by Ben Galley
Inside, the gaslight was so bright she was momentarily blinded. She squinted hard, trying to squeeze some sense into her eyes, feeling the others shoved in alongside her.
Like the rest of the building, the room was square and dull. It was a cell, to be precise. Its only features were a few caged gaslights, a table sporting a thick briefcase, and a chair, which was currently occupied by a man of small stature indeed. He had the look of a man in his thirties, but the body of a boy. He wore a smart suit and a casual smile, as though they had merely popped in to talk about their investments. Calidae hated him instantly.
‘Welcome, friends. I am Mr Rowanstone, but you may call me Fever.’
‘What a horrid name,’ Calidae spat.
‘I agree,’ said Lilain. They shared an awkward look. No so long ago they had been enemies.
Fever did not look the slightest bit impressed. He motioned to the Nord twins. They stepped forward, and punched Lilain and Calidae in the ribs. Gunderton received a fist from each, for good measure, and Rhin had his cage kicked across the floor.
‘As I was saying,’ Fever continued, still playing at hospitality but eyeing Calidae menacingly with his little rat eyes. ‘I bid you welcome. We shall be spending some time together over the next few days, and I wanted to introduce myself before we got to know each other. Inside and out,’ he said, with a sickening smile.
‘I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that,’ Lilain replied. ‘Here’s a suggestion. You let us go, and you won’t have to work for Dizali no more. How’s that sound?’
For the briefest of moments, a flash of surprise ran across Fever’s face, chased by intrigue. He straightened his bowtie and cleared his throat.
‘I am not the sort of businessman to spit in the hand of my employer, I’m afraid.’ His voice was oily.
‘What a shame,’ said Lilain.
Calidae exhaled. ‘Are we going to stand around all day, or should we get started with whatever twisted game you’d like to play, little man?’
Fever got to his feet—not much of an improvement—and glowered at her. ‘As you wish. Perhaps you should be first, seeing as you are so keen to entertain me.’
‘Just you wait. I’m a hoot,’ said Lilain.
‘So am I,’ threw in Gunderton.
‘And if they don’t rip your spine from your neck, I’ll finish the job,’ spat Rhin, from his cage.
Calidae had to admit, she was momentarily impressed by Hark’s ragtag family.
Fever sighed dramatically. He pointed to Lilain and Gunderton, then waved to his twins. ‘Sven, Sval, soften these two up for me, would you? Thank you kindly. You may take them to the other rooms. You, Master Creature, can remain in the hallway and dwell upon what’s waiting for you. I’ve never dissected a faerie before.’
‘We’ll be keeping it that way,’ Rhin told him, winking as Sven nudged the cage into the hall with his enormous boot. The door slammed behind him.
Calidae was left alone with Fever. He was smart, she gave him that. He never turned his back on her even when he moved to the briefcase to fetch a scalpel.
‘The chair, if you please,’ he gestured with the blade.
She did as she was told, luring him in. He wrapped another rope around her wrists and looped it through the chair, all the while holding a scalpel a hair’s breadth from her neck. The man had steady hands.
‘I used to be a renowned surgeon, you know,’ he announced, stepping away from her. ‘One thing leads to another, and all that.’
‘Doesn’t it just?’
Fever smiled his sickly smile. ‘You’re a fiery one, pardon the pun,’ he chuckled. ‘Do you know what Dizali recommended for your punishment? That I burn the other side of your face.’
Calidae seethed at that, ropes creaking as she tensed. But Fever held up a hand. ‘I am many things, but I am not that manner of man, dear girl. Fire is too quick, too messy. I prefer a more precise approach.’ He opened his briefcase to reveal his proof; a glittering array of sharp and needle-pointed things.
‘My tools!’ Fever announced.
‘Fascinating.’
Fever prattled on, gesturing to different implements. ‘And this is what I believe we will start with.’ He held out a squat tubular device with an evil spike sticking out of one end. ‘It cuts perfect circles from the skin with just a twist of the wrist.’
‘Do you know who I am, Mr Fever?’ said Calidae, still playing for time.
He wagged a finger. ‘Lady Calidae Serped, orphan and only heir to the Serped estate. Lord Protector Dizali was most informative.’
