10.
The Enduring Hunger was virtually empty. A handful of dark, lone shapes sat silently forgetting whatever hardships they suffered by imbibing as much ale or hard liquor as their meagre purses would permit. A harsh voice rasped something lewd across the bar and was answered by a woman's giggle.
Stoop, the vast proprietor of this fine establishment, loomed. It was impossible to tell which of his esteemed clientele he was watching at any given moment, since his head disappeared behind the wooden shelves of ceramic mugs above the bar. He stooped to peer beneath them, his eyes permanently in shadow—hence his name.
Limpet sat in darkness in the far corner, as far from the faint light of the few sconces as possible, nursing an ale he'd hardly touched. The hope and optimism he felt that morning had been dashed by every merchant he'd met at the docks. Most were apologetic. Reluctant to take any passengers for fear of incurring the wrath of either the Old Kingdom or Calisse. Some were downright hostile. His plan of buying passage to the mainland, whether east or west, had failed. There was always tomorrow, but the current mood did not look like changing. War was coming, and Hardway was stuck right in the middle.
He cursed his luck. He had come so close. Now it looked as though he was stuck here, and he didn't know how long Liss, his little sister, could survive on this cut-throat island. He took a swig of his ale. It tasted like shit. An appropriate thing to find, he thought, inside a stinking privy. The finer tipples, fine wines from Temeria, mead from the Old Kingdom, expensive liquor all the way from the Winter Realm, these were taken by the wealthier pimps and murderers of Hardway. Speaking of which, he recognised the man who had just entered. It was one of the City Fathers, though Limpet could not recall his name. The man’s plump, pale face looked totally out of place in The Hunger, where every other visage was as craggy and weather-beaten as Hardway’s infamous cliffs, and most had seen as much action. His fine clothing was conspicuous amongst to the rest of Stoop’s raggedy, dishevelled regulars.
What was one of The City Fathers doing in the worst shithole in Hardway? The answer walked in straight after him. Limpet knew her name was Eva, though he had never spoken to her. He had run many an errand for the huge and enigmatic Rollo. In his wisdom, he had been careful to ensure he remained firmly in Rollo's good books, and well away from the man's shit list, which was always short due to the number of names crossed off it in blood, so to speak. And that meant if you were on it, you were near the top. In doing so he had noticed Rollo had lately never been seen without that fop of an artist, Maximilian Shackle, who in turn was nearly always with this woman.
And now she was in The Enduring Hunger meeting one of the City Fathers.
One of the perks of Limpet's particular line of business was that he knew virtually everything about everyone. But he did not know that this councillor was fucking the artist's muse. Interesting. His curiosity was roused. The pair came over and sat at the next table, apparently not noticing him there in the shadows. He remained still.
“Why have you called me here, uncle Benito?” The girl asked. So, he was her uncle, not her lover.
“I have news from the City Fathers,” he replied, glancing furtively around the room and still not noticing the boy watching from the darkness. They spoke in hushed tones and Limpet listened intently, almost out of habit, to pick up their conversation.
“Why does that concern me?”
“I urge you to leave Hardway,” the councillor continued. “War approaches and I am not certain about the island's future.”
“I can take care of myself,” Eva replied, a stubborn tone in her voice. She seemed suspicious of him, Limpet thought, despite the fact he was her uncle. She jumped as the sound of glass smashing came from the other side of the room, followed by raucous cackling.
The councillor looked around warily, making sure no one was listening.
“I am not disputing that,” he continued, “but this island is the only thing lying between two warring empires. Whoever takes Hardway will hold the advantage. Both Callisse and The Old Kingdom need this island.”
“I thought Hardway was impenetrable. Are the stories of countless armies smashing themselves to pieces on the rocks not true?”
“There has never been an army the size of The Grey Queen's or The Dragon's. Now there are two, and they are either side of Hardway. It is only a matter of time before they attack. Even if they are held by our defences, our supply lines will be cut off. Hardway will starve.”
“Fine,” replied the girl, “then help me buy passage to the mainland.”
“Impossible. War fleets gather to the east and west and traders are too jumpy to take any passengers.”
“Then I'm trapped here anyway.” The girl’s voice was low, but he thought he heard it break a little and she sniffed. Tears twinkled on her cheeks in the candlelight.
“There is another way,” he said, lowering his voice even further. Limpet leaned forward slightly, desperate to hear what the man was whispering. This could be the break he was looking for. If they had a way off the island, maybe Limpet could take Liss away from here after all.
“The City Fathers are sending a small fellowship away. They have a ship waiting at a secret dock on the north of the island. They sail tomorrow night, as soon as the sun sets.”
“Which direction?” she asked.
“Their plan is to sail north, then bear east and try to land somewhere in northern Callisse.”
The girl was silent for a moment. “Why go east at all? To the east is only Callisse. Why not continue north?”
“You don't need or want to know any more. Just trust me.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Meet me here tomorrow at dusk. Bring only the bare necessities. I will take you there and smuggle you aboard.”
