by Ben Galley
‘I told you to keep searching,’ breathed Horix, before the tor fell limp.
With a snarl, the widow stepped away, leaving her filigree and satin umbrella upright in the man’s chest, wobbling slightly. Horix looked around at the onlookers, her wild eyes and a blood-flecked face challenging them to speak. None did. Not the market officials, not the soultraders, not the scattered buyers. Not even the dead tor’s house-guards, who had abruptly found themselves rather unemployed. The only sound was the squelching of feet as normality resumed. Nobody looked down at the bleeding corpse in the mud.
Waving to her house-guards, Horix strode purposefully towards the nearest avenue. Her guards clustered around her, leaving some of the more shameless house-guards to fight over their unbound master.
Horix popped each of her bloody knuckles in slow succession. Kalid waited patiently while she wiped them dry with a silk kerchief.
‘I have one more job for you, Colonel, before you can rest,’ she said, after some time.
There was a metallic thud as his heels came together. ‘Whatever you command, Mistress.’
She said nothing more until their journey took them past a rookery. It consisted of a spindly tower, an angular effigy of a tree made from the detritus of the street: broken crates, discarded scaffolding poles, and twine. Bundles and bundles of twine. A wizened, bespectacled man stood at its base behind a battered table, strings tied to his wrist. The strings led up the tree to the legs of a dozen rooks. A large tarpaulin had been spread over the makeshift branches.
‘Sending a scroll, Tal?’ asked the man.
‘Indeed. Fetch me papyrus and reed.’
He did so, and while Horix scratched out a message on the wobbly, pockmarked table, he pulled down a rook from the tree with much flapping and squawking, rolling the string around his wrist like a winch.
Horix pressed the papyrus into Kalid’s hand. ‘Dispatch this scroll for me, Colonel. Then I want you to station yourself and your soldiers near Temsa’s new tower. Magistrate Ghoor’s place. Keep watch there, and wait,’ she ordered, speaking quietly over the raucous rook. The old man seemed too preoccupied to be eavesdropping.
Kalid eyed the glyphs. ‘This is a bold play, Mistress, if you don’t mind me saying.’
Horix placed her hands on her hips. ‘And why not, Kalid? After the debacle at Finel’s, it is a fine time to meddle in Tor Temsa’s business. He has disposed of my spook, after all. If I am correct, he’s already taken on a magistrate. Now a serek. He is overreaching. Most likely hurting from such a messy soulsteal. All the while, he draws more attention to himself,’ she said. ‘As I still have time, I have decided to take new steps, and skewer two birds with one bolt.’ Much to the squawking of the birds above, Horix jabbed a hand at the Cloudpiercer, just a dark column to the west. ‘I will do my civic duty, Colonel, and relay my concerns about a certain Tor Temsa to our good empress-in-waiting. As such, we will pry her out of that grand tower, bring her down into the streets. The gutters. Why not remove her now, and save ourselves the inconvenience later?’
Kalid’s jaw bunched. His voice was low. ‘I hope you don’t mind me being honest, Mistress. I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I wasn’t. That sounds like a risky step. Why don’t you let me gather my best soldiers and go solve this matter with Temsa once and for all instead of playing such games with the royalty?’
‘I thought you would be pleased at the chance to wet your sword, Colonel, as you have been pining to for months. And you should know better when it comes to tactics! Divide and conquer, isn’t that correct? Your worry has got the better of you, Kalid. Your only duty is to get me my locksmith back. That is all.’ Her questioning look got a bow out of him, and he folded the papyrus in half. ‘Let Temsa make the bloodbaths for now, and let me play my games. Besides, you think you can take on that Scatter woman, or Temsa’s huge shade, and win? Let Sisine and Etane and the Royal Guard take care of them. You and your men are worth plenty of silver. Silver I do not want to waste.’ There was a pause as she once again levelled a finger and prodded his breastplate. ‘You especially, Colonel. You have served me well. Now is not the time to break that habit.’
Kalid’s throat bobbed as he swallowed his pride. ‘Yes, Mistress. We will be ready and waiting.’
