by Tom Lloyd
‘How is it a man can make me look such a novice at motherhood?’
Enchei nodded and scratched his cheek. ‘Funny the things you remember,’ he agreed. ‘Damn, guess it’s been a few decades now! But my memory’s better’n most and I was around for the birth of my girls. Didn’t know a damn thing o’course, but I stored away every piece of advice the midwives and old women gave.’
‘When did you last see them, your girls?’ Kine asked. She saw it then, the flicker of pain in his eyes as Enchei stiffened.
‘Too long,’ came the gruff response. ‘Life ain’t always fair. Guess you’re finding that out yourself, but don’t let pride make it worse. That’s all I wanted to say. Honour’s the easiest thing to give away when you’re in a tight spot. Only a fool sacrifices at the altar of pride.’ He stood and pointed towards the bowl. ‘Remember to keep your strength up.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,’ Kine said, but he waved it away.
‘Not your fault it’s a touchy subject.’
‘It is why … are they why you’re helping me?’
Enchei looked startled at that. ‘A man’s ghosts can make him do most things,’ he said after a pause, ‘but if they’re the only reason he can think of to help someone in need, he’s no right calling himself a man.’
‘But I’ve put you all in so much danger.’
Strangely he laughed. ‘Danger? Pah, Lord Vanden don’t scare me.’
‘He will summon my brothers, my cousins and their bannermen. He will demand they correct this insult to his name – not that they will need any urging once they hear of it.’
‘A few aggrieved arseholes trying to protect their family honour,’ Enchei said scornfully. ‘That’s not danger, not in my book. Narin’s done worse to me and you kids ain’t got nothing on the shit I’ve landed myself in.’
‘They are skilled warriors,’ Kine insisted, ‘I don’t want anyone to be hurt because of what I’ve done.’
Enchei smiled nastily. ‘They get hurt, that’s their own fault. Too many folk care about the honour of others – the world can always use another lesson there.’
‘They will not heed any lesson. Honour is all they have. My family is not rich, we have only our honour and the prowess of our warriors.’
‘Then we’ll kill ’em all,’ Enchai said, standing. ‘Won’t be the first time.’
For a moment he looked past her as though staring into the distance and Kine felt a slight chill at the sight. It wasn’t the face of an old man who’d spent the day making soup, but of a veteran who had marched grimly through death and ruin. She could almost hear the screams on the wind. From the faintest of twitches in his cheek, Kine realised Enchei could too. Those ghosts would always be with him.
As they emerged back into the daylight, Narin, Rhe and Irato found themselves in a changed city. Peering out of the main entrance, Narin saw no waiting Wyverns or anyone else obviously not of Raven District under their cloaks and sheepskins. The snow had continued to fall while they were underground and now it was not frost that paled the streets but an increasing layer of snow.
At last Narin realised he couldn’t wait any longer and led them out into the open, squinting up at the fat white flakes drifting down around them as the three men headed across the sunken marketplace. The snow crunched noisily under their boots as they walked, buttoning their thick coats up to the neck against the cold.
‘The temperature’s dropping,’ Irato commented as he watched the locals hurry past. No one spared them a look now, suspicious or otherwise. As the snowfall became heavier, folk were intent only on finishing up their day’s tasks. ‘Think we’ve had the day’s warmth, tonight’s going to be bastard cold.’
Narin nodded and suppressed a shiver. ‘Good thing Wolf District is so close, not sure we’ll have the Gods to light our way after nightfall.’
Instinctively, he turned to face south, where Wolf lay. The great pines on its major streets would normally be visible over the rooftops on a normal street, but with the snow falling heavily Narin realised he couldn’t even tell whether that would be the case here.
Without waiting, Rhe led the way to the nearest tunnel out of the marketplace and only once they were safely in the shadows there did he stop to talk. His pistols were reloaded and ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice, the brass butts poking out through his specially adapted coat.
‘As you pointed out underground,’ Rhe said, looking at Narin, ‘I have better insight into the minds of aggrieved noblemen than you. They waited for you at the Palace of Law and followed you, hoping you would lead them to Lady Kine.’
