by C. J. Archer
"You mean will we fight?" Rufus said. "You're one of us, Bal, even if you don't wield a sword."
"Don't you have to do as the high priest commands?" Theodore asked.
"Our charter states that we can choose our battles as we see fit," Rhys said. "But if we go against him, it will cause a rift between Merdu's Guards and the other orders. We don't want that."
"Luckily, the high priest agrees that Buxton is the right candidate," Andreas said, raising his cup to his lips. "If we're called on to fight for his cause, we will."
Vizah gave a deep, contented sigh. "It's been an age since we've fought a battle against a properly trained enemy."
"Vizah," Elliot hissed. "You sound bloodthirsty."
Vizah rested a hand on his thigh and lowered his gaze to the small, wiry man with crooked teeth and prematurely thinning hair. "I'm tired of minor skirmishes. I want to put my training to good use."
Elliot pushed his spectacles up his nose. "War isn't a good use of anything. It's destructive, both socially and economically. There are no real winners in a war, particularly a succession war."
"Except the winner." Vizah looked at Elliot as if he were stupid. "In this war, the winner will be the Duke of Buxton because he'll have Merdu's Guards on his side."
Elliot rolled his eyes.
The archivist had an ally in his master, however. "That's the sort of talk that will get you killed," Rhys told Vizah. "Arrogance makes you lazy. Lazy soldiers die." After a weighty silence, he said to Dane, "We'll stay out of the battle between the dukes for as long as possible. Neither is a threat to the faith, but if it goes on too long, and there are too many casualties, we'll step in to end it. Elliot's right, no one wins in a succession war."
Elliot shot a triumphant look at Vizah.
Rhys was just as arrogant if he assumed his order could end the war. After all, they hadn't been successful in Freedland's civil war. Balthazar was right; the order ignored that failure at their peril. Without knowing their own history, they were doomed to repeat their mistakes.
After the priests and Balthazar left, Meg retired too. One by one, the others followed. Max had to assist Quentin. The strong liquor had sent him to sleep, and he was too drowsy to walk steadily. Theodore left with them, leaving Erik behind. Dane had to glare at him and clear his throat before Erik got the message and departed.
I held my breath and waited for Dane to say something. Or perhaps say nothing and just kiss me.
He got up and filled two cups with water from the jug and handed one to me. "You didn't finish the…whatever that stuff is."
"If I had, I would have been snoring by now."
"You don't snore."
"You don't know that."
He set the cup down in front of me, avoiding my gaze, and sat on the chair beside me.
"You seem dejected," I said.
"I hoped to have some answers after today, even if it was to learn that several people had gone missing."
"Tilting is a big city. When the rest of the servants arrive, you can spread out and cover more ground." I rested my hand on his arm. "Give it time."
He covered my hand with his and rubbed his thumb along mine. "I'm not a patient man."
"I disagree. You didn't rush to interrogate Leon about magic when others pressured you to. Nor did you leave the palace and go in search of your past until the time was right."
"It wasn't timing that kept me in Mull." His dark murmur washed over me like a vibration, warming my skin, putting a blush in my cheeks.
I wanted to cup his face, his jaw, make him look at me so he could see that I knew what he really meant. But I didn't know how the intimate gesture would be received, so I did nothing.
He sat back in the chair and crossed his arms with a huff of breath. "We need to talk about something less…just something else. Anything. How is Balthazar?"
I also sat back. I hated avoiding intimate discussions, hated the distance he wanted to put between us. Yet forcing a discussion or throwing myself at him could push him away altogether. It would also make me look desperate. I might feel desperate, but I refused to show it.
"I'm not sure," I said. "Unsettled, I think."
"He's been that way ever since discovering he's a priest. I don't think he likes the idea of belonging to the priesthood."
"He would have preferred to be a scholar, or the book keeper for a merchant."
"You once thought he might be a smuggler." He smiled. "Your guess was a little off."
"So was yours. Spy, wasn't it?"
His smiled widened. "He might still be a spy. The position in Merdu's Guards could be his cover."
"You don't like to be proved wrong, do you?"
"I haven't been proved wrong."
I groaned and he laughed softly.
"Come on," he said, rising. "I'll walk you upstairs. You've got another long day tomorrow, keeping Kitty entertained."
"No thank you. I'm coming with you."
He arched his brows. "Is that so?"
"It is. Erik can stay with her. He's far better at entertaining Kitty than me or Meg."
"I want to ask what he did to entertain her today, but I'm afraid of the answer."
We spent all day at the market, stopping at every street seller's cart, every stall and shop. We spoke to farmers, grocers, and craftsmen, to maids and their mistresses, errand boys and grooms, but no one knew of any missing people and none greeted Dane or the others as long lost acquaintances.
The closest we came to success was when the cobbler suggested we ask around the slums because people went missing in there all the time, so he'd heard. We decided to visit the biggest slum area the following day. I didn't have much hope of finding the answer to Dane's past there, however. He'd never been a slum dweller, I was certain of it.
We returned to the inn at the end of the day and found Meg lying on her back on the bed, staring up at the canopy. Erik and Kitty were arguing over a card game at the table.
