Wintercraft: Blackwatch

by Jenna Burtenshaw

  Six such arches passed over his head and at the seventh he saw a man crouching in a doorway. Silas kept walking. The man shifted position, as if to make sure he would be noticed. Silas recognised a Blackwatch tactic when he saw one. That man was a decoy, posted there to make him turn and choose another route, guiding him into an ambush. If the Blackwatch thought he was going to play their games they were very wrong.

  In one smooth move, Silas kicked a loose rock up from the ground, caught it, and hurled it at the waiting man, striking him hard on the temple and sending him slumping to the ground. He approached cautiously. The fallen man was unconscious, but still breathing. Then came a signal from the dark – the flash of a tiny lens light from the furthest end of the arches. Another member of the Blackwatch was checking in.

  Silas checked the man’s pockets and found the leather pouch that held his lens. An ordinary guard’s lens would have been a small circle made from cut glass with a dull metal frame, but the Blackwatch were not ordinary guards. Their lenses were convex discs of shaved crystal, faceted round the edge and mounted in a thin twist of silver. With no moonlight to reflect back beneath the arches, Silas slid a match from a slot in the lens pouch, lit it and raised the lens to his chest, flickering a signal to the waiting man. He knew a few of the Blackwatch lens codes, but had no way of knowing if the one he had used was still active. There was no reply. The code must have been old. He had given his location away.

  Silas dropped the match, pocketed the lens and looked up. He was standing in a narrow space between two rows of back-to-back buildings. The sky was a sharp black slit between them and the gap between the stones was barely three feet wide. He heard footsteps advancing towards him, so he edged further down the pathway, grabbed hold of a stone protruding slightly from the wall and pulled himself up. He clung to the wall like a bat, creeping upwards and pressing his heel against the wall behind him to gain more height wherever the stones were too smooth to climb. Then he stayed still, clinging on by his fingertips and the toes of his boots as a Blackwatch agent approached.

  When the officer discovered the injured man, he readied a crossbow and searched the alleyway for any sign of life. His target was gone. Silas watched him take two paces into the darkness. He saw and heard the flare and fizz of a match, then, flick-flick-flick, a lens light signal cut through the dark.

  Silas smiled. They had lost him.

  Four more Blackwatch officers gathered between the arches as Silas continued his climb towards the rooftops. His fingers ached as he clung to the wall. His muscles were tiring. Something had changed. He had to get out of sight.

  He reached the neat black tiles, squeezed up between two matching chimneystacks and stepped on to the sloping roof. Once there, he checked his position. Grale was a small town and he was close to its centre. The moon cast long shadows from the forests that wrapped around Grale like a horseshoe on three sides, and the ocean was silvery black. Silas could see the covered dock where the smugglers’ ship would be spending the rest of the night. He turned away from it and followed the rooftops for as long as they lasted, then threw himself at a post holding up one of the lantern strings, grabbed it with both hands and slid silently to the ground. He tried to shift his thoughts into the veil as he ran, using it to sense his pursuers’ presence before they got too close, but the veil was not there. He could not sense anything.

  Silas stopped running.

  The veil had been a part of his life every day for the past twelve years. For it to suddenly be gone . . . it was impossible. Unthinkable. He searched for the familiar silhouette of his crow against the sky, but he could not pick the bird out against the background of shifting clouds.

  The street opened on to the bank of Grale’s only river, a wide, fast-flowing waterway crossed by three old bridges linking one side of the town to the other. Silas followed the bank to the nearest bridge, a stone-built pathway barely a carriage-width wide. Crossing it would leave him too exposed and he was about to return to the cover of the streets when Blackwatch agents emptied out of the alleyways up ahead. There was no time to reach the buildings so Silas slithered down the bank instead, ducking out of sight beneath the bridge.

  The old structure was weak and unstable, with large gaps in its sides where high waters had washed chunks of it away. Years of river debris strangled the stone pillars holding it in place and old tree trunks had been sunk into the river bed to support its weakest points. Silt and soil settled around Silas’s feet as he waited ankle-deep on an underwater ledge, his black coat camouflaging him in the shadows. The Blackwatch signalled to each other, but instead of searching for him along the riverbank they backed away and retreated into the side streets. Silas heard them leave and peered out of his hiding place. A typical Continental welcome, he thought. Nothing had changed.

  A scrabbling sound scratched close by, and his crow scuttled through the shadows, head down, like a rat in the dark. He bent down to pick up the bird, which snapped its beak, agitated, as footsteps echoed overhead. Silas stood still, sword at the ready. A wet rope glinted in the moonlight on the river. One end of it was wrapped round a rotting tree trunk, the other trailing across the water. Two men ducked back under the surface when Silas looked their way. How could he have missed them? The Blackwatch had not lost him. They had surrounded him.

  The sound of straining horses carried from the riverbank. The rope tightened. Too late, Silas realised what was happening. He tried to run, but the rope was already doing its work. The rotten tree trunk was starting to give, lean and split. The weight of the bridge was not enough to stop the timber from shifting and the first stones began to fall; stones that became an avalanche, collapsing into the river and crashing down on to Silas’s ledge.

