The Scarlet Star Trilogy

by Ben Galley

  Honorford barged through the doors. He was on the cusp of being breathless, and when he bowed, it looked as though he wasn’t going to come back up.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ Dizali demanded. ‘How dare you enter without knocking?’

  ‘My apologies, Milord. But I’ve found the Hark boy.’

  Dizali was on his feet in a blink, brandy forgotten. ‘Where? Have you captured him?’

  ‘I… erm, tried. I came upon them my accident, Lord Protector.’

  Dizali could feel his cheeks burning with more than just alcohol.

  ‘Tried?’

  ‘There was a Brother with him. A Seventh by my reckoning, and a man in a leather coat and hat. Looked American. Prospector type. He had a gun.’

  ‘And you are a leech! With acolytes!’ Dizali hissed, beyond furious. ‘What of his aunt?’

  ‘No sign of her.’

  ‘Where did you find them?’

  ‘In a bloodletter’s. Name of Spirn. My acolytes and I chased them through London by coach.’

  ‘And you let them get away?’ Dizali wondered what the man would look like without his skin.

  ‘They had faster horses, my Lord—’

  ‘And do you know where they went?’

  Honorford took his time with his answer. When it came, there was no pride in it. ‘They could have gone anywhere, after I lost them, my Lord.’ The Brother’s voice trailed away.

  Dizali moved around his desk, already strangling the air with crooked hands. All he needed now was a neck.

  Honorford bowed again, shuffling backwards. ‘I do have good news, however, my Lord,’ he said, raising his voice.

  ‘Speak, and speak fast, man!’ Dizali spat. Hanister and Heck were backing away too, trying to distance themselves from the failure of their brother.

  ‘He won’t be rushing any more. We burned his letter to the ground after we lost him.’

  Dizali let his hands fall to his sides. He paced back behind his desk, and retrieved his empty glass. Heck scurried to see it filled. ‘A small victory! It seems that is all you Brothers can bring me.’ He turned to the siblings. ‘He must be plotting something. Alert the constabulary that a traitor is loose, do you hear me? I want every street watched from here to the House. Double the guard across the estate. I have a suspicion he may just come to us instead!’ He swept the Brothers Eighth from the room, leaving them to trade wary glances and release relieved sighs in the hallway.

  Ideas are like splinters. They need to be worked out or left to rot. The idea of Calidae arriving on Lincoln’s ironclad was a sharp one, driven deep. So it was that Dizali pushed himself up from the leather of his chair and marched from his study, scattering maids. Corridors came and went as he weaved through his mansion; dead and quiet in the early hours.

  When he came to the room he had been seeking, he rapped loudly three times, and stood in wait. A sliver of light flared from underneath the door, and within a minute, a sleepy young Lady Serped peered between the crack of the door.

  ‘My Lord Protector. Whatever’s the matter?’ she asked, voice hoarse from sleep. Dizali did not care.

  ‘I have more questions for you, Lady Serped, and you will tell me the truth. Understand?’

  ‘More suspicions, Lor—’

  ‘Understand?’ The brandy had infused him with its fire.

  ‘I understand,’ said Calidae, clearly irritated. ‘Ask away.’

  ‘The name of your Grecian ship. What was it?’

  Calidae answered quickly. ‘The Salamand.’

  ‘And its captain? His name?’

  ‘Whatever is—’

  ‘Answer!’

  ‘Topheles, I believe.’ Once again her reply came smoothly, quickly.

  Whether it was the blur of the brandy, or the fact she was extremely good at lying, there was not a hint of anxiety on her scarred face. Nothing. Dizali had always prided himself on sniffing out lies. He found he had an uncanny ability to spy the twitches of a face when its owner bends the truth. It has served him well over the years, but now he found himself left by the roadside, lost.

  ‘I bid you a good night, Lady Serped.’ He looked her up and down for good measure before turning away.

  ‘Goodnight, Lord Protector,’ replied a confused-looking Calidae, before shutting the door.

  Dizali found himself cursing under his breath as he strode away; cursing the shiver of magick and blood that ran through him, stealing his senses. He would ask her again, in the morning, to see if he couldn’t carve it from her with a gaze straight and cold.

