Bane and Shadow

by Jon Skovron

  He gathered as much food and water as he could. It was somewhat difficult, what with the ship leaning at an angle from its broken keel, but he delighted in the newness of this challenge, even making a bit of a game of it.

  Finally, he was ready to disembark. He had on his captain’s coat and hat, plus food and water strapped diagonally across his chest with a sash.

  He climbed carefully down the side of the hull. Once he stood on the sand, he allowed himself one last look at his precious warship. The Guardian’s sails were in tatters, its hull pockmarked with cannon shot. It leaned awkwardly on its side, like a beached whale. As he gazed at it, he began to laugh again.

  Still laughing, he trudged up the beach and into the dense forest that separated him from his goal.

  As he walked, he continued to laugh. Sometimes it was only a giggle. Other times, it grew so strident he would have to pause for a moment until it lessened again. There were even a few times he thought someone else was laughing instead of him. In those moments, he would grow suddenly silent, his wide eyes rolling around in their sockets as he tried to look everywhere at once. But then he would realize that, no, it was still just him, and he would burst out again with renewed laughter.

  By the time he reached the edge of the forest and saw the small, bustling town, his uniform was splattered with mud and torn in several places. He’d lost his hat somewhere along the way, and his hair was matted with twigs and leaves. He had cuts on his face from lashing tree branches, and his teeth were bared in a tight grimace, his jaw clenched in case another onslaught of laughter erupted.

  When he staggered into the station house, he did his utmost to sound calm and reasonable as he explained the grave new threat to the empire. The young officers in their pristine white uniforms listened to everything he had to say with wide eyes, not interrupting once.

  Then they clapped him in irons.

  Vaderton decided that the best thing about being thrown in the brig was finally being able to sleep. And with sleep, he regained at least some sense of self-awareness. But sadly, that led to a fuller understanding of his situation.

  When he woke, he found himself in a neat, tidy eight-by-ten cell with a bunk built into the wall. There was a tray of bread with a bowl of water. The view through his bars only showed an empty wall, and there were no windows. He didn’t see or hear another person. That was just as well. He was still exhausted, and doubted he’d be able to present his case much better than he had before. So he ate and drank, relieved himself in the chamber pot in the corner, and went back to sleep.

  “Time to wake up, sir.”

  Vaderton clawed his way back to consciousness once again and sat up in his bunk. A young officer in crisp white stood on the other side of the bars. Vaderton had been relieved of his own ruined uniform and now wore a simple cotton shirt and loose trousers belted at the waist with a bit of rope.

  He moved slowly, gingerly over to the bars, aware he now looked more like a common crewman than an officer. He tried to give the young officer on the other side of the cell a companionable smile.

  “I feel greatly recovered after a good rest, and believe I can now better communicate the urgent intelligence I uncovered at the edge of the Dusk Sea.”

  “With respect, sir, there will be time for that when we arrive at Keystown.”

  “Keystown?” Perhaps they were taking his warning more seriously than he’d feared. Keystown was the military barracks on New Laven, second only to Stonepeak in authority, and charged with protecting the entire southern half of the empire. Since his clash with Dire Bane occurred within their jurisdiction, it only made sense they would want to hear his report first. They might even take the report to Stonepeak themselves. The admiralty was reluctant to allow a mere ship’s captain to go directly before the emperor.

  “Let’s be on our way, then,” Vaderton said. “Time is of the essence.”

  “Yes, sir,” agreed the young officer. “If you would put your hands through the slot, sir.”

  There was a horizontal slot in the bars just big enough to fit a pair of hands. That way, the prisoner could be manacled safely before the cell door was opened.

  “I see.” Vaderton looked gravely at the officer as he put his hands through.

  “Apologies, sir,” said the officer as he secured the cold iron manacles. “Orders, you know.”

  “Of course,” said Vaderton, displaying a confidence he didn’t quite feel. “This will all get sorted out once I get to Keystown.”

  “I’m sure it will, sir,” said the officer.

  They were accompanied from the station by two other officers down to a small imperial messenger sloop docked in the harbor. Off to one side, Vaderton saw villagers going about their morning routine, occasionally glancing curiously at Vaderton and his uniformed escorts. He couldn’t help but wonder if they thought him some terrible criminal. Maybe even a pirate. He was surprised to find a small urge to laugh again. Perhaps he had not completely recovered from his trauma yet.

  It was only a couple of days to New Laven. There was no brig on such a small ship, so they kept him confined to a cabin. They were courteous, but distant. He suspected that even if his story were believed, he would still have to face a court-martial. He’d lost the greatest warship in the empire and its entire crew on his first tour. He’d probably have to spend a few months in the officers’ brig, coupled with a hefty fine. Perhaps even a public lashing, if they thought it would set an example for the other officers. And after he’d endured all that, it seemed unlikely they would ever let him captain an imperial ship again. They might even discharge him. And then what? He would have to resort to captaining a merchant ship, or worse, a pleasure yacht for the rich and idle.

  But still, he must do his duty and deliver his intelligence, no matter the cost.

  He watched through his tiny portal as they sailed into the bay. He couldn’t see Silverback to the south, but he could see Keystown to the north. He’d always liked the look of it. Unlike most of New Laven, it was pragmatically designed and clean.

