by Nick Martell
While Jean lived at the College of Music, Sirash and Arjay lived on the east side of Hollow in the Rainbow District, famously known for its high density of tweekers and Blackberries, close proximity to the dye pits, and bright patchwork coloring on all the buildings. It was the poorest area of the city, most of the inhabitants struggling to get enough to eat each day. Every other building in the district was abandoned and boarded up… though people still lived in them, they just did so quietly. Desperately. Sirash and his brother among them.
The abandoned house Sirash lived in was on the outskirts of the district and bright pink in color, a rarity even in the Rainbow District. As I approached the house, I ignored the boarded-up front door and headed for the window they used instead. I found it easily, completely covered in dust, except around the edges where hands had forced it up and squeezed through.
It had been ransacked.
ROCK
Tables had been broken in half, moldy bread covered the counters, the fireplace had collapsed in on itself, and dried blood was splattered across the walls and floors. Something terrible had happened here, and I had no idea what.
I began to search the house. Sirash always left Arjay an emergency plan, in case something ever went wrong, but no matter where I looked, I couldn’t find any sign of it. Though I did discover a sharp piece of flint, a rusty dagger, a flintlock pistol with a single iron ball, and all the fixings to make it fire. I took it all with me. I didn’t know what I was going to run into while trying to find Arjay, and everything helped.
I left the house through the same window, flintlock pistol hidden in my waistband, with no real idea how to find Arjay. But I had to keep my promise to Jean, so I would find him. Somehow.
“Not much to steal when you break into an abandoned house,” a boy said, leaning against the house next door. He was about ten, dangerously thin, with dark skin and finely braided hair. The boy was surrounded by piles of rocks. “Especially that one. It’s been really abandoned recently.”
I thumbed toward Sirash’s house. “Do you know what happened to the people that lived there?”
The boy picked up a few rocks and skipped them across the street. “One disappeared, other got taken. Why do you care?”
“Because I do. Where was the other taken?”
The boy looked me up and down. “Why should I tell you? You’re not from here. Too clean to be.”
I had no reason to trust anything the boy said, especially since he was alone at night in the most dangerous district in the city. Either he was overconfident or stupid. And what was with the rocks? They were piled up around him with care, too precise to be random.
“How do I even know your information is reliable?”
The boy extended his hands, showing off all his piles of rocks. “What would I get from lying to you? You’re not a tweeker or dimmer, and you’re probably not stupid enough to buy my miracle cure-your-addiction rocks. I gain nothing.”
I saw his logic, but it still didn’t mean he’d tell me the truth. “Name your price.”
There was a pause as the boy calculated in his head. “Your gloves look warm.”
“Done.” The black leather gloves Domet had given me were off my hands before the boy knew it. He put them on, slowly, and then rubbed his face against the leather, showing me his crooked smile. “What happened to the other? Where did he go and who took him?”
The thin boy left his rock piles. “We walk. Talk on the way. No point in waiting.”
So we did. The boy whose name I didn’t know walked with me through the Rainbow District down the alleyways and through derelict buildings left open, questioning what I knew about snake oil. We tracked mud and watered-down shit everywhere we went, the gutter overflowing from a recent rain shower. Only the roads were stone here—everything else fields of dandelions, but even they were rife with bumps and cracks.
We stayed off the streets to make sure we didn’t run into tweekers, since they lingered on the main roads late at night. Usually they were passed out, enjoying their high, but not always, and that was when they were the most dangerous, between highs. Unless necessary, the boy never talked or asked my name, and in return I never asked his. I simply addressed him as Rock, and he called me Blunder, and we let this anonymity between us remain. After a long walk, we reached a long, flat stone building painted red and grey, with tattered flags flying on the roof. All the windows had been boarded up with grey-painted wood, and a black crown had been painted on the front door. Something about the place made me feel more nervous than any High Noble keep ever could.
“What is this place?” I asked, watching from a distance. There didn’t seem to be any movement or life in the building. It was late, but too early for most to retire for the night.
