The Verse of Sibilant Shadows: A set of tales from the Irrational Worlds

by JM Guillen

  The midnight-black, shaggy hound stood to my shoulder and weighed perhaps fifteen stone. A thick chain formed its leash, and I imagined that the young man holding it would need every bit of that tensile strength if that beast decided to pull free.

  “Remain still.” The Vigilant intoned gruffly. “If you’ve succumbed to the taint, she’ll know.”

  What happens then? I glanced to Barnabas, but I already knew the answer. You’d be cast beyond the bounds.

  The man handling the hound brought her closer, and she sniffed loudly at the captain. For all purposes, he appeared quite bored, but I could sense his subtle tension.

  Then, the animal inspected Barnabas.

  Moments later she turned her nose to me. I remained perfectly still, trying to ignore the fact that the hound could easily crush bone.

  “Hey, girl.” I failed to keep my nerves from constricting my throat.

  “They’re clean, Finn.” The second man gave us a tight smile. “Want I should get the clerk?”

  Internally, I groaned. The gates between parts of the city could become a bureaucratic nightmare, and my guess was, now that the outers were falling—

  “I think we can step past some of this.” Captain Argent’s tone held sweet cream. He reached into the small purse on the left side of his belt and then pulled forth a small flip-wallet.

  “Is that so?” Finn was no less surly.

  “Here.” Captain Argent opened the wallet, wearing his rogue’s smile. “We are on important business, sir, and I think this will be all you require.”

  Obviously, I couldn’t help but look.

  It’s a fiat. It’s a fiat of the Riogiin royal line. I blinked, disbelieving what I saw. The badge was black with a scarlet hawk laid over silver. It had no words, no inscription of any kind. The symbol itself was enough, I supposed. It certainly looked real but—

  I shot a questioning glance at Barnabas who gazed straight ahead without meeting my eye.

  Real or not, the sour man widened his piggish little eyes at the fiat. Then, he scowled at Captain Argent.

  “Is that real?”

  Captain Argent said nothing, but then he didn’t need to. Wordlessly, he took on a poise and demeanor of such affront, such chilly reservation, that Finn almost immediately recanted, flustered and embarrassed.

  “Sorry, sir. I didn’t realize.” He gave Captain Argent a small bow, gesturing him forward. The man with the dog, obviously embarrassed for his fellow, pulled the hound away.

  “I should think so.” The captain’s tone dropped from his previously genial manner. Now, every line of his face, every move of his body turned regal, assuring all that the offending Vigilant was so far beneath him that he didn’t deserve the captain’s words.

  But still, he spoke. “I have business.” Captain Argent paused. “I didn’t expend a silver centium’s worth of alchemy beyond your wall to be treated as a gangrel.” The look in the captain’s eyes could have burned.

  “Yes sir. I mean—” Finn broke into a sweat.

  “Will your superiors waste more of my time repeating these indignities, or may I go?”

  “Yes sir.” Finn nodded. “You may go, I mean. Please remain within the inners—”

  “I intend to be out of port before nightfall, not that this is your concern.” Captain Argent turned from the man, his tone again that not-so-subtle shade of contempt.

  He didn’t look back as he walked away.

  “Come on, you.” Barnabas’ voice was every bit as gruff as it had been when dealing with Ogrim. I kept my head down, momentarily thankful I still had the collar, so as to play my part.

  If it doesn’t choke me to death, we’ll be all berries and cream.

  I shook my head, shooing the thought away. It wasn’t helpful, and I needed to stay sharp.

  The inners were like a different city altogether, in more ways than one. It was cleaner, of course. Here, the people acted more genteel. Civilization had a slightly firmer grip.

  But still, they had heard the clarions and knew what that meant as surely as I did. The Highwall might keep them safe for now…

  But if the bounds fall, it won’t matter.

  I watched a mother nervously walk by, pulling at the arms of her two children. If the bounds fell, they would be overwhelmed by the Shroud, sooner or later.

  If the bounds fell, they were shaedr-ghůl.

