Culley finally slumped sideways, clutching his gaping throat, the downpour washing the wound clean as quickly as it filled with blood. The storm was right overhead now, the thunder was deafening, and the wind picked up and began to howl. Bim gaped at his dying brother for a second, then screamed and turned to run.
Limpet leapt from his hole and gave chase, but the other boy had a head start. Limpet knew he couldn't let Bim live—if you kill someone's brother right in front of him, you better finish him off too or you'll be forever looking over your shoulder, waiting for the day he comes back to get you. He would have to ensure both brothers disappeared tonight.
Bim raced away from the Sandpit, towards the main city of Hardway. He must have been hoping to lose Limpet in the labyrinth of dark, narrow alleyways. It might have been a good idea had Limpet not known every nook and cranny in that city better than anyone. Limpet had been obliged to chase someone down here once before, and that person was now dead.
He could only just make out the figure running ahead of him through the deluge and the darkness, though it was outlined in stark clarity every few seconds by bright flashes from the sky. Limpet followed with grim determination.
The streets were mostly deserted, the people of Hardway sheltering from the storm in its taverns, inns and brothels or else staying hidden in their sandstone dwellings. The usual sounds of those people emanating from within their walls was drowned out by the rain, wind and thunder.
As they ran deeper into Hardway, splashing through the many deep puddles that had appeared, Bim's figure darted into an alleyway to his left. Limpet slowed down, expecting to be ambushed. He followed Bim slowly into the darkness of the alley, knife in hand. Listening for the boy's movement was impossible through the incessant hiss of the rain and he couldn't see past his own outstretched hand.
Ankle-deep in water, Limpet waded warily on into the blackness. Suddenly there was a flash of light behind his eyes accompanied by a sharp pain in the back of his head, and what light there had been in the world disappeared altogether.
He must have been unconscious for a matter of seconds because when he came to he was face down in the water with a thrashing weight on his back. Water had flooded his lungs and Bim's weight prevented him from even attempting to breath. He could vaguely feel blows raining down on the back his head, but his body was numb and the strength had seeped out of him. He might have laid there and died in that puddle had he not seen his sister's face in his mind, and remembered her faint voice.
He ventures forth in dead of night,
without flaming torch or glinting knife.
He comes back bloody, hurt and spent
Or he comes back... never again.
Where he found the strength, he didn't know, but Limpet managed to haul himself up to his elbows whilst Bim continued to beat the back of his head. Whatever the boy had hit him with must have been lost in the darkness, otherwise he would certainly be a corpse by now. Limpet was surprised to find he still clutched his knife in his right hand, and now that his senses began to return, he could hear Bim shrieking at him.
He brought his elbow up and, to his relief, connected sharply with Bim's temple. Bim lurched to his left, just enough for Limpet to turn his body and dump the boy in the filthy water. He was grateful that he'd killed Culley first, for the bigger boy's weight would surely have been too much.
Bim struggled frantically, and they fought viciously, half blind and deaf in the deepening water, neither boy able to gain any advantage, both desperate to survive.
Eventually Limpet managed to get a grip on Bim's throat, slashing at the boy's arms with the knife as he tried to fight back. He pinned Bim's head into the mud, his face just breaking the surface of the water, gasping for breath. He knelt on Bim's chest and held the knife to his throat. Bim stared at him in terror.
For a moment Limpet just sat there staring down at Bim, retching and spewing water from his lungs. Limpet’s head was tingling. He knew it must be covered in bruises, and he suspected a growing pain on the back of his head was probably a wound bleeding profusely.
“Please,” Bim begged him, “let me live.”
Limpet stared silently into Bim's eyes, but he knew he had no choice.
“Please,” Bim continued, “I beg you. I'm sorry.”
“So am I,” replied Limpet as he opened up Bim's throat and let his life force mix with the muddy water.
* * * *
Eva shivered.
