Blackwing: The Raven's Mark Book One

by Ed McDonald

  15

  I woke to a tearing pain in my arm, burning heat and a sense of violation. I cried out, grabbed my arm and gritted my teeth as the skin thrust outwards, lances of agony through my flesh as it ripped open. The bird that struggled out was huge, too big to have been in my arm, its shining black plumage oily and slick with my blood. I tried not to scream as gore dripped across my sheets.

  The bird spread its wings wide, opened its beak wide.

  ‘GET HER OUT!’ it bellowed, a furious roar that rattled the bed in its frame. The voice was tinged with the raven’s croak but the rage was all too human. ‘GET HER OUT! GET HER OUT!’

  I’d have preferred a more cogent message, but Crowfoot didn’t favour me with any details. The big bird flapped its wings once, twice, looked around in puzzlement as if wondering where it was. Its message clearly delivered, I backhanded the bloody thing off the bed. A few moments later, the raven’s eyes crackled with inner fire, smoke billowed from beneath the wings and jetted in a little plume from its beak as it collapsed. I grasped my arm and swore through gritted teeth. Fucking birds. Fucking wizards.

  I rolled from the bed. The wound in my arm would close of its own accord, but it was fucking up my cleanish sheets. I wrapped a strip of bandage around it and threw on the first clothes that came to hand. No time to waste. Act fast, move quick, stay bright. I glanced between the weapons in my cupboard. The cutlass was good and practical, but instead I took my longsword, half weapon, half warning. A man doesn’t strap on a longsword unless he means to carve somebody in two. Crowfoot seldom sent me a mission without there being a good chance that I’d have to sever someone from their mortality.

  Would have helped if he’d told me where to go, or who I was supposed to be getting out of what, but I could guess at the who, at least. I ran to a local stable, hired a horse and saddle with money I couldn’t afford. Nenn’s place was on the way, so I hammered on her door. She glanced out the window, saw the battle gear and joined me dressed in edges. Didn’t ask me any questions, maybe saw the set of my jaw. She rode double behind me.

  I tried Lindrick’s house first, but it was dark and quiet. No sign of a struggle, nothing to suggest anything untoward had happened. I tried the front and the back, banged my fist against the doors a few times, but nobody was home. Nenn frowned at me, but I didn’t explain and we went on to the Willows.

  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The guards on the bridge spanning the moat waved us through. Servants moved along the streets with covered baskets or rolled sealed kegs. We galloped past them until I came into view of Herono’s vast house. The groom took charge of my horse but looked uncertainly at me.

  ‘You won’t find much work today, I think, sir,’ he said. ‘Some bad business.’

  I didn’t fancy getting answers from a groom anyway. I found the steward, who looked flustered and too hot beneath his starched collar. I should have asked for the prince.

  ‘I need to see Prince Herono,’ I demanded. Shot him a black, kill-everyone type of look. The steward looked me over, noted the steels at my belt. He insisted that I disarm and that Nenn wait in a reception room, then led me through the house.

  ‘Is your arm hurt, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing that won’t get better,’ I said. The thin bandage had bled through, the red stain darkening to brown. Crowfoot hadn’t been careful as he tore me open. My arm hurt like a bastard but the anger in that croaking voice was more dangerous.

  Herono was reading through sheaves of paperwork in a palatial chamber, fully one whole wall of which was panels of glass. It faced west, away from the Misery. Better to see the true blue of the sky when you had the choice. The prince looked old. Her skin weathered, mouth a tight, pursed line. The steward ushered me in and left me there. Herono’s one eye was on the wrong side of her head to see me; she had not noticed me enter.

  ‘Your grace,’ I bowed. She looked up. I thought she seemed tired. Irritated. She ushered me to the seat opposite.

  ‘You have no doubt heard, then?’ she said. I chose my words carefully.

  ‘I should prefer to hear it from you, your grace.’

  ‘Ezabeth reappeared at her family residence this morning. Spirits alone know where she was hiding,’ she said. ‘The marshal’s men took her. She has been declared a dangerous lunatic and incarcerated in the Maud.’

