by Ben Galley
‘Calidae Serped has a great deal of talking to do.’
‘Yes, Milord.’
Dizali swept away from them, marching towards the silence of his rooms, away from his wife’s hollow screams. But they lingered with him for hours; making him sweat, stealing his sleep. The dawn light was already sneaking through his curtains when he finally found himself falling into nothingness. One word alone escorted him into the void.
Cursed.
Chapter XVI
LETTERS
11th August, 1867
The rippling waters paid him no attention. They passed by without a care to his situation; to his plight, he could say. Merion stared down and let his eyes blur with the lazy flow of the slate-blue Thames. At least its silence could distract him, along with the thunder rumbling in the distance. A storm circled the city. The granite clouds wrapped the spires in their blanket, spitting rain. Every now and again, a flicker of light raced through their innards, and thunder rolled once more.
Merion began to pace again, receiving a few suspicious looks from passers-by and loiterers alike. His muttered rehearsal of words didn’t help matters. No Lurker, nor Lilain today. Just him and his thoughts.
The foreboding clung to him like bramble to a dog’s backside. He should have been skipping, not tramping back and forth. There was only one more night until Dizali met his downfall. One more night, and yet preparing for the final hurdle was proving far more difficult than he’d imagined.
It wasn’t the part about talking to Witchazel: he had rehearsed that many times already. It wasn’t the aches simmering deep within his limbs. It wasn’t even the murderous girl waiting at the end of it all. It was the looming question he had to ask of a friend; a friend from whom he had already demanded so much.
Merion paused his pacing and grasped the cold iron railing. He watched a tumble of floating wood and rope float by, powerless against the currents, on its way out to a wild sea.
‘Nothing else I can do,’ he repeated to himself once more. It was time to ask. He thumbed his nose and nodded to the murky waters. ‘No other choice.’ Merion stepped out across the dirty flagstones, bootsteps as confident as he could manage.
So fixated were his eyes on his destination, he didn’t see the glimmer of steel in the mouth of a drainpipe, just a yard from where he had been standing. Nor did he see the glowing lavender eyes, squinting at him, flashing once before they vanished into thin air.
The door creaked as it swung open. Gunderton and Lurker were in the middle of playing cards, while Lilain was busy bustling around their meagre collection of vials, adding labels to each one. Rhin sat on a stool, trying not to laugh at Lurker’s whisky-drenched words. The prospector had been at his flask again, now that he had found a shop that would take some of Lincoln’s coins. Witchazel was at the back of the room, poking at the bloodletting equipment. From their jagged movements and frequent grunts, it was easy to see they all ached just as much as he did.
Merion locked the door behind him and went to stand at the wide end of the room, where they could all see him.
‘How are we all?’ he asked.
‘Getting beaten, boy,’ said Lurker. ‘And it ain’t to my likin’.’
Merion nodded, eyes meeting Rhin’s.
‘Getting better,’ replied the faerie, shrugging with only a slight wince.
‘Why do you ask, Merion?’ Lilain got to her feet and walked forward, putting her hand on Lurker’s shoulder.
Merion set his jaw. ‘As you are probably aware, and gratefully so, we’re almost at the finish. Just one more night to get through. One final task before Dizali falls. One last move before we can end this horrid game for good.’
Lurker threw down his hand of cards. ‘About darn time!’ Witchazel made an affirmative noise from the back of the room.
‘But first we need to address one vital issue.’ His eyes crept back to Rhin. He could feel them already brimming with guilt.
‘What is it?’ Rhin asked, frowning.
The young Hark grimaced. ‘As some of you know, I still need faerie blood.’
Lilain moved closer. ‘Tell me you ain’t thinking what—’
‘And as we didn’t manage to bring a spare—’
‘I knew it!’ Lilain clicked her fingers. ‘A spare? You must be drunk or jokin’, I swear to the Maker. Rhin can’t even stand yet.’
Merion held up his hands. ‘I know, just—’
Lurker looked far from impressed. ‘Would never ask that of Jake.’
‘We lost our dead faerie in our escape from the tunnels. They were too smart to come chasing after us. That means we have no faerie blood. No blood, no more plan. Dizali wins.’
