Malachite

by Kirby Crow

  All he needed now was courage. He took the heavy thing Dominique had given him and dropped it into the deep pocket of his cloak, but that made the material too weighty on one side, dragging it off his shoulder. He took it out again and pondered, eyeing Paris's fine silk vest. He slipped his dagger free and began cutting.

  In ten minutes he had fashioned a sturdy type of purse, knotting it securely to his belt by the long silk ties that made Paris's waist appear so trim. Buttons held the flap closed, but he found if he wanted to get his hand in there, it would only take an extra moment.

  He pulled the long cloak around him with a flourish, wishing for a mirror to inspect the disguise. It was acceptable, but not perfect. He could do nothing about his height, but he had coin. He could hire men to act as guards, and hope he didn’t give himself away or appear weak to thieves. In the darkness and revelry, men would see him as just another disguised libertine in the Colibri, the son of a Consolari or rich merchant out for a night of debauchery, and masks were common during Aequora.

  At the stairway, Tris hesitated, fear of the unknown almost overwhelming him. He looked down at his shaking hands.

  You are a Sessane, he told himself sternly.

  He gulped air, his breath hot under the mask, and went down into the city.

  MARION

  Aequora, Ventisette

  (Day 27)

  The Gaol sent a hundred guardiers to Silvere, who officiated the Aequora in Marion’s stead. Marion, Jean, and a handful of grim wardens seasoned in the Teschio wars searched the Mire for the missing boys placed in Yves’s care. They found the empty sandolii, but no trace of the children, nor of Kell and Lody, who had set out with Yves on the canal.

  Marion emerged from the Mire after two days of searching to find Janvier still holding the coach for him, though the man had been quite clearly dismissed. Loyal to a fault, Marion thought. He appreciated the coachman’s devotion, while at the same time cynically wondering how much the rental was going to cost.

  The coach passed the Via Rossa just as the stars were coming out. Marion caught the scent of the cooking pit of the Falena tavern as they drew near the Alley of Sparrows.

  “My room is still on the third floor, by the way,” Jean informed him.

  Marion’s borrowed coat was filthy, mud staining his legs to the knees. After two full days of searching, he needed a shave, a meal, and a bed to sleep in. His voice was hoarse with shouting and his eyes were rimmed in red.

  Jean should have looked no better. Somehow, he did, and Marion mused at how in his element Jean had been yesterday, chasing gangers, knives strapped to both hips. He was born to be a pirate, not a lawman.

  “We're not going to your room,” Marion growled back.

  “Well, that's your loss isn't it?” Jean said sullenly. He was silent a moment. “What do you think Kon will do?”

  “What’s to be done isn’t up to the magestros. This is warden business.”

  “He runs the wardens.”

  “I run the wardens, Jean. You forget that more than Kon does. I take his recommendations under advisement, that’s all.”

  “Kon can suck my dick.”

  Marion covered his eyes with his hand. “You should wait in the coach until I’ve spoken to him.”

  Jean picked at the laces of his leather cuff. “Why? I'm not afraid of that bastard.”

  “He despises you. That makes me afraid for you, don't you fucking understand that?”

  Jean threw back his head and laughed. “Jesu! He has you convinced he'll dump my body over the seawall one night, doesn't he? Why don't you wake up? That’s an act, Marion. It’s a lie, like every word that comes out of his mouth. Kon will never harm me.”

  Something in the tone of Jean's voice made Marion question what he knew of Kon, what Jean knew of him. “Why do you say that?”

  Jean winked and his smile was bitterness itself. “Why don't you ask Kon? Let me know what he says, aye?” Then Jean decided to shut up until they were past the Vicolo Azzuro, on the Via Splendore, where the Consolari convened at the towering Gran Consiglio. They rolled past the ancient clock-tower of Paladin with its curved planes and soaring white wings.

  “What are you going to do?” Jean asked quietly.

  “My job.” Marion glanced at him before turning away to gaze out the window. “I’m ordering you out of the Zanzare. You’re not to go there.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until it’s over.”