  It didn’t come as a shock. I felt cold. Empty. Slowly, a tide rose telling me I’d helped put her there. Instead of locking her down, I’d encouraged her.

  ‘She went with them quietly?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Herono sighed. ‘She was quite ready to burn them all. She had portable battery coils and battle canisters stacked around her bed. Spirits know where she got them from. The soldiers were well warned, though. Professional. They brought sufficient sorcerers to lock her down.’

  ‘I see.’ Too many thoughts were flying by for any of them to take hold long enough for me to think on it. I swallowed. Tried to get myself in order. ‘I …’ Words abandoned me. Herono must have seen the look on my face.

  ‘I suppose that to bring her all this way from Station Twelve only to find her unhinged must be a great disappointment,’ Herono said. I nodded. Yeah. That made sense, a good enough story.

  ‘Yes, your grace.’

  ‘Mercy knows where she has been these last days,’ Herono said. ‘I’ve some of her writings here. Some of what she has written is quite bizarre.’ She wore a faintly amused little smile. ‘See this? Here, I’ll read it for you. “The Steps Of Nall, as I recall them. The heart is black, the heart is cold. Only a song could be so bold.” It’s a children’s rhyme. Do you know it?’

  I felt a great sinking feeling. Like when you learn that despite what they told you, nobody has really seen the holy spirits, that you have to take them on faith, and then realise that none of it makes any bloody sense at all. Like that, but worse.

  ‘I know it,’ I said. It was a nonsense rhyme, the kind that you sing to a child. My mother had taught it to me. It went on, ‘The day draws long, the night comes soon, only a child can seek the moon.’ I ran my hands across my face.

  It was nonsense. But Gleck Maldon had lost his mind and been right all the same.

  ‘I had hoped she would come to her senses, stop before she pushed too far,’ Herono said grimly. ‘Even when she called me a conspirator in front of the Council, still I hoped. Now, at least she cannot harm herself.’

  ‘What will happen to her now?’

  ‘She’ll stay there, I suppose,’ Herono said. ‘Perhaps it is for the best.’

  I pursed my lips. I would not allow that to happen. I’d seen Ezabeth at her most frantic, so absorbed in her scribbling she’d not known I was there, and I’d doubted her. But I’d also seen her calm, methodical, wonderful. The spinning coin could have fallen to either side but the Maud sure as spit wasn’t the place for it to land. She needed answers, and so did I.

  ‘Surely you could use your influence to have her freed, your grace? Have her sent to some quiet place where she could be tended? Somewhere more suitable for a woman of her rank?’

  ‘The situation prevents me from intervening,’ Herono said. ‘Ezabeth has been rather too active and vocal. Allegedly she tried to publish seditious material, making treasonous claims. Were I to intervene now I’d be seen to be taking her side. You can imagine the difficulties that would present if the allegations proved true. They took her this morning and judging by her writings perhaps it is a mercy. By keeping her in the mad house I can at least protect her. The mad cannot be held to account by law.’

  ‘Do you believe she intended treason, your grace?’

  I had to walk a careful line. I doubted that Ezabeth had sold me out for helping her, but I couldn’t show any sign that I might be in agreement with her.

  ‘Between you and me?’ Herono checked the doorway to ensure that we were alone. ‘The girl may have lost her mind, but I w
as rather hoping she’d finish her research. The results would have been very interesting.’ She shrugged. ‘But what’s done is done. Mistakes were made. I shall ensure she is well cared for. Perhaps she can even continue her research behind the Maud’s safe walls. Imagine if she were right?’

  I knew she was right. I felt it now, solid as a stone in my gut. Crowfoot’s direct intervention had confirmed it for me. He’d had me help her at Station Twelve because she mattered. I shuffled my cards, got ready to play the round. They held all the high cards, but those only matter if you’re playing the same game.

  I took my leave.

  ‘All this fuss over that little witch?’ Nenn said as we rode swiftly back into town.

  ‘Seems so.’

  ‘What’s so special about her?’

  ‘She’s figured things out. Important things. Things people don’t like. Shit on it all, we have to get her out of there.’

  Maybe Nenn was giving me a look, but since she was behind me all I could feel was the tightening of her fists balled up in my shirt. Nenn never liked the cream, hated to take their part in anything. Maybe I’d been wrong to bring her. Needed her, though. Better to ride carefully.