"You cheated," Kitty cried.
"Aye," Erik said. "That is how you win this game. By cheating. It is allowed."
She sniffed. "It shouldn't be."
"It is a game without rules. That is why it is fun."
"Rules are necessary."
He gathered up the cards. "No."
"What do you mean, no? Of course they're necessary. We can't all live like you, Erik, free to roam the peninsula, to have dalliances with whomever we please. If most of us didn't follow the rules, there'd be anarchy."
"There'd be freedom," he shot back. "I will show you how to live without rules when we leave Tilting. It is too hard for you here. You are known. Here, you cannot be free." He looked to Dane. "When can we leave?"
"In a few days," he said. "Unless we find something of interest."
"It's looking more and more doubtful," Max said.
Meg sat up. "We need to get out of this room before we all go mad."
"I am not going mad," Erik said with a smile. "You should go out with Josie in the day, Meg. Ask questions. Or shop. You were always in the market in Mull."
"I'd rather stay inside," she muttered, dipping her head.
"But you just say you want to get out."
She lifted a shoulder in a shrug.
"Tell me, Meg. Why do you not want to leave the inn?"
"Leave her alone," Max growled.
Erik sat next to Meg on the bed. "It is the mark on your face, yes?"
Meg shook her head, but no one was convinced.
Erik touched her chin, forcing her to look at him and expose the birthmark to everyone in the room. "Do not be ashamed of it."
She jerked her head away. "That's easy for you to say. You're handsome."
"And you are pretty. But we both have marks on our faces that get us noticed." He tapped his forehead tattoos. "You do not like people to stare at your mark, and I do not like them to point at mine. But they do and they always will."
She blinked at him. "I suppose. I never thought of you being in the same predicamen
t as me."
"You hid away in here today too, Erik," Quentin point out.
"I tell you I stay in here because of the staring. It is really because of Kitty." He winked at Meg.
She smiled, and Kitty blushed.
"Tomorrow we will show Tilting we are not ashamed of our marks," he said to Meg. "They are part of us, they make our faces unique." He nudged her with his elbow. "No one will forget us." He looked to Dane, Max and the others. "I should have come with you today. My face is not only the most handsome, it is the most recognized."
"Recognizable," Theodore corrected. He clapped Erik on the shoulder. "I think you're right. If any face is remembered a year later, it will be yours."
"Mostly because I am so handsome. A little because of the tattoos."
Meg laughed. "Very well. I'll come too." She threw her arms around Erik. "Thank you."
I glanced at Max, expecting to see jealousy, but he simply looked satisfied.
Kitty sniffed and dabbed the corner of her eyes. "All of you go out tomorrow. I can amuse myself here."
"Are you sure?" Meg asked.
"Quite sure. I insist that you go with the others. I'd come myself, but someone might recognize me."
"In the slum?" Quentin asked.
"I'm very well known."
The party of servants we'd left behind a few days ago arrived at dusk, tired and grateful to have their accommodation organized. Not everyone could fit into the inn where we stayed, but Rhys had rented rooms at other inns nearby when he'd returned. Among those accommodated at our inn was Brant.
He sat with us at dinner, which surprised me. It surprised everyone at our table, going by the curious way they eyed him. "Someone's been watching me," he said without as much as a "Good evening."
"Who?" Theodore asked.
"If I knew that, I wouldn't be sitting here."
"What makes you think you were being watched?" Dane asked.
Brant picked up a fatty slice of pork. "Just a feeling."
Quentin snorted. "You aint' got feelings."
"I got instincts. Good ones." Brant shoved the pork into his mouth and chewed loudly. A piece spilled from the corner of his lips onto his chest. He flicked it off onto the table.
"Why didn't you confront them?" Max asked.
"He was too quick."
"Let me know if it continues here in Tilting," Dane said, accepting a note from the maid.
"I reckon its Barborough," Brant said. "He wants my wishes."
"They ain't yours," Quentin said. "They're the king's. You just stole them from him when you killed him."
"Shut your hole," Brant hissed, watching the maid leave. "She could've heard you. Ain't no one but us knows what I did, and that's the way it's going to be. Got that, you sniveling little shit?"
"I'll make inquiries about Barborough," Dane said, folding up the paper again. "If he's newly arrived in the city, it may well have been him." He held up the note between his fingers. "Gladstow has made arrangements for the duchess's belongings to be collected the day after tomorrow. The royal horses will also be collected and returned to the palace."
"Anyone here recognize you?" Brant asked.
"Not yet. Tomorrow we're trying the slums."
Erik pointed his knife at Brant. "You should come. You are probably from the slum."
"And you should go back to where you came from, Marginer. You don't belong in Glancia."
"We don't know that," I said. "Perhaps he's half Glancian. Perhaps you're the one with no Glancian blood."
With a grunt, Brant snatched up his plate and joined another table.
The large group of servants split up the following morning. Some went to the market and docks to try their luck there, while many came to the largest slum with us. We divided ourselves into smaller groups of three or four and spanned outward, promising to meet back at the inn later.
