Grim Solace (The Chasing Graves Trilogy Book 2)

by Ben Galley

  Another grunt came, Crale’s nostrils flaring like those of a spooked horse. His eyes had a white fire in them, just like the ragged edges of his injuries.

  Temsa’s copper knife waved again, wandering from shoulder to groin, as if torn between what to work on next. He was running out of options besides snuffing out the half-life altogether like a sputtering candle.

  A sigh came from behind him, and Temsa turned to regard Ani Jexebel with a raised eyebrow, challenging her. She avoided his gaze but spoke all the same.

  ‘This is a waste of time. You know who the spook works for. That cunt Horix, is who,’ she said.

  ‘I want him to say it, Ani!’ Temsa bellowed, thrusting the knife at her. Several feet of empty air stood between its quivering point and her breastplate, but still she growled at him, her eyes now narrowed and fearsome. Temsa felt sweat navigating his forehead as they stared at each other. He whirled on Meleber Crale instead, the knife lancing a white scar across his collarbone. ‘Do you hear me, spook? I want you to say it, and then you can go free!’

  Crale snorted, quiet words creeping from between his thin lips. ‘I’m already free. You can only make me freer.’

  ‘I remember now,’ Temsa whispered in his ear, feeling the shade’s cold vapour trail across his lips. ‘You spooks hide your coins, isn’t that right? You can’t be owned, only sent to the void.’

  Crale clung to silence once more. Temsa brought his face close, staring at the dark pit where the shade’s hook of a nose had been. ‘Most of the spooks I’ve worked with use the banks. They’re the clever ones, right?’

  The spook’s eyes strayed to Ani, now looming over Temsa’s shoulder, but the tor slapped him with the flat of the knife.

  ‘Which bank is it? Hmm? Who do you keep your half-coin with?’

  There. The flicker of uncertainty every torturer hunted for. It needed to be prised out and shown to the light before it could be bled. Temsa placed the knifepoint on Crale’s chin, hearing the soft sizzle of copper against blue mist. He hunted now.

  ‘Akhenaten’s Vaults? Neben? Belepan Trust? Flimzi Consolidated? Which is it?’

  ‘B—Tor, the other spooks won’t look too kindly on this,’ warned Ani, stepping closer.

  Temsa ignored her. ‘Harkuf’s? Bank of Araxes? Tor’s Choice? Setmose? Fenec Coinery?’

  The spook was a good liar, but not that good. Whether it was the modest widening of an eye, or the betraying tremble of a lip, everybody had a tell. Crale’s was a gentle crinkle in his brow. Temsa caught it easily. The spook hissed as the knife cut a slice of vapour from his cheek.

  ‘Your luck is poor, my good half-life! I happen to have quite the relationship with Tor Fenec and his son. Your freedom? Forget it. I’ll leave you here to dangle and pay a visit to Oshirim district right away! I’ll have your coin in my hand by tomorrow.’

  The dead were no different from the living when broken. Even the stoic ones all turned to spit and spite. ‘You’re a fool, Temsa! I have connections. Importance!’ Crale screeched.

  Temsa crooked a finger to the soldiers standing by. They hauled the maimed shade from his chains and muscled him down the dark corridor. His shouts fell away to echoes, and then to silence. All save for Ani’s heavy breathing.

  ‘That was a mistake,’ she said.

  Temsa snarled as he moved to light a lantern with flint and taper, replacing Crale’s cold glow with a warmer orange light. ‘Fuck the spooks and their guild! They won’t give a shit when I tell them how stupid their associate was taking on a job like me!’ He flung the dagger, striking sparks on the sandstone wall. ‘It’s this fucking tavern! Too many people in and out. We should have moved sooner.’

  More grumbling from Ani, but given Temsa’s fiery mood, she wisely pretended she hadn’t heard.

  ‘Bah! Who does this Horix think she is?’

  Again, Ani feigned deafness, and tapped her ear.

  ‘Who even is she?!’ Temsa yelled up at her, stamping his talons. He had done business with Horix, sure, but all he knew of the old crone was her scrawl and her seal.

  ‘Neither the men nor the spies have heard anythin’ more about her,’ said Ani. ‘She’s seen occasionally at the soulmarkets and Neper’s Bazaar, and that’s it. No guests. No parties. No gossip. Horix don’t act like a normal noble. She’s a hermit, and that means she’s dangerous.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Ever heard that old saying about corners and wild animals?’