  Once the sloop had been secured to the docks, the officers from Kelvacka put him back in manacles and led him up to the deck. There they were met by a squad of six fully armed imperial soldiers.

  “We’ll take him from here, sirs,” the lieutenant said bluntly.

  The officers from Kelvacka looked nervously at one another and nodded. While they technically outranked the lieutenant, officers on smaller islands like Kelvacka were unaccustomed to such forceful military bearing. They watched from the deck of their sloop as Vaderton was led into Keystown with far less courtesy than they had showed him.

  The soldiers led him through the civilian area of Keystown, which looked much like Stonepeak, with its white-walled, neatly spaced buildings. The few people they passed acted as if they didn’t even see the small procession. Vaderton had a sudden urge to wave and shout to them. Further evidence that he still had not recovered from his ordeal, no doubt. Or, he reflected, perhaps it was the quiet anxiety building in him about a possible further traumatic experience to come. Because if he could glean any information from his dour, silent escorts, it was that he was not going anywhere good.

  Of course not, he reminded himself. He had failed in his duties as captain, after all, and deserved to be disciplined. But it would be a fair and impartial punishment. The navy was strict, but there were rules in place concerning self-governance that would prevent gross abuse toward the officer class, even if they were suspected of misconduct.

  He clung to that thought as the soldiers led him into the area of Keystown restricted to military personnel only. They led him past rows of barracks and soldiers training in firearms.

  They took him into the admiralty building, a stately building with tall archways. He thought that was an encouraging sign. At least they were taking his warnings seriously enough to warrant an audience with command.

  But rather than take him to the main audience room, they took him down a side hallway, past several closed doors
, and what little encouragement he’d felt evaporated. They opened the last door on the right and pushed him roughly inside.

  It was clearly an interrogation room, windowless and bare except two chairs and a table with a large latch in the middle that could be secured to manacles. That didn’t bode well.

  But then the lieutenant removed his manacles. So Vaderton didn’t know what to think. He watched uneasily as the soldiers left the room, locking the door on their way out.

  “Captain Brice Vaderton, I presume,” came a voice directly behind him. He could have sworn the room had been empty a moment before, but when he turned back to the table, he saw a biomancer seated across from him. His deep white hood hid most of his features, but Vaderton could see some deformity in his lower jaw, as if his face were melted wax.

  “Please sit, Captain.” The biomancer gestured to the empty chair across the table from him.

  “Yes, sir.” Vaderton sat.

  The biomancer smiled. “Fitmol Bet said you always knew your place. I’m glad to see that’s still true.”

  “I live to serve the empire, sir.”

  “As do I, Captain. Now…” The biomancer leaned in a little and steepled his hands in front of him. “Tell me everything you remember about this one-handed female Vinchen calling herself Dire Bane, and the supposed female biomancer she had with her.”

  11

  As Nettles walked with Filler down old familiar streets, she decided that it felt good to be back in Paradise Circle. Like an old lover you knew from back when, it was easier to reconnect than she expected.

  There were places that everybody gathered, and she still recognized most of the faces. And there were her favorite little nooks and crannies only she knew about, still waiting for her. Even the filthy streets held a strange comfort in their stubborn refusal to ever change. She took in a deep breath of air flavored with bodies, food, spilled ale, mud, piss, and a hundred other things, and she sighed.

  “Well, Filler. We’re back.”

  Filler nodded. “Hasn’t changed a bit.”

  “I reckon we have, though.”

  “Seen a lot this year.”

  “I suppose so,” said Nettles. “Now, let’s see if we can still talk ourselves into a free place to sleep at the Slice of Heaven.”

  Hope had given Nettles all the money she’d asked for. The imperial ships they’d raided always had healthy strongboxes, and while some of that had gone toward regular repair of the ship and supplies for the crew, there was still a lot left over. More, in fact, than Nettles had ever held in her hand at once. It was tempting to put up in the nicest inn Paradise Circle had to offer, but the more money she could keep for bribes, the better. And it couldn’t hurt to call in a few favors from her old crew. Besides, Nettles needed to find out what had been happening around here in the last year. And as any proper wag of the Circle knew, whores always had the best gossip.

  It was a short walk from the docks to the Slice of Heaven. From the outside, the building was indistinguishable from its neighbors. A plain, unadorned three-story structure with no sign and all the curtains drawn. It was late afternoon, so business hours had begun. Nettles knocked three times slow, then three times fast on the dull pink door. A moment later, a girl Nettles didn’t recognize peeked out. She wore a thin slip that covered a great deal but still managed to show just about everything.

  “Welcome to Slice of—”

  “Skip it, molly,” Nettles said. “I used to work here.”

  The girl halted and nodded awkwardly, then shuffled out of the way. Poor girl, thought Nettles. Still getting her feet. The new ones always had door duty. Mo usually didn’t have them start taking clients until after the first month.