“Tweeker Keep,” Rock stated. “Stranger than the other tweeker dens, run by a metal man who demands to be called Sir. The Sir takes boys sometimes. Only boys around ten, though. Once they enter, they’re gone for good.”
“Sir?” I spat. “Who does he think he is?”
“A knight,” he said. “The Last Knight, or the last one with honor.”
I bit down on my tongue. There weren’t any knights left in Hollow. The Gunpowder War had killed most of them, and those that survived either joined Scales, retired, or took their ill-gotten money and lived out their lives in luxury in lavender fields. Few, if any, continued to serve after the war, only because they had no other option.
Now, thirty years later, I imagined that they were all gone. If there was one thing guns had done, it was make knights who wore plate mail and rode horses into battle utterly obsolete. If this man who claimed to be the Last Knight truly was one and he had hurt Arjay… well, then the Age of Chivalry would end with him.
“If this asshole is taking boys, and multiple ones at that, why haven’t I heard of him before?”
Rock looked at me, emotionless. “Where d’you live?”
“The Narrows.”
“That’s why. He don’t steal boys from the West Side, so why would the people care? It’s not like we care about the Rebel Emperor. Our place doesn’t depend on which sir or ma’am sits on the throne.”
Rock was right. To the people on the East Side, those who lived on the West must’ve looked like nobility; our homes weren’t run-down or forsaken, our grain wasn’t mixed with maggots for protein, and we lacked their noticeable tweeker population. I could only imagine how the High Nobles and Royals looked from this side of the river.
Before the awkward silence could take over, I asked a different question: “What did you mean? That the tweekers were organized?”
“The tweekers follow the Last Knight. They patrol the house, defend it, and steal boys for him. He rewards them with Blackberries. And any tweeker that doesn’t follow his orders are thrown out or killed.”
“Killing tweekers is hard,” I muttered, still crouching behind a stone wall.
“Telling them what to do is harder,” Rock replied.
I nodded and examined the house again. I couldn’t see any other way in but the front door. Unlike every other building we’d passed, the woodwork here was new and strong and would create a lot of noise if we tried to rip it off. The stone walls weren’t any weaker. But the flags flying from the top of the house reminded me of something. They were unique—almost forgotten fragments, just beyond my recall. And then I did, and understood what I had to do.
I took out the flintlock pistol and the ingredients to load it properly. Rock didn’t say anything, silently watching. Once the gun was ready, I slid it into my waistband. There was a bulge, but unless someone was looking, no one would notice it in the dark.
“What you doing?” the boy asked.
I hopped over the stone wall we were hiding behind. “I’m going to lie. C’mon.”
“Not a chance. I did what you paid me for. There’s no—”
I pulled a sun from my pocket. “Act as my support, and it’s yours.”
Rock held out his hand.
“
After.”
“If you die?”
“Then loot my body for all it’s worth.”
I’d been in his position. I knew he wasn’t going to turn me down. A gold sun could change his life, and as a smart child he could do a lot with it.
Rock stalled in place before joining my side, frantically.
I rapped my knuckles against the door to Tweeker Keep and waited. My answer came quicker than an intake of breath. The door swung open and, in the frame, stood a tweeker, sickly pale, with red eyes, every tooth showing and as sharp as canines. He wore red-and-grey rags, confirming the suspicion that I had outside: that whoever this knight was, he thought he was my family’s servant. Red and grey were my family’s colors.
If they were stupid enough to display those colors, they must’ve been stuck in the past.
“Take me to my knight,” I demanded. “His lord, David Kingman, wishes to see him.”
The tweeker looked me in the eyes and then fell to one knee. Of all my siblings, I looked the most like my father and like a Kingman in general. My plan relied on the hope that this tweeker had been too obsessed with drugs to know my father had been executed ten years ago. And from this reaction, my hope was a reality. “M’lord. It’s an honor. Follow me.”
