by Ben Galley
‘Still,’ said Merion. ‘The less you know, the better. Calidae and I have it all under control.’
Lurker scoffed as he fetched a chipped cup from the dusty counter. He reached for his flask and poured himself a liberal splash. ‘And how’s that goin’?’
Merion thought of the empty desk drawer in Slickharbour Spit, and the frown on Miss Ferrit’s face, barely two hours ago. His expression told his aunt everything she needed to know.
Lilain slapped her knees and rocked back her chair. ‘Tonmerion Harlequin Hark, if you weren’t your father’s son, I’d probably be walkin’ out that door and leaving you with my handprint on your cheek. But seein’ as you and I have the same blood flowing through our veins, and the same desert dust on our boots, I know the measure of your ways, your thoughts. So let me tell you this, Nephew. I ain’t travelled three thousand miles to be snubbed and sent packin’. Maker knows you need us now, as you always have. If you ain’t figured that out yet, then you ain’t brave and clever. You’re a mad and stubborn fool.’
Merion ground his teeth. He heard the firmness in his aunt’s voice and knew it too well to dismiss. To ignore the need for change was one of humankind’s most dangerous flaws, his father had said, and here change was, sat two feet away from him.
‘I must say, you make a compelling argument. Perhaps I could find some use for you.’
Lilain snorted. ‘We’re in or we’re out, Merion. We ain’t here to fetch you tea and summon up blood. We came to help, and we’ll help.’
The prospector nodded, raising his cup, which had received another glug of whisky.
‘Never worked by half measures before. Ain’t about to start now.’
‘Fine,’ Merion relented, finding a smile creeping onto his face.
Lilain and Lurker shared a look. The prospector hummed a low note.
‘Third time lucky it’ll have to be.’
His aunt rolled her eyes. ‘By the Maker’s backside, I hope you’re right, John Hobble.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll have you know that this plan will work.’ Merion looked over at Gunderton, who had just brought the kettle to boil. He pounced on the option of changing the subject.
‘So then, Mr Gunderton, about you? How does my father’s old under-butler come to be sitting here at this very moment?’
The man cleaned the grime from two cups before he answered. No tea for him, apparently. He spoke as he stirred.
‘You always have been so precocious.’ He rifled around in his beard for a moment. ‘I always knew you’d follow in your father’s footsteps, no matter how hard he tried to keep it from you. But trust me, like he did. You won’t like what I’ve got to say. Not from what I’ve heard.’
Merion leaned forwards in his chair. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
Gunderton plucked a twig out of his beard. ‘Tell me, did you really put Suffrous Gile and Arrid Gavisham in their graves?’
The boy was practically overflowing with suspicion.
‘Stories normally start at the beginning.’
Gunderton shrugged. Perhaps Merion had to give an answer to get one.
‘One out of the two. Calidae stabbed Gavisham to death with the leg of a stool. I’d almost beaten him, though.’ The little lie was necessary. Recent victories or not, that night made him sweat if his mind dwelt on it for too long. Failure. Its sour taste can never truly be washed away.
‘Impressive. It’s not very often you find somebody who’s a match for a Brother,’ said Gunderton.
Lilain shuffled around in her chair so she could watch the man talk. ‘I’m with Merion. Start explainin’,’ she ordered. Lurker placed the Mistress on his lap and tapped it with his finger.
Gunderton held his hands open and settled into a crouch, leaning against the wall.
‘Have you ever noticed their eyes? Green and blue?’
‘Of course.’
‘It’s to do with their lineage. They’re of an ancient bloodline, half-related to the royalty thanks to interbreeding. With every generation that ebbs and flows. There are always triplets born, sometimes identical, sometimes not, and they are always leeches, always male. It’s customary for them to be given to the Masters of the Gjörgetten Rift, a valley lost in the northern fjords of Svenska. There they become Brothers. Trained fighters, mercenary rushers sold to the highest bidder. And when I say highest, I mean the very peaks of society.’
‘Like Castor Serped,’ said Lilain.