‘Then why try to kill me?’
‘Their first goal is to punish Lady Kine, you’re a lesser consideration. But off the street and out of public view, they could question you as much as they liked to discover where you’ve hidden her. Killing you would be an afterthought – the Lord Martial would no doubt object, but not vociferously once the circumstances became known. The Lawbringers are already too egalitarian for some noble families and you’ve not made this a situation to test those boundaries on.’
‘Well, that’s reassuring,’ Narin said with glum acceptance. ‘Looks like I’m avoiding the Palace of Law for the time being.’
‘You still have a job to do,’ Rhe reminded him, ‘risk to your life or no. But greater precautions are required, certainly, even more so with this snow. Sound does not travel far and folk keep off the streets. That might embolden however many are left of Lady Kine’s cousins.’
‘Looks like you’ll be seeing a lot of me and Enchei then,’ Irato said. ‘Or rather, we’ll be seeing a lot of you. Not much point if you can see us.’
Narin shrugged and forced a smile. With the memory of Dov’s tiny hands warming his skin, it took little effort. ‘Always the fool in the middle it seems. I suppose I’ve only got myself to blame.’
‘As long as we’re all agreed there.’ Irato nodded towards the far end of the tunnel. ‘Go on then, get moving. This weather’s only going to get worse and your day’s a long way from over, remember?’
‘This would be the plan to get you out of this mess?’ Rhe asked. ‘A full day’s work indeed, given the size of the problem. Come on.’
Crossing through another two Underways, they headed straight for the Raven-Wolf border. The two Lawbringers walked quickly, the locals keeping well out of their way, but Narin didn’t bother checking behind for Irato. He knew the former goshe would keep up without difficulty, trailing them as he watched for anyone else doing so.
Despite the savage iconography and all-too-real hunting dogs that padded alongside high and low castes alike, Narin was not alone in finding Wolf District a restful place. At its heart were two of the largest parks inside the city wall, and the higher-caste housing was mostly based around tree-enclosed squares. With the falling snow it took on a more mysterious air – close and ghostly.
As they walked, the numbers out on the street dwindled, the population no doubt taking shelter to see if they could wait out the blizzard. It showed little sign of lessening, however, as the pair stopped for a moment to greet two of their comrades on patrol from the local station and pick their brains.
As luck would have, the Lawbringer was a native Wolf; a burly woman of middle years with rusty-brown eyes and an easy smile despite foul weather. At her side lurked a gangly youth almost enveloped in his grey Investigator’s coat, a shock of red hair marking him as House Forest, first among the major Houses of Wolf.
‘The afternoon takes an unexpected turn, the renowned Lawbringer Rhe in my modest district! My name is Shom,’ the Lawbringer introduced herself with surprisingly jovial courtesy. She gestured to her companion, ‘my Investigator, Tooren. You I don’t know, however.’
‘Lawbringer Narin,’ Narin supplied with a small bow.
‘Your timing is excellent, Lawbringer,’ Rhe said. ‘We have need of some local advice.’
‘Oh?’
‘We are looking for the shamans and magicians of Wolf,’
Rhe said, ‘and a little direction would be appreciated.’
‘Magicians?’ Lawbringer Shom echoed, glancing at her Investigator. ‘Not many of them that I’ve heard of. Tooren?’
The young man cleared his throat, no doubt as intimidated by the famous presence of Rhe. ‘None, but I have not been here long,’ he said in precise, but accented, Imperial. By custom he would not be wearing an indication of caste on his Investigator’s robes, however it was clear he was high caste and not long off the boat from the Wolf homelands. ‘Back home it would have been more simple.’
Shom gave him an appraising look, one that suggested House prejudices more than anything else to Narin. ‘Maybe it would. Even round here folk say there’s a dark heart to every Forest. Can you be more specific about what you’re looking for Lawbringer?’
