Darkhaven

by A. F. E. Smith

  By the time they reached the wider road lined with industrial yards that passed along the outermost edge of the first ring, Caraway had gained some ground. The noise of wheels and hooves alike faded as they returned to a smooth paved surface, to be replaced by the sounds of the nearby cotton mill: the hum of the looms, audible even through the walls, and the repetitive hiss of the atmospheric engine that lifted water out of the canal to drive the waterwheel. The carriage picked up speed again, racing along in the direction of the ironworks; Caraway could barely hold on to the advantage he had already gained, let alone close the gap further. He clung to the reins with stiff fingers, warehouses and factories passing in a blur to either side of him, identifiable only by the parade of different smells that came and went in quick succession: wood, sewage, lye.

  Finally they reached a boatbuilder’s yard, where both carriage and lone horse had to swerve around the hull of a merchant barge that was being hauled down the road towards them on a flat-bed cart by a team of oxen. The sudden turn set the carriage leaning at a crazy angle, its outer wheels skimming the gutter. Caraway chewed on the inside of his lip, fists tightening in helpless anticipation. It was going to tip over – it would crash, making him indirectly responsible for hounding Ayla to her death – but then it settled back into place, rocking on its springs, and kept going. Caraway was watching it so intently that he only just missed the barge himself, his mount shying and snorting at the sight of the oxen. Blinking away the sudden dizziness of relief, he gathered himself and urged the horse on, followed by the curses of the men driving the team.

  Beyond the boatyard the road and the first-ring tramway converged, to run side by side before parting again at the ironworks. Caraway heard a low rumble and glanced up to see the square silhouette of a tram approaching, adding a lighter layer of steam to the smoke that already hung in the air. Several passengers were leaning out of the glassless windows, watching his pursuit with incurious faces. No doubt they’d seen many stranger things in their time than a wild-eyed man on a horse chasing a runaway carriage. One of them called out something that was lost in the throbbing of the tram’s engine; it sounded uncomplimentary, but Caraway ignored it, keeping his gaze fixed on his target. The tram loomed beside him with a rhythmic rushing sound, before chugging on past in a swirl of coal-scented air. Ahead, the driver of the carriage was battling to control his pair of horses, which clearly weren’t used to running for such extended periods through the city streets. Caraway leaned forward and murmured to his own horse. If he could just catch up somehow …

  As they neared the roar and glow of the ironworks itself, he saw his opportunity. Ahead the road forged on between the ironworks and the outer wall of the city, with no room for turnings or branches until it left the industrial areas behind and began to enter the edges of the trading quarter. If he was quick, he could cut along the inner side of the ironworks and meet the carriage at the other end.

  Waiting only long enough to be sure that the carriage was going straight on, Caraway hauled on the reins and steered his horse left, across the bridge that led over the tramway. The heavy tang of hot iron settled on him like a blanket as he sped past the red-brown metal skeleton that made up the ironworks, the rattle of the ore-carts as they were winched up the side of the furnace only adding to the general din. He kept going, coaxing the horse to move as fast as the cracked surface of the road allowed, until the noise of the ironworks began to recede behind them. Then he recrossed the tramway and turned down the nearest side street, aiming for a point at which his path and the carriage’s would intersect. His route would return him to the main road just where it narrowed to pass under a grand archway into the mercantile quarter: perfect. He pulled up just before the narrow alley he was in rejoined the road, breathing hard and straining to listen. Let me be in time. Let me not have missed them … Then he heard the sound of fast-approaching wheels.

  As the pair of horses rounded the corner with the carriage that contained Ayla swaying behind them, Caraway forced his own mount out in front of them. He was broadside on to them; with no time to turn and too little space to pass him, the carriage would have to stop. For a terrifying moment it seemed he had left it too late – the oncoming horses showed no signs of slowing, their rolling eyes and foam-flecked cheeks heading straight for him as though they intended to barrel into him in a lethal tangle of hooves and limbs – but he gritted his teeth and held his nervous horse steady in the face of the onslaught. The driver was shouting at him, telling him to get out of the way or they’d both end up dead, and he kept on shouting right up until the pair of horses came to a halt in a flurry of snorting and stamping, close enough to Caraway that he could feel the heat radiating off them.