‘Even without his injuries, bloodletting will likely kill him, Merion,’ his aunt said, softening. She had noticed the slope of his shoulders, the curl to his mouth. She could tell this was not some brattish request; something the Fell Falls Merion would have made. It was a last chance appeal. But that didn’t mean she was happy about it.
‘It’s the only way I can pull off the rest of the plan.’
‘How much?’ said Rhin. Lurker and Gunderton both raised their eyebrows.
‘Rhin…’ Lilain tried to interject.
The faerie’s eyes were adamant. ‘I said, how much blood do you need?’
‘Half a vial,’ said Gunderton. ‘At least.’ Lilain threw him a look.
‘Have we got any leech left?’ Merion looked to his aunt.
‘I…’ But words apparently failed her. She performed a circuit of the room, hands entwined behind her head. ‘I may have some residue left. But I won’t be able to get what you need from him. That’s almost a full bleed’s worth. In his weak state, it’s likely to kill him.’
Merion clenched his jaw. ‘Some is always better than none.’
‘Don’t be too quick with your father’s wit, Merion,’ said Lilain. ‘Would you say the same of pain, hunger? Torture? I don’t like this one bit. Lurker?’
The prospector was rubbing his chin. ‘Ain’t my blood he wants. It’s up to Rhin.’
Lilain turned on the Brother. ‘Gunderton?’
Gunderton raised his shoulders. ‘Merion has no other choice.’
‘Trust you and your loyalty to my darn brother. And you, Mr Witchazel?’
The lawyer just flinched as if he had been poked. He shook his head.
‘How very helpful of you,’ she snapped.
‘This isn’t a debate, Aunt. This is between Rhin and I.’ Merion crouched down by the faerie’s stool, meeting him at eye-level. ‘You know I wouldn’t ask unless I had to.’
‘Do it!’ Rhin said, sharp as a dagger. ‘Twice now you’ve saved my life. About time I made that even. I still haven’t the faintest what you’re plotting, but if my blood helps us end all this madness, then you take it. As much as I can give. After rescuing me from Shanarh, I’m finding it hard to doubt you, and a Fae trusts that sort of feeling in their gut. Just as I trust you, Lilain.’
‘Rhin, even with the thinnest needle I’ve got, the puncture alone could kill you.’
‘I’ve made my decision, Lilain,’ he replied quietly. ‘We’ll just have to be careful, won’t we? My spells can keep me alive. I can seal the wound maybe, if I focus hard. Remember when I got stuck with that metal, after the twister?’
Merion watched his aunt pacing, wrestling between trust and her training.
‘Fine!’ she said, finally. ‘If you’re goin’ to do this, then you listen here, Master Fae. For the next few hours, you’ll rest as much as possible, eat when I tell you to eat, and eat what I tell you to eat. Understand?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Rhin, impersonating Lurker.
‘I’m serious,’ she hissed.
‘And so am I,’ Rhin assured her, eyes glowing. ‘I’ll go to sleep immediately.’
‘Then it’s settled.’ Merion let out a long, slow sigh. Some of the weight had fallen from his shoulders, but not all. The rest depended on the outcome of the bloodletting.
&nbs
p; As the boy rose to help Rhin to his crate, he traded a glance with his aunt. Her eyes were narrowed, but understanding. Merion did nothing but flash a wry smile and turn his attention to Mr Witchazel.
The man looked like a dishevelled spider in lack of a few good limbs. His skin was practically as grey as the faerie’s. His bones poked out from wherever they had an angle to show. His clothes barely fitted him; they gathered around his waist and ankles. A good many more lines had been etched in his forehead and cheeks since they’d last met, barely a few months ago. His hair now had more salt than pepper.
‘Mr Witchazel,’ said Merion, standing over him. They had barely traded a word since the escape. ‘We need to talk.’
The lawyer slowly got to his feet, wincing, gangly limbs shaking. He was in a similar state to Rhin. Torture seemed to have a knack for hollowing out a person.
‘We do, Lord Hark, about a great many things,’ he said. His expression was gaunt, almost fearful. Whatever stern words Merion had cooked up withered away in that moment. The boy bit the inside of his lip and gestured to the door.
‘Shall we?’
