by Tom Lloyd
‘What assurances do I have?’ Vanden asked quietly.
‘Of the marriage? Princess Kerata will call on you in the morning as a first step. If you are satisfied, we will immediately draw up an agreement of betrothal to be approved by the Emperor. Speed in this case will support the alternative theory.’
‘And what of the child?’
‘Her arm to be stained with the caste of her father. The Emperor’s law is clear that the sins of the father are not to be visited upon their children. She is blameless here.’
‘There are others to blame,’ Vanden growled.
Prince Sorote nodded. ‘Indeed. Lawbringer Narin shall have his actions reported to his superiors, with my advisement that discretion is requested to protect wronged parties, but punishment shall be theirs to decide. The Lady Kine shall have her caste mark struck out and your marriage annulled. She will enter the House of the Sun as a servant caste under instruction that she not give account of this situation to any. If the wronged parties are embarrassed by talk originating from her, she will be cast out of the House of the Sun as unworthy of its protection.’
‘That is all? The whore gets to live with her lover and raise her child?’
‘Would you prefer to raise the child as your own?’
Vanden flinched at that and Sorote didn’t press the point, not wanting to humiliate the man further.
‘The child will live with its parents and grow up as a low caste member of his House – unworthy to be noticed by you or your peers. The Lady Kine will be stripped of titles and honorifics, she shall be a commoner and live in that fashion. To a woman used to the luxuries of a palazzo, I imagine that will be a significant punishment. I would expect the Lawbringer’s status to be revoked, and supporting a family solely on an Investigator’s wage is difficult, I am led to understand. She will likely have to take service and cook or clean for other low castes, an ongoing humiliation to serve as punishment.’
‘I want more,’ Vanden rasped. He looked up from his glass with murder in his eyes. ‘I want her hurt for the betrayal.’
‘She is not a warrior,’ Sorote pointed out. ‘Physical punishments outside of your household must be restrained.’
‘I don’t care about that! Where was her respecting of custom when she whored herself to a man I believed my friend?’
Vanden shook his head and Sorote could see the man was working himself up to fury.
‘I want to stripe the bitch’s back – she’s to be servant caste, let her be punished like one.’
‘Lashes, my Lord Wyvern?’ Sorote asked, taken aback. ‘Whip her like a common criminal? Think of the precedent! Whatever the crime, to have a woman of the highest castes publicly whipped would serve to lower us in the eyes of lower castes to their level! Once her caste mark is struck, such a punishment in the future is conceivable, but when she is so recently noble by marriage? It is unthinkable; the Emperor would not permit it.’
‘I want her hurt,’ the man repeated. ‘If not by me or in public then so be it. But I want her back striped so she will never forget the lashing she has given me. That every man who has her after me sees my mark.’
It was Sorote’s turn to think now. He didn’t bother looking at Kashte, knowing the combative young noble would simply shrug carelessly at the suggestion. This was not the demand of a noble caste doing business however – it was the spite of a man spurned. It was the anger of male pride that surpassed caste or nation, uncaring and uncompromising. He could not be reasoned with, Sorote realised, and history through the ages told tales of stubborn malice defeating sense.
‘One stripe on her back,’ Sorote said finally. ‘One lasting mark there – issued by Kashte here. You may witness it if you must, but I will not permit any form of confrontation to take place.’
‘To break the skin,’ Vanden said with an edge of hunger in his voice. ‘I will not have her bruised a week only.’
‘To break the skin. You will have your blood; once the Imperial decree of betrothal is signed I will invite you back here.’
‘She will agree?’
‘She’s in no position to negotiate with me,’ Sorote said. ‘For your part, you will take no action against her, the child or Lawbringer Narin – nor speak of her beyond the barest amount required to acknowledge her existence should you choose to. You will have the marriage annulled under Wyvern law and consider her gone from the face of the world. Furthermore, you will inform her family in the city that you intend nothing further to her harm and end any obligations you may have put upon them with regards to her and their honour.’
The Wyvern shook his head. ‘I cannot end their blood feud. They were obliged to come at my call but not to leave.’
‘I understand. You will make your position clear and ensure they know you will not support them politically, financially or in any other way. The blood feud is Narin’s to deal with – I leave that to the Gods to decide.’
Vanden looked from Sorote to Kashte, staring at each of them for a long while before struggling out of his seat. ‘Very well, my Lord Sun, we are agreed. I will expect the Princess Kerata to visit me at her leisure and the terms of this agreement to be delivered in writing.’
‘It will be done. Good day, my Lord Wyvern.’
CHAPTER 23
A drop of water ran slowly down the new-formed icicle and settled at the bottom. Kesh found herself holding her breath as the drip trembled slightly, a frisson of breeze threatening to shake its grip. Before it could, the drop settled and froze around the icicle – the building’s tears lengthening in the bitterly cold air.
‘In your own time,’ called a gruff voice below her. ‘This isn’t important, so don’t worry too much.’
Kesh rubbed her half-numb fingers together and muttered a curse under her breath. ‘Calm down, old man,’ she replied, glancing over her shoulder at Enchei. ‘It’s hard to tie the damn things when it’s so cold.’
