The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  “Who are you?” Raysh asked.

  “Later,” Sturgeon told him with another shake of the head. “We’re not out yet.”

  A small window led them into an alleyway leading to the street and, despite what Sturgeon had told him, Raysh began to relax. He was out. They might be in a part of Celstwin he’d never seen but he was free. He could feel it bubbling up inside him and, despite the pain, a grin found its way to his lips.

  The skies were dark and overcast, giving no real hint of what the time might be and the streets Sturgeon led him through were almost as dark as the cell had been. After a moment he realised the man was still moving in the same fashion as he had in the cellar, slow and silent, pausing often to listen.

  The grin left Raysh’s lips as he looked around himself properly. This really was a part of Celstwin he’d never seen. The buildings were rough and closer to wattle and daub than to the marble-clad mansions and villas he was used to. The streets were in dire need of repair and filth lined the gutters.

  What really struck him was the darkness. Celstwin, as he knew it, never really grew dark. Torches and lamps were always hung outside of the taverns and hostelries and the broader avenues were lit with large lanterns at regular intervals. Here though, the streets were dark and shadowed.

  It was quiet too. Celstwin was a lively city full of taverns and dining houses for the rich, and louder, more brash places for the rest. Some of the brothels and gambling clubs had been known to carry on until the first blush of dawn. Here though, the silence lay heavy and oppressive. A silence that carried knives and lurked in dark corners.

  He hurried close behind Sturgeon and looked about them as they walked. They stayed in the back alleys most of the time, crossing broader streets only to step back into the network of rubbish-strewn passages. As time went on the silence of the slums gave way to faint sounds of life, the darkness split by raucous laughter and the distant shouts of a drunken argument.

  Once, a man’s scream, filled with pain and outrage, erupted from an alley as they passed. Raysh, jumped and looked to Sturgeon. “Shouldn’t we?” he let the question hang in the air between them. The cloaked man shrugged and shook his head. “Not my business,” he said simply.

  Another filthy passageway led them out onto a broad avenue and, just like that, Celstwin was revealed. Lamplight shone on the surface of the river and the marble buildings had never looked so grand. Raysh sighed and smiled his thanks at Sturgeon but the man ignored him, frowning as he looked at the bridge closest to them.

  Raysh followed his gaze, noting the men clustered in the shadows.

  “Come on,” Sturgeon said. “We’ll find another way.” He reached for Raysh’s shoulder as he turned, urging more speed as more figures stepped out into the street, watching them.

  “Can you run?” Sturgeon asked in a low voice.

  “I can hobble faster,” Raysh managed between clenched teeth.

  “Then let’s do that.” Sturgeon told him, looking behind them. “Follow me and tell me if you can’t keep up.”

  The streets vanished again as Sturgeon led them back into alleys and the even smaller passages that ran between buildings. Raysh gave up on being quiet and put his energies into speed as he shifted into a lurching hobble that would have looked comical at any other time.

  Dark doorways flashed past them until he gasped out for help. Sturgeon was there in moments, ducking his head under Raysh’s arm and urging him out into the small courtyard.

  “Master Sturgeon.” The voice caught them both in surprise and their heads whipped toward the dark doorway on their left, and the figure that lounged in the shadows. Man-shapes peeled out of the darkness, edging towards them.

  Sturgeon lowered Raysh down, hands flashing under his cloak and returning with daggers before he looked back at the speaker. “Who’s asking?”

  “I wasn’t asking.” The voice was faintly amused. “It wasn’t a question. I was telling you that you I know who you are.”

  Sturgeon shrugged. “Didn’t answer my question though. Who are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter who I am,” the figure said as he stepped out of the doorway. “The question you should be asking is who sent me? Who would know that you’d be here, on this night, with Lord Raysh?”

  “I can think of at least three people,” Sturgeon said, tossing the words aside.

