by Stina Leicht
Tobias yanked his arm free. Resentment blazed across his face before he spoke. “Fine. You know your business.”
Blackthorne turned his back to Tobias.
“Your coat is torn,” Tobias said.
“I know.” Blackthorne resumed walking, and attempted to ignore the cold wind pouring through the rent.
“For what you were paid, you’d think you could afford another,” Tobias muttered.
You’re assuming I’m the one for whom the fee is intended, Blackthorne thought.
After that, Tobias followed instructions without further protest. As they neared the border of Novus Salernum’s North End, the brick houses with their modest white pillars gave way to closed and barred inns, coffeehouses, and merchant shops. Blackthorne led Tobias into a crooked alley and dropped his pack.
“When we’re stopped at the gate, do not speak. No matter what happens,” Blackthorne said. Once again, he searched through the contents of his soldier’s pack. Finding what he needed, he tossed filthy rags at Tobias. “Bandage your face and hands.”
“What is this?” Tobias asked, making a face. “It stinks.”
So many questions. Blackthorne selected a filthy bandage and wound it around own his head. “Leper’s bindings.”
Tobias dropped the rags onto the cobblestones in disgust.
“Be certain your ears are covered,” Blackthorne said. “And look no one in the eye.”
“I’m not putting that on my face.”
“Elpharmaceutria are immune to leprosy. I fail to understand your concern.” Blackthorne knotted old cloth around his hands.
“One of my parents was kainen.”
His disguise complete, Blackthorne retrieved the cloth Tobias had discarded. “I was informed I would be transporting an elph—” He cut the word short when he spotted Tobias’s glare. “Kainen. If you have concerns, perhaps you should take them up with your friends, the Lucrosa.” He shoved the bundle back into Tobias’s hands. “Accept the danger or not. Make the choice now, and stop wasting my time.”
It was a bluff. Blackthorne couldn’t return to Slate without Tobias, but Tobias didn’t know that. However, he’d run out of time. The guards at the gate were due to change in a quarter hour, and if he missed Sergeant Fisk, they’d have to wait another day. The way things were going, he didn’t want to take the chance.
Tobias stalled, glancing around the alley. Finally, he sighed. Blackthorne waited until Tobias finished with the rags. Then Blackthorne limped into the street, putting a finger to his lips. Tobias’s bandaged head bobbed a reluctant yes in return. A few hundred feet from the gate, Blackthorne paused to listen. He heard a sneeze and a sniff. Someone cleared their throat and spit. The sound echoed off the twenty-five-foot wall ahead.
Four guards. Two more on the wall. Again, the information came to him with an uncomfortable ease. He had sharp ears, always had. It doesn’t mean anything else. He took a deep breath and staggered to the portcullis.
“Here, you! Gate’s locked! It’s dark. Ain’t nobody getting out, see?”
Blackthorne changed direction at once, targeting the guard who’d spoken. He wheezed in a cracked voice, “We’ve no shelter. Please. Let us stay in your guardhouse.”
“Lepers! Get them away from here!” The shout came from the right.
“Malorum took our friend. Please.” Blackthorne reached out to the nearest soldier, who jerked away in disgust.
“Shoot him! Now!”
Muskets clicked as hammers locked into place.
Heart hammering in his ears, Blackthorne hoped Tobias had enough courage to stay silent. Damn it, Fisk. Where are you?
“Wait! Paulus, old friend? Is that you?”
Through the narrow opening afforded by his disguise, Blackthorne recognized the fat sergeant with thinning braids on either side of his face. The hairstyle was one adopted by the emperor’s shock troops, and legally, only those who once served in their ranks could wear their hair that way.
Blackthorne bowed his head. “Yes, sir. Sergeant Fisk, sir.”
“Lower your guns.” Sergeant Fisk waved the guards down. “It’s only Paulus. He means you no harm.”
“You know him, Sarge?”
“Of course I do. He served with my poor brother Jori in the Eledorean campaign,” Fisk said. “Never you mind what he is now. He was a Retainer with a Gens name once. Killed hisself a bear in the games, didn’t you, Paulus?”
Blackthorne carefully straightened his shoulders in tattered pride. “That I did, sir.”
“What happened to you?” one of the other guards asked. His face was set in disgust and disbelief.