‘I’ll join you,’ said Gunderton, already out of his chair. ‘I need the fresh air.’ A thin excuse, but the boy understood his need. Merion wondered if he had an explanation to offer the lawyer. In any case, the Brother could wait his turn.
The three of them ambled out into the streets to the growl of nearby thunder. Rain had begun to play on the river-water. They kept to the edge of the bank, out of the flow of people and carts.
It took a while for anyone to speak. Merion had been thrown by the lawyer’s expression. Here was a man clearly distressed. He kept catching his sideways looks.
‘I shall say it how I see it, Mr Witchazel,’ Merion began, feeling very much like his father. ‘So please forgive me for my bluntness.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Witchazel, already frowning at the tongue-lashing he thought was coming. But Merion curbed his tone.
‘Dizali broke you,’ he said quietly. ‘I understand that now.’
Witchazel bowed his head. ‘I regret to agree with you.’
‘In that case I want you to know that I do not blame you. Gunderton has told me you were tortured for almost two weeks.’
Witchazel nodded.
‘Then I’m sure my father would be proud of you for protecting our name for as long as you did.’ Merion hoped this would bring a lift to that dejected face. It must have taken some fire to stand up to Dizali and his wicked ways for that long, but that fire had long burnt out, it seemed. All but ashes and charcoal remained. Merion wanted to see if it could be re-ignited.
‘I… I failed. Dizali has the deeds. Signed documents.’
‘And that’s where you can help me exact some revenge on Dizali. Help me topple him.’
Witchazel looked shocked. ‘Is that what you’re here to do?’
Merion nodded. ‘And we will succeed. I refuse to fail any longer.’
‘But he has the Orange Seed. You know what that is?’
‘I know.’ Merion held up his hands. ‘It’s all under control.’
Witchazel sucked a lip. ‘In that case, Lord Hark, I believe it’s you that your father would be proud of, for continuing his work against the lampreys. And you too, Gunderton, for bringing him back.’ Witchazel said, turned to nod at his old friend.
Gunderton shook his head. ‘It wasn’t me. Merion found his own way back.’
‘Well, then,’ said Witchazel, gingerly scratching a scab. ‘You’re both here, and that is all that matters.’
‘And that’s all that matters.’ Merion echoed. There was clearly a crossroad of guilt here, and he wanted to banish it. Wherever these men had failed, they were now making amends. Berating the lawyer would have crushed him further. His face said it all: he hated himself for what Dizali had turned him into. That was more than enough for Merion. As his father had once told him: no man should deplore his actions when they have been true and just. He stopped them by a broad stone pillar and extended a hand.
‘In any case, I wanted to say thank you, for holding out as long as you could.’ Witchazel shook his hand in a warm, albeit bony, grasp. He smiled, revealing a few missing teeth. ‘And you, Gunderton, for coming after me. I don’t think I have thanked you for that.’
Gunderton dipped his head and smiled briefly. ‘You might have Karrigan’s flame, but you’ve got your mother’s empathy,’ he said. Merion gave the man an odd look. Nobody had ever compared him to her before. It felt altogether strange in its novelty, but welcome enough.
Merion turned back to the lawyer. ‘Now, Mr Witchazel—’
‘How can I help?’ His eyes had brightened already.
Merion smiled. ‘Let’s find you some parchment and a quill, and then you’ll see.’
*
Lilain’s practised fingers darted back and forth, needle and thread weaving through the dusty leather of Lurker’s hat. She went at it as though she were patching a wound.
‘I still don’t like it.’
The prospector was feigning sleep, eyes half-closed and leaning back in one of the threadbare armchairs, rough hands ungloved for once, and folded across his stomach. The empty flask perched on his knee. Jake was curled up by the foot of the chair, head buried in his piebald feathers.
‘I gotta say, Lil, he ain’t steered us wrong yet.’
‘Not this time, no. But Merion ain’t always had the best way with plans.’
‘You saying you don’t trust him now?’ Lurker popped open one dark eye.
The reply was fierce. ‘Not in the slightest and you know it, John Hobble.’
Lurker sniffed, unconvinced. Lil was just worried, and he told her so.
‘You just don’t like bein’ overridden.’