  The crow launched itself through the destruction as a chunk of rock slammed into Silas’s shoulder, punching him to the ground. He tried to get up, but there was no time. He threw his arm over his head to protect himself as the bridge fell in, burying him beneath a hail of rubble and sealing him in the dark.

  Kate looked out into the meeting hall at the people she had once trusted; people who believed she was capable of murder. Many of them were nodding their agreement with Baltin’s words, and some were even applauding the decision, as if some great criminal was about to get the justice she deserved. The sight of so many enemies made Kate feel cold. Artemis had tried to keep her away from the Skilled. He had tried to protect her from their world all her life. Now she knew why.

  She looked for her uncle up on the stage. He was just sitting there, silent. ‘I don’t believe this is happening,’ she said.

  ‘Someone has to do something,’ said Edgar. ‘We need to get you out of here.’ He left the safety of the anteroom and stepped straight out into the meeting hall, drawing angry looks and shouts of surprise from people sitting close by.

  ‘Wait,’ whispered Kate. ‘What are you doing?’

  Edgar hesitated for a moment, not sure what to say, until one of the Skilled spoke out.

  ‘You are not meant to be in here,’ she said. ‘What’s going on?’

  Baltin spoke loudly from the stage at the front of the hall, ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Edgar has been hiding in here, listening to us,’ said the woman, as the whole hall turned to look at the intruder. ‘He’s not supposed to be here, Baltin.’

  ‘Why not?’ demanded Edgar. ‘I care about what happens to Kate, and I know that she deserves a lot better than this. Being turned upon by people who should be her friends.’

  ‘That murderer is no friend of ours,’ said the man sitting at the front. ‘We have no argument with you or your brother, but that girl has brought death to this cavern. She is a threat to us all.’

  Edgar walked up to the stage. ‘Artemis, tell them they’re wrong about Kate. Tell them they mustn’t do this.’

  Artemis hung his head, tapping his fingertips together nervously. ‘I . . . I can’t,’ he said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I can’t keep her safe any more. N
ot on my own,’ he said. ‘This place . . . these people. They understand what Kate is going through. They can help her.’

  ‘Help her? They think she’s a murderer!’

  ‘I know that. But up there, on the surface, the wardens are still looking for her. I can’t let the council find her again.’

  Artemis handed Edgar a folded piece of paper. Edgar opened it and read it quickly. It was a wanted poster, showing Kate’s face and her name written in thick black letters. Edgar scrunched it up in his fist.

  ‘That doesn’t mean anything,’ he said.

  ‘You told me we could trust the Skilled,’ said Artemis. ‘You were the one who said to bring Kate here.’

  ‘We didn’t have any choice!’

  ‘And I don’t have any choice now,’ said Artemis. ‘Baltin has given me his word that no harm will come to her. I don’t want to do this, Edgar, but it is the only way I can see to keep her safe.’

  ‘So you’re just going to let them lock her away?’ said Edgar. ‘Just shut her up and forget about her, is that it? Do you really want that to happen?’

  ‘At least she will be safe,’ said Artemis. ‘That’s all I can hope for her now.’

  Baltin pressed a reassuring hand on Artemis’s shoulder. ‘The girl’s guardian has made no objection,’ he said. ‘Kate will be collected and taken to the lockhouse. We will decide her punishment in due course.’

  The gathered people all stood up at once and Edgar climbed on to the stage, unable to believe they were all calmly making their way back out into their lives.

  ‘You can’t do this!’ he shouted. ‘I told her you would help her, but you’re just as bad as the council! You’re treating her the way they have treated you for centuries, all because you’re afraid of what you don’t understand.’

  No one responded. Many of the Skilled looked back at him as they left, their dark eyes flashing with anger. The door of Kate’s hiding place moved and Edgar saw her looking straight out at Artemis. As far as she could tell, he had not even tried to convince them that she couldn’t have killed Mina, that she would never kill anyone. Artemis saw her and turned away.

  ‘At least you’re ashamed of what you’re doing,’ said Edgar.

  Artemis stood up. His clothes were scruffier than usual and he looked as though he had not slept for days. ‘Baltin,’ he said, ‘there is no need to send your people after Kate.’

  ‘The decision has been made, Artemis. I warned you this could happen. You agreed that it was right.’

  Artemis wrung his hands, struggling with what he was about to say. Kate waited for him to speak up for her, to try to put right what the Skilled had got terribly wrong, and then he raised his hand and pointed directly at her hiding place. ‘She is there,’ he said.

  Kate could not believe what she was seeing. Artemis could have distracted Baltin, or at least said nothing. He could have given her a chance to explain herself and maybe make some kind of difference to the judgement passed against her. Instead he just pointed at her, handing her over as if he too was convinced of her guilt.

  Edgar jumped off the edge of the stage and bolted between the rows of seats towards her. ‘Kate!’ he shouted. ‘We have to go!’

  But Kate was not ready to leave.