‘You had better,’ she croaked. Before he turned away, she caught him with a crooked finger. ‘And Kalid?’
‘Yes, Mistress?’
‘Make sure the empress-in-waiting stays breathing, if you can. I would like a word with her.’
Chapter 5
A Day For Betrayal
Watch he who is without shades throw the first stone.
Old Arctian Proverb
The late morning sunlight fell in streaks across Sisine’s face, tanned red by the painted glass. It must have been a fitting hue. The storm may have passed, but its fury lived on in the empress-in-waiting.
‘How dare he! Who in Araxes does that half-life think he is? Offering me a proposal, like some common trader!’ Sisine stabbed a yellow plum with her dagger, driving the point to the marble of the bowl beneath. She stared again at the gold-rimmed papyrus note that lay on the table beside it. Etane had delivered it barely an hour ago; already she had read its glyphs fifty times, and still the message refused to change. Boon had called a meeting of the Cloud Court without her approval. The message was a polite invite. The pure cheek of it.
‘Maybe he wants to discuss something,’ offered Etane, still unmoving from his spot by the door to her bedchamber. Irritatingly, his eyes were fixed on a point somewhere above her head. ‘Like a truce.’
Boon had been a constant thorn in Sisine’s side since Magistrate Ghoor had been killed. Not only had the Cult put shades on the streets of the outer districts despite her – or the emperor’s – decrees, but the serek challenged every word that came from her mouth. Boon was not a shade. He was a huge, pompous mosquito, constantly buzzing around her.
Vexed, Sisine flung the plum at Etane’s face. Ochre juice spattered his robes though the fruit flew straight through him. It burst apart on the far wall, redecorating a mosaic.
‘A truce? Boon would not have spent so long berating me only to fold like bed linens! No, more likely he and his allies in the Court are planning to overthrow me. To get to Father. Did you think of that?’ Another plum lost its life, skewered by her silver blade. ‘It has something to do with the fucking Cult. I know it. My spies see more and more of them all the time. Cult priests preaching on street corners, and some swear they have seen Cult soldiers. Rebene should be keeping them under control, not allowing them to spread like the crimson fungus they are!’
‘With all due respect, Your Wonderfulness, I think Rebene’s got enough on his plate without chasing after the Cult. I reckon he’s one more murder away from slicing his own throat open. You wanted chaos. You seem to have it.’
She launched another plum at him. ‘Do not tell me what I want!’ Sisine shrieked, breathing hard. ‘If Rebene dares to take the coward’s way out, I’ll have him bound and put to work in a quarry. Let’s see how the chamberlain likes that. Time!’
Etane moved to an hourglass, marking the notches where the sand reached. ‘Almost there, Princess.’
Sisine screeched, squashing another of the fruits in her bare hand. Its juice stained the papyrus an amber yellow. ‘How dare he call the court to gather! This is my Cloudpiercer. My city! Nobody but my father holds more coins than I do! My father saw to it for this very purpose.’
‘I—’
‘The very cheek of it! Does he think me some lowly tal to be bartered with? It is my Cloud Court. I call the gatherings. I give the decrees. He does not dictate to me!’ Sisine hissed, her voice cold with venom. One last plum succumbed to her wrath before she rose from her chair and clicked her fingers. ‘Robe!’
Etane disappeared into another chamber and came back with a purple satin robe, trimmed with sable fur and gold tassels. Sisine wiped the plum juice from the dagger and thrust it into her belt, making sure it was fr
ont and centre for all to see.
‘Sword!’ she ordered. ‘You may need it.’
Etane vanished again, eagerly rubbing his hands. This time he returned wearing a fine suit of mail. His massive sword, Pereceph, rested against his shoulder. Faint wisps of grey smoke emanated from its steel edge.
‘Door!’
Fifty Royal Guards waited in the polished hallway, all lined up like statues against the grand walls. As Etane and the empress-in-waiting passed, they peeled away one by one and formed a double column that marched in perfect unison.
Sisine held her tongue, building up all manner of menacing words behind it, ready to unleash them on Boon and the rest of the recalcitrant sereks.
