Bloodfeud (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 3)

by Ben Galley

  Merion nudged him with an elbow. ‘I have everything sorted, even without you.’

  ‘Do you now? Where is that lawyer of yours, then?’

  Merion snorted, and walked away. ‘I’m still working on that.’

  Lurker chuckled. ‘A man can be a peninsula, but he can never truly be an island. Family is too strong a bond, no matter how strange and unorthodox. Or at least that’s how King Lincoln put it to me. I guess he meant you should never refuse help when it’s offered.’

  Merion looked back over his shoulder with a suspicious glint in his eye. ‘You said “man”, not “boy”. Does this mean you’re finally listening to me, John Hobble?’

  Lurker produced another cigarette and lit it. When his weathered face reappeared from behind its smoke, he was grinning. ‘Your aunt told me to be nice.’

  Merion mimed the cracking of the whip before disappearing down the alleyway.

  *

  In the murk of the alleyway, Merion missed the door-handle twice before managing to snag it. He pushed his way inside, and was welcomed by the talk of blood and shades and history. Gunderton’s, apparently.

  ‘…And then I knew a letter in Constantia, when I fought in the Crimea. Marvellous man. He could do wonders with blood. Made blends you would never believe. I saw him once make a rusher breathe fire. Taught another how to catch a bullet from the air. He showed me a few things here and there, I’m pleased to say. But there are still a few letters of London, Lady Hark. More than you would think.’

  Merion clapped his hands together. He had been listening at the door, taking his time to undo his shoelaces.

  ‘That, Mr Butler, is exactly the kind of help I’m looking for. Seeing that you’re here, I have a task for you.’

  ‘Will you tell us your glorious plan in return?’ Lilain asked.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘What, then?’ they chorused.

  Merion put a foot on the chair and leaned on his knee. ‘I need the Fae shade.’

  Eyebrows were raised. ‘Why do you want that?’ the Brother asked.

  ‘For my glorious plan, why else?’

  Gunderton shook his head. ‘I’ve never known a letter that stocked it, let alone touched it. Not in all my… considerable years.’

  Merion sucked at his teeth. His idea had now fully bloomed. ‘Well then, in that case, I shall need some nimerigar blood.’

  His aunt looked worried. ‘Why on earth would you want that, Merion?’

  Words are like a drink, his father had once told him. Better to be served straight than mixed and muddled together.

  ‘Because I think it’s high time I rescued Rhin,’ replied Merion, matter of factly.

  His aunt gaped. Gunderton just looked confused. ‘Whats a rhin?’

  Merion smiled. ‘I think it’s time I brought you into the fold.’

  Chapter VIII

  OF MEDDLING AND MAGPIES

  3rd August, 1867

  ‘Next on the agenda then, my good Lords and Ladies,’ announced Longweather. It was one of those sorts of meetings; one that came on the tail of a busy night, and far too early in the day for such heights of politics. There was a staleness in the air; the stink of yesterday’s wine and the clinging odour of perfumed bedsheets. Everyone was fractious, in need of a good scarlet brandy.

  Perhaps it was the pressure of the path he had brought them down. Imprisoning a queen. It wasn’t every day the Order pulled such a stunt. Whilst Dizali had embraced the idea warmly, the others of his dark court were still wrapping their brains around it. They had no vision. No ambition. If they were baulking now, they would soon be wilting.

  Dizali wanted to cast them all out and rid himself of wagging tongues and ears to bend. But every game needed players. He could not simply defenestrate everyone and claim a victory.

  ‘And what is that, Longweather?’ Even his second-in-command was irking him today.

  ‘The war.’

  ‘Costing too much,’ said Admiral Caven brusquely. ‘We need more supply ships and workers to load them. We don’t have either. The strikes in Cheapside are not helping matters. These Royalists have convinced a whole factory to shut down.’

  Dizali let his chin rest on his tight fist. ‘Let me guess… A munitions factory.’

  Longweather nodded.

  ‘The people will remember their place once they forget the Queen.’

  ‘What we need is the Serped estate and the deeds for Harker Sheer,’ said Sargen, stating the obvious. Dizali had often thought of having her strangled. It was the only fitting end for somebody who talked so much.