‘Not your typical witch-doctor or shaman,’ Rhe said, ‘but rogue elements among those who deal with the unnatural world. We hunt a summoner of demons.’
At that Tooren flinched slightly.
‘Anything you want to add, Investigator?’ Narin asked.
Tooren shook his head, eyes lowered. ‘Nothing, sir,’ he muttered almost as an afterthought.
Shom rolled her eyes. ‘I do know one thing, Lawbringer. Mine are a closed people. Even renegades may receive some measure of protection round here – the instinct not to speak to outsiders is bone deep. Might I suggest you return tomorrow morning? This weather looks relentless; you will have a hard time of it in what hours of light remain. I may also be able to accomplish more as a local.’
Rhe nodded and cast a look at Narin. ‘A sensible course of action. We’ve been directed to several districts – this would cover the ground much more quickly.’
‘It would be an honour,’ Shom said, ‘and the district is quiet anyway – always is in the cold and I could do with something rather more interesting than drunks getting into a fight.’
‘I wish I could say the same, but our day has been sufficiently eventful already,’ Rhe replied. ‘I will go to the District Posts of Redearth, Salamander and Iron to submit similar requests.’
Narin blinked at him. ‘And I should go to Moon District?’ he hazarded, that being the only other Great House mentioned by either Enchei or Samaleen.
‘You have other business, I thought? The situation caused by your own stupidity?’
Narin ducked his head. ‘Ah, yes.’
Lawbringer Shom laughed at the exchange. ‘Easy to look foolish in the company of Lawbringer Rhe then?’
‘Yes,’ Narin admitted, ‘but sadly that’s not even the half of it.’
‘Hah! Well at least you can laugh at yourself, that’s a good start. The trick is to make sure he’s laughing with you.’ Shom indicated Rhe.
‘He will have to work on his wit in that case,’ Rhe said gravely. ‘It’s somewhat lacking at the moment.’
CHAPTER 11
Administrator Serril dropped the note as though it was a turd and frowned at it for a long while. Eventually he looked up towards the door, as though expecting the young man who’d delivered it to still be there. He wasn’t, though – was never likely to be, given he wasn’t a messenger by trade, just a grocer’s boy who’d been given a coin to deliver it by a customer.
The empty doorway deepened Serril’s frown. So astonished and perplexed was he that he needed someone to rail at, but he was alone and the absence seemed to compound his irritation.
‘That man …’
Serril tailed off. He was not one to curse or even raise his voice. That was not the way of the religious caste and whatever opinions he might privately hold about Enchei Jen, he would not permit the man to add to the burdens on his soul.
He picked up the note again with thumb and forefinger – a sniff of distaste his only comment as he read it through again.
‘Not be available for work,’ Serril repeated in his mind, ‘nursing a friend to health.’ No indication of when he might grace us with his presence again. Does that man think his employment a mere convenience?
The tattoo rooms past his office were unusually quiet, but somehow that only made the note more galling. The weather had ensured many of their customers had not come as expected so those tattooists who’d bothered to come to work had little to do. But the principle remained and none of them would have dared send such a perfunctory missive to announce their indefinite absence.
Serril re-read the note then tore it up in a fit of pique and threw the fragments into the small iron stove behind his desk. The scraps were consumed immediately – he’d filled the stove with as much coal as it would take, knowing how pervasive the cold could be. An angry voice at the back of his mind wanted to hurl the remaining papers in too, but they were never in danger.
The paperwork of a tattooist administrator was a solemn duty; lives could be ruined by a moment of carelessness on his part. In an Empire where a life history was sketched out on a person’s skin, the tattoos on their right shoulder were more binding than any legal document. Fraud and corruption were punishable by death – for while the complex House symbols could not be adapted to become another’s and a caste sign could only ever be downgraded by adding details, those were not the only marks recorded.
Military ranks, titles and honours could lie alongside certified trades, promotions, marriage records, or criminal convictions. Anything of importance was recorded there and there were plenty of stories of war heroes with symbols running all the way to their wrists, just as some criminals would flaunt their own markings. Serril’s small fiefdom generally did not deal with criminals – the courts at the Palace of Law had their own tattooists – but several times they had borrowed his staff to assist.
