‘Nothing. ’S just the first time I’ve heard you call them yours.’ And about bloody time too. Obscurely heartened by that small show of confidence, Bryan clapped him on the back. ‘All right, boyo. You want the girls to train, they train. They’ve as little chance of success as anyone else, so you may never have to put your Helm to the test. And in the meantime, let’s hope the lads who’ve come to try their skill will take to the idea as easily as you have.’
‘I don’t see why they’d object.’
‘Yes, Captain Caraway,’ Bryan said patiently, ‘but that’s because you’re an idealist. Just you wait and see.’
TEN
A few days after starting on the assessment programme with the latest intake of Helm hopefuls – one of whom was quite possibly an assassin – Caraway realised that he’d been neglecting Ayla’s own training as a result. Which was stupid, because she needed to be able to defend herself now more than ever. With that in mind, he took her off to the small hall within Darkhaven they’d been using for the purpose so that she could get some more practice. Yet with every new grip, every new throw, he became increasingly frustrated. She was good, by now. She learned quickly, and her Changer blood made her nearly his equal in strength. And yet it wasn’t enough. He was still beating her, much of the time. And if he could beat her, other people could too.
Come on, Ayla. Grip, lift, slam. Fight me off. Grip, lift, slam. Don’t let yourself be caught unawares –
‘Tomas!’ She put both palms in the centre of his chest and shoved him as hard as she could. ‘Enough!’
He stumbled back a step, focusing properly on her face. She was flushed and breathing fast, but her eyes were narrow with anger.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled.
‘Surely you know this isn’t doing any good,’ she said, still cross. ‘Even if I improve enough to throw you off every time, that won’t help me against a bullet.’
‘I know.’ He scrubbed his hands through his hair. ‘That’s the problem.’
Her expression softened. ‘Tomas, you’re doing everything you can. We both know that. I’m as scared as you are, but we’ll come through this together.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Caraway said again. ‘It’s just … the other day, I said you had to stay alive for Mirrorvale’s sake. But the truth is …’ He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. ‘The truth is, I need you to stay alive for mine.’
Silence. It was too much, he knew it was. Showing her the extent of his need for her could only cause her to retreat. But then she said gently, ‘Why does that make you ashamed?’
‘Not ashamed. Not that. But I shouldn’t …’ Eyes still downcast, he struggled for an explanation. ‘You’re the one in danger. I’m supposed to reassure you. Not let my own fears show.’
‘Tomas. Look at me.’
He did. Ayla looked back at him steadily, a gentle downward curve to her mouth. Not sadness, exactly. Something softer and more subtle than that.
‘You’re allowed to be afraid on your own behalf,’ she said. ‘In fact –’ and here a gleam of mischief entered her eyes – ‘I’d be offended if you weren’t.’
He had to laugh, and that made the tightness in his chest ease a little.
‘Now,’ Ayla said, still mischievous, ‘try it again.’
Mistrusting her expression, but willing enough to go along with it, Caraway reached for her. Instead of twisting away, she ducked under his arm and came up close against him. Her hands grabbed the front of his shirt. Her head tilted as she stretched up on tiptoes to touch her lips to his. Completely disarmed, Caraway released his hold and kissed her back.
‘I didn’t hurt you just now, did I?’ he murmured when they came up for air. She caught his lower lip between her teeth, hard enough to make him wince, then smiled.
‘No more than that.’
And she hooked his feet neatly from under him.
After she’d finished laughing, she appeared above him with a smirk on her face. ‘Never let your guard down, Captain Caraway.’
‘I admit, it wasn’t the kind of thing I ever prepared for in training,’ he replied. ‘But now I know that kind of move is allowable between us …’
Ayla retreated, laughing again, as he jumped back to his feet and advanced on her. And one thing led to another.
