The Corvin Chance Chronicles Complete Box Set

by N. P. Martin

  Iliphar, Iolas’ assistant, met me at the front door, his pale face as expressionless as it was last time I met him. "Mr. Chance," he greeted me. "Iolas is waiting."

  "I’m sure he is," I said as I walked into the stately house.

  Unlike last time, Iliphar led me to the west wing of the house, and then through a door that led down a lot of stairs, which in turn led into a large cellar that was inadequately lit by a few bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling.

  Looks like Amelia wasn’t joking when she mentioned Iolas had a dungeon.

  Speaking of whom, I was surprised to see Amelia standing in the room not far from her uncle. Leaning against the bare stone wall, her expression was grave and serious as she nodded once at me. Iolas himself was standing near the center of the room, the sleeves on his white shirt rolled up, which I also noticed was speckled with blood. Not his own blood, but the blood of the person he was standing in front of. A man it seemed like from behind, dark-haired, stripped to the waist, sweat dripping off him onto the stone floor and mixing with the blood already pooled there.

  The atmosphere in the room was tense and oppressive, made worse by the fact that Iolas was staring at me in silence, a dark look on his face as if he planned to strap me to his torture chair next, which may well have been his plan for all I knew. Perhaps he was just guaranteeing that I would show up to my own death when he called earlier. Either way, there wasn’t much I could do now except to wait to see what happens.

  "What the hell is this?" I asked, looking first at Iolas and then at Amelia, who merely stared back at me as if the whole situation was self-explanatory.

  "I’m glad you came, Corvin," Iolas said. "I wasn’t sure if your thirst for justice would extend this far."

  "What do you mean?" I walked further into the room until I could see the face of the man sitting in the chair.

  "I think you know what I mean," Iolas said. "This piece of scum killed your mother."

  I stared hard at the man in the chair, thinking I might recognize him, which I didn’t. His face was swollen where Iolas had obviously been beating on him, and there were also strange wounds on his body, pieces of skin missing as if they had been ripped off and burn marks as well, as though Iolas had been pressing lit cigars into the man’s flesh. Frankly, I was a bit sickened by what I saw, especially when the man looked at me with his one good eye, the other being swollen shut, and started pleading with me. "Please…" he said. "I didn’t danything…"

  "Tell the truth!" Iolas demanded of his prisoner. "You killed this boy’s mother… in cold blood!"

  "No… I…" The man started shaking his head in denial, looking like he’d been strapped to the chair for a long time now. The chair itself was metal and bolted to the floor, with leather straps for the man’s wrists and ankles and all of it reminding me of some kind of electric chair without the skullcap. "It wasn’t me…"

  I’d had enough already, and I turned to Iolas. "You’d better have proof this man killed me ma, or I’m walking out of here right now."

  Iolas stared back at me like he couldn’t understand my reticence, or my apparent squeamishness for that matter. Torturing people obviously didn’t bother Iolas. It didn’t seem to bother Amelia either, who still stood silently looking on. "Proof?" Iolas reached into his trouser pocket and took out a silver bracelet which I immediately recognized.

  "Let me see that." I took the bracelet from him and turned it over to read the inscription on the back:

  To my darling Teresa, the light of my life.

  "That belonged to your mother, correct?" Iolas said.

  I nodded slowly as I stared at the bracelet. There was no doubt it was my mother’s. It even had the small mark at the end of the inscription, where the engraver had messed up. My mother used to joke about the mistake to my father, saying it summed up their marriage or something like that. The more I held the bracelet, the more I could sense my mother’s residual energy in the metal. You don’t keep something that close to your skin for so many years without transferring something of yourself into it. My mother was a part of this bracelet, and her energy, although barely felt, was enough to make my eyes sting with tears. "Where did this come from?"

  "This man was caught trying to pawn it to Haknet," Iolas said. "His name is Arthur Cartwright, and he’s a dirty junky from Finglas, isn’t that right? You killed this boy’s mother over a damn fix!"

