Moon's Artifice

by Tom Lloyd

  All I’ve seen ; all I’ve done and still death isn’t done with me. It’s a wager you never win, my teachers said that often enough, but somehow it doesn’t seem to matter.

  He walked on, a shapeless cloth bag slung over one shoulder and his leather coat clutched tight in his hands despite the mild weather. The inn was located on a side-street connecting two larger ones. As he reached the corner, Enchei shook himself from his thoughts and checked his path ahead. The sight was enough to stop him in his tracks – knots of people standing in the middle of the street, many carrying weapons while others lay on the ground, in the street and open doorways.

  Paint adorned the white lime-plaster walls of many of the buildings, hasty scrawls in red and black that conveyed their message easily enough. The circular symbols of Lady Healer and Lady Pity, below them the gibbet-like motif of Lady Magistrate – three Gods together whose devices spelled only one thing : plague.

  Enchei cast his gaze up and down the street. Four houses on this one alone ; two next door to each other, the other two a short distance away. Quickly he moved up to be within earshot of the nearest group and discovered those on the ground were not dead, but in the grip of some sort of fever.

  ‘How long they been sick ?’ he asked the nearest of the group, a fleshy man with pox-scars on his cheeks and thinning hair.

  The man jumped at the sound of Enchei’s voice, half-raising the cleaver he clutched.

  ‘Half the morning,’ the man replied eventually, the fear evident in his voice. ‘People been just dropping in the street ’cross half the city, they say. All these damn foreigners, bringing their diseases to the city,’ he added in a quieter voice, apparently assuming Enchei was a local.

  Enchei scowled and nodded, keen to make a friend in anyone willing to pass on gossip.

  ‘Half across the city ?’ he said in an awed voice, ‘and all today ? Pity preserve us.’

  ‘There’s talk o’ demons too – up in the north districts,’ the man continued. ‘Folk saying it’s demons what brought it. There’s word the Lawbringers are going to shut the city down, impose a curfew until they can hunt ’em down.’

  Before Enchei could reply there was a shriek from across the street. They all turned, instinctively recoiling, only to see a woman in a white servant-caste scarf stagger as she walked. She reached out for those around her, looking for a steadying arm, but her hand was slapped away and she was driven sideways by the desperate blow. She wavered for a moment while all those around her retreated, clearing a space for her to stumble another few ungainly steps, then folded to the floor with a thump.

  No one moved for a long moment, they all just stared aghast at the limp body on the ground until a woman’s voice broke the quiet.

  ‘Cowards ! Fools !’

  A slender young woman pushed her way forward through the fearful crowd that watched as though waiting for the woman to rise a demon.

  ‘Help her,’ the young woman called to no avail. She reached the woman’s side and knelt, gently tilting her head to check for injury. Satisfied she was not badly hurt the younger woman lifted the invalid’s head and eased an arm under her shoulders.

  She looked up and glared around at the onlookers. Little more than twenty years old and unmarried from the way she was dressed, Enchei realised she would have been strikingly attractive if it hadn’t been for the tear-streaked dirt on her cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

  ‘Help me, one of you !’ she demanded, but no one moved.

  Enchei wavered, glancing down at the bag he carried – well aware he had a mission to complete, but transfixed by the determination in her voice. She was obviously of local blood, with light brown hair and deep blue eyes, yet there was something to the set of her jaw that snagged him. In an instant his thoughts were back at the day on which he had left his home, almost two decades past ; all too aware he’d never return.

  Gods of the high peaks, he thought as a mournful ache appeared in his chest.

  From nowhere the scents of lavender and mountain pine filled his nose and the ache intensified – the laughter and shouts of children briefly drowning out the hush of the city street.

  Unable to bear it any longer, Enchei slung the long strap of his bag over his head and stepped forward, tugging his own white scarf loose from around his neck. No one spoke as he advanced towards the woman, tying the scarf across his mouth so that his face was obscured from those watching.