The slum reminded me of The Row with its derelict tenements, dark courtyards and narrow alleys. The quality of accommodation decreased dramatically the further in we went. The lean-tos and crates offered little shelter from the elements but some folk didn't even have that. It was what it would be like in Mull now, with many slum dwellers forced onto the streets after their homes were destroyed.
"Is this place called Merdu's Pit because it's like an armpit?" Quentin asked as we passed a drunkard lounging against a wall, scratching his groin with one hand and his head with the other. "Dirty, smelly and full of fleas?"
"I think the god would find that offensive," I said. "Also, I'm quite sure it's named Merdu's Pit because it resembles the hole the god throws the souls of evil folk into after death. You're right about the dirty and smelly part. Merdu's Pit—the hole, not the slum—is supposed to be a horrible place."
"I'll try to remain on the god's good side then."
A prostitute offered herself to Dane before turning her attention to Quentin when he refused. Quentin blushed and pulled free of her clutches, only to find himself careening into the arms of another.
She spun him around, laughing, and pushed him back to her friend, but not before pinching his bottom. "What a handsome boy you are," said the first. "Want me to show you something you ain't never seen before, love?"
"No, thank you," Quentin muttered.
She laughed, revealing rotting teeth, and went to grab his crotch. Dane pulled Quentin out of the way. "How long have you lived here?" he asked the women.
"A while," said one. "Why?"
"Do you recognize us?"
"Nope."
"You answered very quickly."
"I'd remember you, love." The prostitute draped an arm over Dane's shoulder and squashed her breasts against his chest. "You sure you don't want to come inside with me? It'll be worth it."
“Inside” was a room in a house made of wooden boards as rotten as the woman's teeth. I counted seven other prostitutes leaning out of windows across the two levels, watching us with a mixture of boredom and mild curiosity.
"Do you know of anyone who went missing from here several months ago?" Dane asked. "It could be a year or more."
One of the prostitutes shrugged. "Girls go missing all the time. Some get themselves a man and leave, others just never come back after walking out at night. Those that ain't got shelter ain't safe." She jerked her thumb at the brothel behind her. "We're lucky. We don't have to go into the streets to get trade."
"We run a clean house," said the second prostitute.
An older woman with streaks of gray through her hair leaned further out of the whorehouse window and whistled. She beckoned us with the crook of her finger. "I know someone who went missing about then," she said. "Two people, in fact."
"And they never returned?" Dane asked.
"Nope."
"Men? Women? How old? What did they look like?"
"Slow down, handsome." She rubbed her fingers together. "You want answers, you got to give Mama some bread."
"We haven't got bread," Quentin said.
Dane pulled out an ell but didn't place it on her outstretched palm. "If the information's good."
She folded her arms beneath her large bosom, pushing them up so that the tops of her nipples were visible above her bodice. Quentin fixed his gaze on her face without blinking.
"Two men, early twenties," she said. "About her height, they were," she said, pointing at me. "Light brown hair, good teeth, lean." It described half the male servants.
"If I bring some people back with me, do you think you could pick these men out?" Dane asked. The odds of the two men missing being among the ones who'd left the palace with us were slim, but we had to try.
"Aye," she said with a shrug. "But there's one more thing. They were brothers and looked alike. Not twins, mind, just real similar."
Dane and Quentin exchanged a glance. "Paddy and Percy," Quentin said on a breath.
"Aye, that's them."
"You knew their names?" Quentin asked the woman. "Why didn't you say?"
"You never asked for their names, just
what they looked like." She pointed at a lane opposite. "They lived through there with their ma. She used to run her own whorehouse, but after they left…she didn't want to work no more. She ain't in a good way these days."
Dane handed her the ell. "I know where her boys are. I'll write to them and tell them to come—"
"Merdu, no! Don't do that. Tell them to stay away."
"But this is their home," Quentin said. "Won't it make their mother happy to know they're safe?"
"Aye, and you can tell her that yourself. But don't let them come back here. They'll be arrested if the constables get wind of their return. They were wanted by the law for theft, see." She waved a hand in dismissal. "Maybe they stole something, maybe they didn't. Those boys were always up to no good, but so are a lot of folk around here. The sheriff thought they were guilty, and that's all that matters. The sheriff sent his constables here looking for them one day. Paddy and Percy got away that time, and the next and the next. Then one night, they went out and never came back."
"The constables finally got them?" I asked.
She spat on the ground near my feet. "Merdu, no. They left the city."
"Where did they go?"
"That's what I been telling you! Ain't no one knows. That's why they're missing. That's why their ma's dying from wondering what happened to her boys. They told her they would find a new home and send for her. They never did."
"If you were on the run from the constables," Dane said, "where would you go?"
She shrugged. "Out of Tilting."
"Out of Glancia," said one of the women who'd accosted us on the street. "Vytill's just over the river and Glancian constables can't touch you there."
The woman told us where to find Paddy and Percy's mother and we headed into the narrow lane. This part of the slum was darker and smelled of urine. Drunkards slept in gutters and women lounged in doorways, watching us pass with a mixture of hunger and suspicion. Even the children watched us warily. None played, they merely sat on stoops like soulless puppets.
Quentin pinched his nose. "Paddy and Percy won't like finding out they were from this place."