Later, he watched her trying to smooth her rumpled hair back into place without a comb and reflected ruefully that he’d just confirmed everything the Helm thought about his training of Ayla. Not that they’d ever said it to him, and certainly not to her. But he’d overheard a handful of them speculating with salacious glee about what, exactly, their captain taught their overlord twice a week behind closed doors. He’d let them get on with it; soldiers were soldiers, after all, and they’d talk whatever he said to them. It wasn’t as if anything they said had really been offensive to him or, more importantly, to Ayla. But the irony was, there’d been absolutely no truth in it. Whatever the two of them might get up to at other times, their training sessions had always focused on genuine fighting skills – until now.
‘I think we may have just become a cliché,’ Ayla said, turning to him in a half-echo of his thoughts. ‘Still, at least now the Helm can indulge their gossip in the righteous glow of truth.’
Caraway reminded himself that she knew far more about what went on in Darkhaven than he gave her credit for. She had, after all, been part of its rather odd community all her life.
‘Do you mind?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Mind?’ Apparently giving up on her unruly hair, she let her hands fall. ‘Why should I mind? It’s not as if you and I are a secret.’
‘But –’
‘If they have nothing better to talk about than what two grown adults get up to in private, I say let them get on with it.’ She crossed over to kiss him, a mere brush of the lips this time, then rocked back on her heels so that she could look up into his face. ‘I’d better go and meet Miles. He’s returning today so we can start our investigation.’
Her expression was challenging. Caraway decided not to rise to the bait, only saying equably, ‘I’d like to greet him myself. Do you mind if I join you for a few moments before I go?’
As he’d hoped, she couldn’t really argue with that.
Yet once the two of them and Miles were sitting together in the library, Caraway found himself doubting his own doubts – because he couldn’t think of anyone less likely to be an assassin than the man in front of him. Miles didn’t appear to have the ability to dissemble in any way whatsoever, even when it would make other people – or indeed, himself – far more comfortable. If he wanted to kill someone, he’d probably tell them precisely why he wanted to do it first.
Still, it wasn’t as if assassins came with a warning sign. The best person to carry out an assassination was always the one who no-one could imagine doing it.
‘I would like to start by learning exactly what you can do,’ Miles was saying now, after some introductory and rather awkward pleasantries. ‘You can Change; that goes without saying. But some of the stories I have heard about your father …’
Caraway felt Ayla tense beside him, but her voice remained calm. ‘Go on.’
‘They say he had certain powers even in human form. That he could see in the dark. That he could control fire. That he was faster and stronger than an ordinary man, and healed more quickly …’
Ayla nodded. ‘True, true and true.’
‘Oh. Then you –’
‘I can see in the dark. I’m stronger than I should be for my size. As for controlling fire …’ She looked away. ‘Florentyn was a pure creature of flame. As such, he had powers I don’t have. Small things, really. He could light the lamps without having to touch them. Incinerate a piece of paper to ashes. No more than that.’
‘Of course, you would have no power over flame,’ Miles said calmly. ‘It is not your element. Something your father might have burned, you would be able to freeze. Did you ever attempt anything like that?’
‘I –’ Ayl
a hesitated. ‘To be honest, I never thought of it. My father tested me with fire, when I was younger, and when I failed, he told me –’ She swallowed, then finished carefully, ‘He told me it was because I was neither one thing nor the other.’
Caraway heard all the words she wasn’t repeating, and squeezed her hand. She threw him a small, grateful smile.
‘With the greatest of respect to your father, he was not an alchemist,’ Miles said, oblivious to the unspoken. ‘I would expect a hybrid to be stronger, alchemically speaking, than a single element. He was simply giving you the wrong test.’
Ayla stared at him. ‘You mean …’
‘Your elements are wood and ice,’ Miles explained. ‘So if you have any powers such as those you described of your father’s, they will take those forms. The power to freeze water, as I said. And as for wood …’ He spread his hands. ‘You may be able to snap it. Bend it. Encourage it to grow. I really have no idea which.’
‘I’ve never been able to do anything like that before,’ Ayla said doubtfully, and he nodded.
‘Nevertheless, I think it is worth a try. After all –’ a sympathetic glance – ‘if you fail, you will not have lost anything.’
Not oblivious after all, then. Caraway suppressed a sigh. He could see why Ayla liked the man, but he still wished she hadn’t brought someone new into Darkhaven. As he’d said, he would have expected an assassin to be personable.