  As we left the Vigilant watch station, we passed three Rossüm-bred horses tethered there. Carts, loaded down and covered with tarpaulin, rattled through the dirt and broken cobbles that served as a street. Half the tents I could see were being rapidly folded as merchants and sundry-hawkers closed up shop.

  In the sky overhead, I heard the cat-like howl of an airship engine, as it moved out from dock. Another, already in the sky, surged away from the city and the bloodstorm that raged beyond.

  “Like rats.” I looked to Barnabas.

  He started to say something, but we were interrupted.

  “’Scuse me, mistress,” mumbled a soft, aged voice at my shoulder.

  I turned.

  An old woman, bent and seamed, shuffled past me, or tried to.

  I sidestepped to let her pass, meaning to step back, but the heavy chain that trailed from her shoulders to the large Sindrian woman behind her blocked my path. I stood and watched as a long line of yoked and chained slaves were herded through the street. They were tired and dirty, shuffling along at the direction of a dour-faced harrier captain carrying a sharp scimit.

  I winced. There truly was no back door for them.

  For all appearances to the slaver who passed, Captain Argent had no need for such barbaric methods. I walked beside him, clad in the simple clothes I had been sold in. My captain had no need to threaten or cajole. The collar around my neck was all the threat that he needed, and the slaver knew exactly what it was.

  He nodded at the captain as he passed.

  Captain Argent remained a positively regal gentleman as we three walked through the streets of Calyptin Station. More than once he stopped to chat with some street-hawker as the man was folding up. Yet several times, I caught him looking over his shoulder.

  Eventually, we came to a small side street. The setting sun cast an orange and golden glow through the dusty alleyway. Captain Argent stepped into it, and Barnabas urged me after. Once out of the main street, the captain regarded us.

  “Did you see them?” he asked Barnabas.

  “Aye.” The large man nodded. “Two of the dogs in that small pub. Came out when we walked by.”

  “Fecking damn.” Argent cursed softly. “I was hoping I was just antsy.”

  “What?” I glanced between them, confused. “Who?”

  “I told you unsavory people are looking for me.” His mouth quirked up on one side. “Guess I should have worn the mask.”

  “What’s the call, Captain?” Barnabas watched over his shoulder.

  “I’m going shopping. Just a captain looking for supplies and sutlers with his slave to carry it all. Stay here. Once we wander off, follow our followers. See what you can suss out.”

  “Aye. If I lose sight a’ ye, do ye want me meetin’ back with Corsun?”

  “Yes.” Argent nodded as he spoke. “You know the plan.”

  “Fair winds, Captain.” Barnabas gave me a toothy grin as he stepped back into the shadows.

  I wish I knew the plan.

  “Come along, beauty.” Captain Argent took my arm, and we stepped into the street.

  The captain actually seemed to be shopping. As we wended our way past furriers and ironmongers, I considered the dozen questions scalding my brain. Not just facts about my mother or wyrding blood, but also more pressing things, such as—

  “How am I going to get this fecking collar off my neck?”

  “Hmm?” Captain Argent paused to consider two different decanters of pale rum.

  I peered about, hoping to spot the men who followed us. I slowly spun a full circle, taking in the dwindling marketplace. Half the ten
ts were folded, their vendors scurrying to whatever hovel or flat they called home before the fledgling darkness could cover them. Several carts were being driven through the uneven roads.

  I turned back to Captain Argent, mouth open to say something, but he gestured me to silence and pocketed the two flasks before handing over a handful of coins to a rumhound with slicked-back, blonde hair and skin the color of his product. The captain gestured to me, and we continued on our way.

  It struck me how little I knew of the man.

  I watched his handsome face as we strolled, trying to suss out the meaning behind his manner. Just who was Captain Argent? Blight take it, I didn’t even know if ‘Argent’ was the man’s actual name! Or if it even was his to claim.

  And what about that Riogiin fiat?

  I had to admit that the name fit him though. The man beside me shone as bright as silver in this gathering of wastrels and connivers. The perfect planes of his face, the shine and polish of his detailed clothing, shoes, and belt. Touches of jewelry at his collar glimmered, nearly glowing with polish and care. Captain Argent seemed aware of himself on a physical level and cared for his person in a manner that befit a man of high station.