  Jean moved closer. “Is it because you don’t want me in the way or because you don’t want me to warn them?”

  “Neither. Both. I just want you clear of what’s to come. That’s all.”

  He felt Jean’s hand on his arm. “We still have friends in the Zanzare. Innocent men. If you take the wardens down there in force, there’s going to be damage, Marion.”

  In spite of his irritation, he patted Jean’s hand. “That’s why I’m sending you to the Keep.”

  Jean withdrew. “You make it sound like I’ll be under lock and key.”

  “Don’t let it come to that.”

  Jean reclined back in the seat and put his hands behind his head. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said easily. “I’ll behave myself.”

  ***

  Kon's officious portero kept Marion waiting on the steps like a messenger.

  The tree-shaded lane that led into the courtyard of the five-century-old Castello Rosa was lit by torches that glowed day and night. A few clouds scuttled in the twilit sky, heading out to sea. Vivid red roses bloomed lushly in the courtyard, their perfume heavy in the air.

  Marion examined a low bush with black leaves and flowers. He had never heard of a black rose before. He touched the velvety petals, aware of Jean’s eyes on him from the lowcoach.

  The enmity between Jean and Kon was old. Dominique had not seemed to be that precious to Jean, until Kon stole him away. Jean had not entered Kon’s house in years, not even when Dominique was near death, fighting infection from an assassination attempt he had survived, but which had left him scarred for life.

  At length, the portero returned and bowed Marion in. “You may wait in the library, messere.”

  On his way up, Marion passed the massive Tazza, a symbol and heirloom of the city, placed in the high-vaulted entrance hall. It was a vase as tall as two men and wide as a cart, carved and polished into the shape of a double-handled goblet from a solid block of green malachite. The Tazza had been found by Andreja Paladin in one of the last standing castles in the Mire. It had once belonged to a king of Solari, his name lost to time.

  The Tazza seemed to shine with an inner glow, as if it gathered every fragment of brightness to itself. Marion gazed at it for a moment in respect, then left it and ascended the wide stairway to the third floor.

  Kon's private library was a narrow room paneled in gold-toned wood with curtains of teal. There were only two long bookcases, filled to the top with gilt-edged, leather-bound volumes of history, manuals, and fiction. Maps rolled into scrolls were displayed behind a glass panel. At the back of the room was a standing wooden case with a cover of colored glass, and inside, resting on a bed of velvet, was the famous 6-shot Calaveras revolver. It was black metal with silver scrollwork along the barrel and chamber. The handle was black teak with a grinning silver skull. The Calaveras had been used in the last armed duel between the pirate rulers of Malachite, centuries ago.

  On the west wall were Kon's dueling swords. The weapons were magnificent: two-handed longswords, curved sabres, falchions, and Kon's favored weapon: a thin and deadly rapier with an ornate silver guard. Men often forgot that Kon had ever been anything but a silver-chained magestros.

  Marion paced the room. Minutes later, Dominique entered clad in only a red robe; the color of Castello Rosa. Marion often wondered what Kon had seen in Dominique all those years ago. Kon was too civilized, too elegant and cold. Dominique was handsome, but his manners were as refined as a dogfight. He could never picture the two of them in bed together.

  I c
an't imagine Kon taking a fucking from anyone, but if he can get Dominique to turn on his belly, then bravo, old bastard. You're a braver man than me.

  Dominique brushed his curling hair out of his eyes and moved straight to the wine, nodding at Marion. “Warden Casterline,” he greeted.

  “I apologize for arriving without announcement,” Marion said automatically. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “You are, but it's nothing we can’t get back to when you’re gone.” Dominique held the bottle up and gave Marion a questioning look.

  Marion nodded. “Thank you.”

  Dominique took two glasses down from a cabinet. “How's Tris?”

  “Settling in well.” Tris had been six when Dominique moved into the castello, and Dominique had been a little younger than Tris was now, only a boy, really. Marion wondered if Dominique had changed, or if he had always been this way and no one could see past those blue eyes.