  ‘You don’t need to cover your mouth,’ the young woman said, in a gentler voice than she’d used before. ‘I’ve been with my family all morning without getting sick ; it’s nothing in the air causing this fever.’

  ‘All the same,’ Enchei said gruffly. He knelt beside the ill woman and slipped his arms underneath her, lifting her easily and following the young woman to the nearest open doorway.

  ‘Bring her in here,’ she instructed, pointing to a blanket lying on the floor on the far side of the small room. Through another doorway Enchei glimpsed three figures lying side by side on a mattress, faces slicked with sweat but as still as the dead.

  ‘You’ve been with them all day ?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘I don’t know what’s causing the illness, but I feel fine. I’ve been tending the neighbours too, since I’m the only one not scared to go near them.’

  ‘How long have they been ill ?’

  ‘Since early morning. I was last up, at work until past midnight.’

  Enchei looked down at the woman on the cracked tile floor. He didn’t want to investigate her body too carefully for signs of plague or other disease, but from what he could see it seemed more like a severe fever than anything else. That in itself was easily enough to kill, but the speed at which people were being taken ill made it unlike any fever he’d seen before.

  ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Go ?’ the statement seemed to take her by surprise. ‘Well, of course. Thank you for helping me,’ she added gruffly.

  ‘Keep them drinking,’ he advised, looking her straight in the eye for the first time. ‘Good luck.’

  He turned his back before she could say anything, not trusting himself not to linger if she asked.

  Foolish old man, he chided himself. Narin needs you, nothing else matters – certainly not your misplaced guilt.

  Careful to avoid the looks he received outside, Enchei left and headed towards the public thoroughfare. Out on that bustling avenue he tugged the scarf down and uncovered his mouth, needing to avoid attention more than he needed to hide his face now he was among the crowds of day.

  Enchei walked with his head low, ignoring as much of the confusion and fear he saw as possible. Clearly the rumours were correct ; this fever was widespread and indiscriminate. At one point a curtained litter hurried past, its bearers almost running in their haste. The herald clearing the path for them was barely about to keep ahead of his charges.

  He didn’t see who was within it, but the markings declared it a House Wolf nobleman. If the nobility was getting sick too, the problem was a greater one than anyone could have expected, but more likely they were just keen to be off the streets – away from the unwashed masses most susceptible to disease.

  The coldest corners.

  The former Astaren focused on those words, let his thoughts circle them as a point of reference. The effort dampened his memories of years past, quietened the voices enough to let him decide where he was going. There was an underground market just across the canal in the Cas Tere Warrant, some sort of ancient cellar network that had survived long after the great building above it had fallen. It was the best and nearest option he could think of aside from Coldcliffs, and Enchei had no desire to try there unless he’d run out of options.

  I could head west instead, Enchei thought as he walked briskly east along the thoroughfare, towards the Fett Canal. The House Dragon vault cemeteries ? They’re cold and lonely, a good place to be unobserved.

  He shook his head, dismissing the idea. Demons were certainly not afraid of sanctified ground, but the
cemeteries were of the Gods ; demons would not use them by choice. The cliffs of Eagle ? The wind gets channelled down those rocks ; there are streets that spend half the year frost-rimed in those parts.

  Enchei paused as the thoroughfare opened up ahead and he was afforded a sight of the Fett Canal. Traffic on the canal itself was as busy as ever, but there were fewer pedestrians on the towpaths than he’d have expected. It was the experience of that morning’s flight that stopped him. Somehow the fugitive group had picked up additional pursuers as they travelled along this canal. Enchei wasn’t sure how it had happened, but had to assume the goshe had kept a lookout stationed somewhere nearby for whatever reason.

  Just to be safe he cut into the alleys on his left, winding his way through narrow, rubbish-strewn streets until he came out on the canal again. This time he faced not the wide, stone-built Spinner’s Bridge that spanned it for the public thoroughfare, but the Poor Man’s Bridge. It was an aging, wooden affair, the Poor Man, with slimy boards and space only for two men to pass, but as such any lookout was unlikely to be stationed so close to it.