“A swiving elph gave him the rot. That’s what happened,” Sergeant Fisk said.
At the edge of his vision, Blackthorne saw Tobias tense.
Fisk continued, not noticing. “—poor devil. Mark my words, same could happen to any one of us. The legion will cut you loose just as quick too. That’s why we look out for our own. Got it?” Sergeant Fisk stopped at a safe distance. “Shouldn’t you be in a bolt-hole, Paulus?”
“Full up when we got there, sir. Planned to start for Archiron in the morning.” Blackthorne shrugged. There were moments when he felt guilty for taking advantage of Fisk’s sympathies and moments when he didn’t. “Plans changed.”
“Who’s that with you?” Sergeant Fisk asked.
“Don’t know his name. Rot took his lips and tongue. You want to inspect him?”
“No need. No need. I can smell him from here,” Sergeant Fisk said, “You got anything for me?”
Blackthorne reached into his greatcoat and brought out two pewter coins embossed with wheat stalks. “Today’s takings. Only a couple of pennies, I’m afraid. Will it do?”
“Civilians don’t give veterans proper respect. Not like they used to.” Sergeant Fisk wiped the pewter wheat stalks on the front of his jacket. “Private Cullen, get the gates.”
The portcullis creaked open just wide enough for Blackthorne and his charge to pass through. He made a point of limping along the road to Archiron until they were out of sight of the wall, and then ducked into the trees. Releasing the breath he was holding and stretching, he resumed his normal posture.
“Can I take these filthy things off now?” Tobias asked.
“Give them to me,” Blackthorne said, stuffing Paulus’s bandages into the military pack. He stood straight and filled his lungs with clean air. He didn’t enjoy playing Paulus, but terror of disease meant lepers weren’t searched nor were they asked for identification.
Tobias ripped the cloth from his face and tossed it onto the ground with a shudder. “Where are we going now?”
“We must avoid populated areas until we reach Aurivallis,” Blackthorne said, gathering the discarded rags. “We’ll cut through the woods over to the road. Hard ground will make tracking more difficult.” He looped his pack on his shoulder. “Keep quiet while I listen for patrols. We can’t chance resting until we’re at least five miles outside of the city walls.”
The patches of sky revealed between the tree branches were black velvet jeweled with pinprick stars. It seemed the weather might hold. That was good luck. Blackthorne arranged the wide lapel of his greatcoat in front of his nose to prevent breath-clouds and fell into the rhythm of a long hike, letting its cadence soothe the tension in his stomach. He remembered his early training and focused on keeping his shoulders loose and his weight centered in the pit of his stomach.
“You walked in the middle of the street, bold as anything, before. Why hide now?” Tobias asked.
“Because there is now cover worth hiding in.”
When they reached the main crossroads, Blackthorne headed north. A nagging feeling something was wrong gnawed at him.
“I’ve never been as far as Aurivallis before,” said Tobias in a cheerful tone. “Well … I’ve never been out of Novus Salernum, actually.”
Blackthorne stopped and gave Tobias a sharp glance.
“What is it?”
Tilting h
is head, Blackthorne strained to hear. The woods to the right. One man. Medium build by the sound. Horse not far. Too careless for a Warden. He drew his pistols.
“Blackthorne?”
“Hide over there,” Blackthorne whispered. “Now.”
The voice that drifted from under the trees was crude. Its friendly East Side tone stretched over menace like an ill-fitting waistcoat. “Here, now, why would you want to go and draw weapons for? All I wants is a friendly chat.”
DRAKE
ONE
NOVUS SALERNUM
THE REGNUM OF ACRASIA
QUARTER PAST MIDNIGHT
28 AUGUST
THE TWENTY-FIRST YEAR IN THE SACRED REIGN OF EMPEROR HERMINIUS
“Captain? You awake? Captain?”
Captain Drake mumbled a drowsy curse. That would be Gilmartyn, the new recruit, damn him. One of the others must have put him up to it, knowing her disposition when her sleep was interrupted. Based on the tremor in his reedy voice, she surmised Sergeant Benbow must have related an account of her predecessor’s fate. There were at least three different versions circulating the Watch House. Which rumor was to blame for Gilmartyn’s newfound timidity was of little consequence. She let Benbow have his fun with the recruits. Occasionally, his embellishments were useful.