  “We miss him,” Dominique said brusquely.

  “Come see him. You’re know you’re welcome any time.”

  “I’ll come when I’m ready.” Dominique poured the wine. “Kon relies on his own judgment regarding Tris,” he added. “I never interfered with that. Not until you.”

  Marion took the offered glass. “I know,” he said coolly. Ever since Jean and Dominique had parted ways, Marion had been content to keep Dominique at a distance, but that would not be possible once he married Tris.

  Dominique toasted him. “Prosit.”

  “Prosit,” he echoed.

  They drank. Dominique wiped a drop of wine from his scarred lip. “I take it something happened at Aequora?” He shrugged at Marion’s look. “Wardens have been in and out all day.”

  Marion swirled the wine in his glass. “I can't discuss it.”

  “Kon—”

  “Magestros Sessane is your husband,” Marion broke in. He was exhausted and dirty, and he was suddenly very weary of Dominique’s continual dislike. “In the Arsenale and on the water, you’re the master. But we’re on land now, and the reason you don’t know what happened at Aequora is because Kon didn’t tell you. You've no official position in the Consolari. I'd no more discuss this with you than with my coachman.”

  Dominique smiled, the scar curling his mouth into a twisted, dangerous leer. “Listen to me, rifiuti. You may be Kon's pet, but to me you're just a ganger who slithered out of a Zanzare cesspit and up the steps of the Gran Consiglio. Strut like a rooster for Tris if you want, but talk to me like that again and I'll fix your mouth so you have to drink your next glass through a straw.”

  Kon appeared in the doorway. “That's enough, Mika.”

  Marion did not move. Dominique kept looking at him with that broken smile. Killer-boy, he thought.

  Kon laid a hand on Dominique’s shoulder. “I said enough.”

  Marion put his glass down. “Send your second to me when you're ready. We'll see who the peacock is.”

  Kon stepped between them and slapped his hands together. “Smettere!” His sleeping robe was open at the throat, showing an expanse of tanned skin and a network of faded scars on his chest. “Mika, my dear, please go back to bed.”

  Dominique continued to smile. “Why are you protecting him? You know he's going to run back to that swamp-water ape within a year. Is that what you want for Tris?”

  “In everything, Tris is always my first concern. Now go. I wish to speak to my highwarden. Alone, please,” Kon said, an unspoken threat in his words.

  After a long, charged moment, Dominique turned and left the room, his footfalls heavy as drums.

  “I apologize for that,” Kon said, sounding not at all sorry. “He’s worried for Tris.” He sighed. “I don't have to tell you that you're forbidden to engage Mika in a duel, do I?”

  “He's the one who wants it.”

  “I don't care. The Sessanes don't attack their own.”

  “You should tell your boy that.”

  Kon slapped his hand on the table. “Capo della famiglia!” he shouted, “I am the head of this family, and I say there will be no duel!”

  Marion bowed his head. “As you wish, magestros.”

  Kon's nostrils flared as he pressed his lips together and breathed slowly, controlling his anger. “We will discuss family matters later. I know Yves is dead. Tell me what happened. Everything.”

  Marion glanced at the colorful tiled ceiling. Kon had ways of hearing a conversation even when he was not in the room. Dominique was sure to be aware of those methods.

  Kon guessed at his hesitation. “Mika is my concern. Don't make me repeat myself, warden.”

  Marion gathered his thoughts and quickly related the facts up to the boy running away, skipping over the part where he had nearly come to blows with Jean in the coach. “We followed the boy into the Mire and ran him down, and then we found out that he... was a woman. Gangers jumped us before we could question her.”

  Kon listened in silence. His expression did not change, registered no shock. “Teschio?”

  “No.” Marion shook his head, watching Kon warily. “Skinny rats, but still dangerous, and one had a crossbow. I recognized him. We knocked heads a bit and they left. The boy... the woman... she ran. If she had any wits at all, she would have hung back and trailed the gangers out of the Mire. If she did, then she might have seen who killed Yves.”