  The parlor was filled with old velvet and silk-covered furniture. Half-naked toms and mollies lounged idly around, waiting for the evening rush to begin. When Nettles stepped into the room, she was met by exclamations of “Nettles!” and “She’s back!” Some even jumped up to give her a hug. She graciously allowed it. She couldn’t deny it felt nice to be missed. Near as she could remember, this was the first time she’d ever had the experience. But she did have a reputation to uphold. One she’d most likely be needing quite a bit in the weeks to come. So after a few moments, she cut it off.

  “Yeah, alright. Enough of that. I’m not staying for good, so don’t get your hopes up. Is Mo around?”

  “I’ll take you, Nettles!” shouted Misandry. He popped up from his spot on one of the couches, sending two other toms sprawling to the floor.

  Misandry was one of the most popular toms at the Slice of Heaven. He was tall and slender, with long hair and a finely pointed face. His birth name was Andrew, but when he began whoring he decided to call himself Miss Andy. A short time later—this was back when Red and Nettles were tossing—Red started to call him Misandry. Since it was a bit easier to say, everyone else picked up on it and soon it was the only name people knew. Months later, Nettles and Misandry learned that it was one of Red’s little book-smart jokes. Misandry was a real word that meant “hatred of men.” But by then it was too late. The name had stuck.

  Nettles had been angry, worried it would turn away male clients for him. But Misandry thought it was just as funny as Red did. Nettles reckoned it was whore humor that Red had picked up from his dad. The name never caused problems with the clients anyway. Probably because none of them knew what it meant either.

  Misandry came up to her now. He was bare-chested, his lean torso hairless and tightly muscled. He wore loose pants that hung low enough on his hips to hint that he was hairless all over.

  “Thanks, Misandry,” said Nettles as she eyed him up appreciatively. “Got someone else to keep you neat, I see.”

  His lip turned down in a pout. “She’s not as good as you. Nicked my balls the other day. Thought I’d never stop bleeding.” He led them across the parlor to a set of unmarked doors in the back.

  “Is it worth it?” asked Nettles. “Seems like a lot of trouble to me.”

  “The toms love it.” He slipped over to stand next to Filler. “Ain’t that right, Filler?”

  Filler shrugged. “Not really. Just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  Misandry scowled at him. “What do you know?” He threw open the doors, his head high as he moved in front of them. “Most toms love it.”

  He led them down a dim hallway, past the rooms where the whores actually slept, past the baths, and the kitchen, to the last set of doors.

  He knocked respectfully. “Mo, got an old friend visiting.”

  “I don’t have old friends,” came a smooth, calm voice from inside. “Only enemies and ex-employees.”

  “The second, then,” Misandry said impatiently.

  “You may come in, then.”

  When Misandry pushed open the door, Nettles saw that Mo hadn’t changed a bit. Chin-length hair, fine, elegant features, a perfectly tied cravat and impeccably tailored jacket. Mo sat behind a dark wood desk scattered with books, papers, a pipe, and a box of tobacco. The lingering scent of pipe smoke still hung in the air, mixing with the scented candles that flickered on the shelf edges of an already overstuffed bookcase. A glass of neat whiskey sat just within reach on the desk.

  No one knew if Mo was male or female. Mo had been running the Slice of Heaven since as far back as anyone who worked there remembered, even old Betty Pits, the cook. It was easy to think Mo was fairly young by the smooth face, and a certain undefinable allure that both men and women of all preferences felt. But it was impossible to say for sure. No one knew where Mo came from, or even if Mo ever left the Slice of Heaven. Despite the lack of knowledge, or more likely because of it, speculating about Mo’s origin was one of the favorite pastimes for the employees at the Slice of Heaven. Everything from disgraced royalty to escaped biomancer experiment. It all seemed equally likely.

  Whatever Mo’s background, the one thing everyone knew for certain was that the whores at the Slice of Heaven had the best quality of living of any brothel in Paradise C
ircle, which brought the most attractive whores and in turn, the best-paying customers. Mo was also famously loyal to her employees, past and present. Nettles was counting on that.

  “Well, well,” said Mo laconically. “Our Briar Rose come back to us? Only for a visit, I think.”

  “Just for a little while, Mo,” said Nettles. “If you can spare the room.”

  Mo’s head tilted curiously to the side. “Have you actually taken a tom?”

  Nettles glanced back at Filler. “Him? Nah. He’s just a wag and doesn’t run that way anyhow.”

  “You’re asking for both of you, though?”

  “I’ll vouch for him, too, Mo,” said Misandry, putting his arm protectively through Filler’s. “He has terrible taste in grooming style, but otherwise, he’s a sugar lump.”

  “I suppose for a little while is fine,” said Mo. “But more than a week, I’ll expect at least one of you to start taking clients.” Mo smiled faintly at Nettles. “Your old position has been filled.”

  Misandry made a sour face. “Cabbage is about as fun to talk to as he sounds.”

  “He keeps my employees safe, and that is what I require of him,” said Mo.

  “If all goes according to plan, we won’t be here long anyway,” said Nettles.

  Mo looked carefully at Nettles. “Whatever your plan is, it stays out of this establishment. Understood?”

  “I keen,” said Nettles.

  “Very well. Welcome home, Briar Rose.”

  “Thanks, Mo. You’re a true wag of the Circle. You know if Tosh is around?”