  ‘You bloody idiot!’ The driver’s face was pallid and sweaty, his eyes showing the whites all the way round in much the same way as his horses’. ‘A few lengths more and –’

  ‘You’re alive, aren’t you?’ Caraway dropped to the ground, catching himself with legs that suddenly felt much too wobbly. Trying to conceal the weakness, he drew his broken blade as he advanced. ‘And if you want to stay that way then you’d better run. This thing may not look like much, but I reckon it could still slit your throat.’

  If possible, the man’s eyes widened still further. Before Caraway could even contemplate climbing up onto the box, the driver had made a scrambling dismount on the opposite side of the carriage and fled down the street. Strange. The man hadn’t been wearing the uniform of a Helmsman, but all the same Caraway would have expected him to put up more of a fight. Ayla Nightshade was in that carriage, after all. Why hadn’t the Helm guarded her more securely? Owen Travers wasn’t the sort of man to rely on a speedy getaway without having a bloodier and more violent backup plan.

  The first uneasy tendrils of misgiving creeping through him, Caraway wrenched open the door of the carriage – and stopped dead, gaping at the two people huddled in the interior. One was a man wearing the striped coat of the Helm, and the other … the other was a girl in a cloak, with the hood pulled up over her dyed black hair.

  A girl, in fact, who wasn’t Ayla.

  She screamed as Caraway grabbed the Helmsman’s shirt in two fists and pulled him out of the carriage, then threw a punch that sent him sprawling in the dirt of the street.

  ‘Where is she?’ he shouted. ‘What have you done with her?’

  ‘I – I don’t know what you –’

  ‘Ayla!’ Caraway clenched his fists, fighting the urge to beat it out of the man. ‘Where is she?’

  The Helmsman shook his head, the back of one hand pressed to his bloodied mouth. He was only a boy, really; as young as Caraway himself had been when he first joined the Helm.

  ‘I – I’m just obeying orders,’ he stammered, blinking up at Caraway, making no attempt to get to his feet. ‘Captain Travers –’

  Fire and blood. Caraway took a step back, shaking his head, bitter understanding coming too late. How could he have been so damned stupid? The whole thing was a setup. Travers had got him out of the way as neatly as a rat in a trap, leaving him stranded pretty much as far as he could get from the Gate of Flame. And Ayla –

  Leaving the staring Helmsman on the ground and the girl having hysterics in the carriage, he remounted his horse and turned it around, back towards the higher rings. Towards Darkhaven, where the Helm must have taken Ayla.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Serenna awoke with a shiver to an unfamiliar room that was bright with early morning sunlight. How she knew it was unfamiliar, she wasn’t sure: the canopy above her looked exactly the same as Ayla’s. It just felt different.

  She turned her head and saw Myrren lying next to her, a small frown on his face as if he were trying to work something out in his sleep. Memory came flooding back to her in a hot rush and a sudden awareness of her own body. Last night she’d – they’d – oh, flaming ashes. The high priestess would have severe words to say about this.

  She doesn’t have to know, Serenna told herself, but somehow she co
uldn’t believe it. She felt it must be written on her face for everyone to see. It was as though she had woken up in a world where everything had undergone a subtle change, meaning she didn’t quite fit into it in the same way as before. This can never happen again, she’d said to Myrren, and she’d been in earnest. So why did she now feel she wanted it to?

  Serenna shook her head. Giving in to physical desire had warped her faculty for logic, just as she’d been warned it would. She needed to get back to her own room – Ayla’s room – and meditate for a time. Control the conflicting emotions that were racing through her veins and find the still, calm centre of herself once more. Only then would she be able to assess the effect that last night’s actions would have on her life.

  She sat up slowly and carefully, anxious not to disturb Myrren. She was still wearing her dress, though it was crumpled and wrinkled after her night’s sleep. The window was wide open, she noticed; no wonder she was cold. The man certainly did like his fresh air. Or perhaps, like the bird in his painting, it was the closest he could get to freedom.