  He crossed just as a barge reached the bridge, the bargeman following tradition and whacking the apex of the Poor Man as the boat reached it. It was the lowest of the four bridges spanning the Fett Canal and the local folklore varied on the reasons for the dangerous tradition. Some claimed the bargemen disliked having to duck their heads and were hoping their combined efforts would one day make it fall. Others thought that striking it brought luck, but Enchei was fairly sure the men just found it entertaining to cause those on the bridge to jump.

  Either way, the bridge didn’t fall and no assassins pursued Enchei into the alleys of Cas Tere, so he soon found himself back on the public thoroughfare, heading towards the cellar market that was his best bet. Most likely the demon had various emissaries out in the city waiting for him – a tendency towards the cryptic was one thing, but losing a day because your contact was too stupid to understand a subtle reference wasted everyone’s time.

  The cellar market had the advantage of an underground stream running along its north wall from a tunnel as old as the massive, ancient cellar. Given it really was an old, albeit disused and fouled, well that Enchei had found in his inn, the forgotten waterways under the city would make the market an easy place for any demon to reach.

  Before long he was standing across the street from the open steps that led down into the market. The ground above was clear of buildings, unusually for this part of the city, and only a quartet of fat chimney stacks rose up from the ground there to ventilate the chambers below. Business seemed to be continuing as usual, a regular stream of people heading in and out with goods in hand. Enchei spent a while watching those in the streets around the entrance, habit forcing him to be circumspect before heading down into somewhere with only one exit.

  After twenty minutes and two full circuits of the area, Enchei was satisfied and walked down into the market. His eyes wavered momentarily between his natural and unnatural vision before settling on a strange, dimmed version of normal sight – the colours washed out, the detail picked out in faint threads of white. The temperature dropped immediately, the wide stone rooms seeming to feed off the heat of his skin and going from chilly to cold as he headed further into the warren of chambers.

  He passed stalls of fresh produce, then rows of crusted baths where fresh seafood lurked, tentacles and eyestalks wavering uncertainly in the permanent gloom. Furtive figures lurked on the fringes of pools of light from oil lamps that lined the walkway, some appearing as misshapen and bizarre as the creatures on sale there. A burst of chatter came from a side room and Enchei paused at the doorway to glimpse wide-eyed monkeys in cages, darting polecats and the sharp click-click of bats further back. He walked through it all, bag slung across his front to dissuade the thieves who haunted the underground chambers.

  He reached a fork and paused, glancing left before remembering the drug dens lay that way. He turned right down a narrow path towards two vaulted chambers of butchers – the two trades occasionally intersecting, if local gossip was to be believed. Whatever the truth, it was the butchers who made most use of the underground river that passed briefly through the cellars, and there he headed.

  The stink was palpable, despite the cold that prickled his skin and the pails of water used to sluice down the floor. Children scrubbed at the pitted stone slabs and Enchei realised the day was done for the butchers, but no one challenged him as he passed through the tangle of bloodstained tables of wood and stone. It didn’t pay to be overly curious in a place such as this, where figures keen to avoid the light went about their work. The butchers themselves were clustered about an oval archway, laughing and drinking while peering down at something Enchei couldn’t see. From the sounds, he guessed something was being made to fight for them to bet their wages on.

  The river itself was little more than a stream, but swift as it made its way to the Crescent and the bloodied remnants of the underground trade was carried off to the sea. It emerged from an opening a few feet high and Enchei couldn’t help glancing down into the blackness of that oval tunnel. Even he could see little there, just a faint curve of stone above the water too regular to be natural. It appeared to be empty so Enchei returned his attention to the rest of the room. As he did so, an unnaturally slim figure seemed to fold itself around one of the counterforts that projected into the room and curved up to the peak of the roof.

