He followed the alley to Cua Street, another row of shops and businesses, and peeked around the corner. Seeing no sign of the ragamuffin girl amongst the shoppers, hawkers and porters, he pulled down his cap and continued into the city. He walked briskly. But not too fast. Mindful there were Justices about whose suspicions might be raised by the sight of a sprinting scrapper.
Halfway along the street, he cut through an alleyway between a milliner and a silk mercer, a handy shortcut to the Blood Road. Five storey houses towered above him on each side, washing strung out of open sash windows like Greatship sails, slops and food scraps littering the cobbles. He passed an old woman in a black dress sleeping with her head against the wall, a bawling babe cradled in her arms. Or maybe she was dead. Either way, Stone jogged on. None of his business. He had to see his treasure safely home.
The Blood Road was a mile-long line of brick town houses, once brightly-painted in reds, blues and browns, decorations now grubby and faded. Stone walked the road as he always did, past the pale, multicoloured homes and the flower sellers lined up against the railings that fronted them; past the silver-haired shoe shiner with a kidney-shaped birthmark on his cheek and the barrow boy who flogged hapenny ices of questionable quality.
Follow the Blood Road for a mile, past the school he might have gone to if things had turned out differently, and the town houses surrendered to warehouses and foundries. Beyond them, the road led out of the city walls to the ‘stink streets’ — a pungent cluster of abattoirs, tanneries and dye works.
But Stone didn’t need to venture that far.
Instead, he turned right onto Zahn Street, tapping his pocket to reassure himself that the silver buckle was still safe inside. He smiled at the feel of it as he strolled deeper into the warehouse district, between the six- and seven-storey buildings that belonged to some of the great Ocos families — including the Su, Gen and Ton — and the big Mulai trade cooperatives, the Crick and the Bay Harbour Trading Group amongst them.
He slowed outside a red brick warehouse owned by the Crick, its windows barred, huge iron gates locked. Next to it, the familiar ruins of an old stables. A forgotten business; a remnant of an age before widespread oconics, when real horses pulled the city’s carriages and a man could make a living tending them.
Stone stole a quick glance behind him. Satisfied nobody was watching, he ducked into the narrow gap between the two buildings. Sidling halfway down it, he dropped to his knees, pushing aside a loose grating in the old stable wall to reveal a crawlspace into the rubble. Nobody knew of the tunnel through the shattered bricks and broken roof beams. Nobody knew about the plank of wood that hid another section of tunnel behind, nor of the tin cans that rattled a warning if you moved it.
Stone crawled forward, stopping to slide the plank carefully back into place. Then he opened the trap door in the floor, struggling a little with its sticky bolt, before he clambered down a rusted ladder into an old basement.
Home.
Not much to it. Ten paces wide. Cold. A little damp. The ceiling so low in places he had to duck to walk by. Nevertheless, it had a few comforts — an old soldier with a blue breastplate; a metal box with some bread and cheese; a short knife and a stone to sharpen it; a rack of high shelves where he kept what he found in the mud; a longlamp with a dented shutter that wouldn’t fully close. Not much of a hideaway, perhaps. But it had proved safe, even warm on occasion. Nobody knew of it. Not Yali. Not Lif-Mar the grocer. Not his mother.
He dumped his basket on the ground and plucked out the contents. Dropped the rope onto a pile, the rivets into an old tin bucket, while the clay pipe he placed on a shelf — that would need cleaning before he tried to sell it on. Finally, he fished the buckle from his pocket and set it down next to the pipe. Then he changed his muddy trousers for a cleaner striped pair, took off his cap and smoothed down his red locks. He looked at himself in a shard of broken mirror. A thin, freckled face stared back at him. Still scruffy, but presentable enough.
He picked up all the silver he’d salvaged over the past few days — a needle case, a serving spoon, a hairbrush (its bristles missing) and a bent penny (probably a love token from a young gent to his lady) — and stuffed them into a sack. Together with the silver buckle Yali had given him, he had a decent haul. Time to see what the Rook would pay for them.
7. THE TRAITOR DE CALVAS
EIGHT DAYS. EMBER HAD wondered how long it would take for his old life to catch up with him. Eight days was the answer.