  ‘I am fully aware of that, Lady Sargen. I should be receiving a delivery from the Brothers Eighth very soon.’

  ‘You said that in our last meeting.’

  ‘The leech-blood,’ Lord Darbish piped up. ‘How successful was the hunt?’

  ‘Very, from what I hear,’ Dizali lied. He hadn’t heard a thing. Gavisham would have kept in constant contact.

  ‘And you believe it will fool this contraption and find us the deeds?’ asked Neritis.

  Dizali wanted to spit at the mention of ‘us’, but he held back. ‘Yes. I do.’

  ‘It had better,’ said Sargen. She was intent on trying his patience today.

  ‘I have it under control, Lady Sargen. Fear not.’

  Kiefel spoke up. ‘This is not your private venture, Lord Protector. We are not members of a board for you to consult with when it pleases you. One for all, not all for one. As it has been for forever and always.’

  ‘Do not dare lecture me on the rules of the Order, Kiefel. I know them as well as you do.’

  Dizali’s eyes flicked to the clock and saw a chance to cut the meeting short. There was only so much moaning and posturing he could stomach before he wanted to vomit or, better yet, reach for a knife. Problems needed to be cut out, not massaged and poked at.

  He rose from his chair, fetching the decanter and two handfuls of glasses. He poured as he spoke, and the glasses cycled around the table.

  ‘As for the Serped estate, I shall take young Lady Serped to Slickharbour Spit within the hour, to show her the weight of her inheritance. I will offer to manage it for her, with her full control, as any member of this table would expect. And that is exactly what we will give her. A seat at this table. I have already hooked her with the idea. Now it is time to land the fish. She could never refuse us if we invited her here, where our good friend Castor Serped once sat.’

  ‘You cannot make that decision by yourself!’ said Kiefel.

  ‘If you would let me finish, Lord Kiefel, I was about to suggest it to the rest of the table. You see, Lords and Ladies, I have everything under control. Trust has always been the backbone of this Order, and I expect you to trust me now, in these new days. I have seen us right thus far and will continue to do so.’ Dizali raised his glass. ‘To continued success and to a new member?’

  They knew it was rhetoric. They weren’t as blind to his wiles as the Emerald House. But his words were solid, and to quaff at them would have appeared seditious. Each of the Order raised their glass in unison.

  ‘A new member,’ came the dull chorus.

  ‘And to a new age!’ Dizali said, before swigging back his brandy. It shivered in his gums as he savoured its fiery tail.

  ‘A fine lineage,’ Darbish commented, as he smacked his lips.

  ‘The finest, as always, Darbish. But please, don’t guzzle it so,’ said Dizali.

  ‘And speaking of trust, do you actually believe the little girl’s story?’ asked Neritis.

  Dizali hissed over the rim of his glass. ‘She’s more woman than you think, madam. You would be wise to remember that. Castor schooled her well.’

  ‘But her history? Her arrival…’ argued Oswalk.

  Dizali waved a hand towards the door. ‘I am having her watched very closely.’ He pressed his fists to the table. ‘Now I must call this meeting adjourned, until next time.’

  The scraping of chairs and the shuffling of feet rose and fe
ll. The room grew empty and silent; just the way he liked it.

  Dizali gazed at the grain of the leather spread across the tabletop, letting its complexity distract his eyes while his mind slowly ticked and tocked over every block of his mighty scheme. Checking, adjusting, caressing. It never failed to help calm him.

  He reached for the decanter, and poured himself another tot of red brandy. He was enjoying the tingle of the magick on his tongue. He relished this one, taking small sips and letting the sugar and sharpness fill his mouth. He must have stood there for ten minutes, just sipping, until his glass was dry.

  ‘Hanister!’ Dizali barked when he was done.

  The man poked his head through the doorway. ‘Yes, Milord?’

  ‘Come in.’

  Hanister sauntered to Dizali’s side.

  ‘Two things. Your Brothers and Calidae. Report.’

  Hanister rubbed his chin. ‘They should be arriving by next week, if I had to guess, Milord.’

  ‘I don’t want guesses.’