Gunderton nodded. ‘Some have worked for Queens, Emerald Lords, even Prime Lords…’ He flashed a look at Merion. ‘Suffrous Gile and Arrid Gavisham were two of the three Brothers Seventh, bought by the Order of which Dizali is the head. They were the seventh generation of Brothers made by the Masters. Each generation’s surname is the next letter of the alphabet. In their case, a G.’
He paused to pick at something caught in his eye.
Realisation was slowly dawning for Merion. ‘Gile, Gavisham, and…’
‘Gunderton!’ said Lurker.
Chairs squealed as they were thrown backwards. Cups smashed and tea painted the floor. Lurker had the Mistress up in a flash, cocked and ready. Lilain was brandishing her fists. Merion dug in his pocket for a vial.
But Gunderton sprang no trap. He made no move besides holding up an empty hand. With his other he was pinching at his eyeballs, as if he’d been momentarily blinded. He was peeling something from his eyes.
‘Whatever are you up to? Explain yourself!’ Merion demanded, an uncorked vial hovering an inch from his lips.
‘Showing you the truth,’ said Gunderton, straightening up. He blinked owlishly. Merion took a step forward. No longer were the man’s eyes a dark brown, but a bright blue and a deep green. Two slivers of dark scale sat in his palm.
‘Give me the gun, Lurker.’
The prospector wasn’t convinced. ‘Merion, I know your history with guns—’
‘Give it,’ Merion repeated, sure as could be.
Lurker passed the Mistress to the boy. Merion pointed it straight at Gunderton’s heart. ‘All this time, you were betraying my father? Working behind his back? I should shoot you before you spit another lie!’
‘You really should hear the rest of the story before you start shooting,’ said Gunderton. His face showed no trace of fear, even with a gun hovering inches from his nose. ‘And when you’ve heard me out, you can make your decision.’
‘Talk quickly.’
‘What they never tell you about Brothers is that they must never stop learning. Beat that into a boy of four enough times and he’ll remember it for life. And believe me, Brothers live a very long life. Longer than their employers in fact. They are part leech, part lamprey, and the best of both. Hybrids.’
‘That’s heresy to both kinds…’ said Lilain.
‘That it is, and it is why they always work for lampreys. But Karrigan Hark, well, he didn’t care. He knew what I was, and bought me anyway.’
Merion wore a face of disgust. ‘Why would my father dirty our house with a lamprey?’
‘He wanted to change me, to put me to good use. Believe it or not, Brothers have done great things over the years. Gile and Gavisham even managed to help win the battle of Rafalgar for the Empire. But we know more of lamprey Orders than we do of leeches like your father, Tonmerion. We know more of assassinations and murder than we do of justice and human rights. A Brother doesn’t usually find an employer so morally minded, or one who’s more powerful than him, for that matter. Normally, we’re the heavies.’
‘Then what use did my father have for you?’
‘There are some hands that should never be caught dirty, Merion. Your father’s, for example. I did the work that he could not. An empire like his can never be built entirely on truth and kind words. Karrigan bent the rules like everybody else—’
‘Careful, Mr Gunderton.’ Merion took a step towards him.
‘—but he bent them in the opposite direction. “Never kill a soul,” he said, “unless
they try to harm my son, you, or I.” Always putting you first, that man. That was his standing order. I’d do my job alright. I’d intimidate the wrong sort of people. Tell lies, break ribs, anything Karrigan told me. But with him, they always had to deserve it. Immoral factory workers. Illegal boxing rings. Smuggler bands. The corrupt and the cruel. Together Karrigan and I waged a secret war against this city’s criminals. Then our work turned to taking down the real leeches. For a while, we made a difference.’
Lilain put away her fists. Lurker relaxed. Only Merion still challenged him.
‘And all the while you’d loiter around Harker Sheer, pretending to do menial work between losing me in the bushes day after day? If I remember, you were awful at hide and seek.’
‘You really think I would let Karrigan’s son lose?’ Gunderton countered. ‘Wouldn’t hear the end of it.’
Merion ignored the preposterous suggestion. ‘So my father changed you, is that what you’re saying?’
Gunderton sighed. ‘Almost.’
‘Explain.’
