Anyway, Zander. He looked obviously Kardise, and that – as he’d pointed out himself – probably meant he was too obvious to be the assassin. Unless it was a double bluff, but that kind of thing made Bryan’s head hurt. As he’d said to Caraway, he wasn’t a wily bastard.
Penn, then. That one was like a kettle constantly on the verge of coming to the boil. Like a foundry, all sparks and churning molten metal. Something to prove and an angry way of showing it.
Or there was Farleigh. His hero-worship of Caraway would make as good a smokescreen as anything. It seemed a more likely cover for an assassin than Penn’s open antagonism.
Bryan sighed. As they’d said all along, the new intake of recruits was only one of the possible places in which to look for the assassin. There were other ways for a determined killer to get close to Ayla, even under tightened security.
Still. He’d continue to keep an eye on them, just in case.
Dear Sirs –
This is going to be harder than I thought. Not only are the Helm aware of the threat, but they know what kind of threat it is and where it comes from. They will be trying to find ways to guard against it.
Still, at least I now know what they know – and that makes it clear to me how I should proceed. I will have to be careful, but I doubt the people I have met here will see through me. In fact, a couple of them may very well turn out to be useful.
In the meantime, in accordance with your instructions, the first step must be to visit a firearms dealer. I am in possession of the list you sent me, so my intention is to set that part of our arrangement in motion right away. I will write again when there is further news.
Respectfully yours.
The dealer was easy enough to find. Kai had been given a list of streets in the first ring, each of which contained one of the black-market traders operating within Arkannen who were controlled by the Brotherhood. And in this entire row full of dingy-looking shops, the vast majority of which were probably fronts for one form of illicit activity or another, only one door displayed the Brotherhood’s sign.
Time for a little persuasion.
Kai sauntered across the street and into the marked shop, letting the door swing closed with a rattle. Inside, the dust lay thick on shelves crammed with so-called antiques that no-one would ever buy. The man behind the counter, short and balding with a pair of thick glass lenses perched precariously across his nose, looked up with eyebrows raised in enquiry. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I understand you sell firearms,’ Kai said.
In an instant, the man’s expression changed from polite and interested to utterly blank. In fact, he couldn’t have looked more suspicious if he’d tried. ‘You understand wrong. I –’
His words cut off as Kai leaned forward to show him the ring that identified its bearer as an agent of the Brotherhood. When the trader looked up again, his face was pale and sweat stood out on his brow.
‘I’ve paid my dues. I’ve sent back what information I could. Please –’
‘I’m not a collector,’ Kai said. ‘I’m here on other business.’
The man didn’t ask what business; the Brotherhood had its own methods of discouraging too much curiosity. Instead he asked, far more carefully than he had the first time, ‘How may I help you?’
‘By staying quiet as I give you your new instructions.’
‘What do you mean?’ The trader had paled again. ‘Surely you aren’t gonna cut me off? Not when I have a family to feed –’
‘I doubt that very much,’ Kai said crisply. ‘But I’m not here to cut you off. Not unless you keep interrupting me. Now shut up and listen.’
The trader opened his mouth, then closed it again. Kai nodded.
‘Good. Now. I want you to remember that today, someone came in here asking for a gun. I want you to remember that you sold him one. And when the Helm call round, sometime in the days ahead, I want you to tell them all about it.’
‘But –’ the trader began, before pressing his lips together to cut off the rest of the sentence.
‘There’s no need to admit to the sale,’ Kai answered the question in his eyes. ‘But you do need to be able to describe the customer in some detail.’
I don’t understand, said the trader’s eyes – but the trader himself said nothing. Kai rewarded him with a smile.
‘Good. Then let me tell you everything you need to know.’
TWELVE
Another day, another nondescript meal. Penn sat in a corner of the mess hall, shovelling food methodically into his mouth without thinking too much about what it was, and listened to the others talk. They were talking about their families and the lives they’d left behind; even after three weeks of training, they hadn’t tired of that conversation. Yet Penn didn’t want to talk about his family. If he did that, the hatred that simmered hotter inside him with every day he spent in the fifth ring would come bubbling to the surface. But he couldn’t avoid listening to the others expound at length on all the tedious details of the lives they’d left behind. And because he didn’t want to switch off, in case he missed something that might actually be useful, he couldn’t help taking it all in.