  “She’s probably in the Zanzare by now.” Kon tapped his fingers on the table. “A crossbow is an expensive toy for a ganger.” He drank half a glass of wine and poured another. “Yves had already left with the boys, you say. That means there was more than one group of gangers. A coordinated attack. Why did he go into the Mire alone?”

  “Standing orders.” Kon knew what that meant. A warden was obliged to report any emergency to his superior officer. Yves had been looking for him when he was killed. “Lody and Kell are missing, too.”

  “Perhaps missing. Perhaps conspiring.”

  “You’re not surprised that there was a woman,” Marion stated.

  “No. I am not,” Kon said, offering nothing further. “The guardiers, the armory, and the treasury of the Consolari are at your disposal. You lost the boys. Get them back.”

  “And the woman,” Marion reminded him. Something was very amiss. “She seemed so young. A younger woman, whatever you call that.”

  “A girl.”

  “Girl,” Marion repeated.

  “By your own admission,” Kon said, “you lost a good many exiles and failed the Aequora. Considering your rank and your connection to my family, that matter will be closed, provided you find the orphans and rid the Consolari once and for all of the graycloaks and this Archer who leads them. That’s who you believe is behind this, isn’t it? That’s who took the children and murdered our westwarden.”

  “I believe so.” Marion’s head ached. He rubbed his fingers in a circle in the middle of his forehead. “Paladin forbid the argenti get their hands on her. I don't know what they would do.”

  “No worse than what they do to boys. That concerns you? Do you care for this female?”

  “That's not the point. Don't we...” he groped for understanding. He had expected a much different reaction from Kon, some surprise, or at least questions. “According to the Peace, don't we have an obligation to her?”

  “No, we do not.” Kon stirred water from the pitcher into his wine with a long silver spoon. “The Cwen broke the Peace by sending her.”

  Understanding washed over Marion. “How long has this been happening?”

  “Many years. At every Aequora, the possibility exists.” A small owl perched in the upper branches of a tree outside the window, chirping softly. “You know the basic facts of the natural world, yes? With some rare exceptions, birth requires a male and female of the species.”

  There were numerous animals in Malachite. Songbirds, cats, dogs, cows, deer, a small number of horses, pet rats and hawks. Tris had kept an owl when he was a child. Marion wasn't ignorant of how human bodies functioned. As a boy, when he had asked
where other boys came from, Aureo had taken him out to the city alleyways and pointed to a pair of cats locked in rut. He had known then that a vital portion was missing from the lifeline of his city. Without some means to fulfill that lack, Malachite city would eventually wither and die. Aequora filled their need, but only if the Cwen continued to allow it.

  “I understand the process,” Marion said. “There are plenty of men beyond the sea who need fathers, brothers, a home. This is where the world sends them.”

  “Some men have other desires.”

  Marion had a sudden, repulsive thought. “Do we bring women here to... to be used? Against their will?” His stomach twisted in disgust.

  “We don't bring women here for any reason,” Kon said, his mouth hard, “but occasionally it pleases the Cwen to sentence women to exile. It's their punishment. The Cwen are obsessed with punishment. They have prisons, gallows, stocks, stoning grounds, and penalties for everything from promiscuity to slandering the empress. It's insane. They sent that girl to us deliberately, for whatever crime a female commits to be sent here for, or perhaps for none at all. Her family may be in disgrace, or else she's a misfit in some way or has offended a woman in power. Maybe it's just a joke they play on us to see what we'll do.”

  “Some joke,” Marion said in shock.

  Kon took pity on him. “The world doesn't see us as we see ourselves. To outsiders, ours is a city of perversion and darkness, and there's no point in trying to convince the world of something it doesn't want to believe.” He motioned vaguely to the open window. “Some of the women are ferried on immediately to Solari. Others are unsuited to fend for themselves, and I don’t have the will to send them away simply to get them out of my sight, knowing they'll die. They find homes here. They're taught how to conceal themselves, and they're protected. They do have value.”

  Marion shook his head, totally at sea.