‘I stopped rushing human blood. Being bred into Brothers from birth, it was hard to shake off. We’re designed to last centuries, not just mere decades. It did something to my mood. Made me erratic. Three years ago I visited the owner of a shipping firm, a man who Karrigan suspected of importing slaves from Indus. He was right of course, as he always was. None of them were over fifteen, and were so scared when I tore open their crate, one of them gave up on life right there and then. I ripped the owner to pieces. Turns out he hadn’t a clue. The slavers were buying off the firm’s guards, letting them stow the children in the crates under darkness. Karrigan would have none of it. Seeing as I could no longer protect you, Merion, or him, he turned me loose. He cut my contract short and sent me on my way. I’ve been living in London ever since, torn between that life and this.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Existing. I carried on with Karrigan’s work for a time, roughing up the same old wrong people now and again, fighting the Order when I could. But without the blood I started to age. I stopped rushing human blood two years ago, and by the time I realised I no longer wanted to be a Brother, I found I wasn’t one any more. Time’s a jealous beast. The debts were starting to mount, revenge was starting to pay me visits in dark alleyways. Even the law took an interest in me. Since then I’ve been hiding, watching Karrigan from afar. When I heard he’d died, I knew you would be sent to your aunt, as he planned. I waited here, ready for the day when you’d return. Unfortunately, Witchazel had other ideas. Now, can we lower the gun, please? I don’t like the sound of what Mr Lurker said.’
Merion allowed himself to relax. The man certainly made an interesting case. Whether he was ready to believe it or not, he didn’t know. Trust had to be earned, not offered. He handed the Mistress back to Lurker, who swiftly stowed it away. They all sat back in their chairs and took a collective breath. It was a lot to take in.
The boy clapped his hands together. ‘So what now, Gunderton?’
The old butler rubbed his bushy beard for a moment. ‘You’re Karrigan’s son. It’s my duty to serve you, no matter what he said.’
Merion nodded, an idea blossoming.
‘Well then, you can start by telling me of Witchazel. Did he sign the estate over to Dizali?’ He had boiled for hours on the subject. In the dark hours, staring at the thatch, he had considered marching straight to the Emerald House and setting the whole thing ablaze just on principle. But, no. Too rash. The best fires are the ones that burn low and quiet until they find the right time to roar.
Gunderton looked at the floor.
‘He was captured by Dizali before I left to find you. All this time, that worm had hidden under Karrigan’s nose.’ He sounded disappointed. ‘Witchazel was taken to a house in Cheapside and tortured by some of Dizali’s men. From what I know, the Prime Lord must have forced his way into your estate, found evidence that could brand your father a traitor, then made Witchazel sign the estate over.’
‘And Mr Witchazel caved,’ said Merion, a sharpness to his tone.
‘Torture, Merion,’ Lilain reminded him. ‘The man was tortured.’
‘I tried to rescue him, but I couldn’t. And once I realised Dizali was behind it all, I came to save you from the other half of his plan.’
Merion sighed. ‘Yes and you did a great job of that. How many days late were you?’
Gunderton’s eyes turned hard. Merion saw too much of Gile and Gavisham in them. He shuddered.
‘The Bulldog’s son or the Bulldog’s estate. No easy decision. Took me a while to make it. Don’t blame me. Blame Dizali.’
‘Well, thank you for trying,’ Merion said, and he truly meant it; more so than his tone suggested. The man before him was a strange one, but by now he knew full well there could be blessing in strangeness. The finding of a half-dead faerie in a rhododendron. Three faces in an ancient tree. The mercy of a scarred girl built of hatred. And now, a Brother turned loyal old guard. There is a magic in the unexpected that throws you off by a step, and sometimes that is exactly what is needed. It’s that sort of stuff that kept boys alive. Merion decided he would trust the man.
And thank the Almighty he didn’t have to fight him.
There was a moment of rumination. Chins were scratched, eyes sent to search the cracks and vacant plaster in the walls, brains still processing. And to think that all Merion had wanted to do that afternoon was take a lie down. Tracking down shades and lords was a tiring task.
‘So when do you tell us all about you master plan then, Nephew?’ Lilain queried.
Merion just tapped his nose at that. ‘All in good time, Aunt. All in good time.’
