by Paul Barrett
Marcus offered a bitter smile. “Seasons change, father doesn’t. Or if he does, it’s for the worst.”
“I know,” Elissia said. “I tried to talk to him.” She coughed to hide the crack in her voice.
Marcus winced. “Should have asked me first. I could have saved you some tears.”
“I wouldn’t waste tears on that prick.”
“Sure you wouldn’t,” Marcus said.
Elissia smiled. She may have been gone three years, but they were still twins, and Marcus knew her too well. “Do you think we can overthrow him? Do you have that much support?”
He nodded. “We do. Support for father is low. Things have gotten difficult. The Queen and the Merchant’s Guilds are at odds, and there’s tension building. Between the Royal Sentinels, the City Watch, and guards hired by the merchants, it’s hard to pilfer an apple, much less anything worthwhile. Pressure is on father to make it better, but he can’t do it.”
“And you think you can?”
“I do. With you at my side, I can do even better. That’s why I wish it could be now and we didn’t have to help your boyfriend.”
Elissia started to protest, but Marcus held up a hand. “Peace. I know it has to be done. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He paused a moment. “I don’t like you being in harm’s way.”
Elissia grinned. “He doesn’t either, so that’s something you have in common.”
Marcus offered a broad grin in return. “Why haven’t you let him pick your purse yet?”
“How do you know I haven’t?”
“He told me. Well, the things he wouldn’t say told me. You don’t still believe that whole love before lust blasphemy, do you?”
“I do. I don’t care what the priests of Amare say, sex without love is emptiness.”
“Sex without love is fun. And that’s what I say. Besides, it sounds like you love him, so why not lust him?” Marcus raised his eyebrows.
“I might, sometime, but not yet.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“I don’t know,” Elissia said, filled with uncertainty that surprised her. “There’s something about him that still...scares me.” She shifted uncomfortably on the bench.
Marcus shrugged. “Your choice, but I think you’re wasting too much energy on emotions. He’s handsome, or would be if he’d let his hair grow out.”
Glad to steer the conversation away from her confused feelings, Elissia ran a hand over her brother’s close-cropped black hair. “You’ve no room to talk. Besides, his shave was my doing.” Marcus gave her a puzzled look, and she added. “It’s a long story.”
“I’m not tired. And you aren’t either, or you wouldn’t be out here. So you might as well tell me what strange events brought The Banished One home.”
Elissia related her story, starting with the attack of the vampire, and going all the way through their discovery of Marcus, giving him the details she could remember. Marcus remained quiet through the tale, his changing expressions, from mild surprise to outright astonishment, doing the talking for him. By the time Elissia finished, three-quarters of an hour had passed, and her throat rasped with thirst. She poured herself a mug of ale.
“Quite the adventure, Sis.”
“There’s one part that’s not complete. Why were you about to swing?”
Marcus turned red with embarrassment. “I got careless. Have you ever heard of Valadon D’Arascant, the city Geleit?”
“No.”
“Not surprised. Since he has a penchant for boys, you would be of no interest to him. I found out about him from some of the harlot masters in the docks, so I walked around outside his home and pulled the old ‘poor orphan’ routine.”
“And he fell for it?” Elissia said.
“I guess so,” Marcus told her, scratching his head. “He must have a thing for fuzzy scalps, since that’s the only place he likes to see fuzz.”
“What about your whiskers and lower hair?”
“That’s what razors are for,” Marcus answered with a grin. He rubbed at his face. “Whiskers aren’t much of a problem yet, and I’m still short enough—everywhere, unfortunately—to pass for a youth. Pitch my voice higher, and the illusion was complete. He took me in and made me his favorite, but I kept him from touching me with teasing and promises.”
Elissia arched an eyebrow. “A boy letch takes you into his house, and you keep him from touching you?”
Marcus’s face turned grim. “Three others were there, young and frightened, sold by parents eager for his gold. All I had to do was let him watch me pleasure myself. They weren’t so lucky. Made me sick.”