“There’s a Warden here to see you,” Gilmartyn said. “Says it’s urgent. Captain?”
“Stop that incessant banging.” She sat up, hunching to avoid slamming her head into the empty bunk above. A dreadful ache settled into her head the instant she was upright, and she squeezed her eyes shut against agony.
Mithras, I hate this job. The original attraction had been the money and respect the uniform brought. For the daughter of a common street harvester, she’d achieved a great deal. However, at the moment, she would’ve traded it all for a decent night’s sleep. She swung her feet out of bed. The clock on the mantel read twelve-thirty. The fire was out in the hearth, and the kettle hung cold on its swivel hook.
“Gilmartyn? Blast you, are you still there?” The effort of shouting plunged a fresh bolt of pain through her temples.
To Gilmartyn’s credit, there was only a slight pause. “Yes, Captain. What do I tell him?”
Pushing both hands through her hair, she made an unsuccessful attempt at smoothing the fingers of agony clawing at the inside of her skull. “Tell him I’ll meet him in my office. And Gilmartyn, there’d better be a cup of hot tea on my desk when I get there.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
She flinched as Gilmartyn thundered down the stairs. Taking her time getting presentable, she gingerly scraped a comb over her tender scalp and then made a face in the mirror. When a quarter hour had passed, she threw on her captain’s jacket, not bothering with the buttons, and made her way downstairs. A cadet Warden stood at attention in the middle of the room, secreting urgency like stale pipe smoke. After only two hours of uninterrupted sleep, she didn’t give a toss if he was in a hurry or not. It isn’t even daylight. She shoved past and caught the faint stench of vomit and rotting corpse. Fighting down a reflexive stomach clench did nothing for her mood.
She spied the mug of steaming tea in the center of her desk.
Gilmartyn just might see corporal one day.
The door slammed. Sergeant Benbow assumed a position next to the shut door as if on guard. His pox-scarred face was set in a disgruntled glare, and the left leg of his breeches gaped free of his boot.
Where’s Jaspar? Drake thought. Benbow should be in the bunkhouse snoring loud enough to rattle the floorboards.
“Am I addressing Captain Drake?” the cadet Warden asked.
She detected a sneer as he pronounced her last name. It’s an Ytlainen name, not an Eledorean one, damn you. Her father hadn’t paid to change it to something more suitable, because it hadn’t been necessary, not in his line of work. However, she couldn’t afford to do the same. It was high on the long list of items she needed to tend to soon.
She dropped into her chair with more enthusiasm than was wise, given the state of her head and stomach. Half-awake, she had enough self-discipline to keep her retort to herself—just barely. And you can see the stripes on my sleeve. If you’re too stupid to figure out who I am from that, then you don’t belong at the Academy. Instead, she grunted an acknowledgement.
“I’m Cadet Warden Lucrosa Tavian. You’re needed. I’m to take you to an alley off of Five Sisters Road. This is a special case.”
“Benbow, check the door,” she said.
Benbow obliged. The captain’s office wasn’t secure—nowhere in the Watch House was, but it was wise to check that Gilmartyn wasn’t listening in. Not that she expected him to understand what he was hearing if he did. Opening the bottom right drawer of her desk, she fished out the bottle she kept there. After pouring a measure of cheap whiskey into her tea, she replaced the cork, deposited the bottle in the drawer, and gave it a hard kick. The bottle rolled and hit the inside of the drawer with a clank. Gordan said the Brotherhood might come calling, and that it’d mean extra pay.
A special case, though. At this hour, I knew it wouldn’t be good news.
Unable to delay any longer, she looked up at Cadet Lucrosa. Insignia embroidered on the lapel of his black greatcoat indicated he had attended the Warden’s Academy for four years. His brown hair was shaved off the back of the neck in the outdated Academy style—she understood the Academy barber used an inverted bowl to measure what would be cut. The fringe was normally groomed back from the face, but sweaty hair hung in the cadet’s pale green eyes. There was also a stain on the hem of his coat. Everything else about him was clean-shaven and regulation.
She took a long swallow of spiked tea, waited for it to appease her hangover, and then sighed. “Messy one, is it?”
Cadet Lucrosa blushed faintly and frowned.