Dusk was approaching, and the cool air from the open window raised goose-bumps on her exposed flesh. She had been posing all day while Maximilian did preparatory sketches and paintings for the work commissioned by Brother Mankind.
Max had been set up in a suite here in the Celestial Temple, high above the streets of Hardway, where he could prepare and plan his mural undisturbed and without the everyday distractions that had led to his current predicament. He was effectively the property of Tulgan and Brother Mankind and guarded constantly by his new bodyguard, Rollo.
All the things he had requested were waiting for him on his arrival at the temple. Easels, canvases, pencils, oils, brushes, pallets, sheets and sheets of parchment—all paid for by The House of the Celestial Sphere, with money he wasn't trusted to handle for himself. Eva could tell that grated on him, but she was relieved he had the protection of some powerful people, even if it was for their own profit.
Her relief, however, was tainted by a sad resignation. She had known Maximilian since they were children and he had been her best friend, but while she had grown up, he had become ever more self-absorbed and egotistical. There was a time, when they were much younger, when he had been kind and selfless. She had fallen in love with him then. She wondered now whatever had happened to that person. Since he had been commissioned to paint the mural he had become even more distant, and it was no longer just her nakedness that made her feel cold.
Eva was tired, not just tired of Max, but of Hardway—of her life. She wanted more than anything to leave the island forever, to make a new life somewhere peaceful and civilised. A fresh start.
Eva was given a room next door to Max’s, and Rollo had insisted on staying in the room on the opposite side, with direct access to Max's quarters through an unlocked door. She wondered why Rollo was so concerned for Max's safety. Surely he was safe here in the heart of the temple?
“That'll do,” said Max. “It's getting dark and I need daylight for this part of the piece. We'll continue in the morning.”
Eva grabbed her robe and wrapped herself in it while Max washed his brush and went over to the jug of wine on the table, wiping his hands on a rag. He poured himself a glass, drained it and belched.
“I'll say one thing for Brother Mankind,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, “he's not stingy with the wine.” He poured a second glass and brought it over to her. Not to be outdone, she drained the glass and handed it back. He grinned at her, but she could not muster a smile in return. Preoccupied as usual, Max did not appear to notice her despondency.
“The problem is a good drink enjoys the company of a good smoke,” he continued. “The fullness of my glass serves to emphasise the emptiness of my pipe.”
“Perhaps Rollo can bring you some murka leaf,” she replied.
“No,” he said as he poured another glass, “the man has been my shadow. Surely I deserve a night off. Come on, let's go out. He won't even notice we're gone.”
“Are you mad? You're in danger, Max. You've embarrassed half of Hardway.”
“Don't be silly! Tulgan has paid off my debts—I have a clean slate!” He downed another glass of wine as if to celebrate his false sense of security.
“Max,” Eva pleaded, “this is Hardway. The money is not the only issue. You've ripped off some powerful people and gotten away with it. You've made people look stupid. If you're seen walking around without a scratch, you'll be inviting trouble. Why do you think you have the most infamous henchman on the island protecting you?”
“Nonsense,
” he said, discarding his glass and picking up the jug, “we'll be fine. I'll be a laughing stock if I'm never seen without Rollo holding my hand. My reputation will be ruined. Come on, get dressed. We'll sneak out quietly and be home before he notices we're gone.”
Eva sighed. Max had just necked half a jug of wine: His eyes were glassy and his ears deaf to the sound of common sense. Even now, she could not say no to him. And that was exactly why she had to leave—to get as far away from him as possible.
* * * *
The streets of Hardway were alive with activity when the pair stepped out. It was at this time of the night the city's bottom-feeders came to the surface. Every hustler, whore, gangster and gambler in the city was stirring.
In the beginning, Hardway was entirely carved into the sandstone, but since Eva and Max were children, wooden and stone buildings had sprung up—brothels, inns, blacksmiths, bakeries, butchers, fishmongers, even a lawyer's office. Construction of the most enormous building on the island was almost complete—the imposing shape of The Temple of the Celestial Sphere loomed at their backs as if watching disapprovingly as they crept away.