  ‘I’m usually right, sir. I can feel it.’

  ‘And Calidae?’

  ‘Clean as a whistle, save for a few night-time walks. Nothing to report there, either. She seems quite content to just follow your orders.’

  ‘Good,’ Dizali mused. Everything was indeed under control. ‘Fetch her for me. I want her in the atrium in half an hour.’

  *

  Despite how punctual he was with his other guests, Dizali was always late for Calidae. It was clearly a game he liked to play for her, to chip away at her confidence; dangling a gift then drawing it back, making her want and yearn for it. She listened to the echo of his footsteps against the stone as he approached. Good luck. She was the player here, not the instrument.

  ‘Lady Serped,’ Dizali called out from across the atrium. He donned his hat and gloves as he walked. London had been busy ruining the summer with a day of rain, and the early afternoon was currently spitting and depressingly grey. She wore a long grey coat and held an umbrella in her hand.

  ‘My apologies. Our meeting ran over. Discussing you, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘No apology needed,’ Calidae replied, sweet as a button. Nonchalance always seemed to catch him out, as did ignoring his bait. ‘Shall we?’

  Dizali pointed the way and together they made for the grand doors and climbed into a waiting carriage.

  ‘Will you still not see one of my surgeons?’ Dizali asked, as he adjusted a glove.

  Calidae tilted her head. He had been staring at her again. ‘You shall give me a complex if you keep asking, Lord Protector. Will my face not do?’

  This time he squirmed at the accusation. It was a cord she thoroughly enjoyed pulling.

  ‘Not at all, Lady Serped. But it must not be comfortable.’

  Calidae shook her head. ‘It’s healing every day.’

  ‘The offer remains.’

  ‘I appreciate that, Lord Protector. You could do me another favour, however.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  Calidae nodded out of the window. ‘Tell me where we are going?’

  Dizali followed her gaze as the buildings began to roll past. ‘I had hoped to keep it as a surprise.’

  ‘The Lord Protector is a fan of surprises? Surely not!’

  Dizali ignored that. ‘As you keep asking, and I did indeed promise, we are headed to Slickharbour Spit.’

  ‘Excellent news,’ Calidae smiled. Finally.

  Merion must have been going mad with the silence, as her home was the one place they had agreed to share messages. Calidae had envisaged visiting it frequently, but Dizali’s ideas had been very different, and when in the mouth of the beast, you tend to go where the beast goes.

  Calidae had carried the letter for the last few days, just in case Dizali had decided to whisk her off and pay Slickharbour a visit. Dangerous, maybe, but necessary.

  She busied herself with the landscape as it slid past like an ever-changing painting; a window into the world outside Clovenhall. Calidae had seen it all before, but she wanted to drink it in all over again, to make sure it was real. Like Merion, she had missed this city. She filled her eyes with every edge and face that her darting gaze could capture. She let the roar of the carriage wheels and hooves mingle with the muffled shouts and yells outside, to make it all so real indeed.

  It took over an hour to reach the Spit; an hour spent in silence as the world slipped from towering city to lowland, with stately homes and quaint villages.

  ‘Castor was not fond of the city, was he?’ said Dizali.

  ‘The countryside is cleaner on the lungs, my Lord.’

  ‘It has its benefits, I suppose.’ Dizali looked out of the window as if hoping to spy some. Calidae tried not to roll her eyes.

  Soon enough they were waiting for the guards to manhandle the gate open. Calidae found herself leaning closer and closer to the window, wanting to be the first to glimpse her home. It was childish and she knew it, but that is the power of a long lost home. Even though she knew there was nobody but her to fill it, it was still her family estate.

  When the Spit and its fishing village swung around a corner, she clenched her fists. The dark shape of her house in the distance, towering over the thatched cottages and jetties, matched every image in her mind; every curve, every tower, every roof-tile, burned into her memory. She compared them over and over, as if searching for a flaw in her own recollection.

  All too slowly they reached the unguarded gates.

  ‘And here we are!’ announced Dizali, opening the door to let her climb out. Together they walked to the door, where a lordsguard was now fumbling with the keys. Calidae made a mental note to hire men of a better class, when she was done with this farce.