“Look, this sort of thing isn’t within my jurisdiction. Need a review, Cadet? Fine. The Watch protects the citizenry. Your duty is to keep the nonhuman scum from overrunning the Regnum; therefore, hunters are the Brotherhood’s concern. Your concern. Not mine.” She leaned forward and whispered. “You lot are the ones issuing the damned hunting licenses.” What in the hells am I doing? This puppy has a gens. He can have me killed.
Cadet Lucrosa dropped his formal posture and bunched a fist. His jaw visibly tightened. “I was informed that your predecessor maintained an equitable agreement with the Brotherhood.”
She knew exactly what the cadet meant but kept to her pretext of innocence nonetheless. Looking to Benbow, she saw him nod.
Damn it, Gordan. Sometimes I wish I had killed you. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath to get control of her emotions. “All right. What is it exactly that you want from me? Understand, this is going to cost you.”
TWO
Drake surveyed the street while Benbow set the brake on the Watch’s feed wagon. Tavian jumped down at once. The road was clear. It had rained the day before. Luckily, the alley was far enough from the cesspools at the corners that the smell wasn’t overpowering. At least this parish has sewers. Gibson Road is a perpetual offal-filled bog this time of year.
Five Sisters was where the middling sort lived and worked. Respectable red and tan brick structures competed for space along the street. Their doorways were unadorned and narrow, their roofs sensibly angled to prevent snow from accumulating in the winter. The windows were shrouded with lace curtains, and the mullions supporting the glass panes were lead instead of silver. In the spring, regimented gardens of vegetables and flowers appeared in the fenced plots behind the buildings. No nonhuman sullied the neighborhood unless they possessed citizenship, an appropriate amount of sterling, and the demeanor to match. It was the kind of area that set Drake’s teeth on edge. Everything and everyone in its proper place and arranged in a façade that said nothing bad happened there. Yet, if one looked closely, one would notice the streetlamps left to burn, the sensible sterling pieces hung in windows for protection, iron bars. Malorum were as feared the
re as they were in other parts of the city.
The alley Tavian had indicated ran between two businesses, a potter and a tailor. Their owners slept peacefully ignorant in the uppermost floors. She glanced at Benbow’s ugly face and caught his determined frown. He didn’t relish this kind of work any more than she did, but he’d been included in Gordan’s bargain. Given that the agreement stipulated that the Brotherhood paid in silver coin, only a fool would turn it down. It usually involved mopping up a bit of blood before the public noticed. She’d done a great deal worse before buying her stripes.
Cadet Lucrosa waited near the wagon, obviously unwilling to chance another eyeful of the body.
A Warden with a weak stomach, she thought. His parents must have a great deal of money and very little sense.
She wasn’t surprised when a second cadet Warden with longer black hair knotted into a non-academy-regulation queue met them at the corner. Wardens traveled in pairs, particularly the cadets. There was something attractive about the second cadet in spite of the scowl. His eyes? Or perhaps it was his jaw? She couldn’t make up her mind in the dim light. He had a nice build. Like the Lucrosa, his collar indicated he’d been at the Academy four years, which meant he was seventeen or eighteen. She took in the whole of his demeanor and decided he was at least eighteen.
Older than Cadet Lucrosa, anyway, she thought. Four years younger than myself. Interesting. I wonder how much he knows of the world? Might be fun to teach him a few things. He’d certainly have the stamina for it.
He turned, and she glimpsed the gens name Fortis embroidered on the right breast of his greatcoat. At that moment, she decided she didn’t like the line of his jaw after all.
It has been too long. Her boyfriend, Gerald, had abandoned her after she’d confessed her plans for buying a captaincy in the Watch. A street harvester moving up to burglar was one thing, but the Watch? She might as well have declared herself to be malorum. Unfortunately, the business of dishonest trade was strictly regulated by the Syndicate, and the Syndicate was as fussy as the wife of a silversmith when it came to bloodlines. Drake didn’t look it, but her mother’s mother had been a navigator on a Waterborne ship. She could change her name, but she could never change her ancestry. The Syndicate would never grant anyone with tainted ancestry membership. While she hadn’t told Gerald about her grandmother, it’d been easy enough to put together once she’d explained why she was hiding sterling from her father. There were few employment options left to persons of mixed blood. The prisons employed anyone willing to take on the job of guard. The Watch was the second more pleasant, more respected option. Therefore, she’d put in her application at the nearest Watch House.