‘Here.’ Miles held out the glass of water from the table beside him. ‘Try this.’
‘Now?’
‘Why not?’
Ayla took it, her expression a mixture of fear and resolution. She bowed her head, knuckles whitening briefly. Then she looked up and fixed the water with a steady stare.
Nothing happened.
‘I told you,’ she said, lowering the glass to glare at Miles over the top of it. ‘I’m not –’
‘It would be very surprising if you could achieve it on your first attempt,’ Miles said calmly. ‘But perhaps, if you practise …’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Tell me, how did your Changer power first manifest itself?’
To start with, Caraway thought she wasn’t going to answer. She bent her head once more, running a fingertip around the rim of the glass – but then she spoke in a low, soft voice.
‘It was my birthday. I was turning fourteen. I’d been dreading it for months, because Myrren still hadn’t made the Change, and my father had grown increasingly violent towards him since – since my mother died. And I knew I couldn’t win. If I failed to Change, I would only add to my father’s fury. But if I succeeded, it would put all that burden of failure back on Myrren’s shoulders.’
Caraway had never heard her talk about it in that way before. He wanted to hug her, but settled for reaching across to squeeze her hand again. Ayla glanced at him, then at Miles, and her defensive, wounded expression eased into amusement.
‘There’s no need to look so tragic,’ she said. ‘It’s ancient history now. The point is, I didn’t want to Change that day. I didn’t want the day to come at all. But when my father took me out into the courtyard and assumed his creature form, to see if I would do the same, it just … happened. The power was there, and I used it before I even knew what I was doing.’ One corner of her mouth curled ruefully. ‘As you can imagine, he had some words to say about the kind of creature I turned out to be, but that’s another matter.’
‘I see,’ Miles said. ‘In that case, it may be that your other powers find you in a similar manner. Alchemy is, in some sense, at the intersection between knowledge and belief. You had no idea of your potential, and so that door was closed. But now that you are aware of the possibilities …’ He peered at her face as if trying to assess her level of openness to new things, then concluded, ‘I think on this one, Lady Ayla, we will just have to wait and see.’
She nodded. Despite her attempt to reassure him, Caraway could still see a hint of pain in the curve of her mouth. She might claim that what she’d described was ancient history, but it was still part of her. He found himself hoping that Miles was right, that she would discover these new powers over wood and ice. Maybe then she would be able to lay her father to rest for good.
‘Miles,’ he began, thinking to ask the alchemist whether there was anything he himself could do to help Ayla – but then a sharp rap on the library door made them all jump. The Helmsman who entered gave a respectful bow to Ayla and a nod to Miles, but his attention was focused on Caraway.
‘You’d better come quickly, sir,’ he said. ‘There’s been a shooting.’
Strictly speaking, an unlawful death in Arkannen fell under the jurisdiction of the city watch, not the Helm. Unlike his predecessor, Caraway had no desire to extend the powers of the Helm beyond Darkhaven itself. They existed to protect the Nightshade line: that was all, and that was enough. But on the matter of firearms, the boundaries were less clear. The watch were ill equipped to deal with the sudden rise of illegal weaponry in the city; they didn’t know how to handle and store a confiscated pistol, how to use one, how to defend themselves against it. The truth was, very few people in Arkannen did. What knowledge there was lay underground. A few sellswords of Naeve Sorrow’s ilk – those who were skilled enough and deadly enough to be largely above the law. The black-market traders who smuggled firearms and powder into the city. Perhaps the odd wealthy specialist who gained pleasure from being able to buy and own something no-one else had …
And Miles Tarantil.
The thought presented itself apparently from nowhere; it took Caraway a moment to place the memory behind it, Bryan telling him that if he ever needed advice on the Helm’s store of confiscated firearms then he could do worse than call on Miles. Because apparently, Miles knew how to use a pistol. Why, Caraway hadn’t asked at the time – but now, with his and Ayla’s previous discussion fresh in his mind, it took on a more suspicious hue. And Miles was in Darkhaven with Ayla right now …
Caraway hesitated, toying with the idea of returning to the tower. But Miles would have been searched before entering Darkhaven. Everyone was, now, even those who had lived there for years. Even Caraway himself, to make the point that no-one was above suspicion. And the keys to the very secure, nigh-indestructible, certainly unpickable safe that contained the pistols were currently hanging around Caraway’s neck. Yes, assassins were cunning, but they weren’t that cunning.