  The man started shaking his head in protest. "No… it wasn’t me…"

  "Where did you get this?" I demanded, holding the bracelet in front of his face. "Tell me!"

  "I… I found it!" he said. "In an alley..."

  "Which alley? Where?"

  "Across the Ha’Penny Bridge… Asdill’s Row. It was just lying there…"

  "He’s lying," Iolas said. He stepped forward and placed his right forefinger on the man’s chest. Within seconds, there was a burning smell as Arthur Cartwright’s flesh began to melt like Iolas was pressing a cigarette lighter into him, and he began to scream.

  "Stop!" I shouted to Iolas.

  Iolas glared at me for a second while he continued to use his magic to burn the man. "Can’t you see he’s lying?"

  "How do you know he’s lying? He could be telling the truth."

  "He’s a junky, all they do is lie and steal… and murder!" Iolas thrust his hand out and clawed his fingers in the air, and I watched in horror as a portion of skin on the man’s chest began to stretch and then snap off in a burst of blood. I turned away as Arthur screamed and Iolas dropped the torn piece of flesh to the floor with a wet slapping sound.

  "Please!" Arthur screamed. "No more! I’m telling the truth… please… no more… no more…" Tears were streaming down his face, and he looked about as terrified as it was possible for someone to be.

  I looked at Amelia who merely sighed and turned her head away from me as if she knew this whole thing was wrong but was too afraid of her uncle to say anything.

  "This man didn’t kill my mother," I said to Iolas, who looked to be in his element here. For an elf who professed a dislike for violence, he sure seemed to be enjoying himself on some sick level.

  Iolas shook his head at me. "You are letting your emotions get in the way of the truth, Corvin."

  "Look at him! Does he look like a killer to you?"

  "Never underestimate a junky."

  "My mother was killed by magic. You gave me the damn autopsy report yourself."

  "This man is Touched, he is endowed with magic."

  I shook my head dismissively. "I can sense his magic and it’s nowhere near strong enough to inflict the kind of damage that was done to me ma."

  Iolas stared at me for a long time before speaking. "I must say, I’m disappointed in you, Corvin. I thought you would want justice for your mother. Clearly, you don’t have the stomach for it."

  "Don’t have the stomach for it?" I shook my head. "This man is a junky who found a damn bracelet in an alleyway, that’s all. You know as well as I do he didn’t kill anybody, least of all me ma. She was powerful enough to stop someone like this in their tracks if she had wanted to. There’s no way this junky got the drop on her with his weak magic. It’s bullshit, and I’m leaving."

  I had taken two steps before Iolas shouted, "Stop!"

  Against my will, I turned around to see that he had his hands on Arthur Cartwright’s head. "You may not want to believe the truth, even if it’s blatantly obvious, but I do." He suddenly twisted Arthur Cartwright’s head to the side, producing a sickening snapping sound as he broke the man’s neck as easily as breaking a twig. "Justice is now done."

  I froze to the spot for a moment as I stared dumbly at the dead man in the chair, his head tilted around past his shoulder at an impossible angle, his dead eyes open and staring right at me. The eyes of an innocent man, his own dumb luck having cost him his life. My stomach wanted desperately to eject whatever was in it but I forced the bile back down again, not wanting to give Iolas the satisfaction of seeing me being sick.

  "So much for
not killing anyone these days," I said.

  Iolas wiped his hands across his stained shirt. "I make exceptions when needed."

  Standing there, I was more convinced than ever that he was involved in my mother’s murder. This whole charade he had put on for my benefit had been pointless, leading only to the death of an innocent man. "I’ll bear that in mind."

  "Be sure you do, Corvin," he said as I left the room without looking back, practically running up the stairs and then out the door, almost bumping into Iliphar, who had been waiting in the hallway.

  "Is everything all right, Mr. Chance?" he said.

  "Get the fuck out of my way," I said as I shoved him aside and headed for the front door.