“Why doesn’t he hire Amare initiates?” Elissia asked. “They would be trained and more than willing.”
“Says the training stifles their creativity. Personally, I think it stifles his creativity. There are some lines even the Amareans won’t cross.” A moue of disgust twisted Marcus’s face, but he pushed it away. “I stayed for two weeks. More than I wanted, but I was seeking something valuable the wretch wouldn’t miss for a while. I finally found it: his ring of office. He kept it in a drawer and only used it for finance minister papers. Not worth much itself, but a forger would pay five thousand aesta easy. So I took it and tossed it into my mouth with some bread at breakfast.
“That’s when I got careless, although stupidly charitable would be a kinder way to put it. I couldn’t stand the idea of those other boys being there anymore, so I decided the Society could do with three more recruits. But to get them out, I had to wait for the noon bath.”
“You took baths at noon?”
“If that’s what you call it,” Marcus grimaced. “The ancient pervert would make us undress and frolic in this large pool he had in his house, wrestling and grabbing at each other.”
“I would think you would enjoy that.”
“I would have if that withered bag of skin hadn’t been watching our every move with those dead gray eyes of his. And if the boys had been truly willing and not forced.” Marcus took a sip from his mug. “Made me want to vomit. The only blessing was that he drooled over us no more than half an hour. I don’t think his heart could take anymore. After that, he’d tell us to dress, and he’d hobble out.”
“As soon as he left, I told the boys I wanted them to run away with me that night. I told them about the Procurers and how they wouldn’t have to be any man’s catamite. They were frightened, but I convinced two of them. The other was so terrified he didn’t even want us talking about it. I figured two were better than none. We were about to get dressed when the Count storms back in with two of his armed thugs, screaming that his ring is missing. You can imagine my shock. I had no idea he would be going after it so soon. He yells and starts throwing things, says unless we tell him where it is, he’ll beat us. Well, the frightened kid squeaks, pointing at me and telling everything I said about the Procurers. The count’s thugs grabbed me while a servant went for the watch. You know the rest.”
Elissia stared at her brother, absorbing his story. “I’m proud of you,” she said at last. “That was a brave thing.”
“Damned foolish is what it was,” Marcus argued. “I almost swung for it, the boys are probably worse off, and the Procurers will have to keep low for Melteth knows how long. Plus it could hurt our cause if people think I’m always that incompetent.”
“It’s not incompetence; it’s compassion.”
“Name the last time any Procurer considered compassion a desirable trait.”
A noise interrupted her reply. She turned to the doorway as Callon ran in, sweating and wide-eyed.
“At least thirty Procurers are approaching, and Torin is with them.”
24
With the power of death, I serve your life. My skills and talents I give to you, to use to your need and purpose, in life, death, and beyond, if it is your will.
-The Vow of the Eligoi
“It looks just like you,” Corby said as he stared at the doppelganger from the kitchen doorway.
Does it? Erick thought as he studied the creature through sleepy eyes. He had barely started to dream when Corby awakened him with the news of the Procurers’ arrival.
Everything seemed in place, from the teeth wounds on his throat to the small brown birthmark on his right inner wrist. But was his face really that round? His chest and arms that lacking in muscle? Despite his disappointment in his physique, he took pride in the successful outcome of his first doppelganger, although seeing himself lying dead unnerved him more than he expected.
He approached the creature. A mélange of herbal smells, earthy and almost pleasing except for the rotted onion scent, filled the chamber. The cloths that had bound the body lay in soggy tatters on the floor, shredded by the creation process.
Recalling Corby’s eidetic memory, Erick said, “Can you step outside, please?” He had already said too much in front of Marcus and didn’t want Corby repeating any words he heard.
Corby’s face showed its usual curiosity, but for once he didn’t ask. He nodded and left.
Erick laid his hand on the doppelganger's forehead. “Noan micalz Elonsha, torzu. Noa cnila phamah, apila. Noa gigipah phamah, gehol.”
