Blackthorne

by Stina Leicht

  Armas reached into his coat, retrieved a small, flat item wrapped in dirty cloth, and pushed it across the stained table. “Had some trouble getting ahold of that. Use it wisely. Won’t be able to get another for some time.”

  Blackthorne partially unwrapped the item. Inside he found a palm-sized pewter disk engraved with a skull and crossbones. The back of the disk was marked with a number. It was a replacement for the one he’d had to leave behind in August. That seemed a lifetime earlier. “Thank you.” He paused. “Have you seen Lydia Corey?”

  “You hadn’t heard?”

  Blackthorne shook his head.

  “Died last summer. Childbirth. I heard the baby was yours.”

  Swallowing the bite of fish before he could choke, Blackthorne then took a sip of grog. When he recovered, he said, “Couldn’t be.”

  “Are you sure?” Armas asked. “She seemed fairly certain.”

  Blackthorne didn’t say anything. He knew too well it was possible. “What happened to the child?”

  “Mallory McDermott took it in,” Armas said. “Said something about a debt.”

  “I’ve a message for Mallory,” Blackthorne said. “Was going to deliver it myself.”

  “Don’t bother,” Armas said, frowning.

  “Why not?”

  “He’s not home.” Armas went back to eating his fish. He seemed to be speaking more to his plate than his tablemate. “He’s not the only one. Jori and Niemi have gone missing. Niemi was behind on his payments to the Syndicate. So, I can guess where he went, but Jori was clean. Wasn’t the type to rabbit, either. There’s a lot of your friends gone missing these days.” He reached into his mouth with a greasy finger and dug out a fish bone. He wiped it on the table edge and took a swallow of grog.

  Has the Watch stumbled upon my network? Or is it the Brotherhood? Or did Jori and Niemi have dealings with others? Did someone talk? Blackthorne’s heart galloped.

  “Also, Reggie was seen talking to a Warden a while back. Nothing came of it then, but who is to say all these things aren’t connected?” Armas shrugged. “Thought you should know.”

  Blackthorne cleared his throat. He hadn’t seen Reggie yet. That had seemed odd. “Anything else?”

  “Word is, someone’s dumping dead kainen on the street. Takes their eyes first.”

  Blackthorne felt the hair on the back of his neck and arms stand on end. The nightmares.

  It’s a coincidence. One can’t have anything to do with the other. He wiped sweaty palms on his thighs.

  “Been keeping the Brotherhood a bit busy, that one. Not sure I mind when it comes to that,” Armas continued. “Brotherhood are bastards. You wouldn’t know nothing about them, now, would you?” He paused in his meal long enough to narrow his eyes.

  “I would not. How is it you do?” Blackthorne asked.

  “If the middling sort are blind and dumb as sheep, it don’t make the rest of us so.” Armas tore apart another piece of fish before stuffing it in his mouth. “You sure you don’t know nothing?”

  “I am certain,” Blackthorne said, lying.

  Swallowing, Armas wiped grease from his chin with the back of his hand. “Reason I’m asking is a rogue’s an easy way of getting rid of folk that get inconvenient. With Mallory, Jori, and Niemi missing …” He shrugged again. “Seems I heard you got connections with the Brotherhood. Seems I heard it from Nickols’s brother. Jacob Nickols is my cousin by marriage, see. He’s got a lot to say about you.”

  Damn it.

  “Caution is only thing keeping some folk alive,” Armas said with a shrug. “Knew your name wasn’t Andrew for a while. Pretty sure it ain’t whatever it is the Nickols boys know you by, neither. I’m thinking you’re not a plebe, no matter how you dress. Not of the middling sort, neither—not that it matters to me. This business. You deal with all sorts. You get things done. Things that need doing.”

  Blackthorne stopped breathing. He knows who I am. What is he going to do about it?

  What can he do? He’s in every bit as deep as I am.

  “Jacob, though, he’s been through a lot. Month stint in one of the Brotherhood’s body holes is enough to unhinge any man. Follow that up with watching your family fed to their dogs, and, well … we’ll just say he goes a bit unreasonable-like around Wardens. Ex-Wardens included. That’s Jacob.