  “You’ve never been a stupid man, Sturgeon,” the man told him. “Don’t start now. Tenebris Gatun has taken an interest in this man, and in your employer. He is most eager to speak with her. I suggest you let her know of his invitation and that Lord Raysh will be our guest for a time.”

  “What’s going on?” Raysh hissed.

  “I can’t help you,” Sturgeon said, stepping to one side and sheathing his knives. “I'm sorry, Raysh, these men will take you from here. You belong to the Hidden King now.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The square smelled. It wasn’t quite a strong enough an odour to say it stank, Selena decided, but there was a definite aroma about the place. She wrinkled her nose again and shifted on the carriage seat.

  “Fragrant, isn’t it, your grace?” Hanris said with a small smile.

  Selena nodded. “It puts me in mind of cats. Auntie Evelyn kept cats. Old, incontinent things that were more cushions than pets. Some are just dog people, Hanris. I’ve never been able to abide cats.”

  He smiled a servant's smile and looked out of the carriage window as a movement caught his eye. She caught the motion and leaned forward to follow his gaze. A small group of men had entered the square, Sturgeon among them.

  “It looks as though this is their delegation,” Hanris said as he reached for the door.

  “Your grace,” Sturgeon called as she and Hanris climbed out to meet them.

  “Sturgeon,” she nodded at him, then looked around at the men with him. “And is this all of you? Where is this Tenebris Gatun of yours?”

  “This is Crabber,” Sturgeon said, gesturing to the man next to him.

  “Master Crabber.” Selena inclined her head politely.

  “Your Ladyship,” Crabber rumbled. It would have been a deep, rich voice had it not been lost in a rasp born from years of harsh spirits and stourweed smoke.

  “The man you’re wanting to meet is waiting in there.” He jerked his head towards the low building on the far side of the square.

  Selena raised an eyebrow. “And I’m expected to go to him, I assume?”

  Crabber spread his hands. “Gatun values his privacy. We’re all to wait out here. He’ll meet you alone.”

  “If I may, your grace” Hanris said before looking at the old thief. “How are we to know her grace’s safety is assured?”

  Crabber gave a nasty grin. “She goes in alone to see ‘im. If she don’t come out then we can all cut each other to bits. Sound fair?”

  Selena touched reached for Hanris’ arm and gave him a small smile. “I’m sure it will be fine, Hanris. As Sturgeon said, if the man wanted to do me harm he could have done so already.”

  “Indeed, your grace.” Hanris did not look convinced.

  She walked across the courtyard, picking her way through puddles and inexplicable piles of mud. The door hung slightly open and she took a deep breath as she reached for it. “Don’t look back at them, Selena,” she told herself. “A duchess does not lean on the staff.”

  It was dark inside. A darkness that was somehow intensified by the shafts of light that shone through the gaps and cracks in the wooden walls. Dust hung heavy in the air and the light picked out the floating motes, giving her eyes no chance to adjust to the darkness in the shadows. She moved forward, trailing her hand on the wall as she looked for any sign of life.

  Enough of this, she thought. Floundering along in the darkness only serves to reinforce their position. “All right, I’m here,” she called out. “Now what.”

  “We talk.” The voice was shockingly close and she spun before she could stop herself.

  “You’re an interesting wo
man, Selena Freyton. Or do you prefer Browntree these days?”

  “I prefer, your grace,” she replied, perhaps a bit too tartly.

  The man gave a dry chuckle at that. “No you don’t. Titles are irritating, cumbersome things. They’re like being stuck with a heavy cloak, nice when it’s cold but suffocating if it’s not.”

  Selena said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

  The voice came again but from further around to her left. He’d moved and she hadn’t heard a step. “You’ve made quite an impact in the short time you’ve been here. Enough that even I’ve heard about it.”

  “Interesting,” she replied. “Do you suppose we could stop this production though? This dramatic little scene here, with you prowling around me in the dark? It’s worse than a cheap mummers play.”

  He chuckled again. It was an easy, well-practised laugh, and Selena knew just by listening that it was not even a nodding acquaintance of genuine humour. “A touch abrupt, don’t you think?”