The tweeker shambled into the house, and Rock and I followed into the darkness. Bar the occasional candle, surrounded by three or more bodies, there was no light. Beds of blankets were spread out across the floors, wet scraps of cloth hung from the ceiling, and a sickly-sweet smell permeated the den. And it was cold, dreadfully cold—the kind that lingered on the skin and in the throat like needle pinpricks. This place was chaotic but controlled in a way that made sense. To an addict, at least.
“Lord? I didn’t sign up to work with any lord,” Rock said as his eyes darted toward every creak and crack we heard. “What did I get myself into?”
“Take a deep breath.”
“If we die, I’ma curse you, Blunder.”
“We’ll be fine. Calm down,” I said quietly.
“Calm down, he says. Face your death with pride, he says. Don’t worry, death is only forever, he says.”
“Are you done? Or are you trying to get more money out of me?”
“Money won’t help me if I’m dead.”
I didn’t respond to Rock after that. I needed him calm and silent, which was becoming less and less likely the more time passed, and talking to him only achieved the opposite.
The tweeker led us into a wide-open room filled with candles and with a skylight that let the moonlight in. With every step there were multiple crunches from wax breaking beneath our feet, and at the far end of the room a man in metal knelt in prayer before a makeshift altar. There was a small body hidden in the shadowy corner of the room. It wriggled, and muffled sounds could be heard when we got closer to it.
“Sir,” the tweeker squeaked. “Our lord is here to see you.”
The man in front of the altar didn’t move. “Our lord?” He rose after that. “Our lord? Who dares insult the memory of our late lord? Our lord gave his life to save this city and—” He turned, seeing me for the first time. He dropped to one knee, the anger disappearing.
“My lord! You have returned! I knew our enemies spread lies about you, but I never imagined they spread lies about your death, too. I thought… I thought I saw you die on the steps. How did you survive, my lord? Was it the Ryders? The Solarins or the Dawnstars? Did they remember the Old Words? Oh, my lord, I’m so happy you have returned once more.”
The knight was groveling in front of me, holding back his tears and on to my leg at the same time. He had been plagued by war and age, leaving their mark in wrinkles on his face and the grey in his beard and hair. He was missing the lower half of his red plate mail armor, wearing a pair of leather trousers instead. What armor he wore was polished so it shone, even in the dim light. The knight kept sobbing at my feet, repeating nonsense to himself over and over.
I had no recollection of the man at all.
Before my father died, the last knight we had was D’Arcy Wolfhard, a fat, jolly man who lived in Kingman Keep with his young son and daughter. But he had died protecting me and my siblings from rioters. His children were probably long gone from Hollow, escaping someplace where the name Kingman meant nothing. Whoever this knight was, he hadn’t been one of my father’s. He was an impostor, just like me.
“Rise, my knight,” I commanded. He did as he was told, standing straighter than I’d have believed he could. The palm of his hand was on the pommel of his sword, more out of habit than a show of strength. “One of my allies swapped with me at the last moment. He took the ax instead. Tell me, what you have been doing since we last spoke?”
“My lord,” he began, “I’ve been continuing the work you gave me before your death. I have brought your youngest son here, where he’s safe from our enemies. We have been waiting for an opportunity to move him out of Hollow. I was considering the Warring States, but I will do as you command. I confess, my lord… the crown persecuted us at every turn and it’s forced me to employ,” and he lowered his voice, “not quite honorable men. Tweekers, they are called. Loyal to little except their high. But so long as I keep them supplied, they will follow us to the end of the world.”
I glanced at the boy in the corner again. It must’ve been Arjay. He was tiny, and few other boys were close to him in size.
Rock was at my side the entire time, eyes always glancing at the tweekers behind us, only their red eyes visible.
“I will never be able to thank you for the loyalty you have shown my family,” I said as I clapped my hand on the knight’s shoulder. “But I’ll be taking my son home. I have a place for him until it’s safe to be in the public again. The king will not get his revenge by killing my children.”
The knight showed me his yellow smile. “Of course, my lord. I understand completely. It has been my honor to watch over him for you.”