‘Then know that I can pay you just as much, if not more, than Dizali.’
‘Oh,’ Fever tittered. ‘My dear girl, I doubt that you could, even if I were taking payment for this little escapade. You see, Lady Serped, you are my bonus for the work with Mr Witchazel. It’s so very hard to find willing participants like yourselves these days.’
Calidae pulled at her bonds again. Fever came forward, reaching down to rip the cloth from the sleeve of her grubby dress. ‘Let’s begin here shall we?’ His small hands gripped the white flesh of her thigh.
She recoiled away from the cold touch of the device. Its spike pierced her skin before she knew it; the pain swelling like an afterthought. She could not deny the fear that abruptly swamped her.
The best ideas can come from the tiniest moments. Instinct, for example; or simply reaction to action. Torture is a wonderful way to trim the fat from thinking.
Calidae put all her effort into one lurch, hopping the chair to the side, stabbing one of its legs down onto Fever’s toe. He cried out as her full weight pinned him. As he flailed, trying to wrench free, she headbutted him hard in the temple. The torturer sagged to the floor, his evil implement falling with him.
As Fever fought to clear stars from his vision, Calidae rocked the chair until it teetered and toppled. As it fell, she twisted, causing it to land on its edge. She was rewarded with a splintered crackle of wood.
She had winded herself, but the back of the chair had been broken. The ropes slackened, and she managed to rip herself free. Rope trailing from her wrists, she brought her bound fists down on the back of Fever’s head. He whimpered and slumped again. She could see the panic in him now. Calidae guessed he was not used to his clients protesting so vociferously.
‘Let’s see how you like it!’ she shouted in his ear, before swiping a scalpel from the nearby table and raking it down his back, slicing the suit. Blood flowed, and Calidae bit her tongue at the sight of it. She felt the heat flare in her face; hunger and hatred. Bloodlust at its finest. Fever roared with pain, scrabbling for the door like a lame calf.
‘Sven! Sval!’ he shrieked, but Calidae brought the wreckage of the chair down on his back and sent him sprawling before cutting her bonds.
Breathing hard, she turned back to the table and took a moment to peruse the silver and copper blades, the intricate levers and mechanisms. There was even an array of pincers for Almighty knew what. ‘Speaking of Mr Witchazel…’ she began, treading a circle around him as he fought to get out from under the chair. His eyes were dizzy with fear. She doubted he had ever tasted his own medicine, and she was glad to be his teacher. ‘He asked me to do something for him, if I found myself in such a situation as this.’
‘And what is that?’ Fever whined, unable to get up. The cut along his back had sliced through some of his nerves.
‘“Shove something sharp into his eye” is how I believe he put it.’ Calidae’s fingers found a suitably vicious implement; a sort of corkscrew crossed with a knife. She held it up.
Fever turned a shade of grey. He was a coward, like all men of his ilk. They dole out what they themselves could never stomach.
‘Please!’ he gasped, holding up gloved hands as Calidae came at him. ‘I will do anything you want, anything! I’ll have Sven and Sval stop and I’ll turn you loose! Dizali will never know.’
He cowered, shielding his face. A child afraid of a hungry wolf.
Calidae chuckled as he whimpered. He grew silent, eyes creeping over the edge of his hand to find her shaking her head. ‘So easily scared,’ she scorned him. ‘Fear not, Mr Rowanstone. I still have use for you.’
Fever let himself take a breath, and dropped his shaking hands. It was the last mistake he ever made.
Calidae let go of the knife as Fever sagged to the cold floor, taking it with him. He made not a single noise. It must be difficult to scream, when a blade has found its way to the back of your skull through your eye socket.
With a smirk, Calidae stepped back to the briefcase and wiped her hands of sweat. She closed her eyes and relished the thudding of her heart. Victories are so much sweeter when the tables are turned.
After selecting a scalpel with a long, wide blade, Calidae wrenched open the door and peeked around the corner. Empty. There were muffled thwacking sounds coming from along the hallway, echoing against the harsh concrete. She stepped out of the bright gaslight and into the gloom, scalpel low and ready.
A voice stopped her in her tracks, small and cracking at the edges.
‘That was quick. I’m impressed.’ Rhin stared through the crossed wires of his cage.