Max was walking with what seemed like brisk purpose, and Eva suspected it was not just because he wanted to get of sight of the temple before Rollo noticed his absence.
“Where are we going?” Eva asked.
“Nowhere in particular. Just for a walk,” Max replied dismissively. He was a terrible liar, despite all the practice he'd put in. She had seen him in this mood before, and it always led to trouble.
Of all the villainous, unsavoury nests of vipers Hardway had to offer, The Enduring Hunger was the filthiest and most notorious, so Eva was not surprised when they arrived there and Max insisted on going in for a few ales.
The inn was one of the oldest in Hardway. Among the first timber buildings erected on the island, to say that it was showing signs of wear and tear was an understatement. The creaking sign hanging over the door was crudely painted with the image of an eyeball impaled on a fork, a reference to the legend of the first siege of the island following its independence centuries before.
The legend told the story of cannibalism as starving islanders began to eat their dead, and how those who indulged in the activity were cursed to forever feel hungry, no matter how much they ate. According to the story, those people died in agony as their stomachs burst. The proprietor of the establishment, known as Stoop due to the fact that he was incredibly tall and had to stoop behind his bar in order to hear the voices of his customers over the din, claimed you could still hear the screams and groans of those people on cold nights. This was nonsense of course. Any groans or screams heard in that inn were uttered by the living.
It was ironic that such a den of thieves, whores, cut throats and drunks was named after a fable that warned against the dangers of greed and gluttony. It was an irony apparently lost on the Hunger's customers.
A wall of noise and heat, and the stale reek of ale and sweat, almost knocked Eva back as they walked in. The smell lingered, but the raucous chatter died down almost instantly as, one by one, a number of craggy, weather-beaten faces turned to study the new arrivals.
Max strolled nonchalantly towards the bar, as though oblivious to the almost tangible change in the atmosphere prompted by his arrival, or the several dozen beady eyes that regarded him with disbelief. Eva stayed close behind him. She didn't know why: if things turned ugly it would be the most dangerous place to stand. To her relief, the hum of conversation picked up again as Max haled the bartender.
“Ahoy, Stoop!” Max called across the bar. “What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost.”
“Aye,” the tall barman gazed down at him, his grizzled face looking somewhat perplexed, “I might well be before long, Shackle.”
“Ale please, my good man.” Eva wondered whether Max was ignoring or just didn't notice the barman's subtle warning. Either way, she wished he had heeded it. Stoop leaned close as he clanked two full tankards on the bar. Eva strained to hear what the barman was saying.
“Are you tired of breathing, Shackle?” Stoop rasped, placing his hairy knuckles on the bar as he bent down to the smaller man's level. “Half of Hardway wants you dead, and the other half will happily earn the price attached to your empty little noggin.”
“I have a right to a few ales, Stoop. I'm not causing any trouble.” Max took a swig from his mug and looked around the room with a petulant look on his face. Eva could tell he was already drunk. He'd always courted danger, but this was bordering on suicidal.
“That may be so,” replied the barman, “but exercising your rights might be the last thing you ever did. Best you drink up and take your woman away before you both end up shark-bait.”
Eva had the overwhelming urge to leave, but she couldn't leave him behind. She would never forgive herself.
“Max,” she said as she laid a hand on his arm, “let's go. I don't think we're welcome here.”
“I'm not leaving until I've finished my ale,” he said too loudly for comfort.
“Max, please,” she moved closer, whispering, “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Drink your ale,” he said, shrugging off her hand. Before she could reply there was a shout from behind her.
“Where's your boyfriend, Shackle?” She turned to see several men blocking the exit. They were a motley-looking gaggle of ruffians, all armed to the earlobes and looking a bit too excited. The whole room was suddenly silent. Max leaned against the bar and continued to gaze down at his ale.