Besides, the watch were expecting him – which brought him back to the original point. The watch didn’t know what to do with firearms; it made sense for the Helm, the most highly trained soldiers in Mirrorvale, to take charge of unusual and dangerous weaponry. In addition – though he hadn’t revealed it in his conversations with the watch – Caraway had been aware for the past three years just how much of a threat a pistol could be to national security. And so he and the Captain of the Watch had agreed between them that if any crimes occurred in the city that were related to firearms, the Helm would attend the scene to lend their expertise and possibly take charge, depending on the crime.
Of course, usually it was smuggling or illegal possession. Murder was a new and unwelcome development.
The incident had taken place in the first ring, in one of the more disreputable inns that edged the Night Quarter. One of Caraway’s old haunts, in fact. Chances were, he’d brawled on the premises himself at some time in his life – though of course, the difference was that he’d never killed anyone in the process. Still, as he stepped over the threshold, he was uncomfortably aware of just how fine the line was between himself and the crimson-spattered lad who sat with an expression of glazed shock between two members of the city watch. The pistol lay on the table in front of them, looking deceptively innocuous.
‘Caraway,’ the Captain of the Watch greeted him. She was waiting by the door: a tall woman, older than him, stern-faced. The rest of the inn was empty, even the bartender absent from his post. No doubt the witnesses had all been sent away or taken in for questioning.
‘Larson.’ They exchanged salutes. ‘W
hat happened?’
‘See for yourself. We haven’t moved him yet.’ She jerked her head back over her shoulder, and Caraway stepped around her to see, for the first time, the man lying on the floor. There could be no chance that he was still alive. The pool of gore that surrounded his body was far too large for that, and the vast, gaping wound that had obliterated a good portion of his back left little room for doubt.
Fire and blood, Caraway thought – then almost laughed, though it wasn’t funny, because that was what the room smelled like. Death and gunpowder. He’d never smelled the two together before, but there was no mistaking either. So that’s what it looks like when you shoot someone.
Fleetingly he saw Ayla in place of the dead man, and his vision swam. It was no wonder that a pistol could do what other weapons couldn’t, and harm a Changer creature. The victim’s insides appeared to have exploded out of him.
‘Several people saw it happen,’ Larson said. ‘So you’ve no need to be involved in the investigation, such as it is. Just thought you’d want to take charge of the weapon.’ She eyed the pistol with dour suspicion.
Caraway nodded. ‘Do you mind if I speak to the suspect?’
‘Be my guest.’
He crossed to the table and leaned both hands on it, looking down at the killer’s bowed head. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’ he asked, not ungently.
The lad clasped his shaking hands and looked up. ‘I – I shot him. In the chest. He owed me money and wouldn’t pay, so –’ An audible swallow. ‘But I din’t know what would happen – I –’
‘Then why pull the trigger?’ Caraway’s voice lifted, torn between anger, exasperation and just a hint of sympathy. ‘Why carry an illegal firearm if you don’t even know what it does?’
The lad shrugged. Lad was the right word. He was younger than Caraway, though fear had aged him. No older than some of the new recruits, up in the fifth ring. ‘Gave me a reputation, din’t it. Made people back off.’
And there was the problem: pistols were becoming more common than the knowledge of how to use them. A handful of years ago it would have been fists or a knife – both of which could be lethal, of course, but the point was they didn’t have to be. Whereas a pistol, in the close quarters of a bar-room brawl … whoever it was aimed at didn’t stand a chance. Rumour didn’t lie when it said they were the deadliest weapons around, and in some circles that made them fashionable. Which meant you ended up with idiots like this one, carrying fire around in their pockets because they didn’t realise it could burn. If the watch or the Helm didn’t find a way to stop it soon, they’d only end up with more deaths on their hands.
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