  I turned my head, my mouth again open with questions, when I caught sight of Barnabas, lightly pacing on the other side of Captain Argent. He whispered intently in the captain’s ear, a frown clouding his dark face. I leaned in to catch a few words.

  “—know that we’re here.”

  Captain Argent nodded once as he stared straight ahead, his pace the same even stride he’d used since we left the rumhound. His green eyes were unfocused, however, the only sign of the myriad thoughts swirling in his mind.

  He took a swift in-breath. “You know where we go then. Lead them off.” He stopped to clap Barnabas on the shoulder. “Good man.”

  “Aye.” Barnabas took off again, dodging between a pushcart and small gathering of grubby children begging on the street. He set a quick pace, gone nearly before I knew it.

  Captain Argent took my arm and resumed our walk, guiding me in a slightly different direction. He glanced at me, taking in the furrow between my brows.

  He patted my hand lightly.

  “Worry does not become you. Fear not for Barnabas. The man has the speed and wit of a vox. He’ll lead them astray before long.”

  I stared at him. “Do you even know how much sense you aren’t making? What is going on?” I demanded.

  He gave me that stern, verdant stare again.

  “Now, now, mind your station. Come, we have an appointment with a perfumer.”

  “What?” I nearly stopped walking. He had mentioned a perfumer before, but I had assumed he was capering.

  “If I had a coin for every question.” He shook his head, clearly disappointed that I wouldn’t simply play my part. “I know you’re addled, ’Bel; a lot’s happened.” He stopped for a moment, looking at a bolt of Eddön silk.

  Wait. No he wasn’t. The stall merchant had a small mirror set in the side of his cart, a canny thing he used to watch around corners. Now, Captain Argent used it to watch behind us.

  I couldn’t help but glance myself.

  I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary—nothing I wouldn’t have expected, anyway. The people in the streets shuffled about nervously and spoke in whispers, as if by speaking quietly they would avoid the winding howl of the clarions.

  They know they’re not safe. The wealthy desired to separate themselves from the outer ring of Calyptin Station, and that was more true than ever now.

  As if a mere wall could keep them safe from bloodstorms and the Shroud.

  After a long moment Captain Argent continued, “I don’t know what your mother’s glamour showed you, but I came, in part, to see to the bounds beneath the city. If we can do that, we might be able to save a lot of people.”

  “Right.” I spoke quietly as we stepped away from the waresman. “I understood that.”

  “You are central to that. I don’t know what gifts Iryniå thinks she can give you from across the Sea of Stone and Sorrow, but she has a plan.”

  “A plan she didn’t tell you.” I fought against the urge to turn around. We were still being followed, I was certain of that. “Didn’t trust you with.” My tone was cautious.

  “Ha!” His laugh turned bitter. “’Bel, the wyrd-blooded aren’t ever clear about their intentions or expectations.” He tugged me along. “But that’s fine. Some of us mortal folke know a little bit about a little bit, and I’d like you to meet one such woman. I believe she might be of some assistance.” He nodded ahead.

  Sure as burning stars, the small tent ahead had a small perfume phial on a wooden sign. The name beneath it read Potives, Palliatives and Perfume.

  “She’s up here. Be polite.” Captain Argent squeezed my shoulder reassuringly.

  I frowned as we stepped inside. Why did people always feel they had to remind me to be polite?

  The tent held a wizened old woman and several tables laden with decanters and tiny vials. The mixture of scents that arose from the back of the dark tent held the ghosts of ancient forests, ocean wind, and blossoming vines. It was enough to make my head spin.

  Captain Argent nodded solemnly to the squat Q’sarri woman.

  “Al’a tuum maharib baladiir.” Captain Argent’s voice was soft but certain as he stated the only Q’sarr phrase I knew, ‘May the sun be kind to you,’ their traditional greeting.

  “The sun is always kind to those who keep the desert’s secrets, An’Tafaar,” the woman whispered.