‘No, I don’t. Not when the stakes are as high as this.’
‘He ain’t no boy no more. You seen him last night.’ Lurker closed his eye again and readjusted himself in the chair. The boy had barely broken a sweat, even with bullets nipping at his heels.
‘I know,’ Lilain said, biting off the last tail of thread and throwing the hat onto Lurker’s chest. ‘And I won’t be able to convince neither of them, knowin’ how stubborn they both can be.’
‘True enough.’ Lurker examined the patch with his scarred fingers. It was fine work, thanks to Lilain’s surgeon-hands. He slipped it over his forehead and titled it to his chin.
‘Not a chance,’ said a small voice nearby.
‘That’s enough out of you, faerie. You should be asleep,’ ordered Lilain. Rhin made no reply. He knew what was good for him. Lurker chuckled under his hat.
Silence reigned as Lilain packed away her needle and thread. The prospector let himself drift along the edges of a whisky-infused sleep. It wasn’t that he was unperturbed: he cared a great deal for the mulish lordling. But Rhin’s words had rung true. Lurker had seen a new brand of fire in Merion’s eyes, from the day they’d first set foot in this noisy city. He trusted it now like the firm stock of a rifle.
‘What will we do after?’ said Lilain.
Lurker raised up the brim of his hat with a finger. ‘After this is all done and dusted?’
‘When Dizali’s hangin’ from a rope, as Merion likes to put it.’
There was a scratch of the nose as he thought. ‘This city ain’t for me, that’s for sure. Too darn loud, and I swear I ain’t seen no stars since we arrived. Just smog and cloud, choking all them busy businessmen rushing to and fro. The buildings are too tall and their lights are too bright. Ain’t a way for a soul to live.’
‘Back west, then,’ she said. ‘Back over the Iron Ocean.’
‘I ain’t known any other place, is all.’ Lilain’s curious mood was contagious. Lurker hadn’t indulged in this sort of thinking time since the night of the Bloodmoon. ‘It’s the only land I ‘spect that’ll have me.’
‘Maybe Lincoln’ll have use for us,’ said Lilain. ‘And now we know a reliable airship pilot. Higgis did tell us where to find her
if we need her. I do believe she owes us a free flight.’
Lurker turned his mind to the sweltering reaches of the west, where the desert and prairie rolled on for boundless miles. A heart like his needed to escape this crush of cobbles and carriages. No mighty spires and their grinning gargoyles; just peace and space, raw and wild. Somewhere he didn’t have to worry about treading on a piece of history with every step. Somewhere he could make his own.
Lurker smiled. ‘Maybe we could join up with all them crazy homesteaders. Go find us a patch of prairie. Keep an ol’ buffalo for milk and cheese. I’ll get prospectin’ again. I’ll even build Mr Magpie here a house in a tree.’ He nudged Jake gently with his foot, drawing a muffled croak.
‘Us?’ Lilain looked at him sideways.
He nodded. ‘You could have another basement, jus’ like the last one. Put a Star up, so people know to come knockin’.’
‘You astound me sometimes, John Hobble.’
He frowned. ‘And what do you mean by that?’
‘The desert’s favourite wanderer, wantin’ to settle down on a patch of land. And with me, what’s more. What has all this danger reduced you to?’
‘Peace and quiet, that’s what I hope for. Like I once had.’
Lilain’s smile broke. ‘I ain’t your dead wife, John.’
‘No,’ he said, sitting forward and reaching for her hand. ‘You’re Lilain Hark, and that’ll do just fine for me. Just don’t get bored of me one day and pick up a hammer, like you did with your last man.’ He grinned.
Lilain’s stern look melted instantly. She may even have blushed, for the first time since they had met. She cleared her throat and tutted.
‘Quit distracting me, you old badger. Got important things to do, like figure what to do with that Serped girl. She’ll pounce as soon as this is over.’ It was just like her to change the subject.
‘That one’s easy.’
‘It is?’
Lurker leaned back, hat pulled low. ‘Put a bullet in her, soon as this is all done.’
Lilain thought on that for a moment. ‘Murder her?’
‘Ain’t murder. Mercy, is what it is. Mercy on our young lordlin’. Mercy on the world.’