Farleigh boasted a lot. He always boasted a lot, and about the most mundane things, too: his parents and his sisters and their home in the Serpentine Quarter of Arkannen. Farleigh was a city boy, and very obviously proud of it. His father was a merchant, something to do with wool or fur or skin – Penn glazed over at that point – but Farleigh’s uncle and his grandfather and his great-grandfather had all trained in the fifth ring in their time, all gone on to become Helmsmen. Family tradition, Farleigh said with a smug smile. The eldest son always joins the Helm.
Saydi came from southern Mirrorvale, where her mother had been a teacher until succumbing to a wasting disease that stole her strength, her sight and finally her life. My father died years ago, Saydi said. It was just Mama and me. So when I lost her, too, I decided I might as well come to the city. Penn found himself empathising deeply with her, but the feeling soon dissolved as she prattled on about the various places she’d tried and failed to get a job. He strongly suspected she was unemployable. Yet against the odds, she’d turned out to be decent enough at weapons training – My father taught me before he died, she’d told them all, more than once; I just never thought I could use it – so maybe she’d finally found a vocation where her constant chatter about trivia wouldn’t become a problem.
Ree said little, and what she did say was defensive. Penn found her defensiveness just as wearying as Saydi’s endless nothings, but at least it wasn’t as jarring on the ear. He noted idly that Ree came from somewhere over to the west, near the Ingalese border. And she had a mother who was apparently obsessed with decorum, to the point where she’d locked Ree in her room for a week for wearing trousers. That was sort of funny, given that he’d never seen Ree in anything but trousers. Yet Penn didn’t learn much about Ree herself. He wasn’t even sure there was anything more to her than the desire to prove a point.
Zander … well, Zander was a little more interesting than he usually was, because he talked less. He came from a town not far from Ree’s village – apparently. But he couldn’t be drawn on anything more than the vaguest description of his home life and what his parents were like. Mention his father, in particular, and Zander stonewalled: smiling, turning the question aside with his usual ease, but Penn detected a hint of urgency behind it. Zander’s keen desire not to discuss his family connections put Penn in sympathy with him for probably the first time ever, and it lasted right up until Zander glanced at him, eyebrows raised, and remarked, ‘You’re very quiet, Avens. Want to tell us all about why you came to Arkannen?’
Backstabbing bastard. Penn glared at him, but now the others were looking interested too.
‘My cousin trained in the fifth ring,’ he muttered. ‘I figured I’d follow in his footsteps.’
Farleigh perked up at that. ‘Maybe he was here at the same time as my uncle. What’s his name? Is he an Avens to
o? I assume he didn’t join the Helm, or you would’ve said, so what does he do now?’
‘He’s dead,’ Penn said shortly, with a swift glance around the table. If he hadn’t been simmering with resentment and suppressed fury, he would have laughed at the shocked faces staring back at him.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ree murmured; and Saydi, after one quick look at his expression, began to chatter about the day’s training. A successful defence, so far as it went. Yet Zander just kept watching him, dark eyes steady, until finally Penn snapped.
‘What, Zander?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Spit it out. If you have something to say –’
‘I was just wondering,’ Zander said slowly and precisely, ‘how your cousin died.’
‘None of your business,’ Penn shot back, and Zander shrugged.
‘Not usually, no. But when a threat has been made against the overlord of Darkhaven, and at the very same time there’s a new recruit in the fifth ring who’s clearly got a chip on his shoulder about something –’
Penn wasn’t aware of having moved, but suddenly he was standing, fists planted on the table, glaring at Zander. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Nothing,’ Zander said again. ‘Only if I were Weaponmaster Bryan or Captain Caraway – and thank all the little gods I’m not – I don’t think I’d have to look far to find a suspect.’