The creature stirred. Its eyes flickered open, and Erick found his own blue irises staring at him. This is too strange, he thought.
You need to hurry, Blink thought to him. They’re almost here.
Erick took a thin iron needle he had carried in with him. Positioning it between and just above his eyes, he poked himself. Blood ran down the bridge of his nose. He coated the top half of the needle in blood and poked the creature in the same spot.
He connected with the doppelganger, similar to when he linked with Blink, but different in a fundamental way. A void filled the other end, a lack of any conscious thought. It was Erick’s task to fill the creature with movement and emotion. Smile, he thought, and the creature smiled. Way too strange.
Erick took off his clothes, commanded the creature to dress in them, and then slipped on the clothes Callon had gotten for him: a plain blue tunic, grey trousers, soft leather shoes, and a large grey cloak. He stepped into the hallway where Corby waited for him. At his mental command, the doppelganger followed.
We’re on our way, he thought to Blink as he said, “Let’s go,” to Corby.
Erick connected to the creature’s eyes and found himself looking at the back of his own head, in addition to seeing Corby in front of him from two different viewpoints. Disoriented, he pulled himself from the dual vision and shook his head.
They moved up the ladder and into the warehouse. Dere stood at the trapdoor, and as soon as they came out, he closed the door, and it disappeared into the floor. Dere withdrew into the building’s depths.
A gasp drew Erick’s attention. Elissia and Marcus stared at him. Elissia had wide eyes and her mouth in her shocked O shape. Marcus let out a low whistle.
Marcus let out a low whistle. “That’s godsdamned impressive.”
“I can’t believe that was a hundred-year-old corpse last night,” Elissia said.
“It’s still a corpse,” Erick said. “It’s just a corpse that looks and moves like me.”
“It should do the trick,” Marcus said.
The warehouse’s double doors slid open and early morning light streamed in, silhouetting a large group of people.
“You hide,” Marcus told Erick. “And send your twin out with us. Let’s hope this all works.”
Erick slipped himself behind a stack of crates and connected with the doppelganger again. Controlling it like a puppeteer, he followed his friends into the warehouse.
He positioned his double beside Elissia, which put Corby and Blink on his left and Marcus on his right. He counted thirty Procurers. They slipped into the warehouse, and two of them shut the doors. Through the dim light that came in from gaps in the walls and the skylights far above, Erick watched the thieves spread out, with Torin’s vast bulk occupying the center. He waddled toward them, and it amazed Erick the large man could move. Azinor walked beside Torin, and Erick had to force himself not to send his twin to throttle the cultist.
Two other people followed the massive guild leader. One was the oldest woman Erick had ever seen. Stunted and gaunt, she had bones that almost showed through her dark, wrinkled skin. She moved with deliberate, measured steps, supported by a thick wooden cane. Her hair had once been black, judging by the few strands that stood bravely amidst the gray mass topping her head and running down her back in a ponytail. Her eyes shone with vigor as they rested in their sunken holes above her protruding cheeks. She wore a shapeless cobalt-colored robe. Sewn on the chest in red thread was the sun symbol of Caros, Krinnik’s globe, and the rounded cloud the represented Talan. They were set in a triangle pattern, with Caros above the other two.
A girl followed behind her, carrying a wooden box strapped over her shoulder. Erick guessed her to be somewhere near his age. Though not as tiny as the old woman, she stood at least four inches shorter than Elissia. Her loose-fitting, light blue smock, emblazoned with the triangle emblem, but in yellow thread, hid much, but she seemed sturdy, accustomed to a life of toting and lifting. Her light brown skin reminded Erick of an acorn, and her rust-colored hair appeared uncombed. Erick couldn’t see her downcast face.
“Great Caros, she’s still alive?” Elissia said.
“Yes, and as much a bitch as ever,” Marcus answered.
“Father’s expecting trouble.”
“Why do you say that?” Erick asked.
