by K. T. Davies
“Why does the air taste strange?”
I threw up a gutful of burning bile. “Just get the fucking urux!”
“You get it!” She bounded towards the road.
“Sakura, wait. I’m…”
She kept striding towards the road but turned her head and gave me an angry, hopeful look.
“I’m sorry.” I’m so sorry.
With one eye open, I could see Johann sweeping shards of pottery out of the wagon, the contents of which were in disarray. A cool breeze blew in and countered the heat of the stove. Outside, the sounds of shouting, crying, and the clatter of broken crockery formed a chorus of distress and discontent. Cobb rocked back in his overstuffed armchair, the glow of the stove lighting rubies in the quicks of his eyes. “We should deal with the bodies afore someone finds them,” he rumbled.
“I wouldn’t bother if I were you,” I said as Emma dug her needle into the meat of my arm. She paused. “Not you, mistress. Pray, continue.”
“The bodies?” Cobb took a puff on his pipe. “If we don’t do something with ‘em, they’ll be found and that’ll lead Evard to us.”
“I covered my tracks. Two of the urjacs ran off, and the urux promises it won’t tell.”
Emma looped the needle through the thread and finished her embroidery with a tidy knot. “But Evard sent them after us.”
“Thanks.” I flexed my arm. It was sore, but Thero hadn’t caused any real damage with his small blade. I made a note to remember to carry something similar as a backup blade, something serrated. I’d taken both handcannons, one of which I’d probably use to repair the other. I’d also taken all of their coin and a pair of Ziphen’s blades that I might find a use for. I didn’t need the silver, or Crane’s gold tooth, but I’d filched them in a bid to relearn my old, bad habits. “Don’t worry about Evard.”
“Easy for you to say.” Hammerhand appeared in the doorway, his cheeks tanned brandy red. “You can just…click your fingers and vanish or turn into a rabbit or something. Evard won’t rest now you’ve killed his second.”
“I can’t stitch those.” Emma gestured at the gouges on my neck and face. “I don’t have a needle strong enough to get through those scales. You need a cobbler.”
“No matter, mistress. They’ll heal.” They always do. I turned to Hammerhand. “And as for ‘clicking my fingers and turning into a rabbit’. You’ve been smoking too much pel and drinking too much gut rot, old son.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Alas, yes. But you’re wrong. Magic isn’t easy. It takes its toll.”
“So you keep saying.” He waved his hand, and fell against the doorframe. “We’ve all heard about the ‘Paradox of Power.”
“Must you do this now, Fat Fingers? Haven’t we suffered enough without having to listen to your word piss?”
“You’ve made everything worse by killing Thero. There’s a blood debt now.”
“Well you won’t be the one to fucking pay it, will you? So stopper up your bunghole, or I’ll show you what happens when I click my fingers, and it doesn’t involve rabbits. And don’t you flap your lips at me when you let Thero and his crew corral you like a castrated tusker.”
“I’m not gutterscum. My first thought isn’t to stab someone in the face.”
“Enough!” Cobb shared his glaring eyes between me and Hammerhand. “That’s enough. Come in, Varcan, and close the door.”
Emma packed away her sewing kit and wiped her bloody hands on her gown. “Go check on Sakura, Jojo, there’s a good lad.”
“But I’m doing… Oh, right.” Having got the hint, Johann took himself and the broom from the wagon and closed the door behind him. Hammerhand crouched beside the door.
Cobb rested his forearms on his tentacle legs. “This is a bad do.”
“It’s less bad than it was. Trust me,” I said. In a bid to wash the taste of ash from my mouth, I helped myself to some water. “This Evard cove is going to be too hard-pressed to send out a search party.”
Cobb opened his mouth, but it was Hammerhand who answered. “You don’t know that.”
“And you don’t know that he’s going to send out a search party, find his crew, assume you killed them, and come after you.”
“If he can, he will.”
“You overvalue your importance. He’s got all the fight he needs in Appleton if he wants to take Jing’s place.”
Bleary-eyed, Hammerhand shook his head. “You don’t know him.”