  When I got to the car, I leaned on the roof for a moment, taking deep breaths to try and calm myself, but my stomach was having none of it and I suddenly turned to the side just as a stream of vomit flew from my mouth. I remained bent over for a few moments, retching until there was nothing left.

  "Are you all right?"

  I straightened up to see Amelia standing just behind me. "Fuck off, Amelia," I said as I wiped my mouth with my sleeve.

  "I’m sorry you had to see that."

  "So am I! That man was innocent, and you both knew it!"

  Amelia shook her head. "There was nothing I could do…"

  "Here’s something you can do," I said as I opened the car door. "Stay away from me, all of you."

  I got into the car and slammed the door closed. As I started the engine, I glanced briefly at Amelia through the window. I could see the pain and regret in her eyes, but I didn’t care. She had made her choice.

  They all had.

  And they would all pay for it.

  I would see to that.

  Chapter 19

  I didn’t go back to the flat after I left Iolas’. Instead, I parked the car in the garage and went straight to one of my local pubs, a little place called The Druid Stone, an establishment run by a long-standing family friend who went by the name of Óisín O'Faelin. Óisín came from a long line of druids, and was one of the few remaining druids left in Ireland who could trace their roots right back to the original druids of ancient times, before Christianity arrived here sometime in the 5th Century. He had been a close friend of my mother, and often came by the bookshop to discuss Irish history and lore with her. I used to sit in on these discussions, and thanks to Óisín, I got my eyes open to the impact of Druidism around the world, its close ties with ancient Egyptian Druidism, and the fact that much of the Christian religion has its basis in the ancient Druidic ways, even basing most of their symbolism and iconography on these so-called Pagan religions.

  "How are you, Corvin?" Óisín greeted me when I went into the pub. Stood behind the small bar, he looked more like a university lecturer than a druid, with his olive green corduroy jacket and dark blue shirt open at the neck, revealing the tip of a sun ray, part of the huge sun tattoo he had on his chest, one of many Druidic symbols he had inked all over his body. At Druidic ceremonies, some of which I attended over the years, Óisín looked very different in his robes as he held his centuries old staff while reciting the words to the ceremony in Ancient Irish.

  "I’m not too bad," I said as I took a stool at the bar, completely understating my current mood. Only two old guys sat at the back of the tiny pub, reading the papers as they sipped on their pints. Nether paid me any attention. "In need of a drink."

  Óisín smiled, still youthful looking for a man in his fifties, with hardly a gray in sight in his thick, dark hair, his green eyes warm but still sharp. "Tough morning?"

  I nodded as Óisín went about pulling a pint of Guinness. "You could say that."

  "Anything I can help you with?"

  "I wish there were. A pint and a whiskey chaser will have to do." I gave him an insouciant smile as I placed money on the bar, which he promptly slid back to me as he placed my drinks.

  "Your money is no good here, you know that."

  I nodded as I raised my pint at him. "You’re a gentleman as always, Óisín."

  "If you can’t look after your friends," he said. "Who can you look after?"

  "Yourself, as most people see it."

  "Sure, isn’t that what’s wrong with the world today? No one gives a shite anymore."

  I give a shite, I thought. I gave a shite about taking down that bastard Iolas. I just didn’t know how I was going to do it yet.

  "You look troubled, Corvin," Óisín said as he leaned on the bar. "You must be finding it difficult with your mother gone. I know I miss the hell out of her meself."

  "I miss her too, Óisín," I said, throwing back my whiskey chaser.

  "I still can’t believe what happened. Is no one trying to find who did it?"

  I shook my head bitterly. "The Council doesn’t want to know. Politics is more important it seems."

  "It must be frustrating for you."

  "It is, which is why I’ve taken matters into my own hands. No one else is going to get her the justice she deserves."

  Óisín nodded somewhat cautiously. "Revenge is a dish best served carefully."

  "I don’t care how it’s served, as long as it’s served."