  Enchei’s senses seemed to blossom into life. Discordant sounds danced out across the room like the clicking calls of a bat – a dozen different sounds that no one else there could hear. At the same time he saw darting, flickering movement within the figure’s cloak and it drifted towards him as though supported merely by air.

  He couldn’t make out the figure’s face, but he didn’t expect to see anything there as he approached it. His own body reacted to the figure’s presence – arms and hands tightening inside his armour, ready to fight, knees bending slightly as he readied to attack or flee.

  A pattern of light traced through the air before the figure’s cowled face, illuminating nothing of the blackness within. Shapes and movements evolved so quickly no normal man would have been able to make any sense of the images, but Enchei had been expecting it. He blinked once as the pattern seemed to etch itself onto his eyes and twisted into the semblance of sense to his mind.

  And all without truly understanding how it is done, he reflected, as he had so many times before. The explanations were always perfunctory – they wanted me as a tool, a weapon to be wielded, not a scholar. For the enlightened masters of the nation, they always were jealous in guarding their knowledge.

  – You are the one, came the demon’s silent words. – You are the mortal blessed by our lord’s favour.

  ‘Don’t know about that,’ Enchei muttered as he formed a reply. He raised his hand and skeins of light danced briefly across the surface of his palm.

  – I am the one.

  – We are the emissary. Kneel before us.

  ‘Like buggery I will.’

  – No. Give me the message your master sends.

  – You will show us greater respect, mortal.

  – The message, now.

  The demon’s reply was jagged edged and intensely bright.

  – We will tear out your soul !

  Tendrils of light unfolded from within the drifting dark cloak that hid the demon. Enchei just snorted and slapped his light-traced hand towards the nearest. As it passed through, the tendril seemed to burst. The demon recoiled hurriedly, tendrils writhing around its slim form until they were withdrawn again.

  – Try that again and I’ll cut your balls off, he signalled.

  The demon kept very still, uncomprehending his threat, but now aware of the danger he could pose it.

  – Your master gets to speak to me like that, Enchei continued after a pause. – You just get to leave without being killed if you give me the message now.

  There was a long moment where only black
ness was visible within the cowl, but at last tiny threads of light appeared again.

  – The being of the night sky you call Shield accedes to your request. It has traced the steps of your friend, but he is now beyond Shield’s sight.

  ‘I expected as much,’ Enchei said. – Where does the path end ?

  – Here.

  The light traced an image suddenly, a plan of the city as seen by a being of the night sky. Enchei watched as the image rushed towards him ; the scale dropping as quick as a striking falcon as the districts, then streets, became visible. Lastly the shape of a building came into view, the outline of a door-lintel and the smoky trail of Narin that led inside.

  Enchei nodded. The image had imprinted itself on his memory ; he could see exactly where in the city they had disappeared from Shield’s sight – most likely the building was warded against demons and avatars of the Gods alike.

  – Thank your master for me.

  The cloak merely collapsed in front of him and fluttered untidily to the floor. Enchei found himself standing alone, staring at a wall a few yards behind. He coughed and turned, realising one of the boys cleaning the room had stopped to watch him and wonder what was going on.

  ‘You can fuck off an’ all,’ he said, half-drawing a knife at his waist as a threat – choosing to look like just some local thug rather than anything more gossip-worthy.

  The boy glanced over at the gaggle of butchers, still intent on their sport then returned Enchei a level look. With a shrug he went back to his mopping.

  Chapter 20

  Narin stands and watches her from a darkened corner, cocooned from the songs and laughter that ring out across the great hall. Tapestries of snarling wyverns adorn every wall. Birds sing from gilt cages on each of the two dozen round tables. Most of the hall’s occupants are at the tables ; warriors kneeling while the nobles and religious caste sit on fat velvet cushions of purple and blue.

  The hall is in fact five rooms ; arranged in the shape of a primrose, Narin remembers her telling him. Curved stone archways separate the rooms, normally blocked off by painted wooden screens, but for the feast it is all one room.