took my father, my mother died of a tumour a few years later.’
‘Tell me about them.’
The warmth in her voice surprises him, but he finds himself opening his mouth to speak without hesitation. It has been years since he’s even mentioned them and never has he spoken of the love of his early years ; of his father’s principles and admiration of the Lawbringers, of his mother’s gentle way and boundless generosity.
In the dormitories and training yards of the Lawbringers he would never have thought to mention such things, but now he finds himself talking. For the first time in years he finds himself wishing they were still with him, that they could know him as the man he has become. In the presence of this high-born woman he barely knows, he feels that love again and it fills his heart.
Narin felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. Startled, he flinched away and flailed for a weapon until his alarm subsided. He rolled over and despite the dark saw it was Enchei standing over him. The tattooist gestured for him to stay where he was and Narin grunted in response, fumbling at the blanket tangled around his waist.
‘Is it time ?’ he asked eventually.
‘Close. I let you sleep as long as I could.’
Across the room from Narin, Irato also stirred – then sat up, wide awake already.
‘Gods,’ Narin muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘I feel still asleep, or drunk mebbe.’
Enchei raised a small porcelain cup. ‘Here, drink this.’
‘Coffee ?’ Narin scowled. ‘Nasty foreign muck.’
‘It’s either that or a slap round the face.’
Narin accepted the cup and struggled into a seating position while Irato stood and stretched, briefly loosening his muscles before pulling on his jacket and leather armour.
‘Bright and eager to go ?’ he asked the goshe.
‘I’ve had more sleep than you,’ Irato pointed out, ‘and less chance to be out of here.’
One by one, the goshe strapped on his weapons. First a pair of long-knives went into sheaths on his thighs, crossbow bolts in pouches over each, then a pair of hatchets slid up his back to rest in custom-made slots. A stiletto went into one boot and blowpipe in the other, while a pouch of darts and punch dagger slotted onto one spaulder. Lastly, he strapped his small crossbow below the hatchets before pulling on the intentionally-ragged coat that hid them all and looking expectantly up at Enchei.
‘Sure you’re ready, then ?’ Narin croaked, just about prepared to try putting his feet on the floor and start finding his boots. ‘Not forgotten anything there ?’
‘I am.’
‘Trickster’s cold heart – what bell is it ?’ groaned Kesh from the far side of the room where she’d curled up beside the warm iron stove.
‘The dawn bell will be rung soon,’ Enchei said.
‘You sure ?’ she peered over at the shuttered window. There was no dawn light yet peeking through.
‘I’m sure. We should be ready to move.’ He went over as she sat up and poured another cup of coffee from the copper pot on the stove top. ‘Here, this’ll wake you up.’
‘Bugger that,’ Kesh said, yawning once before rising. ‘I don’t need coffee when someone’s going to try to kill me. How about a weapon ?’
Enchei grinned and pointed to a bag on the table. ‘Help yourself.’
She investigated the bag as Enchei lit a candle and put it on a brass stand to cast some sort of light over the room.
‘You’re as bad as Irato,’ Kesh said, her voice tinged with wonder as she inspected the contents of the bag. ‘Are these all yours ?’
‘Some – I borrowed a few. I thought you and Narin might both want something extra.’
‘I’m fine with my stave,’ Narin said as he pulled on his boots and stood to slip his arms into his grey Investigator’s jacket.
‘Here,’ Enchei said, tossing over a bundle. ‘Don’t argue, just bloody take them.’
Narin unwrapped it to discover elbow-to-knuckle leather gauntlets, a vest-like shirt with thin plates of metal sewn into it, and a sheath containing a pair of daggers.
‘Will this do any good ?’ he asked sceptically as Kesh was handed a similar bundle.
‘Mebbe, mebbe not. The shirts go under your clothes, so get that jacket off.’
Enchei withdrew a short-sword from the bag and slipped it from its sheath as though intending to demonstrate his point.
‘In a fight, hands and arms get cut easily, while a knife in the belly’s an easy way to kill. Your head’s still vulnerable, but such is life. These might give you a second chance, so wear ’em.’
‘What about you ?’ Even as he said it Narin realised under his clothes Enchei looked bulkier than normal.
‘Got something similar,’ the tattooist said gnomically.
Enchei sheathed the short-sword again and strapped it cross-wise across his back. A long-knife was attached to one thigh and he pulled his dark leather coat on over it all so only the rounded pommel of the short-sword was visible. As almost an afterthought, and much to Narin’s surprise, he also dropped a sling and a handful of pebbles into a pocket.
‘A sling ?’ Narin commented as he put on the shirt and belted the knives to his waist. ‘Isn’t that a farm-boy’s weapon ?’
‘Easier to carry than a bow,’ Enchei said, ‘and so long as you can use it right, deadly over the same range. And trust me ; I’m a good shot.’
‘If you say so. Did you sleep ?’
‘I caught enough. You all ready ?’ Enchei cast a critical eye over his companions, adjusting the lie of Kesh’s daggers as she tightened one vambrace.
Narin nodded and led them out onto the walkway, unable to resist a nervous glance around as he did. They went down into the yard below wh
ere a dozen grey-cloaked Investigators stood waiting. The air was cool with fog, but it was thinner than Narin had expected and from the walkway he could make out the dulled white bulk of the Imperial Palace in the distance, seemingly catching the dawn light before the rest of the city.
‘Lawbringer Hetellin,’ he said to the man who approached them, offering him a respectful bow. While he didn’t like the man much, Hetellin was about to risk ambush for their sakes and had made no complaint about the plan proposed to him.
‘Investigator, you are all ready ?’
‘We are. Thank you for agreeing to this.’
‘We stand between the innocent and harm,’ Hetellin replied stiffly. Above, the first hint of dawn was creeping through the clouds and the low toll of the bell from Smith’s temple here on the island announced the dawn hour.
‘Aye well, don’t forget to remove your hoods before the crossroad,’ Enchei added. ‘You’re to distract harm, not take half a dozen crossbow bolts from it, remember ?’
‘I know my place in this. Will you need help climbing the rear wall, old man ?’
Enchei grinned and stuck out a hand. ‘Be safe, Lawbringer.’
Hetellin ignored the gesture and turned to the gate. ‘Hoods on, we go now.’
At his word, the cloaked Investigators slipped hoods over their heads, hiding their faces in shadow while the gate was eased open and they headed out. Beyond the gate Narin knew there was another party of Lawbringers led by Rhe, ready to clear the way to the Palace of Law. Enchei shook his head and headed in the other direction, making for an open doorway to another Investigator’s quarters.
‘It’ll take not much more than a minute to reach the crossroad,’ Enchei said as his three companions filed in behind him. ‘That’s the best ambush point ; any sensible assassin would set the trap there.’
‘What if they decide not to do the obvious ? Attack them before they take their hoods off ?’ Kesh asked. ‘Or they guess what we’re about to do ?’
‘It’s obvious because it’ll work best,’ Enchei said dismissively. ‘As for them guessing – there’s a reason we’re running for the Crescent once we’re over the back wall !’