  He silently went about his evening rituals; dimming the lanterns and checking the windows were open just a crack, as ordered. The Lord Protector was about to undress and retire to bed and deep sleep when he heard a rustle from behind his huge four-poster bed. It was too large for one man, but he hadn’t had the heart to replace it, just in case Avalin would one day free herself of malady, and come to fill it as she had once done. He slid a sharp knife from a nearby drawer and stood by the door.

  Knife-point low and ready, Dizali stood his ground.

  ‘Come out now and I may just have you spared!’ His fingers found an oil lantern and saturated the room with its yellow glow. ‘I said come out! I do not abide burglars or sneaks!’

  ‘You shan’t need the knife, Lord Dizali,’ said a slithering female voice, unlike any he had ever heard, tinged with an accent that he could not even begin to place.

  ‘Come out, woman!’ he barked, holding the knife out straight. ‘Whoever you are!’

  It took a while for the owner of the bizarre voice to reveal herself. She was a pinch over twelve inches tall, her skin an ash-grey, with a shock of white hair and burning golden eyes. She had wings, too; purple-veined, like the swirls around her sharp cheekbones. She wore the fur of some unknown beast about her shoulders and from her belt hung a sword. A circlet of black steel sat across her forehead. She cut an imposing, if not alien and miniature, figure.

  ‘Am I to understand you know what I am?’ she purred, leaning against his bedpost.

  Dizali, despite all the muddiness of his state, knew very well indeed. He wasn’t blind to the hidden creatures of the world.

  ‘One of the Fae, I believe. I have three gentlemen downstairs who would love to meet you.’

  ‘A Fae Queen, in fact. Sift is my name.’

  Dizali stepped closer, knife still aimed at the creature’s face. ‘You will forgive me, Fae Queen Sift, for I am not the hugest admirer of ancient queens of late. I have come to distrust them.’

  Sift’s wings buzzed like a dragonfly. Perhaps it was the mention of “ancient”.

  ‘But you can trust in common goals, can you not?’

  ‘That would depend on what those goals are, and why they are common,’ said Dizali. He was a touch curious, it had to be said. It was not every day one finds a faerie in one’s bedroom.

  Sift narrowed those golden eyes. ‘Do you realise how much it disgusts a Fae to be above ground, to be here in the human world, Lord Dizali? I imagine not. The Fae put your kind behind us almost two millennia ago. I’m saying this to assure you of the gravity of my visit, and of how serious my words are. I’m the first Fae Queen to ever consider this sort of… alliance.’

  That pricked Dizali’s ears. ‘Alliance?’

  ‘My spies tell me that we have a common enemy.’

  ‘I have many enemies. Which one in particular?’ He didn’t like the idea of winged spies in his city.

  The faerie queen picked a sharp nail. ‘One Tonmerion Hark.’

  Dizali wondered how on earth the Hark boy had managed to antagonise a Fae Queen. ‘Go on.’

  Sift obliged him. ‘He is in possession of something I very much desire to have returned.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘A faerie named Rhin Rehn’ar. A thief and a traitor.’

  ‘Tonmerion Hark owns a faerie?’ Dizali was shocked.

  Perhaps that was why he had eluded him so deftly. Fae magick!

  Sift s
miled, as if she delighted in owning secrets he did not. ‘He does indeed.’

  ‘I am afraid to say, Queen Sift, that I have neither Tonmerion Hark nor a Rhin Rehn’ar in my possession, and therefore cannot help you.’

  Sift snorted. ‘I’m not here because I think you have him. I’m here to tell you I shall be taking prisoners when I find where he hides. I am here to offer you the Hark boy, along with his comrades,’ she said, in a voice like a dagger ripping through silk. ‘You’re lucky I have decided not to kill him, for his impudence.’

  The businessman in Dizali was now very curious indeed. ‘In return for what, exactly?’

  Sift chuckled. ‘I understand that you’re a man of good fortune these days. Kicked a queen from her nest and claimed an Empire, I hear. Men of such stature must have deep pockets. I would like to lighten them.’

  ‘Coin, then.’ He had expected more from a Fae Queen.

  ‘Rhin Rehn’ar stole my Hoard, my kingdom’s fortune, and I wish to replace it. If the boy and his ilk are worth as much as I believe he is, you’ll be able to afford me.’