  “Me? I been watching. You get the job done. No airs about how much you’re owed like some folk. Even got our Laila out safe, pregnant and all, and that can’t have been easy. Can’t say I’d have you to meet the missus for supper, myself, but I do trust you within certain bounds.”

  Blackthorne opened his mouth, but Armas held up a hand.

  “So, I’m here giving you a warning,” Armas said. “Someone been sniffing around, asking questions. Someone with Brotherhood connections. And with Jori and Mallory gone missing … well, I suggest you get done what needs doing, forget Andrew Blackthorne ever lived, and get out of Novus Salernum real quick ’til things cool off, you got me?”

  “Did the Brotherhood come for McDermott?” Blackthorne asked.

  “Don’t know,” Armas said. “I just know he’s gone.”

  Have they taken Mallory McDermott? Or did he leave? I have to know. But they’re looking for me—or Andrew at least. Blackthorne nodded, with his heart slamming inside his ears.

  Armas leaned in really close and whispered, “Now, you get out of here. You stink of the Black, and it’s unsettling my stomach.”

  Standing, Blackthorne dropped enough sterling to cover his meal as well as a little extra for Armas and abandoned the rest of his breakfast. He needed time to think. He also needed to know what had happened to Mallory McDermott. He wasn’t as concerned with Jori. Jori, regardless of Armas’s assumptions, was far from clean. Jori could take care of himself. But Mallory …

  Blackthorne left the Golden Swan and began the walk to Tyler Street. He’d gotten as far as the row of shops on Monti Road when the implications of all that Armas had told him slammed him. He covered by pretending to gaze into a window display.

  I’ve a child. He laid a hand against the glass for support. I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl. He’d been so careful from the moment he understood the duke had wanted him to sire offspring. It’d been the duke’s obsession. As a result, Severus had sworn to never do so—even resorting to searching for and finding a nonhuman apothecary rumored to have healing powers. The man had told him such a request was unusual—his clients for such things were women—but it was certainly possible, provided a strict regimen was followed. And so, Severus had taken care to follow the instructions and dosage given. No matter how sick the concoction made him.

  That is, until he’d become Andrew Blackthorne. At that point, it’d been too dangerous to return to the apothecary. Living in the Hold, he couldn’t bring himself to speak with Ilta or the other healer. The matter was too embarrassing. When Lydia had approached him, he’d assumed she would take precautions. She was a prostitute, after all.

  I’ve a child.

  How could she know it was mine?

  Does it matter? There is a motherless child, and you may be that child’s father. She believed you were, in any case. Isn’t that enough? Are you willing to abandon them as you were?

  Lost in thought, he didn’t realize he wasn’t alone until he felt a tap on his arm. The low gravelly voice that accompanied it was so familiar that the danger didn’t register until he’d involuntarily straightened as ordered. There was only one person who had spoken to him in that tone, paternal and commanding.

  “They frown on napping without renting space around here. Be hip-deep in orphans otherwise.”

  Blackthorne’s eyes snapped open. A man with thick grey hair and reproachful steel-colored eyes stood next to him. He was dressed in loose-fitting black clothing. Blue-stained gladiator scars lined his right cheek.

  Talus.

  “Didn’t they teach you any better in that ridiculous school?” Talus asked.  “A novice harvester could’ve lifted
your money and run off before you’d opened your damn eyes.”

  Blackthorne placed one hand closer to his pistol. Out of habit, he attempted to cover the move by running the other hand through his hair. “How long have you been there?”

  “Long enough to be certain of who you were,” Talus said, keeping his voice low. “You look like something a lion fed her cubs. Have to admit, the beard threw me. You’ve lost weight. Always heard that Wardens made enough money to dine like princes. Maybe that was an exaggeration.” The crow’s feet grew more pronounced around Talus’s eyes as a half-hidden smile appeared from beneath his bushy beard.

  Taking a chance that Talus wouldn’t make a move for a weapon yet, Blackthorne quickly scanned the street for the duke. That’s all I need.