  An’Tafaar? Hadn’t someone else said that odd word? I thought back but couldn’t recall.

  A small smile hovered around her thin lips, and her dark eyes twinkled at me.

  Captain Argent gave her a slightly chiding look. “You know better than to use titles. Even here. Shadows have ears.”

  The woman said nothing, but her smile grew.

  “I’ll wager you know what I need from you.”

  “Yes.” She paused and canted her head. “It seems that things have not gone as planned.” She nodded toward the door to indicate the distant sound of the clarions, as if emphasizing their ominous racket.

  “That’s one way to put it.” He pulled at his midnight-colored beard. “I think the outers of Calyptin are already falling—”

  “It is so.” The woman fixed him with one unblinking eye. “They have tremored for days, but I truly think the bounds will fall.”

  She seemed awfully calm for a woman who was claiming that the bounds were falling.

  “Iryniå sent me with her talisma and the vagaries of a plan.” He sighed. “She bid me find one of the constructs, claiming it was required. However…” He sighed again. “The construct shattered while we used it.”

  “She sent word of her will, An’Tafaar. We were in preparation before you ever left the sky.”

  “I need help, Dhakirah.” This sigh, like the others, spoke of his frustrated efforts to save the bounds. “We’ve been close to sunk too many times on this one.”

  Dhakirah. My mother had used that word, though I hadn’t guessed it to be a name. It sounded unlike every name I had ever heard. A Q’sarri name. I smiled in my new understanding.

  “Help has waited here for you.” The woman took an ornate bottle from a cushion beneath her low table. She tilted her head at me. “Is this the young lady you have traveled the skies to find?”

  It was Captain Argent’s turn to smile and say nothing.

  “Here, child.” The woman hobbled forward and leaned upward. She placed her hand on my face and looked at the whites of my eyes. Then she touched the center of my forehead, and warm florals engulfed me from the potent oil in that bottle. “Unsung.” She murmured. “That the shape of it? Started but not finished?”

  “Yes.” I didn’t entirely understand her question, but her words rung true. “My mother was speaking with me when the outers began to fall, and then she was gone.”

  “Hmm.” She leaned closer, her nostrils fl
aring.

  Smelling me?

  An odd experience but ultimately it seemed just another inspection of my person. What could she possibly hope to learn?

  I eyed Captain Argent, the question on my lips.

  “I told you I was bringing you to a perfumer, beauty.”

  “I have the impression”—I crossed my arms—“that this is about more than perfume.”

  “Well, I don’t claim to understand Dhakirah’s art.” He cleared his throat. “But she is a valuable asset for Calyptin Station. She alerted us that the bounds here were in danger.”

  “Are in danger.” She sniffed again. “I was worried when the outers began to fall. We made ready.” She reached up to Captain Argent’s shoulder. “You need take her to the Font, An’Tafaar.”

  “The Font?” My eyes widened as comprehension dawned. “The Font of Opulent Waters?”

  “Will she need herbs to harmonize with this Font? Oils? Essential salts?”

  “Essential salts!” The woman spat the words as if they were venom. “Of course not. Oils, however… Oils might help.” She turned from me, slowly bending over and fumbling with decanters and phials.

  “I can’t have her stinking up my ship. Nothing too strong, I think. Amber musk would do well on her, as would cedar oil.” A teasing light danced in his eyes.

  She gave him a withering look, followed by a tiny smile. “You know well there is no choice in this. She will tell me what is needed.” Then she reached for my wrist, holding it close and smelling my skin again.

  I stood still, finding this ever stranger, but this seemed to be a day for strange. I didn't dare refuse her.

  Be polite.

  “Cedar is close but still wrong. Too much wood, not enough earth. She is soft and needs a strong foundation.”

  “Oh yes.” He beamed at me, that infuriating smile on his face. “She is soft. Delicate.” I thought he was going to burst a vessel, trying to keep a straight face. “I think something flowery might be perfect.”

  “Your thoughts don’t play in here.” She sniffed again. “Civet.” The woman smiled at me. “Civet musk and vetiver are what she needs.”

  “I don’t understand.”