‘Administrator?’ inquired a voice at the once empty doorway.
Serril jumped in his seat, rudely shaken from his musings. He half rose before catching himself and for a moment was frozen in the act, hunched forward over his desk, before he allowed himself to sink back down.
‘I am Administrator Serril,’ he said, wrinkling his nose at a bearded man brushing a layer of snow off his coat and onto the rush mats underfoot. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘May I?’ the man asked, ignoring the question as he indicated the seat on the other side of the desk.
Slim and faintly aristocratic of bearing, the man’s blue collar declared him to be a merchant. The presumption was not entirely outrageous, but Serril was a man used to having his authority rather better respected.
‘If you have an appointment, give me your name and wait in the hall,’ Serril said frostily.
‘Alas, I do not,’ said the man. ‘I am here on another matter.’
He was a man in his early middle years, with an easy assurance in the way he carried himself. A man who’s found success, Serril guessed from the stranger’s clothes and manner. There was nothing ostentatious about either, but both spoke of quality and position nonetheless. He tugged his own black robe straight, almost austere in its plainness but that was the custom in his caste.
After an appropriate pause Serril indicated for the man to sit and he did so after shrugging off his heavy coat, which dripped with melting snow. A lower caste he might be, but merchants were a significant presence in the Imperial City and a little graciousness never went amiss around the wealthy and powerful.
‘Which matter is that?’
‘I am looking for someone.’ The stranger gave him a disarmingly apologetic smile. ‘A delicate matter, a shade embarrassing I’m afraid.’
‘I am sorry, Master, ah …’
‘Avineil,’ the stranger supplied, ‘Jest Avineil.’
‘A House Eagle name?’ Serril hazarded. ‘Perhaps a northern domain?’
Again that diffident little smile. ‘House Hornet, yes. Of course you would guess that, you must be something of an expert in the Empire’s peoples.’
‘I would prove a poor servant of the Empire if I merely shuffled these papers without properly taking note of them,’ Serril said, indicating the certified letters on his
desk informing him of what tattoos were to be given to whom.
‘Indeed – would that your contemporaries back home were so assiduous in their work! I myself once had to correct a notation in progress because the wretch could not read properly.’
Serril nodded sympathetically, relaxing back in his chair with his fingers steepled over his round belly.
‘I have heard such stories from across the Empire,’ he admitted, ‘but the standards in the Imperial City are rather higher than certain provinces – the speed and accuracy required of my tattooists ensures only the best are employed here.’
‘I can well imagine.’ Avineil brushed his fingers over his right arm. ‘One of these was done by some decrepit drunk given the job by his nephew I suspect, a backwater town where few needed his services anyway.’ He shrugged carelessly. ‘Still, I am told by some that a less-than-perfect hand adds a certain authenticity to military honours.’
‘So some believe,’ Serril said through pursed lips, ‘but quality and accuracy remain our watchwords here.’
‘Of that I have no doubt – nothing less would properly serve his radiant majesty.’
‘Quite right, but you did not come here to discuss the quality of our work.’
Avineil inclined his head. ‘As I said, I am looking for someone. I, ah, I do not know his name however, I have a description only.’
‘Has there been some sort of trouble?’
‘No, no!’ Avineil said quickly, raising his hands to emphasise his point. ‘Quite the opposite, in fact, he prevented trouble. My, ah, my cousin is a young man and something of a fool when he drinks, it pains me to admit. He is a good lad at heart, I assure you, but reckless and when drunk quite unable to separate private thoughts from things that should be said out loud.
‘Several days ago he managed to provoke some sort of fight – or what would have been a fight had a tattooist wearing an Imperial Sun not intervened. A grey-haired man of average height, past fifty years old my cousin tells me. He wasn’t sober enough to thank the man at the time but tells me this tattooist saved his life; that he surely would have been killed by the thugs he had chosen to quarrel with.’