  “His Grace isn’t here. He’s staying at Baron Munitoris’s country estate. He sent me into town to make some purchases,” Talus said. He hesitated. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Archiron?” He seemed surprised but not alarmed.

  Archiron? He thinks I’m still in active service. Why didn’t the duke inform Talus that I’d been dishonorably discharged? His Grace certainly had enough money and connections with the Brotherhood to create whatever fabrication suited him. But why would he go to the trouble? Or is it possible the duke doesn’t know?

  On the other hand, Talus may have already sent for the Watch. He might be stalling.

  “Damn you, you’ve been gone a year, and no one’s had so much as a letter,” Talus said. “Is your assignment that secret?”

  Stunned and disoriented, Blackthorne didn’t speak.

  “You’re close-mouthed as always,” Talus said. “Aren’t you going to say a damn thing?”

  It wasn’t like Talus to be deceptive. The only tricks he engaged in were those used in the arena. If the Brotherhood or the Watch were on the way, he would have said as much.

  Blackthorne bargained his fate and those of the others. “I have come only to make a report and must return to my post as soon as possible.”

  Talus appeared to accept the excuse and nodded. He glanced across the street. “You can drop your hand from your pistol now.” He smiled. “Don’t play innocent; I taught you that move before your balls dropped. Why are you so edgy?”

  “I’m operating under another identity.”

  “Ah. I had no idea the Brotherhood went in for that kind of thing. I wondered why you weren’t in uniform.”

  Unable to think of any other means of distracting Talus from further questions, Blackthorne decided to ask his own. “How is His Grace?”

  Talus seemed startled by the inquiry but wrinkled up his face in another smile. It was less enthusiastic. His eyes took on a guarded look. “He is his old self. There was a big to-do at the big house last week. Doesn’t seem to get on well with the new Consul. But that won’t surprise you.”

  Blackthorne nodded as if he cared.

  Without waiting for encouragement, Talus continued with all that had transpired in the last year: new additions, births, and the state of the crops. In truth, Talus was the only person from the estate Blackthorne cared about. After what he’d been through, he couldn’t help finding it heartening to meet with some aspect of his former life and find it unchanged. And not awful.

  “Do you remember Kukka?” Talus asked.

  “I do,” Blackthorne said. Kukka had been one of the duke’s favorites. She had also been Blackthorne’s introduction to women. The duke had sent her to his bed the week before the Academy. Kukka was pretty and fun-loving. Blackthorne hadn’t known her well, but they had spent two days together while she had systematically taught him everything she knew.

  Talus continued without taking his gaze from the street. “She’s dead. A week ago. Ran away three weeks before. Brotherhood found her and brought her back. I had to lash her to the post. What a waste,” Talus said. He delivered the news as if the duke’s prize calf had taken a turn for the worse.

  Blackthorne shivered. Would you show any more remorse if it’d been me, old man?

  I must get out of here. “It has been good to see you, but I must be on my way,” Blackthorne said. “Please send my regards to His Grace.”

  Talus nodded. “I understand. You’ve your duty. Mithras willing, I will see you when your assignment is complete. If not … Die well, Severus.”

  “I will.” Even though he had not done so in years, Blackthorne had to stop himself from adding the “sir”.

  With that, he shook Talus’s hand and walked away. Blackthorne knew Talus was watching and didn’t look back. The sense of relief as the crowds drifted between them was powerful. He continued on his way as dread ran a cold finger down the back of his neck. I must hurry.

  He’d have gone back to Clár Oibre Rúnda but for two things. The first was Mallory McDermott. Mallory was a good man and had risked much to save the lives of many. Determined to help, Blackthorne couldn’t leave Novus Salernum without knowing where the man might be. The second reason was the child, and the child was with Mallory.

  Arriving at the respectable redbrick building that had been Mallory’s residence, Blackthorne went to the front door and knocked. A young man with dark brown skin, dressed in a footman’s uniform that matched the green curtains, answered.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “Is Mallory McDermott at home?” Blackthorne asked, already knowing otherwise. However, the servant’s reply might provide information with which he could start a search.