By now, everyone else at the table had fallen utterly silent. Ree started to say something in a low voice to Zander, but Penn – fairly spitting with rage – spoke over her.
‘I think you’re right, Zander. Only I’m not the one they’d be interested in. Because you’re the one who looks like a damn Kardise spy!’
For a moment, Zander said nothing at all. Then, very deliberately, he pushed back his chair and got to his feet. His smile glittered like a drawn blade. ‘Want to practise, Avens?’
Thrown by the unexpected question, Penn only stared at him. ‘What, now?’
‘Why not? We all want to join the Helm, don’t we? So the more practice we do, the better.’
That dangerous smile whispered that it wasn’t practice Zander had in mind: he was after a fight. And that suited Penn perfectly. In fact he’d have taken them all on, given half a chance, but Zander alone would have to do for now.
‘Fine by me,’ he said, anger crystallising into a cool determination that matched Zander’s own. ‘I assume you don’t want to use the wooden swords.’
‘Why use swords at all?’ Zander returned. ‘We’re starting on hand-to-hand combat tomorrow. I say we get a head start on everyone else.’
So, not even a duel: a brawl. Better and better. Penn began to edge round the table. ‘Perfect. Then I assume you want to head out to a practice ground and –’
Zander punched him.
The blow knocked him backwards into his abandoned chair, which in turn tripped him to the floor. His vision blurred, shifting as if his eyes had been spun round in his head. Dimly he heard a single laugh, cut off short; he thought it had been Farleigh. Then Zander appeared above him, holding out a hand to help him up.
‘Lesson one,’ he drawled. ‘The fight starts when your opponent says it does. Maybe from now on, Avens, you’ll stop being such a –’
Penn grabbed his outstretched hand and yanked him down and to the side. Even as he scrambled to his feet, his own punch finished the work of knocking Zander to the floor in his place. He went in for a kick, but Zander rolled nimbly and stood. A few paces apart, they circled each other. A thick stream of blood ran from one of Zander’s nostrils, and he was no longer smiling.
‘There’s your lesson,’ Penn said. His left eye ached in its socket; he imagined it would swell closed by the end of the evening. ‘Don’t gloat.’
Zander wiped the blood from his upper lip with the back of his hand. ‘What makes you such a misanthropic bastard, Avens?’
‘I don’t know,’ Penn retorted. ‘What makes you such an insufferable prick?’
Unexpectedly, Zander laughed under his breath at that. He darted forward and threw another punch, which Penn blocked, and then they closed on each other, firing off blows with wild abandon, grappling without success to throw each other down. All very ineffectual, some detached corner of Penn’s mind had to admit. They could do with that hand-to-hand training.
‘Will you stop it?’ someone hissed in his ear. Someone had a tight grip on the back of his shirt, hauling him away. He caught a glimpse of Saydi’s red hair out of the corner of his eye, then Ree glaring round Zander at him. The fight was being broken up by women. Only Farleigh remained at the table, his expression a mixture of fear and glee.
‘Weaponmaster Bryan said if he heard of anyone fighting outside training, he’d kick us out – remember?’ Ree snapped. ‘It’s in the Code. So do you two want to join the Helm or not?’
She had a point. And she and Saydi could easily have sat back and let him and Zander get themselves into trouble. Yet Penn’s frustration didn’t leave much space for being reasonable. He looked at Ree and sneered.
‘Don’t be such a girl.’
At that, she elbowed Zander aside and stormed towards him. Saydi let go of him just in time for him to receive his second punch of the evening. It didn’t knock him down, this time, but it still bloody hurt. He staggered back into Saydi, who caught his arm to keep him on his feet. Not that it did him much good. Ree grabbed him by the shirt front, brought her knee up sharply into his groin, and then – as he doubled over, eyes streaming – punched him again.
This time, he didn’t even try to remain standing. He sat down hard, ears ringing, face throbbing in time to his heartbeat. Ree, Saydi and Zander ranged themselves in front of him, looking down in scorn. At least, Ree and Zander looked scornful. Saydi’s expression was more thoughtful.