  “What I think, sir, is that I have better things to do with my time than loiter in abandoned warehouses,” Selena replied. She’d given up trying to locate him but her eyes were finally beginning to adjust and, as he shifted again, she caught the edges of his movement, turning so she’d be facing him when he spoke again.

  “To business then,” he said, “You are aware, through Sturgeon I don’t doubt, that I have a certain position in our fair city.”

  Was that a faint note of disappointment in his voice? Irritation? Had she spoilt his little game? “I am,” she replied.

  “You’ve not been here long enough to understand how Celstwin really works. There are two cities within Celstwin’s walls, not one. Our illustrious King Pieter rules over his gleaming marble. I rule something far more real.”

  Selena sighed. “I fail to see what this has to do with me, and frankly this is growing tiresome. I’m given to understand you hold Raysh captive. What is it you want with him?”

  Flint struck steel and a burst of sparks resulted in a glowing wisp of rope, and then a lamp’s gentle light. The man stood only twenty feet from her, beside a table set with two chairs.

  “Come. Sit with me.” The lamplight and his voluminous hooded cloak served to hide his face as effectively as the darkness had.

  Selena sighed “A hooded cloak? Really?”

  “I have my reasons for remaining anonymous, lady,” he replied stiffly.

  “Anonymity has its uses, I suppose, though it does make it rather difficult to have a real conversation. What am I to call you? Tenebris Gatun? I think we both know that’s not actually your name. The Hidden King?” She shook her head and gave a mock shudder.

  He studied her in silence for a moment, and then barked a rough laugh. “You’re an interesting one, Freyton. Call me Gatun for now. You’re right, it’s not my real name, of course, but it’ll serve.”

  “Master Gatun then.” She nodded in greeting and moved to sit in the closest chair, toying with the wooden cup as she watched him in silence.

  “Captive isn’t really the right word anyway. About Raysh, I mean.” The man picked up a bottle. “Wine?” Selena shook her head. “I hope you don’t mind if I do then.” He carried on speaking as he worked the cork loose. “Raysh is more along the lines of an unwilling guest, though I realise that’s more or less the same thing. Aside from anything else he’s been treated far too well to have been a captive. As for what I want with him? Nothing. He was simply a means of arranging this meeting. In fact he’s already on the way back to your villa.”

  She picked at the tips of her glove, pulling the fabric loose around her fingers as he sat and sipped at the cup. “I see, so then what is it you want with me?”

  “Pieter is a simple enough man to understand,” he said, turning the cup slowly on the table. “He wants power and is jealous of the power he already holds. I understand that. It’s a sensible enough thing. In his own way, he’s not a stupid man either. He recognises things for what they are, recognises Celstwin for what it is and, for the most part, we’ve been able to work around each other. There have been occasions when he’s crossed the line and I’ve dealt with that. By the same token there have been times when I’ve probably gone a bit too far and he’s been quick to let me know that too.”

  “So you have an accord then?”

  “No,” he said dismissing it quickly. “Nothing so formal. He is aware that there is an organisation controlling the Warrens and that there are forces that work to maintain a level of order and restraint here and throughout Celstwin. That’s about as far as it goes.”

  Selena tugged the glove off and made a circle of her finger and thumb around it, pulling it through with the other hand. “A gentlemen’s agreement then. He leaves you alone, in return you leave him alone.”

  Gatun snorted a laugh at that, genuine this time and as different from the earlier chuckle as a laugh could be. “A gentlemen’s agreement. I like that. I suppose it could be, though I don’t think I could be described as a gentleman.”

  “I don’t know, the standard seems to have been slipping of late,” Selena replied with a wry smile.

  He took a deep drink and wiped his mouth with the back of the hand that held the cup. “There are a lot of rumours about you, Freyton. You’ve stirred up a remarkable amount of trouble in a very short space of time. Now don’t get me wrong, turmoil can be good for business but that all depends on how far it goes.”