News travelled slowly in the Wilds, passed on by Trur-Gem the quartermaster whenever he made a supply run to Meiwu. There, gossip trickled through the town’s oconic gate with every merchant, peddler and minstrel that stepped through it. Much had happened in eight days — the Yafai continued to cause trouble, sinking a Greatship in Fardock; there was tell of a monster in an Achawaran lake (”hey,” said Lor, “I think that was me!”); a gold rush in Sauzza; and the Crick Cooperative raising its first legion, with the full blessing of the new Watcher. But stories didn’t come much bigger than the recent Imperial election, the fall of Colonel Lokke de Calvas and the attempted murder of Tydek Mordume.
“I don’t get it,” said Junn as the squad watched a gaggle of technicians working to unlock the twenty-third gate. “Why would this Lokke de Calvas attack the Watcher?”
“Sore loser,” quipped Hannar-Ghan.
Ember resisted the temptation to correct the big caster. For if he did, how would he explain his knowledge of that terrible night in the Watcher’s Eye? Ember Cobb hadn’t been there. So Ember Cobb couldn’t know any details beyond the tittle-tattle that had just filtered through. Any slip that he knew more and he risked his true identity being discovered. Reluctantly, he held his tongue, leaning against the cold blackiron arch of gate twenty-two, listening to the squad blather.
“Even so, you don’t run someone through with a sword,” said Roon-Kotke. The Corporal sat with his back against the brick wall of the Terminus, lounging in loose black trews, a dull blue shirt and a smoke grey waistcoat. “The way Trur-Gem tells it, it’s a miracle Mordume survived. The Mulai capital is apparently in turmoil. Kelsen and Yoo legions hold the city, the Hourglass has been locked down and nobody’s seen the Lady Sentinel in a week. The situation sounds like a Fura-3 about to go boom.”
“Bah! Let ‘em fight each other,” grumbled Hannar-Ghan.
Unlike the rest of them, the Sergeant still wore his legion blues, albeit with the jacket all unbuttoned. It was apparently as casual as the big caster ever got. He sat cross-legged on the floor, cleaning his lance with a cloth, tutting at the discovery of every new scratch or nick in the metal.
The situation in the Briar was worse than Ember had feared. While he hadn’t stabbed Tydek Mordume that night, the new Watcher had used their confrontation to cast him as the villain. It didn’t matter whether Mordume’s wound was real or a political fabrication, it had given the Kelsen clan a reason to march their legions into the city. No doubt for everyone’s continued protection. The balance of power in the Briar had shifted for the first time in a hundred years. He could only hope that Vellar, De Jasso and the casters of the Old Hundredth were safe. If they’d followed orders, they’d be holed up in the Hourglass fortress by now, along with Colonel’s Flint’s Fighting Fifth.
“Hey, Corporal?” Junn looked confused. He looked more like a boy out of his uniform — his black trews were slightly too short, the biscuit-brown shirt he wore with them evidently too big. “Who is this Lokke de Calvas anyway?”
Roon-Kotke sighed. “You’ve heard of the hero of Zegoma Beach, right?”
Junn’s eyes widened. “That’s him?”
“The same,” explained Roon-Kotke. “Decorated Colonel. Best the Mulai have. I’d always thought he was a good man. A friend to Ocoscona. But now… Hey Cobb? You served with Lokke de Calvas, right? Why do you think he did it?”
“He didn’t.” Ember gritted his teeth, annoyed he’d said the wrong thing. “I mean, he wouldn’t. It just doesn’t sound li
ke something Lokke would do. He’s an honourable man. I don’t think we know the whole story.”
“They say his wife is dead too,” added Hannar-Ghan.
“Whose wife?” Junn-Kri’s brow furrowed. “The Watcher’s?”
“No, Lokke’s wife.” Roon-Kotke leaned forward. “Apparently, Lady de Calvas fell from the top of the spire during the attack on the Watcher.”
Aarhyn de Calvas stood in front of the huge windows at the top of the spire, eyes red, black dress grubby and torn. Behind her, the Briar glistened, the shape of the Hourglass picked out in speckled lines of oconic light.
Justice-General Tydek Mordume stroked his hand gently along the side of her face. He smiled back at Lokke. Not a broad grin of triumph, but a smile that was almost apologetic. Sad.