Temsa had been hard at work. So far – quite infuriatingly – he had ignored her list, but he was still inducing the same amount of panic she had hoped for. However, instead of gathering to support her, the sereks had begun looking to other places for solutions. Boon’s suggestion of assistance from the Cult, for instance. Or calls for her father’s army to be called back from the Scatter Isles. After all Sisine had done to distance the sereks from the nonsense of her father’s babbling decrees, they still had no trust in her. No respect.
It made her blood boil daily. Sleep evaded her. She had almost worn a rut in her chambers from incessant pacing. Makeup and swirling dye tattoos covered it, but she had worn her fingertips to callouses by wringing her hands. Where once confidence had clad her will in iron, doubt now rusted it.
As the shade-drawn lift came to a halt, she realised she had spent the short journey cursing under her breath.
‘Did you say something, Majesty?’ Etane whispered, leaning in.
Sisine waved him aside irritably. ‘Nothing, shade.’
When the great gold doors of the Cloud Court were pulled open and she emerged under the wide arch, she was deeply surprised to see the gilded benches of the court empty. The sky was streaked with clouds, and the sunlight fell in ever-moving patches. They moved lazily across the marble, like adventurous smears of mould. Silence hung in the room. Every footstep or clink of armour echoed brazenly. She stared at the empty throne, half-caught in a sunbeam, one side turquoise, one side a deep ocean blue.
‘Boon!’ Sisine screeched. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
A young, finely-dressed shade waited on the far side of the hall, peeking out from a door that led to feasting chambers. When he saw Sisine, he quickly disappeared behind the jamb. The sound of marching rang out as soldiers appeared in his place. They were shades, clad in silver armour polished to a mirror state. Their blue glow shone through at the joints and narrow face-guards. The shades held no spears but their hands were firmly clasped on their sword handles.
Sisine could have spat when she saw Boon, draped in gold and silver finery. A necklace of carnelian glyphs hung around his neck. His dark, once-charred face held a smile for her. He looked less like a serek and more like a gaudy merchant in a bazaar. She longed to don a copper glove and smack that smile clean off.
Her guards bristled as Boon’s entourage met them at the centre of the hall. Spears and broad shields formed two opposing walls. A good distance was kept between them, as was customary for such meetings between rival tors, tals or sereks. It was simply not the kind of meeting she had been expecting.
Sisine stepped forwards so she could look the blue bastard in the face, making sure she was the one to speak first. This was her Cloud Court.
‘You think too much of yourself, Serek Boon, to treat your empress-in-waiting so disrespectfully as to summon her to a gathering, and then leave her waiting. What, might I ask, have you done with my Cloud Court? Is this some guise to get an audience with me? One might assume foul intentions.’ She could feel her guards tensing around her.
Boon shook his head sadly, as if he was the bearer of bad news. ‘I mean no disrespect, Your Majesty, and my intentions are pure. I am but a messenger. The sereks would like me to inform you that they are unwilling to leave their towers for fear of their lives. The attack on Serek Finel – one of our own – has sealed their doors. As such, they will not be gathering for court. Not today, nor any time soon.’
Sisine flashed a murderous glance at Etane. ‘What attack?’
The serek had the gall to looked surprised. ‘Why, Majesty, I thought you were the beating heart of this city, aware of its every move! Is that not the case?’
‘Speak, half-life!’
She saw the flicker of hatred in the corner of Boon’s scabbed mouth. Such a term was reserved for the bound dead, not a free shade, and especially not a serek.
Boon paced along his wall of guards, speaking between the gaps in armour. ‘Serek Finel’s home was attacked last night in a brazen assault, the like of which this city has not seen for five centuries. The attack then spilled into the streets and raged for almost an hour before Finel’s guards and some intrepid independent keepers of the peace turned the tide. Unfortunately, the Chamber’s proctors and scrutinisers arrived too late. As did your soldiers – the shades you so graciously donated. They were too thinly spread over the districts to be of any help. I’m afraid Serek Finel has been murdered and his body stolen.’