  “Master McDermott is not,” the footman said. His stony expression didn’t reveal distress of any kind. “Would you care to leave a calling card?”

  The Brotherhood haven’t been here, then. That’s good. Blackthorne didn’t show his relief. “No, thank you.” He decided to take a chance. “Is Miss Lydia Corey receiving visitors? My name is Andrew Blackthorne. I’ve been away for some time and—”

  Sorrow passed over the footman’s face. “I—I … Can you wait here?”

  “I can.”

  “And your name again?”

  “Andrew Blackthorne.” If Lydia had named him the child’s father to Armas, it was highly likely that she’d told others, and if that were the case, it was possible those living here who more than likely shared Lydia’s profession would be willing to tell him where the child was.

  The footman vanished behind the closed door. Blackthorne turned and, leaning against one of the white columns that were set on either side of the front stoop, watched the street. Coaches, riders, and groups of pedestrians passed—none gave the redbrick house and its visitor the slightest interest. He didn’t notice any Wardens among them. That wasn’t unusual in this part of the city.

  Finally, the footman reappeared. He opened the door wide. “Would you please come inside? Lady Melissa will see you now.”

  Blackthorne feigned confusion. “Is Miss Corey unavailable?”

  The footman said, “It would be best if Lady Melissa explained the matter to you. Won’t you please come into the receiving parlour? She will be with you in a moment.”

  He followed the footman into a parlour outfitted with expensive mahogany furniture, a large Ytlainen rug of muted reds, blues, and greens, and green printed wallpaper depicting country scenes. He sat perched on the sofa not far from the door. The footman bowed and left. It wasn’t long before Lady Melissa appeared. She was beautiful, voluptuous, and pale. Her hair was light brown and styled in a tousled knot on top of her head that didn’t take away from her beauty. She wore a modest buttercream yellow day dress with white underskirts.

  He got to his feet.

  “Mr. Blackthorne?”

  Bowing, he said, “I am. And you are Lady Melissa, I presume?”

  “Please, resume your seat,” she said. Turning, she addressed the footman. “George, could you bring some tea?”

  The footman nodded, bowed, and left, closing the sliding doors behind him.

  “I apologize for making you wait,” she said. “It is rather early in the day yet.”

  “I’m sorry for calling at
an inappropriate hour,” Blackthorne said. “I can return at a—”

  “I’m afraid this can’t wait. I—I have some rather unfortunate news for you,” Lady Melissa said. “It’s about Lydia. She’s—she’s dead.”

  Blackthorne let some of his discomfort show on his face. “How?”

  “Childbirth, I’m afraid,” Lady Melissa said.

  There came a knock and the footman returned with the tea. He set the tray on a sideboard and left.

  Lady Melissa went to the tray. “Would you like some tea?”

  “No, thank you,” Blackthorne said. “I should probably leave you to your—”

  “There is something else I need to tell you, Mr. Blackthorne. Something important,” Lady Melissa said. “Lydia was a good friend of mine. We … entered our profession at the same time, you see. In fact, Lydia, Mal, and myself bought this place together. We confided in one another as much as someone in our line of work can. She placed a great deal of trust in you. As did Mal. I hope it wasn’t misplaced.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “What I’m about to tell you … well … let’s say that your response is important.” She poured herself a cup of tea, applied milk and sugar, and then resumed her place in the upholstered chair opposite. “The child was yours.”

  “Was?” He felt the corners of his mouth turn down.

  “Is. She’s a girl.”

  “Where is she?” Blackthorne asked.

  “Not so fast,” Lady Melissa said. “What are your intentions?”

  Blackthorne hesitated. What are my intentions? He hadn’t thought much about what he’d do once he had found her—only that he didn’t want her left on a rubbish heap as was so often the case with unwanted children. What am I to do with a baby? “I—I don’t—”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I don’t know how to take care of her,” he said. “I know nothing of babies.”

  “I see.” She frowned.

  “I must be honest with you,” Blackthorne said. “I had heard that Lydia was gone. I only heard it an hour ago. I came here to—to …”