  Stop it, she told herself sternly. You’re letting your judgement become clouded by sentiment. Just get out before he wakes.

  She slipped out of the bed and stole across the floor towards her discarded underclothes. She could feel the blood heating her face as she pulled them on, and hoped fervently that she wouldn’t bump into anyone on the way back to her room. Having shaken out her skirts as best she could and pinned her veil with lopsided haste over her uncombed hair, she tiptoed towards the door, but before she could reach it she heard Myrren’s voice behind her.

  ‘Are you leaving?’

  Serenna turned. He was sitting up in bed, blinking at her, an expression of concern on his face. Immediately she could feel the same tugging at her heart that had led her to reach out to him the night before, as though somehow he had attached a fine silk cord to it and could draw her back towards him with the slightest pull. It wasn’t fair that he should have so much of an effect on her, even now.

  ‘I’ve already stayed too long,’ she told him. ‘I need to go.’

  Frowning, Myrren flung the covers aside and swung his legs out of the bed. With a shock, she realised he was naked. She averted her gaze, a deeper blush spreading across her skin, but not before she’d caught sight of the dark purple bruise high up on his arm.

  ‘How on earth did you get that bruise?’ she asked as a way to distract herself, still not looking at him.

  ‘What? Oh … it must have been in the fight with Elisse’s oddly named bodyguard yesterday.’ Serenna heard a rustle of fabric; presumably he was clothing himself. She wished she could stop remembering the way she’d kissed him last night. The way she’d wrapped her legs around his waist.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’ she asked almost at random, still floating in a cloud of acute embarrassment.

  ‘Not really,’ Myrren said. ‘I’ve been having a lot of bad dreams recently. They leave me feeling tired even when I’ve just been sleeping. Still, hopefully they’ll go away when all this is over.’ Then, with the hint of a smile in his voice, ‘You can look at me now, Serenna.’

  She did so. He was wearing a dark blue dressing gown trimmed with gold; there was both amusement and consternation in his eyes.

  ‘Would you rather we pretended it never happened?’ he asked her. ‘Because if that’s what you want …’

  Yes. No. Serenna bit her lip. ‘I don’t know. I need time to think.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll go along with whatever you decide. If you want to go back to your temple today, I won’t try and stop you. But –’ and here his voice took on a different tone, an edge of significance that cut through his careful neutrality like a rock in a stream – ‘if you want to stay here for good, I would welcome that too.’

  Serenna stared at him. She hadn’t even considered that she might stay in Darkhaven. That Myrren might want her to stay in Darkhaven. He looked back at her, a self-deprecating cast to his mouth, as though he fully expected her to reject him outright. But the truth was, she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what she wanted, not any more.

  In the taut silence that had fallen between them, a sudden flurry of knocks on the door made them both jump.

  ‘Not again,’ Myrren muttered. His face had lost all traces of colour. ‘Didn’t I tell you I had a nightmare? If this is another attack …’

  He strode to the door and opened it. Serenna stayed where she was, anxiety warring with the desire to keep out of sight, but soon anxiety won and she rose up on tiptoe to peer over Myrren’s shoulder. It took her a moment to place the woman standing outside in the corridor, dressed as she was in a Helmsman’s coat: Elisse’s blonde bodyguard, Sorrow. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and she carried no weapons except for a single knife.

  ‘You!’ Myrren’s hands curled into fists, and he glanced back into the room as though searching for something to defend himself with.

  ‘I come in peace,’ Sorrow drawled, offering him the knife hilt-first. ‘This was just in case I met anyone I didn’t like on the way. Will you let me in, my lord? I have some news I think you’ll want to hear.’

  Myrren took the knife and backed away far enough to let her through the door, but Serenna could tell he was frowning. ‘I did warn you I’d have you locked up if I ever saw you again …’

  ‘I’m hoping you’ll let me off,’ Sorrow said. ‘Since I’ve just saved Elisse’s life and delivered your brother safely into the world.’

  ‘What?’ The word flew out before Serenna could stop it. Sorrow turned her head, apparently registering Serenna’s presence for the first time, and scanned her dress as if noting every crease and wrinkle. A knowing smirk touched her lips, but she made no comment.