  Óisín stared at me with sympathy in his eyes, but also understanding. Who better than a druid to understand persecution? If indeed I was being persecuted. It certainly felt like it earlier when I was standing in that dungeon with Iolas. Before that happened, I thought I was relatively safe from him, but now I wasn’t so sure. If I became a problem for him—if I wasn’t already in his mind—he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me as surely as he killed poor Arthur Cartwright. But I wasn’t going to let fear stop me. As an Irish Statesman once said, "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." I wasn’t about to be one of those men who did nothing. Soon enough Davey would find a lead on the killer, and once I had their identity… heaven help them.

  "You want my advice?" Óisín said. "You’re too emotional, and you don’t seem to be thinking with a clear head."

  He may have been right, but it was hard to think with a clear head when you just saw a man get tortured and then have his neck broken. "No offense, Óisín, but my emotions are all I have at the minute."

  Óisín nodded as if he understood. "I hear you’re going after Iolas Tasar. Do you think he killed your mother?"

  I thought about the cold look in Iolas’ eyes the moment he broke Arthur Cartwright’s neck. "I believe so."

  "Do you have any proof?"

  I shook my head. "I’m working on it, but I don’t need proof to know he was involved. I just know."

  Óisín sighed as he poured me another whiskey and placed it beside my half empty pint glass. "Let me tell you about de Tasars," he said. "They are one of the oldest elven families in Ireland, and back in the day they used to share power with the vampires. They also dabbled heavily in ancient death magic. Rumor has it that their constant use of dark magic poisoned their bloodline, with the result that all Tasars are of a much darker bent than they should be, given that the rest of their brethren are generally benevolent souls."

  I snorted. "You got that right."

  "I only tell you this for your own safety, Corvin. If you’re directing your pain at someone like Iolas Tasar, prepare to have that pain multiplied right back at you." His stare never wavered. Óisín always was a straight talker, for which I admired him. "You should stay clear until you have proof, then go to the Council with it. Let them sort him out."

  "That’s just it, they won’t. For whatever reason, the Council fear Iolas."

  "They fear the instability that would erupt here if they went against him."

  "Exactly. Politics. Same as it was when Prince Constantine killed me da."

  "Right enough. Sure, it’s never been any different in this small country of ours," Óisín said. "If this was Manhattan, things would be different. Iolas would be surrounded and outgunned, so to speak. Here, he’s safe on this island, and in a good position to defend himself if need b
e. The Council know that, which is why they give him so much leeway."

  "Whatever," I said after draining my pint glass. "I don’t need the Council’s help. I’ll have proof soon enough, then I’ll take Iolas down myself."

  Óisín looked pained for a second, as if he thought he wasn’t getting through to me. "Iolas will kill you, Corvin, if you go up against him. I can’t be any clearer on that now, and I only say it because I care about you."

  Sighing, I nodded at him. "I know you do, Óisín, but I don’t have a choice. No one else is going to stand up for me ma. Are you saying you wouldn’t do the same for your own ma?"

  He shook his head, knowing he couldn’t argue otherwise. After he’d set me another pint up he disappeared for a few moments. When he came back, he was holding something in his hand. "I want to give you dis," he said, placing a smallish dagger on the bar between us. "If you’re determined to go down the road of retribution, I think you might need this. It’s a very old Druidic dagger that’s been in my family for centuries. It’s also very powerful."

  Putting down my pint, I picked up the dagger, which was about twelve inches long, the blade itself being half that length. The grip appeared to be made from wood that had deep grooves in it, the bottom end splaying out almost like tree branches. The guard was steel and curled down at the ends, with curls of metal almost like tree roots at either side. The blade appeared to be silver, with one side ending in a forty-five-degree angle. The center of the blade had intricate engravings on it, again resembling roots. Holding it lightly in my hand, the dagger felt nicely balanced and comfortingly warm to the touch. "It’s beautiful," I said. "But I can’t accept this, Óisín."