Limpet took a deep breath and savoured the moment. He took a long draft of his ale. The sour drink suddenly tasted like liquid sunshine on his tongue and he couldn’t help smiling. He'd spent a day on the docks without any joy and now the perfect opportunity had landed in his lap while he sat drinking ale and feeling sorry for himself. He supposed he was due some luck. He hadn't enjoyed any good fortune since...well, ever.
* * * *
Eva had hardly slept since her meeting with Benito the previous night, torn between telling Max she was leaving and just slipping away unnoticed. Benito had advised her not to tell anyone, but she couldn't leave without saying goodbye.
She found Max in the temple yard, suspended just above the floor from an absurd looking wooden contraption. The apparatus consisted of a stake in the centre of the circular yard and a long wooden arm with a series of pulleys and counter weights. He hung there, concentration etched onto his face as he worked on his vast, horizontal mural.
She watched him for a while, wondering whether this was a good idea at all. Her courage had begun to fade at the sight of him. She was just about to turn and leave when he looked up and saw her.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his harness rattling and creaking as he shifted to face her.
“I've come to say goodbye.”
“What do you mean? Where are you going?” he said, frowning.
“I…I don't know. I'm leaving Hardway for good.” She already wished she hadn't come. She felt numb. She had known Maximilian for as long as she could remember, since they were children, and all they had was each other. They had protected each other on the mean, unforgiving streets of Hardway. They had saved each other's lives more times than she could count. But it was more than that; he had been her reason for living. Perhaps not because he had been good to her or because he had treated her like a human being—he hadn't—but because he, and he only, had been there since she was young and naïve. He was everything to Eva, good and bad, and without him there was a frightening, dark space. She felt empty without him, but she felt even emptier with him. Fond memories of their time growing up together had become suffocating, painful dreams of false hope, and her future without him a vast, terr
ifying void.
Life had somehow thrown them together. The pair had found themselves with much in common. Eva’s father had been a sailor and was killed when she was just a little girl. Lost at sea when one of his brother’s merchant ships capsized in a storm off Hardway’s unforgiving coast. Her mother raised her, with help from Benito, until she succumbed to a fever and passed away when Eva was thirteen. Benito had taken her in but was unable to control the unruly girl and she had moved out after two years, insisting she could make her own way in the world. He had still looked out for her since then, and now he had provided her with a way off the island. She counted herself fortunate to have this opportunity fall in her lap.
Max’s own background was shrouded in mystery. His father had worked for Tulgan but had disappeared in suspicious circumstances when Max was just a boy. She suspected Rollo knew what had happened to the man, but he was not a man of many words, especially where business was concerned. Max had always maintained that his mother was dead too, but Eva knew the woman had been unable to cope after his father’s disappearance, and had simply abandoned him and left the island when he was twelve.
“You can't leave,” he said. The usually impervious veneer of self-assurance on his face seemed to falter momentarily, giving Eva a sudden glimmer of hope that he might beg her to stay. But he just hung there, slack-jawed, and gaped at her.
“Why not?” she asked, even now fishing for some reaction from him that might show he thought of her as more than a two-dimensional object.
“I hear from Brother Envy it is nigh on impossible to buy passage from the island,” he said, his expression once again becoming an unscalable wall of indifference. “The merchants come less frequently and, from what I hear, those who do come can only do so because they are paid by either The Dragon or The Grey Queen to deliver what information they can on the island's defences, its garrison, and that crazy Dusek character.”
“The City Fathers are sending a ship tonight from a secret location. Benito has arranged passage for me. We leave as soon as it is full dark.”
“A ship? Where? What for?” He moved as if to come towards her, then seemed to remember he was trussed up in his contraption. It creaked and rattled as he struggled. Eventually he gave up and just hung there frowning at her. He looked ridiculous, helpless—exactly how Eva felt.
“I don't know, he couldn't say. All I know is I have one chance to get off this island and I must take it. I can't stay here any longer, Max.” She was determined not to cry. She knew she had said too much already, but his pleading look had broken her resolve. He was her weakness, even now.
“Aren't you going to say anything?” she asked.
“Good luck,” he said with a shrug. Her heart sank.
“Goodbye,” she said. As she said it she turned away so that he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes. She had meant to walk away slowly, calmly, but she couldn't control her legs. As she reached the doorway into the temple she was running, one hand to her mouth. She ran through the corridors and galleries of the great temple, desperate to make it to the street on the other side where she could once again find the meagre comfort of anonymity.
She was assailed by the sight of Maximilian's paintings at every turn. A vast body of work, every one with sinister scenes of maidens, goddesses, nymphs, whores; every one a lurid, supernatural depiction of man's darkest, most base and sordid desires and vices; and every one with her own face, her own naked body. Every one a reminder of her emptiness. The images of her in those paintings were more lifelike than she herself. She felt as though every facet of her personality was trapped in one canvas or another, and she was an empty shell, a ghost.
As she blundered round a corner a figure appeared from a dimly lit alcove, the flickering light from the sconce making its hood loom up like an angel of death. She screamed.
“Ah, Eva, are you feeling all right?” Brother Envy smiled benignly, one hand held out towards her.