She went back to her labours, using a length of string to attach a spirit-catcher to the overhanging eaves of a building. They had secreted almost a dozen around the Harbour Warrant already that afternoon, with more still to come. Frames of painted twigs bound in twine were criss-crossed in thin copper wire to create a net shape, while spider-threads of wire radiated out from the frame and tied on to anything available.
‘Come on,’ Enchei grumbled from below, impatiently slapping the palm of his hand against the wooden crate top Kesh was currently standing on. It jolted slightly under her feet – the load inside it kept the crate secure, but still the movement was unwelcome.
‘How is that helping?’ she asked as she cinched the knot tight. Knowing how wound up he was, Kesh didn’t stop to give him a reproachful look. Instead she extracted another length of twine from inside her fingerless gloves and wound the next trailing line around the verdigrised tip of a nail that protruded down through the roof batten.
‘Sorry,’ Enchei said as she reached for the last. ‘Just getting kinda jumpy down here.’
‘I’m done,’ she announced, clambering down from the crate as best she could while bundled up against the cold. The temperature remained low and thicker clouds were rolling in. More snow was coming, that much she was sure of, so Enchei’s urging was not entirely a product of anxiety.
‘Where next?’ she asked as Enchei stared off down the street. ‘Enchei?’
‘Eh?’ He glanced back. ‘Did you see anyone down there?’
Kesh tilted her head to get a better view. ‘I can see a few people down there,’ she hazarded. ‘You get a glimpse of red?’
‘No, grey. A long cloak.’
‘A long grey cloak? It’s fucking winter, Enchei – of course people are going to be in long grey cloaks.’
‘Not like this.’ He hesitated. ‘Looked a bit like one I saw while I was running.’
‘Weren’t they Wyvern warrior castes? Brown skin and a red collar’s what you should be looking out for, not some plain colour half the district might own.’
Enchei shook his head
. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
He turned his head from left to right as he sighted a path from the last spirit trap they’d hidden. They were just on the border with Dragon District now, one street away from far more Wyverns than Narin would be comfortable with. Fortunately for them, the cold had kept the crowds from the streets and no one seemed to be too interested in what the pair were up to, so they had their pick of buildings to hang the spirit traps from.
Kesh pulled the next from the bag slung crosswise around her neck and held it up. Threaded on to the copper wire were three bones describing the corners of a triangle, bones which Kesh had decided not to ask the origins of.
‘I still don’t see how these are going to snare a hellhound.’
‘They’re not,’ Enchei said absentmindedly, ‘not in any way you’d understand.’
‘Then what?’
‘Think of them like mirrors. You’re trying to follow a spark through the city streets and you’re carrying a storm-lantern, right? Every time you lift the covering of your lantern, the mirrors cast the light in all directions.’
Kesh nodded. ‘I see. So you’re keeping the mirrors close enough to reflect the light off each other and all over the street?’
‘That’s about the size of it.’
He pointed towards a tall warehouse with red-painted doors. Above the name of the merchant house that owned it was a stylised leopard, indicating a minor House under the Dragon hegemony.
‘Let’s go see if we can get one on there. That might bring us a loop to close, then we’ll go see our friend Pirish, climb around on the roof of her smokehouse.’
They started off but had gone only a dozen yards when Enchei stopped.
‘What is it?’
He ignored her, frowning with his head cocked to one side as though trying to dislodge water from his ear. ‘Did you just hear something?’
Kesh checked around them. There was a raucous game of some sort being played by a handful of children at the far end of a side-street, a hawker announcing his wares, two men guiding a laden handcart down the rutted street and snatches of chatter drifting from the houses around them.
‘You might need to narrow that down for me,’ she ventured.
‘You sure you weren’t followed from the tavern?’ he asked, giving her a suspicious look. ‘When you grabbed this stuff?’
‘No,’ Kesh said testily, ‘that’s what you were there for, remember? I followed every detail exactly as you said. I don’t think even the tavern owner noticed me at all, but the whole point of how we met up was that you could confirm I wasn’t followed. Second-guessing yourself now, old man?’
‘Aye, mebbe you’re right.’ Enchei shook his head. ‘Just paranoia. If there was anyone following you, they were better’n me.’
‘And you said you’d made it harder to catch your scent out on the street, no?’
‘I hope so. This lot’ll certainly cause ’em some problems, but … Ah, never mind. Let’s just get the job done.’
With a shrug he set off again, but Kesh stayed a moment longer. Maybe his paranoia’s infectious, she thought as she looked down the alleys lit with grimy winter light.
Off to her right was little more than a narrow path between houses that stretched all the way to the Public Thoroughfare, judging by the brighter glimpses of movement at the far end. That view dimmed momentarily as a figure stepped across the alley.
The wind rushed towards Kesh as she tried to focus on the figure. They wore a storm-cloud cloak, its edges dancing in the breeze while black strands of hair cut a jagged path across their eyes. Kesh’s heart went cold then the slim figure wheeled away and out of sight. For a moment she didn’t move, just stood and blinked away the chill on the air. Then her wits caught up with her and she jumped into movement, one hand diving into a pocket where her spark-pad rested. As she caught Enchei up she slipped on the goshe weapon he’d made for her and secured it around her wrist.