  Temsa threw his hands to the ceiling, wishing it would come crashing down to save him from the bothers of being rich. It was a fleeting desire, quickly replaced with injustice and outrage. ‘She’s a piss-stained old bag! Fuck her! Naught but a hunched widow with rheum in her eyes and barely a decade left in her. How dare she think she can meddle in my affairs? Send spooks to my door? She’s a fool.’

  Once again, Ani had no reply. Temsa didn’t need one.

  ‘That bitch’s time is up, m’dear, I tell you that! I can’t afford to risk her destroying Caltro’s coin now that her spook is smoke. After we hit Finel’s tonight, she’s next. The Cult will have to deal with me deviating from the order of their precious list.’

  He watched the frown deepen across Ani’s scarred and tattooed face. ‘Finel’s? Why not hit Horix first? Avoid pissing off the Cult?’

  ‘I need Caltro for Serek Finel. If we attack Horix too soon, she’ll snuff Caltro out before we can take on Finel and Boon.’

  ‘The sisters were pretty fuckin’ specific, Boss…’

  Temsa’s hand rested gently upon the hilt of Caltro’s blade, still strapped to his waist. Ani’s incertitude had become too bold, too vocal. Her doubt was feeding his, like spraying whale-oil onto a fireplace, and he did not appreciate it.

  ‘That’s enough, Miss Jexebel!’ he yelled. ‘In all the years you’ve worked for me, you’ve never once shied away from a bit of knife-work. Now, at the height of my success, when you could be richer than ever before, you fret like a schoolchild, blubbering that I’m moving too quickly. That the Cult will be upset, for dead gods’ sake. We have a princess in our pocket, woman! You don’t hear Danib complaining, do you? Maybe you should follow his example and learn to hold that fucking tongue of yours. I don’t pay you for your advice. I pay you to kill things and keep order, not bitch like a fresh-bound shade.’

  Temsa watched Ani’s bulging eyes flicking between each of his. The breath heaved in and out of her nostrils. He could see the muscles tensing in her thick arms, the cord-like tendons in her thick neck twitching. He could almost hear the cogs whirring as she calculated her response.

  After a tense moment, Ani’s fists unclenched and she nodded curtly. ‘I wonder how much Sisine will protect us when she finds out you have her locksmith,’ she said before striding angrily from the room. Temsa felt the impact of her heavy steps reverberating up through his metal talons.

  He waited there in empty silence, distracting himself with the dimples and gouges in the earthen walls, the dark stains in the sandy flagstone, the way a gutter tucked into a corner dribbled something foul and green, the copper dagger lying forgotten behind a stool.

  It kept the doubt at bay for a time, but silence was an unlocked door for cynicism, and in a mood like his, his thoughts were nothing but derisive. Inner voices berated him for his brazenness, and for taking great and callous leaps. He met every false claim with a curse until one stood out from the crowd. One that sounded like an enemy whispering in his ear.

  ‘Fucking failure.’

  ‘Shut up, damn it!’ Temsa yelled, pulling at his greasy hair. His fingers scrabbled for the sword’s handle, tearing it loose from the scabbard so he could glower at its obsidian face. ‘SHUT UP!’

  With a grunt, Temsa slammed it into the floor, driving it halfway into the stone before he was deprived of his balance and pitched onto his face. Caked in dust and grit, Temsa lay there, breathing heavily, staring at the pommel stone of the sword and its accursed, smirking face.

  Over foaming tankards and s
moke-stained lips, I have heard people opine that prison does not work. That it is not a fitting punishment for crime. Before my death, I would have agreed, primarily because I knew no prison in the Reaches was capable of holding me for longer than a week. But now, I knew differently, and I would have raised my tankard heartily and cursed those old tongue-waggers if I could have.

  Linger long enough in a prison, and it becomes more than a construction of stout stone and iron bars. It becomes a construction of the mind. The sense of prevailing entrapment, the overbearing order, the complete lack of control – they all conspire to make the passage of time a grinding, maddening thing. There is some escape in sleep, but then you wake each morning, and in those few blissful moments of transiting from sleep to open eyes, you forget where you are. Just for a moment, you believe you could be somewhere and something else. That’s when the bleak reality comes crashing down, and you remember your sentence. In the end, it is the prisoners who deliver their own punishment. The prison simply provides the venue.