“Stop telling me what I do and do not know, boy. I know the Midnight Court.”
Hammerhand turned to Cobb. “We shouldn’t have got involved with either of them.”
I knew he meant Sakura and me, and judging by the guilty look Cobb and Emma exchanged, they agreed with him. It was tempting to point out that had they not got involved with running drugs for Jing, they wouldn’t have been involved in any of this, but I’d already burned through much of the goodwill saving Johann had earned me. I stood up, hid the fact I wanted to fall over. “Are we done here?”
“Just one thing,” said Cobb “Why didn’t you sort Thero and his crew when they were ransacking our camp and beating up my people? I believe you did what you say you did; I mean, Sakura’s back, but why did you wait?”
“My power’s hard to control. I didn’t want to hurt any of you.”
Emma turned away to hide her doubt. Hammerhand snorted, and Cobb averted his eyes just enough to let me know that he didn’t believe me either. It wasn’t the first time, and I didn’t blame them because I was lying, more or less. I’d told them I’d slain them all using sorcery. I didn’t mention that I’d also poisoned the ground, the trees, the water, and the air for miles around. Neither did I think too long about what would happen to any creature unlucky enough to dwell near the place that I’d blighted, possibly for decades.
“Are we done?”
“Aye. You can bunk in with Jojo.”
Too drunk to hide his thoughts, Hammerhand side-mouthed, “I’ve got my eye on you.”
I stepped down from the wagon. “Kiss my arse.”
“What did you say?”
I snorted. “I said, I hope you’re eyesight’s better than your hearing.”
9
“You weren’t a real dragon. You couldn’t have been.” Sakura folded her arms. As she was only nine, her pre-adolescent adamance was tempered by the gullibility of the child she had not yet let go.
It takes a while to beat the naivety out of a kinch, even when they’ve seen their whole world burn and all they love has been taken from them. It takes a strong frost to harden a sapling. “Were you really a dragon? Please, tell me the truth.”
I laughed. “I was as much a dragon as you are an arrachid.” I adjusted my sitting position. The floor of our new wagon was blessedly cold, but even though it had been a week since my tussle with Thero, I still struggled to sit comfortably for any length of time. “You’re showing me your hand, by the way.”
She drew back, held her cards closer to her face. Her efforts were wasted for as well as new scars, I’d also regained my old clarity of vision.
“I can see them even more clearly now.”
“How?” She craned to look at the back of her cards.
“Your eyes, princess. Your cards are reflecting fourfold in them big peepers of yours.” Comprehension dawned. She lowered her cards and her eyes. “That’s better. Now, it’s your turn to bet.”
She gave me an arch look before discarding her cards. For the first time, I saw something of her grandfather’s steely calculation in her expression. “I fold.”
I scooped up the two copper signets. “Consider that a free lesson. I won’t tell you next time.”
“I don’t care, because I won’t do it again, and neither will I bunt the death’s head when the suit is skulls.” Quite rightly pleased with herself, she tucked her hands into the voluminous sleeves of her freshly laundered and repaired kimono.
“Oh, aye? What will you do, smart-arse?”
&
nbsp; She pondered a moment before answering. “If there isn’t one out already, I’ll buy an Oracle and use it to find the Queen of the Damned. You shouldn’t call people names, it’s unkind.”
“And?”
“We should be kind.”
“Oh, aye? Tell me, if we should be kind, where are the statues dedicated to the kindest people? How many great games are held where the kindest in the land gather to outdo each other at being nice?”
She laughed. “There aren’t any such things, silly.”
“Exactly. We value physical prowess, strength, speed, and power; we live through the great runners, the best archers. We bow before generals, kings, queens, and innumerable empirifexes— some of whom ate their parents. We do not kneel before the kind. It’s a lie, child. It’s a con to catch the naïve.”
“I don’t understand what you mean. But I know you shouldn’t swear because it makes you sound low and uncouth.”
“There are worse things than swearing, which, along with smoking, drinking, and fighting, is big and clever.”