It’s not fair, he wanted to say. He started it. But why bother? It wasn’t as if they cared.
‘Want to carry on?’ Zander asked. ‘I think Ree’s made her point fairly decisively, but I’m sure she’ll make it again if you ask her nicely.’
‘No, I get it,’ Penn mumbled. ‘Ree doesn’t like being called a girl.’
For some reason, their scorn dissipated at that. Zander’s face creased in amusement, while Ree rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve had it with all of you. I’m going to bed.’
Zander’s eyebrows twitched. ‘Mind if I join you?’
She rolled her eyes again, though a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. ‘Put some ice on your nose, Zander.’ Her gaze moved to Penn, and the smile became a grin. ‘And Penn … you might want to ice your whole face.’
Her voice held laughing sympathy, rather than malice – and she hadn’t called him Avens. Penn looked away, made more uncomfortable than he cared to admit by that slight token of … what was it? Not friendship, exactly. Camaraderie. Complicity.
‘She’s right, you know,’ Zander said, as Ree’s footsteps receded. ‘Weaponmaster Bryan’ll take one look at us and know exactly what we’ve been doing.’
Penn didn’t reply, or even glance at him. After a pause, Zander spoke again.
‘I could use a drink before bed. Want to come?’
Still Penn stared at the floor and said nothing. He didn’t understand what was happening. They’d beaten him up, pretty much, and now they were behaving as if he and they were all the best of friends? It made no sense. He didn’t like any of them any more than he had before.
‘Saydi? Drink?’ Zander offered, after another pause.
‘I think I should stay with Penn,’ was the unexpected reply. ‘Make sure he’s all right.’
‘Fine. See you in the morning. C’mon, Farleigh.’ Penn heard Farleigh scramble out from behind the table, then two sets of footsteps. But before they reached the door, Zander’s voice added, ‘Goodnight, Penn.’
Still no Avens. Apparently by losing to them in a fight, he’d earned the right to be addressed by his first name. To be honest, Penn thought bitterly, he’d rather have won the fight and still be thought of as the enemy.
He didn’t want any of them to like him. That would just make the whole thing harder.
Saydi crouched down beside him and put a hand on his arm. Despite himself, he looked up. The two of them were alone in the mess hall, now. Saydi was clutching a damp cloth, which she dabbed against his swollen face. Penn tasted blood. That last punch from Ree must have mashed the inside of his cheek against his teeth. He hadn’t even noticed before.
‘Are you all right?’ Saydi asked. She’d lost all her silliness and her chatter. Her expression was one of gentle concern. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t help you more. I was scared … I just wanted to stop the fighting …’ She bit her lip, glancing away, then added quickly, ‘But I thought it was really unfair. What they did. I mean, I like Ree – Zander, too – but all the same …’
Penn’s wavering emotions solidified back into hot, furious resentment. She was right. Zander and Ree had outnumbered him. Bullied him. And all that supposed affability at the end had simply been their way of savouring their victory.
‘Do you want a hand back to your barracks?’ Saydi asked softly. ‘We can try and minimise the swelling from those bruises.’
At least one person had seen through the whole thing, even if it was only a silly girl. Penn nodded. ‘That would be helpful. Thank you.’
As they walked slowly along the short route between the mess hall and Penn’s room, Saydi glanced up at him.
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what happened to your cousin?’
Penn glowered. ‘He was killed.’
‘I’m sorry. I – I didn’t want to say in front of the others, but my father was murdered, too. So I understand how you feel.’
Penn looked down at her fiery head and felt a pang of guilt for his earlier uncharitable thoughts. He’d done nothing but mock her, albeit not to her face, and here she was showing him genuine concern. Plus she preferred his company to Zander’s, which improved his estimation of her a thousandfold.
‘Thanks,’ he muttered. ‘I’m sorry about your father, too.’
She sighed. ‘It’s good to meet someone else who lost a loved one … that way. Well, not good. But you know what I mean.’
Goldenfire Page 14