  Indenturement was worse. I had no sleep besides the strange state of complete boredom I had perfected. But even that wasn’t enough to make me forget where I was and who I was. Just long enough to make me scowl when I saw the walls before me, and my glowing fingers clenching in anger.

  I blamed my mood on Temsa taking away my window. I had hoped Magistrate Ghoor’s tower would offer something nicer in the way of accommodation; perhaps a room with a sea view. But old dead Ghoor had been a perverted prick, and had built himself his own cells for dead gods knew what. Temsa had rubbed his hands at that discovery.

  Disturbingly, the cells were not in the bowels of a tower, as tradition would suggest, but near the bedchambers, which occupied the whole top third of his abode. Judging by the peepholes in the door, and the holes in the strangely thin walls between the cells, they had been designed more for pleasure than for punishment. I was perhaps the first prisoner who had entered these cells unwillingly.

  Suffice to say I jumped to my feet when the keys came to jiggle in the locks. Indigo light spilled into my cell, followed by the looming bulk of Danib, armoured to the gills and sporting a helmet with a single horn at its brow. His gaze bored into me, warning me silently before Temsa and Miss Jexebel entered.

  ‘Eager tonight, are we?’ asked Temsa, tossing me a black smock. It couldn’t have been more at odds with Temsa’s gaudy outfit of purple silk and leopard pelt. ‘Here. Clothe yourself.’

  I shuffled the rough smock over my loincloth and waistcoat, dimming my glow. ‘It’s night?’

  Temsa postured with a new copper cane bearing an eagle’s head. He had polished and coiffed himself for his murderous evening. ‘Daylight is for pickpockets and the foolish, Caltro, you should know that,’ he replied with a tut.

  ‘Or the exceptionally skilled,’ I replied, staring flatly at Temsa as I held out my hands for Danib to bind with copper-core rope.

  Temsa had a sourness in his eyes that suggested his mood might be fouler than mine. His clenched knuckles were pale even through his tanned skin. He spoke as if he had swallowed a spoonful of sand. I was also surprised and somewhat concerned to see Pointy absent from his belt. His only weapons were his foot and his sharp cane, made of twisted oryx horn and copper leaf.

  ‘Over here,’ said a familiar voice, leading my eyes to Danib’s waist, where two swords hung from his belt. I recognised Pointy’s black and silver scabbard instantly.

  ‘He doesn’t like me any more.’

  I inwardly smiled as Temsa waved a ringed finger in my face, disturbing my vapours. ‘No more attempts to escape, Caltro. My patience has all but evaporated.’

  I was shoved from the room and into an opulent bedchamber that was predominately bed. Stay useful, the Enlightened Sisters had told me, and for now, that’s what I intended to do. ‘Like I told you before, it was a ghost-napping. I was taken against my will.’

  ‘Mhm,’ came the growl, and I stayed quiet. In truth, I was glad to be out of my cell, even if it meant playing along to Temsa’s bloody will. At least it gave me a chance to carry on driving a thick wedge between Temsa and his cronies. It was a gambit that needed to be played in small increments, the same as picking a lock. Tiny rebellions – and plenty of them – were what built revolts. Therein lay my escape.

  Amongst the clank of armour and boots, I looked to Jexebel. She was striding ahead of Temsa and altogether separate from him. She also seemed irritated. I could recognise the aftermath of a spat when I saw one.

  Danib was staring down at me, my rope bindings seized in one huge hand. His gaze was heavy and cold, full of threat. I smiled up at him as sweetly as I could and then yelped as he backhanded me with his gauntlet. Temsa glared at me over his shoulder, and then at the soulblade bouncing on Danib’s hip.

  I followed his eyes to the pommel stone. Pointy’s face seemed fixed on me.

  ‘Did you try to escape without me?’

  I slyly shook my head.

  ‘You fucking did, didn’t you? Just when I thought you might have a heart, but it looks like it died with your body.’

  My eyes wide and jaw thrust out, I gave Pointy my best and most earnest look, willing him to trust me. If his silence meant trust, then I got it. When I blinked, the face had turned away from me, eyes narrow. I knuckled my eyes as I was pushed into the silk interior of an armoured carriage, covered in spikes and emblazoned with a black-painted seal.