  The air in the meeting hall was changing. Something was shifting within the veil. Kate heard a sound like roaring thunder, the spirits around the paintings in the ceiling looked suddenly clearer, and she felt the veil tugging at her thoughts, fighting for her attention against what was happening in the room. Dizziness overwhelmed her. The ceilling pressed down towards her and the walls leaned in. She backed slowly into the anteroom, pressing her back against the tomb in the centre of the floor. It was hard to breathe. The sound of rushing water echoed around her, her body would not move, and she heard the screech of a bird from somewhere nearby.

  Kate slid down the side of the tomb and sat on the floor. Images flickered in front of her eyes: water, feathers and stone. She could smell the tang of blood and feel the rough touch of stone crushing her fingertips. None of it made any sense. She couldn’t stop it. All she could do was let it happen. She wanted to scream but her lungs would not work. Then Edgar was in front of her. He took hold of her hand and the veil pulled back. The images faded. Her body came back under her control and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  ‘Come on,’ said Edgar, gently pulling her to her feet. ‘We’ll get out of here.’

  ‘No,’ said Kate. ‘Something’s wrong.’

  ‘A lot of things are wrong right now. We have to go.’

  ‘I think it’s Silas,’ said Kate. ‘Something has happened. I could feel him.’ She looked down at her hands, remembering the pressure of the stone pressing on them. ‘He’s hurt.’

  ‘We can talk about that later,’ said Edgar. ‘There’s nothing we can do about it now. Are you coming?’

  Kate nodded. She let Edgar pull her into the meeting hall and they slammed out of the front door side by side.

  The Skilled’s cavern was dimly lit to simulate the night that hung over the City Above. The lantern light gave a warm glow to the curved ceiling of red bricks and illuminated the two long rows of houses where the Skilled lived. They had been too slow. Greta the magistrate was already standing in the street, flanked by two of Baltin’s strongest guards, waiting for her.

  ‘Great,’ said Edgar, keeping tight hold of Kate’s hand.

  ‘The judgement has been passed,’ said Greta. ‘The verdict was fair.’

  ‘It is more than she deserves,’ said one of the men. ‘We should hand her over to the wardens for what she has done.’

  Edgar whispered to Kate without moving his lips. ‘If we’re going, we have to go now. Follow my lead.’

  The two guards flinched when it looked as if Edgar was going to move. Greta took a step closer.

  ‘The cavern is sealed,’ she said. ‘There is no way out.’

  More of the Skilled were gathering around them, their dark eyes fixed intently upon Kate. Her hands felt icy cold, and beads of water dripped to the ground as the heat of Edgar’s grip melted the frost that gathered on them as the veil closed in.

  ‘What are they doing?’ asked Edgar, refusing to let go.

  ‘It’s not them,’ said Kate. ‘It’s the vell. Something is different about it.’

  ‘Miss Winters?’ Baltin’s voice spoke behind her. ‘It is time to answer for what you have done. Come with us now. You can do yourself no good out here. Let the boy go.’

  Kate realised that she was holding Edgar’s hand so tightly that his fingers were turning white, and she let go of him at once.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Baltin, signalling the two men to walk slowly towards her. ‘Edgar, stand aside, if you please.’

  ‘No. You can’t just take her!’

  ‘Don’t you see what is happening?’ said Baltin. ‘She does not have full control of her link to the veil, and that makes her dangerous. She may not even remember killing Mina. Do you want the same thing to happen to you?’

  Kate’s pupils sheened with silver as they reflected the lamplight.

  ‘This girl has already gone too deep into things which are none of her concern,’ said Baltin. ‘The Night of Souls was . . . there is no other word for it, it was an abomination. The effects of the damage Kate did in that circle are still being felt across the veil. She is dangerous and always will be dangerous. We cannot allow her to make the same mistakes again.’

  ‘She used a listening circle,’ said Edgar. ‘It’s hardly a crime.’

  ‘In our world, it should be,’ said Baltin. ‘She opened a listening circle, exposed a crowd of innocent people to the dangers of the half-life and interfered with the fates of thousands of tormented souls. If sheer luck had not allowed her to contain the shades in that circle the consequences would have been unimaginable.’

  ‘But she did contain them,’ said Edgar. ‘She didn’t open the circle. Da’ru did. If Kate hadn’t taken control of it who knows what would have happ
ened. She helped people that night, something the Skilled haven’t done for a very long time.’

  ‘As I said. Luck,’ said Baltin. ‘It could have all ended very differently. Do not forget the blood that was shed because of her. Wardens and a councilwoman all slain within an active circle. Do you have any idea what could have happened if Kate had lost control?’

  ‘Those deaths weren’t Kate’s fault!’

  ‘Perhaps not, but it doesn’t change the fact that those circles are instruments of great unknown power. Even the Skilled do not yet know the extent of their influence upon the living world. Kate’s actions were reckless, and we may only now be beginning to see the consequences. She tore a gateway between the worlds of the living and the dead; one larger than any that has been seen within living memory. An act like that has far-reaching effects. Who knows how many are yet to suffer for what she has done?’