  “Doesn’t everything?”

  He ignored that. “You’re going to topple Pieter, that’s clear enough. What I want to know is what happens next.”

  Selena drew in a breath before she could stop herself. “I didn’t come here to dethrone a king.”

  “That’s a wonderful attempt to dodge the question, girl.” Gatun growled. “I thought we were done with playing games?”

  She frowned at that. This wasn’t going the way she’d intended. “I came to petition the king for aid—”

  “I know what you’ve asked Pieter for,” he interrupted. “I also know he told you to run along and make needlepoint or croquet or whatever it is you highborn ladies do.”

  “I suspect you mean crochet,” Selena murmured through a smile.

  “Whatever.” He shrugged. “I also know about your plan for this council of nobles or whatever it is you’re calling it. This plan of yours may amount to nothing more than a big mess next to the headsman’s block for someone to clean up, or it might go much further. This puts me in an interesting position. From my perspective Pieter isn’t a bad man to have on the throne. He’s easily distracted and not overly concerned with the lives of the common folk. This makes him good for business. A few well-placed words would put an end to your plans.”

  Selena nodded and motioned for him to continue.

  “On the other hand,” Gatun said, “I have interests in Kavtrin as well as Celstwin. Bjornmen burning down the harbour is not going make for reasonable profits.”

  He drained his cup and tilted the neck of the bottle at her again. Selena started to shake her head, then thought better of it. “Why not?” she muttered.

  “You’re remarkably well informed,” Selena said taking the cup from him. “The truth of the matter is I’m not entirely sure what happens next. You want to know what happens if Pieter falls? What happens to you and the status quo? I suppose that would rather depend on who takes the throne, though I don’t imagine there would be too much upheaval. If it were me, which of course it won’t be, I would leave things largely as they are.”

  “Largely?” Gatun scoffed. “There’s enough scope in there for just about anything.”

  Selena smiled over the rim of her cup. The wine really was rather good. “Well, you seem to be administering a significant portion section of this city, and doing it rather well. I see no reason for that to change. There is the issue of contribution of course.”

  “Contribution?” he blurted with a laugh.

  Selena ignored that. “You’ve also just hinted rather loudly about bus
iness interests stretching as far as Kavtrin and I don’t doubt you have fingers in pies in Savarel as well. Even if we just look at your operation here in Celstwin the Warrens still use the sewers, the waterways. One thief can be a parasite and have little impact, entire districts of three cities cannot.”

  “Taxation then,” Gatun said. “You want to tax the thieves and whores?”

  She shrugged. “Why not? I’m pragmatic enough to recognise that stopping thievery in any city this size is next to impossible, not to mention expensive. I’d suggest we simply look the other way provided the activities remain within acceptable limits.”

  “You’ve a lot to learn about bargaining, your grace.” The smirk was clear despite the shadows from his hood hiding his face. “You’ve just told me it would be impossible to stop the thieves and now you want to charge them a tax? Why should I pay?”

  “I said next to impossible,” Selena said with a grim smile. “That doesn’t mean things couldn’t be made uncomfortable for you. A city-wide surplus tax dedicated to funding a larger constabulary would make things rather difficult for you I'd imagine? How would your profits fare if every street were patrolled every hour? If every brothel without a licence were shut down? And what if this were expanded out to Kavtrin and Savarel as well?”

  “You’re threatening me?” Gatun growled, incredulous.

  “Weren’t you just threatening me?” Selena asked lightly. “No. It’s not a threat, this is all conjecture after all. If I had my way I’d leave you in place. There are sections of society that the crown never touches. Much better to have it administered by someone the crown chooses to work with and keep it centralised than the alternative. It’s just so much easier to deal with one person than a hundred little ambitions with legs.

  “Besides, as I already said, it would never be me on the throne. That said, I think it could be agreed that if the outcome of the Council of Lords results in Pieter being removed your position would remain unchanged.”