“Don't fuck my bar up again, Fennack,” Stoop interjected. “If you've got business, kindly conduct it outside.” Fennack wasn't a big man, but he looked a vicious little bastard. Judging by the lines and notches on his face, and the amount of metal where teeth should be, he'd been involved in a fair few brawls. Eva suspected the fact he was still alive meant he'd come out on top in a good number of them.
“I said, ‘where's Rollo?’” Fennack took a step forward, raising a cutlass.
“What's the matter, Fennack,” Max replied quietly, without even raising his head. “Stray dogs not satisfying you anymore?” Then the silence turned to chaos in the blink of an eye.
Fennack bellowed and lunged, swinging his sword at Max's head. Max ducked and the blade buried itself in the wooden bar. Fennack cursed as he struggled to free his sword from the wood. As he did so, Eva grabbed the other mug of ale and smashed it as hard as she could over his head. The mug exploded, showering them with ale.
Fennack caught her with a backhand and send her reeling across the bar. She was caught by one of his grubby associates, who began to snigger. His breath stank of fish and garlic.
Max scrambled unsteadily to his feet, produced a dagger and slashed Fennack's cheek as the scarred man tugged his sword free and spun away, howling in pain.
Max hurled his mug at Fennack, who dodged. The mug sailed over his shoulder and felled another of his goons. Fennack roared and lunged at Max again.
“You're shark-food, Shackle,” shouted Fennack as he swung again and again, his target ducking and rolling away in the nick of time.
What happened next seemed to Eva to happen in slow motion. From the corner of her eye, she noticed movement in the doorway, and suddenly two of Fennack's associates were hurtling towards the bar, minus their weapons and a handful of airborne teeth.
Rollo's fist sank into a third man's stomach with such force he vomited across the room and sank to the floor, whimpering. Before his head hit the sawdust, Rollo had caught the fourth man's sword on his own blade and clouted him over the head, leaving him dazed. Fennack's fifth henchman was caught with Rollo's elbow on the back swing before the bigger man grabbed his neck and smashed his face through a table.
Rollo moved in one smooth, continuous, mesmerising movement. Eva found herself studying his murderous dance intently, sickened by the wanton destruction and somehow touched by his grace at the same time.
Before she had taken a breath, Rollo had seized the back
of Fennack's head, hoisted him in to the air while his sword arm flailed uselessly, and slammed his head into the wall. The timber building shook violently, dust floated down from the ceiling like ashes from a volcano, and Fennack's final breath left his lungs.
“You found us quicker than I thought you would,” said Max, dropping the stool he had used to fend off the now deceased Fennack.
“You're an easy man to find,” replied Rollo.
* * * *
“When are you going to grow up, Max?” Eva said hotly, she touched her swollen cheek where Fennack's knuckles had grazed her.
“What do you mean?” Max looked hurt, as though surprised by the question.
“We could both have been killed. If Rollo hadn't found us when he did...”
“I can take care of myself!”
“If it hadn't been for Rollo you'd be dead.” They were back at the temple, where Rollo had brought them after the trouble at the Hunger. He hadn't seemed angry that they'd snuck out without telling him. Perhaps he thought it was a lesson Max had to learn, though Eva didn't see any evidence that Max had learned anything.
“I'm sick of this, Max. I've had enough.”
“What do you mean? Sick of what?” he replied, looking shocked.
“Sick of this life. Sick of Hardway. Sick of waiting for you to...” She realised now that he didn't understand her at all. She wished she'd had the courage to leave a long time ago.
“To do what?” he asked.
“I'm leaving, Max. I can't take it anymore. I want a fresh start. I want a new life.” She felt tears stinging her bruised cheek.
“But you can't,” he protested. “You can't just leave me. I need you.”
“You need me for what?”
“You're my muse, the inspiration for my work.” She knew he would say that.
“Is that all I am?” Even now she was giving him a chance to redeem himself, to say something that showed he saw her as more than an object to paint. Even now, she gave him the opportunity to be a man, and she hated herself for it.
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