  The Maud was an old building, older than most in Valengrad. Big stone walls with two high storeys. Above the wide double doors a legend stated the name of the man who had commissioned it, some long-dead colonel. It hadn’t always been an asylum, but the need for somewhere to house the crazies was pretty great in Valengrad.

  The orderlies and physicians who staffed the Maud wore long green robes and brown aprons, delicate gloves and little cloth face masks, as though lunacy was something that could be caught. Maybe it could. That would certainly explain some of the things I’d been doing lately. Nenn said that at least with all those covered faces Ezabeth wouldn’t feel out of place. She had a point.

  I showed the fat matron the letter of authority Herono had given me. She seemed surprised, but she admitted us. I’d met her before on previous visits.

  ‘When Maldon was a guest here we had the rooms prepared for him,’ the matron told me cheerfully as she waddled along. ‘Bricked up the windows completely. We had rather expected that he would be here for a long time, and he could afford a comfortable existence so we agreed to pay for the brickwork. We had kept him down in the dark rooms until it was ready, but we finished the work and not a day later he broke out. Such a waste!’

  I thought it a waste too, just not of the money.

  There were guards on the door. Ordinary-looking men wearing black citadel uniforms. They didn’t look pleased to see us, but the matron was the boss. I wondered how long they were going to be staying around for. It couldn’t be normal to post guards in the Maud, not even for a patient of status.

  The chambers beyond were more comfortable than my own place, thick plush rugs and beautiful wall hangings showing the works of the spirits. The furniture was older, probably sold cheap by some noble who’d had enough of the Range and decided to pack up and run back west. The whole room was lit only with oil lamps. The stench of the whale oil was repugnant, but only moonlight could be spun into phos. If Ezabeth tried to spin this artificial glow she’d get sick. The big matron looked like she wanted to linger, to hear what we were to discuss, but I asked for privacy and she granted it. Ezabeth appeared from a side room, fixing her veil into place as if she’d been disturbed.

  ‘They got me,’ she said bitterly. Angry rather than unnerved. ‘I returned to my house in Willows as you advised, and the next morning I wake up with swords at my throat.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. I could have said that I’d warned her, but there was no use. She didn’t look any the worse for wear. She wore a long dress of burnt orange trimmed with black, the knee-length fashion with long boots beneath. She seemed altogether less distressed than her situation warranted.

  ‘I remember you,’ Ezabeth said, looking at Nenn. ‘You were at Station Twelve. You fought alongside the captain. You have my thanks for your help.’

  Nenn shrugged. It was rude of her, but then, maybe social rank didn’t count once you’ve been declared a mad woman. By Nenn’s expression she intended to be ruder than usual.

  ‘I have to get you out of here,’ I said. ‘Orders from the top.’

  ‘From Marshal Venzer?’ Ezabeth asked.

  ‘Higher,’ I said. I stroked my arm. It still hurt, although the flesh there was smooth and unbroken again. I never quite understood how that magic works. It doesn’t heal, it’s just not damaged any more. Like it never happened.

  ‘Both higher and lower,’ Ezabeth murmured. I nodded.

  ‘You’re both crazy,’ Nenn said. She slumped down into a chair, annoyed that we were talking about something she didn’t understand. Nenn didn’t understand a lot of things, but she was used to me not explaining them. Ezabeth narrowed her eyes at me, a tight smile on her lips.

  ‘Don’t you see, though? If he’s on my side, it means I must be right.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s on anyone’s side except his own,’ I said. ‘We need you out of here. How do we make that happen?’

  ‘Fear not, I will be out soon,’ Ezabeth said. ‘My cousin will be furious. I had rather expected her to set me free by now. She won’t tolerate the insult to her family long. You know my cousin.’

  So that explained her lack of concern.

  ‘I wouldn’t look for help from that quarter,’ I said. I ran a few things through my mind. Herono’s absence, the prince’s easy acceptance of Ezabeth’s incarceration. ‘It serves Herono’s interests to have you locked in here,’ I said eventually. ‘Your ideas are dangerous. As a phos mill owner and councillor for the Order, you’re spouting poison to her interests. We have to assume she’s no longer an ally.’