“What are you—” Lokke managed to say, before Mordume shoved Aarhyn hard with both hands, sending her smashing through the window, out into the cold night air above the street far below, falling in a glitter of broken glass…
“Rakou’s teeth!” said Junn. “Maybe that’s why Lokke attacked him?”
Ember held his tongue. He was finding it increasingly difficult to stay quiet.
“Aye.” Roon-Kotke nodded, sadly. “A thing like that, it might break a man. Even a famous Colonel like De Calvas. Hells, I might do the same if somebody killed my wife.”
“You don’t have a wife,” Hannar-Ghan pointed out.
“No,” said the Caster-Corporal. “But I plan to. One day. And I’d be mighty pissed off if somebody murdered her.”
“It’s no excuse,” said Hannar-Ghan, buffing a mid-section of his oconic lance. “You can't just go around stabbing people with swords like it was the dark ages. We've got laws. If we stop giving a shit about them, there'd be chaos. Anarchy. De Calvas is a coward.”
Ember clenched his fist. The memories of that night in the Eye, Mordume’s treachery, his wife’s death… He felt like shouting out the truth, grabbing Hannar-Ghan by his tunic and bellowing it in his face! Mordume was the traitor! Mordume was the coward! He’d been set up. Manipulated. Couldn’t anybody see it? Didn’t anybody understand!? He started to edge forward, feeling as if his carefully-constructed facade was about to crack. Part of him didn’t care a jot if it did.
But a hand upon his shoulder held him back.
“Who are you calling a coward?” asked Rahi-Khun Ghandhan from behind him.
Ember sighed. He felt Rahi give his shoulder a squeeze. What was it she’d said the day he’d arrived at Refu Ruka? I suppose I’ll have to watch your back while you’re here. Or for as long as you live. Least I can do…
“I’m talking about the traitor De Calvas,” Hannar-Ghan replied, his attention still focused on his lance.
“Based on what? Trur-Gem’s second hand babble?” Rahi strode forward to stand over the Sergeant. She was out of uniform too, dressed down in nut-brown trews; a long white shirt, untucked and rolled up at the sleeves; feet bare, a silver bracelet around her left ankle. Ember thought there was something familiar about it.
“I know Lokke de Calvas,” she said. “He’s a good man. I’d say he’s as much a coward as you are, Sergeant.”
Ember saw Roon-Kotke tense at that. Junn-Kri too. The kid shuffled backwards, moving away from the big caster. Hannar-Ghan gently placed his lance on the paving slabs, stuffed the cleaning cloth into his jacket pocket, and heaved himself to his feet.
“Now, let’s not do anything we might regret…” said Roon-Kotke.
Hannar-Ghan ignored him, fixing Rahi-Khun with a hard stare. “Perhaps your friendship with the Mulai clouds your judgement?”
“Perhaps your hatred for them clouds yours. Where does that come from?” Rahi crossed her arms. “Lokke isn’t a coward. Nor is he a traitor. Whatever stories you’ve heard, they’re wrong. We only have the Watcher’s word for what happened.”
“What about the bloody great hole in Mordume’s chest caused by Lokke’s sword? The Watcher didn’t stick himself, did he!”
“Rahi,” whispered Ember. “You don’t need to do this.”
Rahi-Khun waved away his protest.
“I don’t know what happened in the Briar that night,” she said. “None of us here do. It’s only one version of events and Trur-Gem ain’t the most reliable of messengers. Who knows how much the truth has been twisted between the Briar and here. So, forgive me if I presume my friend innocent until proved otherwise. I bet you’d show the same loyalty to Roon-Kotke here if he were similarly charged. You two are old friends, right? Didn’t you do the Testing together?”
“Aye, we go back a-ways. What are you getting at? The Corporal would never do such a thing…”
“My point exactly. Nor would Lokke.”
Hannar-Ghan sneered, his temper flaring.
“Aye, but we all have secrets, don’t we? Things we don’t want anybody else to find out. I know Lor’s secret. He went and spilled it when he was drunk. You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. Then there’s Cobb over there… He’s hiding something, I know it. Nothing about why he’s out here adds up. One of these days, I’m going to dig out his secret too. Everybody has a darkness inside of them that they keep hidden from the world. You can’t expect your darling Lokke de Calvas to be any different. Perhaps you don’t know him as well as you think you do…”
“I know him very—”
“That’s enough,” said Roon-Kotke, barging his way between the two casters. “Stand down, Sergeant. We’re all on the same side here. What the Mulai do is none of our concern. We’re half an Empire away and we have a job to do… ” He shouted over to the technicians. “How’s that gate coming along?”