I motioned for Rock to free Arjay from his bonds. He did so silently, and as he did, the knight stood nearby, proud of himself. “I have waited for the day when you or one of your blood would return and we could reclaim what was lost when Davey Hollow was murdered by our enemies, my lord. The Kingman family will rise again. I am certain of it.”
I nodded. “It will, my knight. The Kingman family will not be forgotten. I’ll make sure my ancestors acknowledge me.”
Arjay was almost completely unbound, only the rope around his feet remaining.
“My lord,” the knight said softly, his hand tightening around the pommel. “What is my name?”
I paused. “What’s wrong, my knight?”
He unsheathed his sword slightly. “What is my name?”
“Take a deep breath, my knight. There’s no need to unsheathe your sword. Let us—”
His brown—almost black—eyes narrowed. “What is my name… my lord?”
I pulled out the gun from my waistband, but I was too slow, and he knocked it away with his sword. The gun skittered across the ground toward the boys, and with no other weapon I went low and tackled the knight to the ground. Much like the gun, his sword skittered across the floor to the other side of the room. I punched him twice in the face before his metal gauntlet found my jaw and sent me spinning off him, the edge of my vision blurry. He kicked me in the chest, sharp pain overwhelming me as I tried to take a breath, and then rolled me onto my back and began to choke me. One of my hands scrabbled at his while the other tried to claw at his face, just slightly out of reach.
“I knew you were a pretender!” he screamed, face red. “How dare you impersonate my lord? How dare you mock me, Sir Tristin Harbour, his Last Knight? Do you know my name now, pretender?” His grip around my neck tightened, my breath shorter and shallower than before. I couldn’t even gasp. “Die in the name of the Kingman family! Die for my lord and his children! Die! Die! Die!”
I didn’t want to die like this, choked out on the floor by a madman who thought he worked for my father. I kept reaching for
some skin to grab onto to get him to stop, but… nothing I could reach… I had to do some—
And that was when the gun went off.
Blood splattered across my face.
The knight’s eyes went wide and he released my neck, grabbing his own instead. Blood was seeping through his fingers, drops landing on my face. I gasped for air, half wheeze and half shriek. With one hand around my own throbbing neck, I pushed the knight off me and he complied easily, falling onto his back. Blood was beginning to pool in, on, and around his armor, the puddle around him growing wider and wider with each second. One hand to his neck, the knight reached up toward the shattered moon with the other, as if trying to seize something that wasn’t there. He was wheezing, trying to get the words out.
“My… lord… I’m sorry… I have… I have failed you and your children. I couldn’t… I couldn’t protect them. Forgive… forgive…”
His hand fell less dramatically than it should have, almost silently to the floor. I expected more noise when it hit the ground, a grand declaration of his death. But it didn’t change anything. The Last Knight was dead from a gunshot wound to the neck.
As I started to get my breath back, I realized we were in a house full of tweekers and that one of us had just killed their leader. I looked toward the shooter and saw Arjay on the ground, the pistol still pointed at where the Last Knight had been.
His small hand wouldn’t stop shaking. He was barely a decade old and now a murderer—for me. Had I saved him at all? How could I possibly tell Sirash?
“I…,” he started. “I… I was aiming for his knee. I thought… I thought…”
I didn’t let him finish, moving toward where he was and taking the gun from him. Once it was back in my hand, I wrapped my arm around Arjay. “Rock, we need to get out of here.”
We traveled out of the keep silently and quickly. Red eyes stared at us from all angles and corners in the darkness. I waited for them to strike, but they never did. Perhaps they didn’t realize what had happened yet—or maybe those who had were already searching the Tweeker Keep for the supply of Blackberries. Or maybe they were making sure the Last Knight didn’t go to waste. From what I had heard, they weren’t picky about their food. I would’ve felt worse if I had known the man, but I didn’t. We were both con artists, and those in our profession rarely got happy endings. Tragedies were the standard.