Frantic, she shrank away and fled. When she finally emerged into the bright sunlight of Hardway she ran down the temple's stone steps and vomited in the gutter.
* * * *
Limpet prepared meticulously. First he fed Liss soup and bread. After that, he took her to the privy and patiently waited while she pissed, then made sure she was comfortable while he strapped on his sword belt and donned his mail. She lay on the bed, in their room in the Hunger, wrapped up in her shift and a blanket. He knew better than to dress her first. If anything should happen, better that he was ready for a fight.
She looked so tiny swathed in that fabric, yet he couldn't forget the dream he had had. Now every time he looked at her eyes he saw something huge behind them that made him feel like a speck of dust floating on the breeze. His sister was a beautiful enigma; she made him feel strong and weak at the same time. It mattered not which emotion he felt, he was the wall that would stand between her and all else.
Liss was the one thing that gave purpose to Limpet’s brutal existence—the solitary, painfully delicate flower that had somehow bloomed in the cloying muck in which he constantly battled to survive. All he knew was stealing and fighting dirty, never showing weakness, never letting the cruel world see what lay beneath the limpet’s thick shell, lest it devour him. He did it all for her. She was the good in him. She was his redemption.
He had kept her hidden in the sandpit for so long he had forgotten what she looked like in the daylight. Her milky skin seemed less transparent, more like fine porcelain. Her long hair, which he had brushed and tied back, shone a pale gold. Her cloudy eyes seemed to change like the weather, depending on her mood. He could tell if she was relaxed, thoughtful, pensive, or worried by the way her hands fidgeted or the movement of her unseeing eyes, even by the way she breathed. It was when she uttered words that he felt at a total loss to understand what message she was trying to impart.
Liss had been silent all day but now, for some reason, she chose to speak.
“North beneath the treasure chest,
“Their lonely vessel drifts,
“On the World Apparent's breast,
“The breath that falls and lifts.
“His past pursues him, close behind,
“His future fights his grip,
“Protection lies within his mind,
“Not hanging from his hip.”
He glanced up at her briefly, his right hand venturing involuntarily to the pommel of his sword, then continued dressing. On top of his mail he wore a tunic and a thick fur. At his waist he had what was left of his money in a leather pouch. He had bought Liss some leather boots, a doublet and a thick cloak. He dressed her and wrapped her in the blanket, then he sat on the bed and she obediently clambered delicately onto his back like a spider onto its web. He pulled the ends of the blanket round and tied them at his waist.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
She made no reply, but clung tightly to his back and wriggled into what seemed to be a satisfactory position. She laid her head on the back of his shoulder and sighed. He was always surprised by the amount of heat his spindly little sister generated. She already felt hot against his back, as though he was leaning against the stone of a blazing hearth.
Dusk began to taint the atmosphere like a drop of black ink defusing into a glass of water. It was time to leave. He checked himself one last time and glanced around the room to make sure he hadn't left anything behind, then strode out the door.
He walked downstairs, through the bar and out into the street, then he crossed over and waited in the alleyway opposite, watching The Hunger, praying he hadn't missed the girl and her uncle—his only chance of finding passage from the island. Away from Hardway, away from the Sandpit, away from the ghost of his mother, forever.
It seemed like a long time Limpet skulked in that alley, watching the entrance to The Hunger and trying to remain inconspicuous. He kept glancing at the sky, fretting at its encroaching darkness. As the light faded, so did his hope. He felt Liss' breathing become deeper and she began to make a fain
t, keening sound. She was snoring.
Eventually, and to his relief, the councillor appeared, dressed in fine robes and doing a bang-up job of looking suspicious and totally out of place.
“You fucking idiot,” Limpet whispered to himself. “You'll give us all away.”
The man looked up and down the street then entered The Hunger. He was barely in there a heartbeat before he emerged with the girl. She was wrapped in a shawl and wore long boots. He rolled his eyes. Fucking amateurs. If the councillor had any sense he'd have come to the bar much earlier, dressed much more like a Hardway guttersnipe than a City Father, and had a few drinks instead of walking into the bar dripping with wealth and generally making a spectacle of himself. This buffoon and his niece were ruining Limpet’s escape plans. In his ire, he chose to ignore the fact that he was tagging along on theirs without their knowledge.
Without a word they glanced left and right, then walked off up the street. Limpet waited for a moment, then followed at a distance. He had trailed many people through Hardway and had a knack of remaining unnoticed, but still he felt as though he stood out like a severed finger in a basket of grapes.
On they hurried deeper into Hardway and turned off towards the Sandpit—something that worried Limpet. If he was likely to be accosted anywhere it would be there, but he had no choice—he would follow them right into the sea where his mother perished if he had to. Anything was better than staying here. This was his chance. Everything he had done had been leading up to this moment, this one opportunity. He was not about to let anything stand in his way.
To Limpet's dismay, the Eva and her uncle Benito lead him right into the heart of the Sandpit, and even past the entrance to his old dwelling, the black hole where had kept Liss hidden from the world for so many years. He had not planned to come back here, and he knew he was on dangerous ground. If anyone recognised him it could spell the end of his bid to escape Hardway.
Hardway Page 11