Elissia started at the voice coming from Erick, or the creature that masqueraded as Erick. Hearing and seeing him, but knowing it wasn’t him, unnerved her almost as much as finding her father outside the warren. “He’s brought two healers. That means he’s figuring a fight.”
“That’s close enough, you bastard,” Marcus shouted. “I don’t want any of you within throwing distance.”
Torin stopped and held up his hand. The Procurers froze, all still at least thirty feet away. “I stop in the interest of peace,” Torin said in his deep voice. “But what would you do if I decided to continue? You’re outnumbered seven to one.”
“Am I?” Marcus asked. He whistled. The sound echoed through the warehouse. Other sounds followed. Feet on wood, cloth rustling. Elissia remained facing her father, but she knew that other Procurers, those ready to see her father deposed, gathered behind her, positioning themselves on crates, bags and the catwalk. If this surprised Torin, he didn’t show it. He simply watched.
“Procurers,” Marcus shouted.
A chorus of cheers went through the warehouse.
When the sound faded, Torin shook his head, his jowls wiggling. “You’ve made a tactical mistake, boy. You’ve revealed yourself too soon, although your rebellion wouldn’t have succeeded no matter when you tried it.”
Elissia forced herself to remain calm and not glance at her brother. Torin knew. How long had he known? How many people standing at her back were actually with her father? She hoped Callon or Dere weren’t playing both ends against the middle. They were her brother’s lieutenants in this whole insane scheme. If they worked for Torin…
“It’ll succeed if I put a knife through your eye.” Marcus pulled a dagger and ran forward ten feet. He stopped as three Procurers, including Darius, stepped in front of their leader and drew their weapons.
“See, boy, that’s why you could never be in charge. You let your emotions interfere with rational thinking. You have to be dispassionate.”
“You’re certainly the master of that,” Elissia said, unable to keep the bitterness out.
“I’ve had to be,” Torin said. “I don’t expect you to understand, and I’m not going to waste time explaining.” His gaze took in the other Procurers. “You’ve all been duped. I know Marcus is a smooth talker and a fine thief. But he’s not a leader. Those of you who leave now are still Procurers. We never saw you here.”
He returned his attention to Marcus and Elissia. “That goes for you two also, although you are forever ba
nished from the Guild, Marcus.”
“No surprise there,” Marcus said.
Darius grumbled and shifted his knife in his hand. Torin put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, but eyed his son. “For your part in this, boy, you should be put to death. Be thankful there is still some compassion in me. I want no bloodshed; I only want him.” He pointed at Erick.
“You can’t have him, Father,” Elissia said. “Look beyond your greed for once. If Erick dies, the world is that much closer to utter darkness.”
“Odd,” Torin said. “Azinor tells me the exact opposite. That Erick goes to join his cabal and work toward the world’s destruction.”
“Azinor lies,” Erick said. “His master is the King of Lies and will destroy everything. He would—”
The creature stopped as a crossbow bolt slammed into its eye. Elissia gasped as she watched the thing that looked too much like Erick fall backward, blood spurting from its ruined eye. Dismay echoed from several others in the room.
“I got him,” a high-pitched voice said. Calligan came from around a wooden support column, holding a crossbow almost as large as him.
“Stupid boy,” Azinor snarled. “I wanted him alive.” The man moved over and swung a fist at Calligan, but the boy easily dodged it.
“Attack,” Marcus shouted.
With a chorus of screams, the Procurers behind Marcus launched themselves toward those rallied around Torin. The two healers fell back toward the double doors.
Dere landed beside her with a thud, his knife raised, and for the briefest moment, she feared he would bring it down on her skull. But he lowered it and said, “We’ve got it from here. Get out while you can.”
Erick had barely recovered from the shock of watching a bolt slam into his eye before Marcus shouted. He rubbed his eye, chasing away the phantom pain and blinking to make sure he could see. For a few seconds after the bolt had struck, his vision had disappeared. His head hurt, and he suspected it would for a while.