One of the technicians shot him an angry look, before returning his attention to the ancient metal locks. It was a look that said: ‘there are three iron dials here, arseface, each one etched with forty-eight numbers, which means 110,592 possible combinations. Working through them takes time!’
Hannar-Ghan straightened his jacket and sat back down. Rahi-Khun turned away from the big caster and returned to stand next to Ember.
“So, uh, what happened to De Calvas in the end?” asked Junn, breaking the awkward silence. “Did they catch him?”
“No,” said Rahi, aiming a sneer in Hannar-Ghan’s direction. “He escaped. Nobody knows where he is.”
“There's a price on his head.” Hannar-Ghan picked up his lance and pulled the cloth back out of his jacket. “A bloody big one. Everyone is looking for him. They’ll catch him eventually.”
“Big?” Roon-Kotke rubbed his chin. “How big?”
“Twenty-five thousand crowns,” said Hannar-Ghan. He glanced at Rahi. “Or so Trur-Gem says.”
Roon-Kotke whistled. “Now that sort of money would solve a lot of problems.” The Corporal stood lost in thought for a moment, before letting out a sigh. “Not that it matters, we're hardly likely to come across him out here are we!?”
***
Ember and Rahi-Khun left the rest of the squad discussing how they’d spend the Watcher’s twenty-five thousand crown reward. They walked back along the line of oconic gates, past gate twenty-two (a Kajjon temple hidden high in a mountain range) and gate twenty-one (where the oconic sentry lay entombed), Junn’s grand dream of buying a manse fading behind him.
Then, when nobody was looking, Rahi punched Ember in the arm.
“Are you crazy?” she said when they were out of earshot. “You could have blown your cover! What were you thinking!?”
Ember stopped at gate nineteen. “They were talking about my wife!”
“I know. Look, I can’t begin to understand what it’s like for you… But Scheid’s balls, man! You’ve got to be more careful. I’ve always known that you're stubborn, but I didn't think you were stupid. You’ve got to stay hidden. You’ve got to remain calm.”
“I have been nothing but calm since I got here. I have been an ocean of serenity. Today’s news caught me off guard, that’s all. The world I’ve been running from has finally caught up with me. Bringing all its b
ad memories with it.” For I almost had it all — the Watcher’s job, a big apartment in the Hourglass, a statue in Remembrance Square, a pretty wife who loved me, a child… All of it torn away…
“You can talk to me, you know,” Rahi said, placing her hand lightly on his arm. “If you want to.”
“Thank you.” Ember pulled away, head down. “But...”
“Because you have a tendency to bottle things up.”
“I can’t. You and I, we have a… Maybe it’s not such a good idea.”
Rahi sighed. “What happened between you and me is in the past. Face it, I'm the only real friend you have in this place. The only one who knows who you really are and who won't turn you in for that bounty on your noggin. Can you say the same for your squad mates back there? Hells, man! You're surrounded by people who don't like the Mulai. Don’t much like you. Most of them would turn you in for the price of a beer let alone twenty-five thousand crowns.”
“I don’t know… I think it’s safer if I do this on my own.”
“Then you’re going to end up dead. And your precious Aarhyn will stay unavenged. Sure, you’ve got problems. Mighty big ones. But you're not the only one who’s hurting. Or running from something. We’re a bunch of misfits here… Trur-Gem is a frustrated old caster who can no longer fight; Roon-Kotke hides the shame of living on the streets when he was a boy. Even the Captain is trying to work his way back from a previous failed command.”
“What’s your point?”
“We're all broken in some way. Tried to deal with things on our own and failed miserably. Then Su-Zo brought us together. He blew life into a half-forgotten legion to give us something to belong to. His search for a Great Weapon gave us a purpose; something that mattered. We’re all the better for it. Stronger too. You should try it. You don’t have to face your demons alone. Let me in. Let me help you.”
Once Called Thief Page 5