‘For Maker’s sake. Whatever you and Miss Bloodthirsty have come up with, I expect it to be good. I think you’re making a mistake trusting Calidae. She could have already told Dizali. He could be waiting for you to drop into his lap. She is a lamprey after all.’
‘And she has as much hatred for the man as I do,’ Merion told her.
Gunderton spoke up. ‘Karrigan guessed her father sat at the Order’s table, but could never prove it.’
‘She said as much on the Black Rosa. We’re using that legacy to our advantage.’
Lilain worked her jaw, chewing over decisions. ‘Fine. We’ll trust you on that, so long as we know what we almost went swimming in the Iron Ocean for.’
The boy raised an eyebrow. ‘What did I miss?’
Lilain tapped her nose and Merion tutted. Sharing secrets worked both ways, it seemed. He made to get up. He wanted to go and wander the riverbank for a while, to clear his head and reorder his plot; but his aunt held up a hand.
‘Just do me one favour.’
‘And what, pray, is that?’
‘Tell me this ain’t some sort of suicide mission.’
Merion pulled an offended face. ‘Almighty, no. Aunt Lilain, I intend to be laughing about this year of my life when I’m old and grey, boring my grandchildren half to death with stories of magick and blood. I decided that on the journey over here, and I’m going to stick to it. I think I deserve it.’
That seemed enough for Lilain. She went back to poking the dregs of her tea. Merion tucked his hood over his head and stepped out into the gaslit gloom.
*
Lilain watched Gunderton as he went about cleaning up the spilt tea and shards of cup. For a man of his apparent prowess he seemed surprisingly quiet, even timid at times. Karrigan had clearly cut him deep with his sacking. Perhaps he’d never fully recovered, and that was why he was so intent on helping Merion; as though Karrigan could forgive him from the grave. Lilain couldn’t blame him. Her brother had a magnetism for loyalty.
Time to break that stubborn ice.
‘So you’re a letter, too, I take it? Being a leech and lamprey at the same time, I guess it would just round it off?’
‘I dabble.’ Gunderton found a smile. ‘Brothers have to learn how, just in case we’re in a tight spot.’
Lilain mused on th
at. ‘What have you got on you?’
Gunderton shifted his cloak aside to display about half a dozen bottles, browns and reds. No labels adorned them. ‘Ox. Bat. Carp. Bullfrog. Salmon. Lupus.’
Lilain leaned so far forward she almost fell. ‘Lupus?’
‘Indeed. For special occasions.’
‘You and I need to talk,’ she said.
Lurker rolled his eyes and hoisted himself to standing. ‘In that case, I’m goin’ to check on the boy, ‘afore I get bored to death.’
Lurker ducked the grimy sock that flew after him and slipped out of the door just as Lilain and Gunderton descended into a duel of letting knowledge.
*
After lighting a match against his stubbled chin, Lurker sucked on his cigarette and strode to join Merion at the edge of the riverbank. The boy was leaning over the stone railing, staring down at the rippling waters. There was a stench of fish-heads and silt in the air.
Lurker stood beside the boy, and turned his back to the river so he could watch the scattered people moving to and fro.
‘Don’t blame you, y’know,’ he finally said, when the cigarette was almost smoked to the bone of his finger. ‘I see why now. Don’t need to explain keepin’ loved ones safe to a man like me.’
‘Lilain said you would need a lot of convincing,’ Merion replied quietly. ‘Looks like you’ve got soft in your old age.’
‘Hmph, I ain’t a cold man. Quiet, but not cold.’
‘It was never going to be forever. Just until I was finished here.’
For Lurker, apologies were awkward, pointy things, best passed quickly and then dropped.
‘Why you all glum, then? You regretting it already?’
‘I’m trying a new tack. No regrets. Besides, it’s not that.’ Merion sighed. He stood up straight and patted Lurker awkwardly on the shoulder. ‘Imagine if you were rushing at a buffet, and all the smells and scents were attacking your senses at once. That’s what it feels like to have all these strings to pull.’
‘Don’t think I ever been to a buffet. You just didn’t know how much you needed us, is all,’ Lurker replied with a sly smile.