  Lord Dizali snorted, for theatre. He was keen to hide how much he wanted the boy. ‘And how do I know you can deliver, Sift? Do you even know where he is?’

  Sift tapped her nose as she spoke. ‘We have our finest trackers following his scent.’

  ‘As have I,’ Dizali lied.

  ‘And again, from what my spies tell me, they haven’t been so successful.’ Sift chuckled, a dry rasping. ‘If I were you, I’d find better employees.’

  That stung Dizali. ‘You seem to be putting a lot of effort into finding this Rehn’ar of yours.’ He knew full-well that he was doing the same for his own prize.

  ‘Let’s just say he is very, very dear to me. A Hoard’s worth.’

  Dizali tapped his teeth with the knife-point, thinking hard. In the end, it was his lack of faith in his Brothers that swayed him.

  ‘Queen Sift of the Fae, you have yourself a deal. On one condition… I keep your faerie until such time as the boy has met his end. I may need him for leverage,’ he said, extending a hand.

  ‘Have it your way.’ Sift wrinkled her lip but shook his finger all the same.

  ‘Then I bid you a goodnight,’ Dizali said, watching her slide back into the shadows behind his bed.

  She disappeared with the same rasping sound as before. He pinched his brow between finger and thumb and took a moment to clear his head. Yes, that had been a faerie queen in his bedroom. Yes, he had just paid her to capture Tonmerion Hark. And yes, it did indeed feel like this situation was spinning out of control. Or was that just the room?

  The word “curse” flitted through his mind, and he snarled, seeking the bed and crumpling into it. He let the darkness take him as he darted between shallow sleep and dreams full of twitching wings and glowing eyes.

  Chapter XV

  A LAWYER AND A LADY

  10th August, 1867

  ‘Rainin’ again,’ said Lurker, flicking droplets from the brim of his hat. ‘When you said this country was wet, I weren’t thinkin’ you meant this darn wet. Ain’t it summer?’

  ‘Like it or leave it, John Hobble,’ said Merion. ‘Right! You all know your places?’

  ‘Barely,’ said Lilain.

  ‘I don’t like that all these instructions came from that Serped girl,’ said Lurker. ‘We don’t know what she’s up to.’

  ‘Trust me on this, Lurker,’ Merion pleaded, once more. It was a subject that had refused to die that day. And what a long day it had been; full of messages from magpies, the cleaning of guns, of itchy fingers and itchier feet.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Do you want me to go over it again?’ sighed the boy, avoiding a clump of fellow pedestrians and stamping in a puddle by accident. He felt the cold seeping into his sock. It had been a long march to Clovenhall. They had walked half the day to get there, sticking to quiet streets and back roads, carrying everything they needed with them.

  ‘I’m set,’ said Lurker. Gunderton nodded. Lilain looked steely-eyed. Merion rubbed his hands. They were tired and grumpy, but they were still willing at least, and that was a blessing.

  ‘Good.’

  The last two miles passed slowly. Beneath their cloaks and hoods they were beginning to sweat. The earlier heat of the day had summoned a mist from the drenched ground. It was muggy, and drizzling, but that was exactly what they needed. Merion didn’t dare to curse the weather. He just sweated along with the rest of them, keeping his mouth shut.

  He was about to repeat his instructions for good measure, when they heard the scrape of iron hooves on gravel. Gunderton motioned to a nearby ditch and down they went, into half a foot of muddy water. A carriage came clattering past, spraying them with stone-chips and grubby water. It had a crest on its side, but Merion couldn’t make it out through the murk. They waited until the carriage had disappeared into the gloom before hiking up onto the road again, continuing their sneaking.

  At the last half-mile, they saw Clovenhall’s mighty gates in the darkness. They were almost as impressive as Harker Sheer’s. A compliment of lordsguards stood around them, pointing their rifles in all directions, wary of the fog.

  ‘Here we are,’ whispered Merion, crouching down by the roadside. ‘Now I know we haven’t had the best luck with plans in the past, but this is going to work. I’ve had it with failure.’ He looked each of them in the eye.

  ‘We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t trust you, Nephew,’ his aunt replied, ruffling his hood. Merion caught Gunderton’s eye.

  ‘You ready?’

  ‘As ever.’