  ‘Explain yourself.’ Myrren appeared oblivious to Serenna’s awkward blushes; his gaze was fixed on Sorrow’s face. ‘Elisse has had her baby?’

  ‘Correct,’ Sorrow said. ‘Elisse was visited by this rogue Changer creature of yours last night. I drove it off, but the shock sent Elisse into labour.’ She offered a mocking grin. ‘Next thing I knew, I was catching a baby in my bare hands.’

  ‘So there was another attack,’ Myrren whispered, before gathering himself together. ‘That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here in the first place, though. Or why you came to tell me about it.’

  Sorrow shrugged. ‘Turns out I do have some level of integrity, Lord Myrren. I came to you because Elisse needs a physician, and because she seems to believe you don’t mean her any harm. Beyond that …’ She frowned, her eyes unfocusing briefly as though she were looking at something else. ‘Travers thinks he can make me a scapegoat. And since I don’t want both of you after me –’ her lips set in a wry twist – ‘I’m offering myself up to your mercy.’

  That didn’t make a whole lot of sense to Serenna, but Myrren was nodding as if he understood.

  ‘All well and good, Sorrow, but I still need a full explanation of –’

  ‘You’ll get it,’ Sorrow said. ‘But first things first. Send the physician to Elisse. Then after that, we can talk.’ She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘Now, if I can just have my knife back?’

  To Serenna’s surprise, Myrren handed it over without demur.

  ‘I’ll send for the physician,’ he said. ‘Serenna and I will come to Elisse’s room as soon as he’s finished. I trust you’ll be there?’

  Sorrow’s gaze travelled from him to Serenna and back again. ‘You trust correctly.’ She turned to leave the room, then added over her shoulder, ‘And bring my pistol with you, will you? The one I stole from you throws left.’

  As the door closed behind her, Myrren shook his head. ‘You know, crazy as it sounds, I almost like her.’

  Serenna frowned at him. ‘Even though she did her very best to kill you last time you saw her?’

  ‘She’s just confirmed my suspicions,’ Myrren said, still staring abstractedly at the door. ‘Or at least, there is sufficient doubt over the matter to make it worthwhile ques
tioning her before I call the Helm to cart her off to jail.’

  Serenna rubbed the bridge of her nose, wondering if last night had dulled her wits as well as scrambling her emotions. ‘What suspicions?’

  ‘Captain Travers said that Sorrow overstepped her authority in what she did to protect Elisse.’ Finally, Myrren turned to face her. ‘But if there’s one thing I know about sellswords, it’s that they never do more than they’re paid to do. It was always far more likely that Travers gave Sorrow permission to defend Elisse against anyone who stumbled across her, even if it happened to be a Nightshade.’

  ‘Ah.’ At last it made sense. ‘So you believe Sorrow’s account may provide you with enough evidence to have Travers demoted?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Myrren’s teeth showed in a ferocious smile. ‘Travers has been challenging my authority ever since my father died. Now, finally, I have something concrete to use against him. Added to the fact that I felt Ayla Change down in Arkannen last night, when he claimed she had left the city –’

  ‘You felt Ayla Change?’ Serenna echoed. She couldn’t work out why Myrren appeared to be so happy about that. Surely, if Ayla had taken her other form on the same night that the rogue creature had attacked Elisse, that could only be seen as evidence against her …

  ‘I thought what you’re thinking, to start with,’ Myrren said. ‘But in fact, it’s the one piece of proof I needed that Ayla is innocent. I’d forgotten how familiar it feels, when she Changes. I didn’t feel anything like that on the other nights when there were attacks. And though I know Travers wouldn’t accept that as evidence, it’s enough for me. Ayla is innocent, and I will not let her be convicted.’

  His expression softening, he stepped close enough to Serenna to take her hands. ‘Serenna … you and I have things to talk about, I know that. But for now, I think it’s important that we visit Elisse as soon as possible and find out what happened last night. There’s still a killer on the loose; preventing any further attacks and finding the real culprit must be our foremost priority. That is, if you’re still willing to help me.’