  ‘We?’ Ezabeth said. Her eyes flashed. I’d have sworn there was a feline grin beneath her mask.

  ‘We?’ Nenn said. Her eyes glowered. She’d have scrunched up her nose if she’d had one.

  ‘Never mind that,’ I snapped. I took a deep breath. ‘I need you out of here. I can get you out. If you’re willing.’ I placed a hand on the pommel of my longsword. The age-old signal that you’re willing to start painting the walls red. Ezabeth met my eye and she didn’t even consider it.

  ‘No innocents. Let’s say you kill the guards at the door and cut a path through the orderlies. To what end? I’d have no chance of presenting my work to the marshal, the Order’s inner circle, any of them. I’d be a dangerous criminal, a fugitive. No. I must be freed, legally. I’m on to something, and I’m close to it. They want it buried.’ She glared at the walls. ‘This buries me.’

  I thought back to the sad little rhyme that Herono had showed me. The heart is black, the heart is cold. I wish I could have been surer that I was doing the right thing. Still had to go with it. What Crowfoot ordered, I did. Even if Ezabeth didn’t want to, even if it made me an outlaw, I’d cut her a path. If Crowfoot had told me to cut off both my own arms I’d have tried to do it. Failing him was not an option.

  ‘Aren’t you some high-up cream?’ Nenn asked. Sourness in her tone.

  ‘Lady Tanza’s brother is Count Tanza,’ I said.

  ‘Get him to free you,’ Nenn said with a shrug. I guess that to Nenn, down on the ground, it seemed like the cream could do whatever they wanted. But she had a point.

  ‘The Maud isn’t the last word in incarceration,’ I said. ‘They say you’re crazy, but if your brother insisted on taking you into his own care, there’s little they could do about it. It wouldn’t give you the freedom of the city, but it would get you out of here.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ezabeth agreed. ‘But he’s in the Misery. He came here to help Maldon with his calculations weeks ago, and then went to study Cold’s Crater.’

  There was a certain expectant silence. Nenn turned to look at me and I avoided looking back. She stared at me until I met her eye.

  ‘Do
n’t say it, captain,’ she said. Terse. Warning. Without knowing why, a kind of grin began to creep onto my face. Maybe because it was going to annoy Nenn, and we had that kind of relationship.

  ‘Maybe we have to.’

  ‘You’re as crazy as she is.’

  ‘Maybe. But I think we still have to.’ I looked back to Ezabeth. It made this easier that not only was it Crowfoot’s order, it was what I wanted to do. This whale-oil stinking chamber was no place for my lady. For a lady. Get your fucking words straight, Galharrow.

  ‘Have to what?’ she asked.

  ‘I know Cold’s Crater. Been there before. It’s deep into the Misery, but if Tnota can get a good lunar alignment we can be there and back within a week. If we move fast and don’t get gracked on the way. Or on the way back.’ I glanced at Nenn. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’re a cock,’ Nenn said.

  ‘Sure. A week, though?’ She thought about it. We’d spent an unpleasant summer of skirmishes around that crater some five years before.

  ‘It’s bullshit, but it can be done.’

  It was decided. Nobody ever wants to go into the Misery, but sometimes you just got to follow the trickle of fate’s piss.

  ‘And that other problem? The one where you get your ghost owned, or your balls cut off?’ Nenn said angrily. ‘Don’t act like you don’t got problems of your own to sort out. You don’t have the time to be doing this, captain.’

  ‘Sometimes you got to rest your own problems.’

  ‘Sometimes they won’t rest! Problems like owing Saravor big time. Yeah, Tnota told me. You need to get yourself clear with him, not go running off into the Misery because—’ She restrained herself, like she was dragging back on her own leash. I suspect some kind of vicious description of Ezabeth would have followed. Nenn’s dislike for my potentially insane friend wore no silks.

  ‘Saravor,’ Ezabeth said, turning the name over like it was a fine wine on the tongue. ‘I’ve heard of him. He was … recommended to me, a long time ago. I heard bad things about him. You owe him money?’