  ‘Then so am I.’

  Merion and Gunderton reached into their cloaks and each pulled out a vial. The boy was still enamoured with the addition of a few vial-pockets inside his cloak; Lilain had spent most of the night sewing them in. He felt quite the leech indeed. Pop! went the corks and down went the blood. Lurker took the chance to bring out his flask and take a few sips of whiskey before stowing it away again.

  Lilain raised an eyebrow. ‘You goin’ to do this drunk, John Hobble?’

  ‘What you mere mortals have to do sober, I can do drunk.’

  ‘Ain’t that a fact.’

  ‘Are we quite finished?’ Merion hissed. ‘Then let’s go rescue a lawyer and a lady.’

  ‘You make it sound so romantic.’

  ‘Enough out of you, Lurker!’ said Merion.

  Like wraiths they crept through the low-lying fog, Gunderton out front, already rushing hard on his wisp shade. When they were as close as they dared, he raised his gloved hands, lifting the mist from the gravel. It built and billowed as if a sudden breeze had blown in to reshape it. Great curtains of vapour rose up and rolled towards the gates, smothering the lordsguards in a blinding haze.

  ‘Go!’ Gunderton mouthed. The others ran past the gates to where the thick walls stood unguarded.

  It was Merion’s turn to show off his shade; he could already feel the magick itching in his fingertips, straining to be free. As the others ducked down behind the scant bushes, Merion flexed his fingers and placed his palms to the wall. They stuck like glue. He promised to kiss a gecko next time he saw one. Hand over hand, using his wiry strength, he scaled the wall in no time. ‘I’m up!’ he whispered, when he was sitting astride its sharp top.

  He caught the tail of the rope easily. Once he had climbed down the other side, he tied it to the trunk of a small tree; no easy task for sticky gecko fingers. It grew taut immediately and began to twitch as somebody climbed. Lilain was first, swinging down the rope so she didn’t have to jump. Even after all these weeks, her knee still pained her. The Serpeds and Gile had scarred her for life.

  Lurker was next, jumping down with a great thud. Merion thanked the Almighty for the cloaking patter of rain. They could afford a bit of noise here and there.

  The line went taut again and Gunderton came sliding down, black gloves rasping. He hauled the rope back over the wall and stowed it deep in a bush. ‘They didn’t suspe
ct a thing.’

  ‘Easy as pie,’ Merion said, with a grim smile. They looked across the undulating grounds. Like a wave constantly on the cusp of swelling, the lawns dipped and rose to meet the foot of Clovenhall; a broad castle shrouded in moisture and darkness. Its many lights burnt like the eyes of a great monster.

  ‘Onwards, before the shades run out!’ Merion ordered, before scuttling out into the open. Gunderton summoned the fog once more, wrapping them with its tendrils as they ran. Merion could hear him grunting and straining as he concentrated. Soon enough, he almost had the whole grounds cloaked in a thick haze. It brought a grin to the boy’s face.

  Like clockwork.

  It took them almost ten minutes to reach Clovenhall’s northeastern corner. They could hear boots—muffled in the mist—tramping here and there. The mansion reminded Merion more of Fort Kenaday than it did his own ancestral home. His father had never been one for fluffing his feathers and showing off the strength of his guard. But Dizali knew Merion was here now, in London. These guards were for him; for whatever stunt he was aiming to pull. He smiled as he thought of the look on Dizali’s face when he found both Witchazel and Calidae gone come sunrise.

  The boy craned his neck to gaze up at the towers above. They were just how Calidae had drawn them on her little map, hand-delivered by Jake. He started to move to the side, tracing the walls. The others followed; twisting their heads around like ducks, peering into the swirling fog. It was starting to fade. Gunderton’s shade was almost burnt out.

  ‘There!’ Merion whispered, pointing up to an open window. Something flapped on its sill.

  Jake. Leading the way.

  Lilain sighed, already drifting away with Lurker and Gunderton, heading for an entrance on the west side. ‘I’ll say it again. You trust that girl far too much.’

  Merion nodded, cracking his knuckles, eyes fixated on the window. ‘And I shall continue to, until such time as Dizali is dead or due to be. Then I’ll stop trusting her. Be safe, Aunt. I’ll meet you at the wall.’