Calidae look at him over her shoulder, and shrugged. ‘Never waste time on cowards.’
‘Witchazel will be pleased. Now, get me out of here.’
Calidae frowned and stayed exactly where she was. Rhin’s face slowly dropped. ‘Really?’ he grunted. ‘You’re going to abandon us now?’
‘I do not take orders from a bug.’
Rhin flashed a sharp smile. ‘I am no bug, Calidae Serped. I am Fae, and if you had any wits about you, you’d know how useful a faerie can be. I can help.’
Calidae gestured towards the cell. ‘I think it is clear how little I need your help.’
‘Funny,’ said Rhin. ‘That’s what Merion said to Lilain, Lurker and Gunderton.’
Calidae looked around at the drab walls. ‘And what a fine job they have done.’
The faerie fixed her with a narrow purple stare. What a strange creature he was.
‘And where would you be without him? Probably still playing your little games under your father’s watchful eye. Instead you’re here, fighting for what’s right. Making your own way. You’ve got him to thank for that.’
She ignored his logic, irritatingly similar though it was to her own of late, and stared at the blood on her blade.
‘You just want Merion all to yourself, don’t you? When all this is over, you don’t want obstacles like us around. Should have known.’
‘Clever bug.’
‘Then I wish you the best of luck. Breaking your way into the Emerald House, rescuing Merion and finishing Dizali, all while fighting off the lordsguards and Brothers? No, you’ll be fine of course. Better get going.’
Calidae loathed it when others were right; especially when the other was a twelve-inch tall beast with dragonfly wings and beggar’s clothes. She shook her head, wanting to curse at him.
‘Fine!’ She dealt with the latch on the cage, and Rhin was out in a flash. She half-expected him to lunge at her, but instead he began to jog down the corridor; slowly and with a great deal of limping.
‘Come on! Where I come from we don’t kill our friends,’ he said, making Calidae scowl all the more. The strangeness of the word stunned her. Friend. She couldn’t remember the last time she had used it. The scalpel flashed in the gaslight.
The thudding sounds were coming from the next door. Rhin leapt up to dangle from the handle. He winced as he did so, clearly in pain. He did look rather haggard. ‘Knock,’ he said to Calidae.
She saw the bones of his plan and nodded. She rapped smartly on the door, and then stepped back behind the doorframe. There came a grunt, and several heavy footsteps. Rhin swung upwards with the twist of the handle as Calidae rammed the scalpel into the first sign of Nordic chest. The twin roared, seizing her throat with one enormous hand.
As she was lifted off her feet and dragged up to meet the Nord at eye-level, she saw the spindly shape of Rhin jumping onto his shoulder. The faerie pressed a hand to the man’s head. There was a crackle and a muted flash, and the twin swayed like an ancient oak. Calidae slashed at his throat as she was dropped. The Nord crumpled to the floor with a shuddering bang, blood pulsing from his wound. He didn’t move again.
‘Impressive,’ she murmured, trying to make it sound as sardonic as possible. The faerie had proved his worth. She did not want to give him the satisfaction.
But Rhin wasn’t listening. He was already tending to the figure in the centre of the room, her head hung and quiet. ‘I need the scalpel,’ he murmured, and Calidae saw to the ropes.
‘Lady Hark?’ she asked, gingerly removing the gag from her mouth. ‘Are you awake?’
‘Thankfully so,’ croaked Lilain. She hauled her head back and blinked at the ceiling. ‘Maker, that man can swing a fist,’ she added, trying to get her eyes to move in the same direction. A bruise was already blossoming beneath her left eye and there was a smear of blood at the corner of her mouth. Calidae licked the same spot on her lip involuntarily.
Lilain had caught her stare, and tutted. ‘Lampreys,’ she sighed, before making a tottering path to the corridor. ‘Come on. Let’s get our Brother back.’
Now there were two people giving her orders. Well, one person and one bug.
Calidae followed. Perhaps they could prove useful. Storming the Emerald House would not be easy, and their plan had never catered for it. Calidae was meant to be safe and sound in a lair somewhere, or trussed up alongside Merion. At least she now had some cannon fodder for a charge.