  Over the next hour, the carriage took us on a winding route to the High Docks and then west along the coast, until crowded ships and warehouses transformed into regal towers and narrow strips of beach. Coiled nets and lobster pots filled tightly-packed streets of cobble and yellow plaster. Beyond them, the Troublesome Sea looked like rumpled black velvet scattered with diamonds. A white disc of moon presided over the waves. I saw a raft of fishing boats huddled around their buoys. They were skinny, spindly things with lateen sails.

  The buildings here seemed older. They shouldered up against each other, leaning in the way of old buildings built far too high far too long ago. Their bricks were rounded at the edges, eaten away by salt and sand. I saw wood beams, tarred black, lining adobe and pebbledash walls. Dried palm fronds formed most of the awnings and roofs. If I peered closely enough, I could still see the shanty town this district had been a thousand years before, when Araxes had been just an itch in a builder’s hand.

  Unfortunately, history was not a precious commodity to a city unless it was profitable. The tors and tals had spread here too, hunting for sea views and relative privacy. Every now and again, a huge edifice rose from between the dishevelled buildings. Pale, sheer sandstone stood next to flaking mortar; or black marble, dark even against the night. I examined each of them as our caravan of carriages and wagons rattled past, wondering which one would be Temsa’s prey tonight.

  Almost an hour later, we lurched to a halt at a sawn-off stump of a building encircled by a low set of concentric walls. It looked more like a Chamber building, and for a moment Temsa had me wondering just how bold he was. Curiouser, we were sandwiched in a tight back street, nowhere near an entrance.

  ‘Out,’ ordered Temsa. I was already stumbling across the cobbles.

  I stared up at the walls behind me, noting their wavy rows of black spikes. There was no gate, just flat grey granite drawn into neat squares by silver mortar. Plaques bore warnings of, “No Climbing!” or, “Trespass At Risk of Death!” in bold Arctian glyphs. There were even translations for the Scatterfolk and us eastern fellows. It reminded me of a place in Aerenna, an unwiped anus of a town in eastern Skol. A job had taken me there, much as I had been drawn to Araxes. There was a hollow in the mountainside there, with a great semicircle of stone wall around its mouth. The Aerenna Ark, they’d called it, full of all creatures feathered, scaled and furred. I had walked those walls many a time but never entered. I’d only listened to the gossip of the nearby taverns, and the tales of what wonders it held.

  I turned to Temsa, who was busy directing his mercenaries into grou
ps. ‘It’s a—’

  ‘A zoo. Yes. Well done,’ he replied, cutting me off.

  ‘What do you want a zoo for?’

  The tor cackled, showing the cracks in his mood. ‘I don’t want the zoo, Caltro, I want who owns the zoo. Some eccentric bastard named Finel. A serek.’

  ‘A serek. Look at you, taking on the big marks,’ I said, folding my arms. I slung a sideways glance at Jexebel. ‘How very ambitious.’

  Temsa prodded me with his cane, and the copper tip made my shoulder flash. ‘Haven’t you noticed? This is Menkare District. We’re practically in the Outsprawls. The Chamber of the Code is even weaker here than it is in the city, and Sisine’s soldiers are all stationed in the Core Districts. Now move. Time to work, locksmith.’

  ‘The clue in that sentence is “lock”, Temsa,’ I said as Danib hauled me to the granite wall. ‘I don’t work with stone.’ I jabbed my foot at a block of stone, barely eliciting a thud. At that moment I heard the echoing growl of something on the other side, something altogether not human. ‘You sure you’re not losing it?’

  With a snarl, Temsa pounced on me, trapping one of my legs with his talons and shoving me up against the wall. His cane pressed to my throat. I gulped habitually, but all I felt was pressure and the sizzle of copper. Danib loomed over us, watching carefully. He needn’t have worried: Temsa occupied all my gaze. The vicious little man was close to frothing at the mouth. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, their whites like milky granite veined with rusted iron. He was not a sweater, and yet beads hovered on his quivering forehead.

  Knowing my worth, I waited patiently for the threat, but it never came. He simply released me and began to moodily trace the circumference of the wall. Danib made sure I followed, a scowl visible behind the cross-shaped gap in his helmet. Jexebel lurked behind us, cursing any man or woman that didn’t hug the wall closely enough. I shook my head, but I grinned as well. Temsa’s wasn’t the only temper fraying. Fuck small increments, I thought. I reckoned I could have them all in tatters within the hour. I wondered what the Enlightened Sisters might say if I sent their rabid wolf to madness.