  ‘Sorry, Milord. Milady,’ said the guard. Calidae tapped her foot on the step, wanting to make the man sweat some more.

  Once the dolt had produced the correct key and shown it to the locks, she swept forwards, practically pushing him aside.

  Memories were painted in grey and brown before her, in a heavier shade of dust. With the shutters closed the house was gloomier than usual, but what her eyes couldn’t make out, her legs knew from practice. She toured her halls and rooms at a speedy pace. Occasional cabinets and chairs wore their armour of cloth and sheet. Forgotten portraits and old family paintings watched her wander. All the while, she took long, deep breaths of the musty air, like a half-drowned sailor coming up for air. It had been all business until this moment.

  It was fleeting. It had to be. Calm and collected was her aim, not to get lost over old paintings and the shape of the banisters. She didn’t want to give Dizali any hint of emotion. It would fox him.

  When he found her in one of the dining rooms, examining a silver candlestick forgotten by the servants, he walked back and forth across the cold fireplace. ‘A fine home, Lady Serped.’

  ‘Thank you, Lord Protector.’

  ‘Summons old memories, no doubt?’

  ‘Fewer than you would believe, my Lord.’

  ‘I see.’

  Calidae tutted as she examined the dust at her feet. ‘I do believe I have rather forgotten some of the layout,’ she lied. ‘Would you excuse me for a moment?’

  A nod. ‘Of course.’

  Calidae slipped from the room, retracing her steps back to the front door. She had led the Lord Protector deep into the southern wing of the house. She wanted access to the north, and time was very much of the essence when trying to keep a dangerous lie from dying.

  Calidae skipped up some steps, heading for a small hallway and then into a room that looked out over the muddy estuary. The clouds were busy tumbling across the sky, harried by the wind. It was one of those odd summer days when the sunlight comes and goes and the wind never lets up, pilfering any chance of enjoyment.

  But Calidae wasn’t interested in gazing at the scenery. She went straight to the small desk perched in front of the window, the one next to her father’s grand old workspace.

  Her hands worked
swiftly, reaching for the hidden drawer and tugging it free. A letter slid into view and she snatched it up, fingers scrabbling at the paper. Her quick eyes devoured the words before she crumpled it up and stuffed it unceremoniously back into the drawer. She wanted Merion to see her distaste at his tone. The snide fool that he was. Then, she reached under the hem of her corset and withdrew her own slip of paper. She left it with the other and pushed the door shut.

  She was halfway out of the door when the shadow of Dizali crept up the stairs to greet her. ‘Finding your feet, Calidae?’

  ‘Indeed I am, Lord Protector. It’s coming back to me now. The Endless Land likes to eat away at memories.’

  ‘I have never heard that expression.’

  ‘Something the locals used to say in Kaspar, my Lord.’

  ‘Then if you have finished surveying your estate, Lady Serped, might I suggest we go and meet with Castor’s lawyers, to see what must be done with the rest of your father’s leavings?’

  Calidae put on a dissatisfied expression. ‘So soon, Lord Dizali? But I was expecting to take a full stock of the estate before that happens.’

  ‘How long do you imagine that would take?’

  Calidae curtseyed. ‘Two hours, at least, my Lord.’

  Dizali pursed his lips, jaw working hard not to summon something harsh and loud. He waved his hand irritably and retreated back to the comfort of his carriage. Calidae smiled to herself as she watched him leave. The little games are the sweetest. She would test his greed to the limit.

  *

  Three hours of wandering and time-wasting later, after she had poked in every crevice, thumbed through every mislaid book, and dug around every kitchen cabinet, Calidae climbed back into the carriage to greet a bored-looking Dizali with a polite smile. She ached to grin.

  ‘I’m pleased to inform you that I am finished, my Lord,’ she told him, tapping her temple as if she had somehow absorbed the estate into her brain. ‘I now know exactly the measure of my house. I’m ready to see my father’s lawyers. He taught me to be thorough, and so I shall be.’

  ‘How very endearing,’ Dizali replied through clenched teeth. He slammed his hand against the door of the carriage, once, twice, three times; and the horses were jolted into action.