In the week we’d shared a wagon with Jojo I had recuperated, and Sakura had redecorated. Jojo had meekly voiced his displeasure at the changes, stating that, as he was the original occupant, he should have a say. It was a waste of breath, but he gave it a good go. Aside from threatening the pair with an early death if they didn’t stop bickering, I stayed out of it, pleased that the kinch had stopped screaming in her sleep.
I had not been allowed to idle while the wagon was transformed. Indeed, the pale princess betrayed her privileged upbringing by commanding Jojo and me to mug for her. Again, I didn’t object; I needed to keep moving, so I did her bidding and begged cushions from all and sundry until there was a mound in the wagon that she deemed suitable. Arrachids were formidable, undeniably powerful warspawn, but that strength came at a price. Even the kinch had a huge body, which needed to be supported when at rest lest she tire or strain something.
Once her majesty was happily ensconced on her pillow throne, she had me cut branches, which, upon her command, the ever-resourceful Johann stripped and painted blue and hung from the roof. Not quite finished, she tied strips of ribbon dusted in copper glitter to the branches. It was one thing almost losing an eye every time I stood up, being under a near constant drizzle of sparkly dust was quite another. No matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn’t get rid of the fucking stuff.
I shuffled the cards, but before I could deal another hand, Johann burst in with his usual breathless enthusiasm. “Bene dayman’s to you both.” He beamed.
I cringed. “No one says that, Jojo.”
“Well I do, me old cove.” He folded his wings and put on his yellow and green striped waistcoat that was hanging by the door.
“I should never have taught you thieves cant. You up for another drubbing?” I riffled the cards knowing how the sound enticed him.
The light of stupidity gleamed in his coal-black peepers, and he licked his lips. I thought I’d hooked my fish, but then he shook himself loose of the gambler’s seductive curse. “I can’t. Emma will kill me if she finds out I’ve been playing cards, and Hammerhand needs a lift with the arch if you’re up to it?”
“Fathands needs my help? Please, lead on.” I’d been helping around the camp to restore some of the goodwill that I felt had been lost when I’d slain their enemies. I’d made good ground with most, but this was the first time that Hammerhand had acknowledged my existence as something more than a thorn in his side.
Sakura picked up the cards and made to follow us.
“You can’t come.” Jojo waved her back. “Cobb said you’ve to stay out of sight now we’re in a town.”
The kinch slumped. “But I haven’t been outside all day. And if you both go, I’ll be bored.”
The boy looked uncomfortable. “Sorry, Saki. You can go out later when it’s dark, I promise.”
Four imploring eyes turned to me. “Don’t be long, Breed. You promised to teach me Stab the Knave.” The deck we’d been playing with was too big for her, but she was nimble and quick-fingered. Given a few more weeks of instruction, I felt sure I could make a decent sharper out of her.
“I did, and I will, so bid farewell to your coins, kinch.” Outside, the air was crisp, but the pale, mid-morning sunslight was hidden behind a high wall. We were camped close to the town square within the gutted ruins of what had once been a temple. All that remained of the innards of the once grand building were stumps of columns and a partially tiled floor. Even in its dilapidated condition, it was still the most impressive building in the town. A dour-looking keep stood apart on a nearby hill. Pale banners fluttered from its walls bearing the device of the family that held dominion over the burgh. Like the town, the standards were crude and threadbare. It depicted a windmill and a key on a dull, yellow field. It was devoid of rampant, fantastical beasts, bars, or chevrons, marking the local nob as a member of the merchant class rather than a true aristocrat.
“I feel so sorry for Saki.” Jojo offered out of nowhere as we headed to the stage.
“Why? She’s alive, she’s hale and well-fed.”
He stopped, gave me as hard a look as his elfin features would allow. “Her entire family have been killed.”
“And? If you’re making a point, boy, state it more clearly.”
“She’s a child, and she’s lost everyone, violently, some were slain before her eyes.”