They made their way to the next cell and prepared themselves for the same trick. Only this time, Lilain stood ready with a broken brick. Calidae knocked once more and held her breath. Not a sound could be heard. No footfalls. No wet thwacks of knuckle on flesh.
‘Interesting,’ Lilain murmured. Calidae knocked again and still no sound came from the cell. Together they crept inside, scalpel and brick held high and ready.
They found the remaining twin slumped against the wall, face up and neck bent at an unnatural angle. There was a smear of blood in his yellow hair and more on the floor beneath his shoulders.
In the middle of the room sat Gunderton with barely a mark on him, still bound and gagged. He blinked at them owlishly. Lilain and Rhin moved to untie him, shaking their heads. Calidae frowned. ‘How did you do that?’
Once the rag had been slipped from his mouth, Gunderton spoke.
‘Big men fall harder.’
Lilain had to laugh. ‘You’re a curious one, Dower Gunderton, that you are.’
‘Fever?’ he asked.
‘I did exactly as Witchazel recommended,’ said Calidae.
Within moments, they were striding down the stairs, Calidae bringing up the rear with her scalpel, just where she liked to be.
‘Carriage first, then guns,’ Lilain murmured to them all, as they paused at the door. ‘Let’s see if we can’t give my nephew what he needs after all.’
And a little more besides, Calidae inwardly whispered, then smirked to herself. Settling two scores in one day. Her father would be impressed.
And yet, in that moment something spread across her heaving chest that she did not expect. If she’d had the time for analysis, it may have turned out to be guilt.
*
‘How does it feel, Hark?’
Dizali repeated himself. Merion gave him the same dry scowl he’d been practising since the start of the journey. He let the empty sound of ironclad wheels do the answering as he looked back at the city.
Dizali followed the boy’s gaze. The Lord Protector seemed intent on taunting him, even when they were so close to the end. All but half an hour stood between him and the steps of the Emerald House. It was so tantalisingly close it was painful, and it was all Merion could do to sit quietly, look distraught, and keep his mind on the task.
Strange dreams had kept him from the depths of sleep the previous nig
ht. (Hardly a surprise, considering his bed had been a cold and dusty floor.) Echoes of them pestered him: thoughts of his father, faceless yet achingly familiar as with all characters in dreams, and how he must do right by him today. He couldn’t avenge his death, but he would finish his work. He thought of the letter sitting in his shirt pocket, and of the words his father had left him. He had promised to read it once this day was done.
‘Gaze hard upon on it, Tonmerion, for it will be the last time you will have the leisure to do so.’
Merion’s eyes wandered over every curve and line of London’s streets, every face and expression. It was a silent cacophony of humanity; riotous in its diversity. Yet it was almost laughable the way they were all lost in their own purpose, busy in theirs tos and fros, with no idea what future this one passing carriage held for them. He looked to Dizali, then to Heck and Honorford, who sat opposite Witchazel. The lawyer cradled his armful of documents like an hour-old baby.
‘This Empire will discover your lies soon enough,’ said Merion.
Dizali just scoffed. ‘It is that sort of misplaced altruism that would have put Karrigan in the ground, if somebody else had not beaten me to it. At least I can make up for that with his son. You should have stayed put in Wyoming, boy. You should have stayed there until you were eighteen as your father wanted. But you dared to meddle, killing the Serpeds and burning their riverboat to ashes.’
‘They deserved it, just as you do. Besides, you’re quite incorrect. My father never wanted me to stay. He wanted to keep me safe until I learned the truth about this Empire, and the maggots at its core. He wanted me to stamp them out. Finish what he’d started.’
Dizali’s moss-green eyes took on a dangerous glint. ‘Your choice of pets has skewed your mind, Hark. This is no fairytale. You are tied and you are bound, and you have lost. There will be no glorious ending for you.’
Merion said nothing, and merely looked him up and down. The Lord Protector had chosen his finest suit for this occasion; the creases were so sharp they looked like they had been honed by a blacksmith. The lines of his beard were crisp and freshly shaved. There even appeared to be subtle make-up hiding the brandy-borne bags beneath his eyes. He had clearly spent the evening toasting his own over-confidence. His white smile gleamed in the daylight like the sheen of his combed-back hair, dark like mahogany. It was like staring at a portrait of hatred.