‘Enchei,’ she called.
He turned and caught the look on her face. ‘You’re jumping at shadows too?’
‘I think so.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t know, maybe. A grey cloak.’
He nodded and checked the streets around them.
‘Keep up with me,’ he said, assessing their path. ‘We’ll find somewhere we can get a look at anyone following. If it’s hellhounds we’ll head toward Lord Omtoray’s fortress. If they’ve any sense they’ll keep clear of the smarter streets of Dragon District. If they don’t,’ he shrugged, ‘they’ll find a load of touchy warrior castes provide something of an obstacle.’
Late in the afternoon Narin made his way back to the Palace of Law. His eyes ached from staring at page after page of records, straining to read the small neat script of religious-caste administrators. A rolled sheet of parchment was in his hand, clutched as tightly as a sword-grip. Lawbringer Rhe had left him to his search at the harbourmaster’s office – a chilly set of rooms overlooking the deepwater wharves, not far from the building-site that had once been Kesh’s home.
It had long been joked that within the House of the Sun, lawyers had replaced the warrior caste in the years following the Ten Day War. That opinion had endured throughout the centuries of the Lesser Empire but Narin, as with the rest of the Lawbringers, knew the truth of the matter. When the Imperial warrior caste were banned there remained many thousands of men, women and children not of battle-age and the bulk had been admitted, by the taking of holy orders and marriage, into the religious caste.
For a few years a variety of groups of warrior-monks flourished, only to collapse under the weight of internecine conflicts commonly believed to have been orchestrated by the Great Houses. With the central cults largely collapsed, however, and the caste expanded a third by the influx, the religious caste found solace in administration instead. The Imperial House slowly became a buffer between Great Houses unable to trade with each other without it devolving into violence, and the religious caste simply wrote it all down as though attempting to create an inventory of what remained of the Empire.
It had proved an invaluable resource for the Lawbringers over the years; room after room, building after building filled with files and books while black-coated religious castes shuffled through them like a strange breed of ant. With Imperial mediators and merchants orchestrating an era of direct trade across the Empire, Narin had access to listings of every acknowledged consortium, merchant house, guild, union, trading family and fleet for at least a thousand miles in every direction. With the quiet, reverential aid of a senior administrator and his assistants, it proved a relatively simple task to secure records of the Ren archipelago and a listing of merchant houses within it.
Armed with this knowledge he had travelled to the Harbour Warrant and secured similar assistance from an identical collection of bureaucratic lay castes there. With typical attention to detail, the records of arrivals on the dock noted captain, crew, designation, affiliation, origin and cargo. Records in that building alone dated back decades, but Narin’s interest lay in the short period of time when travel beyond the Inner Sea was increasingly risky.
From those records there were two possible names, but one clear front-runner. Five weeks past a schooner of the Oelest Merchant House had arrived direct from the principal island of the archipelago. Two weeks later a four-masted barque registered under the Etrage Merchant House had docked on its return voyage from Sight’s End, second-largest city of the Imperial lands and a haven of criminals and spies alike. A precarious playground of intrigue the Lawbringers had never fully tamed, Sight’s End overlooked a two-mile strait with House Ghost on one side, House Wolf on the other, but the Emperor’s flag in the middle.
To confirm matters for Narin, there had been a second arrival under Etrage’s banner in the last few days, this time from the west where the Ren archipelago was situated, off House Moon’s southern shore. The clerks assured him it was not unheard of to have a spice-run appear in early winter given the cargo, but Narin could only think of one word to expla
in it: reinforcements.
He felt a surge of childish excitement as he spotted Lawbringer Rhe across a crowded room and darted like a novice around and between clusters of his peers until he’d caught the man up. His enthusiasm melted as Rhe turned and for once Narin saw emotion on the man’s face. A faint flush of anger in Rhe’s pale tinted cheeks told its own story and Narin faltered as he saw it.
‘What’s happened?’
‘A meeting I knew was coming,’ Rhe said quietly. ‘Tell me what you’ve learned.’
‘Me?’ Narin hesitated then remembered the parchment in his hand. ‘The Etrage Merchant House – the names of two ships recently docked and their captains. One’s still here, arrived just a few days ago. And a list of registered Etrage holdings in the city which might serve as safe-houses. There are only four, as you might expect, and one is apart from both stone and water as the shaman suggested.’
‘Good.’ For a moment it looked like Rhe was going to say more, but the Lawbringer fell into abrupt silence.
‘Rhe, what was the meeting?’
‘An emissary, ostensibly for you. They came to me as your superior.’
Narin felt a cold slither down his spine. ‘Seven hells,’ he muttered, ‘some House Wyvern official?’
‘No. House Dragon.’
‘What?’
‘A woman with two attendants. She was at pains to describe herself as an emissary but declined to say who from. Warrior caste by her collar, not the usual background for an official representative of Lord Omtoray.’ Rhe’s jaw tightened. ‘It seems they are aware of the summoner in the city and perhaps more besides. They demanded to know what progress we had made.’