“You’ve no kin save Emma and Cobb and you’re doing fine. My Mother was killed right beside me and as for my father…” Go on, explain that one. “Well, he died in battle a long time ago, but look at me, I’m fine. She’ll be fine. Save your sympathy for someone with…I don’t know, something like…leprosy or too much hair—something equally unpleasant.” His face clouded. “Don’t look at me like that, she’s a Jing. She’s got steel in her blood.”
He drew close and swept the square with a gossip’s gaze before beckoning me to close. “Speaking of Jing. I bumped into a fellow from Appleton this morn. He’s a friend of a friend, someone I know from the tables and, well, we got to talking. ’Seems there’s a new boss of the Pearl.”
A chill ran through me. “I know. He killed my mother.” I made a snipping gesture in case he’d forgotten what he’d told me Ludo had done. Jojo looked away and chewed on his lip like it was a piece of steak. “It’s not the sellspell. It’s Jarill Cyndall, Jing’s trusted lieutenant.”
“I don’t care who’s in charge of the Pearl.” Unless it’s Ludo.
“He’s offered a bounty on the heads of any of Jing’s surviving family.”
“Oh. Any news on the sellspell?”
“Did you hear me?” He flapped his arms like he’d forgotten he had wings.
“Aye. Did you hear me?”
“Yes. I’ve heard nothing about the sellspell.”
“Pity.”
The traveling theatre stage was made up of four of the biggest wagons drawn up in pairs with rear axles facing. The wheels were chocked, and the wagons bolted together before being boarded over. A heavy, reinforced frame was raised and roofed with colorful canvas, and the wings were slid in place to hide the scenery. The whole thing was finished with a brightly painted frontispiece; a window through which boggle-eyed locals could gaze upon the world of wonder unaware of the levers and pulleys that created the magic. It was quaint, delightfully mechanical in a world filled with real magic.
Snot-nosed childer, red-faced vagrants, and grumpy tusker herders had stopped whatever it was they were doing to gawp as the crew maneuvered the frontispiece in place ready to be hoisted up and bolted to the frame. Being of little use, Jojo excused himself and flitted off with the younger, sweeter members of the cast as they prepared to roam the streets, hueing and crying and employing all of their professional charms to gather an audience.
Excited kinches were paid a few tin bits to sweep the square, and the vagrants were similarly compensated to shovel dung into dark corners. Braziers were lit and sprinkled with tarfin liver incense, which the
superstitious players believed warded off evil spirits, tight pockets, and flies. Some of the crew were sitting on the frame, waiting to tie on the frontispiece. Others were below, waiting to bolt it to the stage. The strongest of the stagehands were on the ropes, Hammerhand foremost amongst them. He gave a cockeyed smile when he saw me. “Nice of you to join us, lizard.”
“Jojo said you couldn’t do without me, Fathands.”
He must have been in a good mood for if anything his idiot smile grew wider. “Danai’s eaten something bad and is shitting through her teeth. We can’t risk the talent, so I asked the gods who was the last donkey on earth who could give us a chuck, and they said ‘Breed’.”
“I’m sorry, what was that? I fell asleep while you were talking.”
“Get on Michi’s side and be ready to pull when I say. D’you think you can do that?”
“Pull rope? I think I can manage that.”
We took up the slack under the sneering gaze of a group of locals who’d gathered to watch, what for them, must have been the most exciting event to hit town since the last outbreak of plague.
“Pull!” Hammerhand yelled. We pulled as one. Despite still being sore, I pulled hard, because for the first time in a long time, it felt good to be part of a crew. I pulled, and it hurt, but the arch rose, as my palms burned, and sweat bled from my brow. The crew offered a gruff cheer as it swung into place and was swiftly bolted down. Lightheaded, I let go of the rope and stumbled back into one of the locals. A wave of ale lipped the jug he was holding and splashed his greasy waistcoat—a grievous sin amongst the sotted class. Their laughter faltered.
“I’m terribly—” The benefit of renewed youth was that my gut brain once more worked faster than the one in my skull. It was still a novelty, and so I watched with interest as I swayed away from the fist that swung past my face while at the same time I slapping aside a mug that was thrown at my head.
“You owe me a jug of ale,” my ruddy-faced assailant spat.