‘Your point, Boon?’
‘The city is in disarray, Majesty. There is bedlam in the streets. To add to the situation, your mother has still not returned, and your father still refuses to come out of his Sanctuary. In their stead you seem unable to protect us, and we have grown tired of living in fear.’
Sisine bubbled with anger, but she tried to keep it contained. ‘We? Who is “we”?’
‘The sereks, and several influential nobles.’
‘And you, Serek Boon, have decided this for the entire city, have you? When you have no right of coin to make such decisions? I wonder how much silver you spent poisoning so many minds against me.’
Boon spread his hands wide. She saw the tortured whorls of vapour there, where his palms had melted before he died. ‘I have been nominated merely as a spokesperson. This is the sereks’ decision and therefore the city’s. As a result, we have decided to take matters into our own hands. Time is a river, Empress-in-Waiting. We must move with it to avoid drowning.’
‘This is treason!’ Sisine yelled, her restraint dissolved by the shade’s audacity. ‘Utterly against the Code!’ The word was like a command. Her guards snapped into an attack position, ready to spring forwards. Etane took his sword from his shoulder and spun it in his hand. His blue vapour began to wrap around its grip and crossguard.
Boon’s guards made no countermove. Instead, the serek raised hands, scarred palms flat and empty, as though Sisine had a triggerbow and copper bolts trained on him. Oh, how she wished she did.
‘This is nothing so dire as treason, Majesty.’ A smug look came over his face. ‘As you have been acting for the good of the emperor, we believe we can too.’
‘You have no right! You do not outrank my father, or me! Those who rule make the rules, as we always have.’
Boon winked. ‘Perhaps individually, we do not. Together, however, we just might. Did you ever think of that? Perhaps these are times for change.’
‘That is not how the Code works!’ Sisine wrapped a hand around her dagger.
‘Be that as it may, we have simply accepted an offer of assistance on your father’s behalf.’
‘What offer of assistance? What have you done?’
Boon knitted his fingers together. ‘Why, the offer from the Church of Sesh, of course.’
‘The Cult!’ Sisine corrected him. Again, she saw that flicker of anger.
‘You’ll find that the Church is not what it used to be, Majesty. They can patrol the streets alongside the Chamber and your soldier shades, help to bring peace to our chaotic streets. They have the ability, the willingness and the resources to help hunt down this wanton murderer.’
Sisine felt the cavernous chamber tilting on its side, felt her grip slipping. The doubt had grown into something with teeth and claws and was now sizing her up for a meal. ‘I
do not accept!’ she bellowed.
‘It is not for you to worry yourself with, Majesty. As I said, the offer has already been accepted on the emperor’s behalf,’ said the shade.
‘I will have you all stoned for treason! You will find scrutinisers at your doors by sundown!’ Sisine had half a mind to order Boon arrested that very moment.
‘I think not.’ The serek’s smile was sickly. ‘Rebene is busy enough. And with all the murders, imagine how it would look if the emperor and his daughter turned upon their own? The nobles might lose faith in you altogether. The districts will follow. The Code won’t matter, not a button. Neither will your tower, and you can add riots to your list of problems. Instead, let me make Your Majesty an offer.’
‘Speak quickly, Boon, or I’ll make sure you never speak again.’
He stepped forwards, soldiers wrapping tighter around him, so that he looked like a sapphire stuck in a silver hedgehog. ‘Don’t stand in the way of this. Accept this change. The murderer will be found, and the Cloud Court will reconvene. You can play the magnanimous victor and normality will resume. At least, what counts for normal in this city.’ Boon’s voice held a simpering tone. ‘Busy yourself with matters that are within your grasp, Majesty. Leave this murderer to the Court, the Church and the Chamber. There are trade issues to worry about. Your father’s wars in the Scatter Isles, perhaps. And let’s not forget the dire supplies of Nyxwater, which I imagine hasn’t entered your mind in days, Majesty. I hear of riots in the Outsprawls. Why not accept the Church’s help? You can carry on playing empress while your mother is away and your father is in hiding.’
