A little way away, she spotted an ochre stain on a pale rock. As she approached, the smell got stronger. There it was, the feeling she had smelled it before. The colour of the stain was familiar too, although she couldn’t place it, either. She rubbed a finger on it and brought it up to her nose. Whatever it was, it was unpleasant. It evoked a vague memory, somewhere dark, enclosed… She focused on the colour, groping through her memories. Where had she seen that colour before, where…?
She gasped. The underground cistern.
As a child, she had followed some workers back when they were attempting to dig a new cistern into which to redirect the flow of an underwater river. There was the Old Cistern, of course, but even back then it had been old — some claimed it was as old as the underground tunnels, and that both tunnels and cistern were far older than Damsport. The Old Girl had ordered the creation of a new, more modern cistern that would better fit the fast-growing city.
The dig, however, had been beset with troubles. The diggers found that the only space beneath Damsport which wasn’t taken up by the tunnels was made of an odd, ochre-coloured clay that stank and crumbled. They did the best they could, digging out a large chamber, but in spite of using beams and buttresses to support the walls and ceiling, half of it collapsed. Worse, after a time they discovered that the clay contaminated the water, turning it undrinkable. It was deemed impossible to create a working cistern, and the whole initiative had been abandoned.
Rory had snuck into the digging chamber not long before the project was cancelled. Like every child in Damsport, she was fascinated by the tunnels and she wanted to see them for herself. There was no shortage of stories describing the monsters that roamed Damsport's underground maze. Every child, even those on the streets, grew up hearing of the tunnels with their traps, their hidden abysses, their otherworldly creatures, and of course no story was complete without mention of the myriad of ghosts that remained trapped underground, attesting to the lives the tunnels had claimed. Rumour even had it that starmoles were eyeless so as to be blind to the horrors that took place around them.
Rory had wanted to be the first kid to make it to the tunnels, and she planned to bring back more than just stories to prove she had been there. She had imagined that her escapade in the tunnels would make her famous, an adventurer to be reckoned with. Sadly, she only made it to the first digging chamber — far enough to see and smell the odd ochre clay — before someone saw her and dragged her out. For her efforts she got a spanking, a roll of bread, and orders to ‘put some meat on her bones.’ She had met the Scarred Woman soon after, and she forgot about her fascination with the tunnels.
Rory felt for her medals, letting them tinkle between her fingers as she thought. Of course she no longer believed the stories, they were just that: stories. But the tunnels were real enough. As was the abandoned cistern. The forgotten chamber would make a perfect hiding place for someone not wanting to be seen, and if her memories were right, it was big enough to easily accommodate an alchemy bench.
The only issue was the smell, distinctive enough for someone to remember. She thought of Dr Corian in the baths. If he had been in league with the tall man and working in the underground chamber, he might have been at the baths to wash off the smell. It would have been easy to kill him there. There was the matter of his body being in the women’s section, but Rory knew full well that after a certain time of the night the separation between men and women in the baths was no longer enforced. If he had gone to seek out one of the prostitutes that operated in the baths at night, the tall man could simply have killed him there and hauled his body up into the gap above the rock face.
She let her medals fall back against her chest. There was only one way to see if she was right.
* * *
The entrance to the now-abandoned cistern wasn’t far from the cemetery, a little further along the rocks that lined the eastern part of the peninsula. They were enormous, some balanced precariously on top of each other, so that they looked like an interrupted game started by giant creatures centuries ago.
Rory picked her way over the rocks, looking for a small, natural cave. The dig had started from the back of it. She hadn’t yet worked out what she would do if her theory proved to be correct — for now she would simply sneak in, observe whatever there was to observe, and take it from there. She might be wrong, anyway — the underground chamber might hold nothing more than bad smells and a few starmoles, if she could even get inside since it was supposed to be sealed off.
She found the cave easily enough, although its ceiling was lower than she remembered. If she stretched her fingers up, she could easily touch it. She thought of how tall the man from the Bazaar had been. He would have to stoop to come this way.
At the back of the cave, she could see a pile of stones where the tunnel entrance had been. Her stomach sank a little: she was wrong. The chamber was still sealed off. She approached it anyway, and as she stepped to the side, her heart fluttered like a moth in a glass jar. The pile of stones wasn’t quite blocking the way: there was a gap to the right, just wide enough for a person to squeeze through. The illusion that the way was sealed off had been carefully maintained, suggesting that whoever had done this wanted it kept a secret.
Rory paused. Should she go back and fetch Longinus? There was no telling what she would find beyond, but it seemed pretty clear that she would find something. Having Longinus with her might prove helpful. Then again, he had been clear enough that he didn’t want her to bring up anything more to do with the copycat killer and the tall man — there was nothing to suggest he would have changed his mind in the short interval since she’d seen him last. Maybe if she had a better idea of what they were dealing with she’d have more luck bringing him around.
She slipped inside.
The ground was even, and soft enough that she could walk without making a sound. Ahead of her the tunnel was perfectly dark, but a little light filtered through the entrance behind. She wished she had brought a vapour lamp with her, although that would alert anyone ahead of her arrival. No use wishing for something she didn’t have, anyhow.
She kept her arms stretched ahead of her, progressing cautiously along the downward slope of the tunnel. Voices floated towards her, distorted and warped by the close space. Rory froze and listened, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. She crept forward and almost walked into a wall as the tunnel bent sharply to the right. A ray of light shone out from the end and the voices cleared enough for her to hear what was being said.
“So, what do you think he’ll do after we kill her?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care, and neither should you.”
A pause.
“I think he’ll tell Lady Martha to reconsider his offer,” said the first voice.
“If he has any sense,” replied the second, “he’ll get rid of her too, and replace her with someone who’ll do as she’s told.”
Rory’s skin crawled. Lady Martha was the Old Girl’s daughter.
“Only, I was thinking —”
“You’re not paid to think.” The second voice was hard. Without knowing why, Rory felt sure this was the tall man from the Bazaar.
“I know, I do it for free.” A guffaw. “I was thinking, though. If Damsport is part of the Empire once more, things might be harder for the likes of us. I’ve heard the Emperor is a difficult one.”
“I’m sure he’ll make an exception for those who got Damsport back for him.”
“True. And with all that money, well, there’s no problem in the world that can’t be bought. Right? Right?” Another guffaw.
Rory backed away slowly. There was no doubting it, they were talking of assassinating the Old Girl and helping turn Damsport back to the Airnian Empire. Her head swam at the thought. This was bigger than her, or Longinus. Come to think of it, how did Longinus fit in all of this?
A hand fell on her shoulder, making her cry out in surprise. She had time to register bright sparks of pain at the back of her head b
efore the world went dark.
Chapter 31
When Rory opened her eyes, the first thing she was aware of was a pounding headache. The second was that her dagger was missing from her side. The third was the smell of the place: sweet sulphur. She sat up with a groan, wincing at the pain at the back of her head.
“She’s awake,” said a gruff voice, and two big hands lifted her up to her feet. “Don’t get any ideas. You pull anything silly and I’ll smack you another.”
The hands released her, and Rory looked around, blinking. She was in the chamber she remembered from her childhood, with its walls and ceiling of ochre clay. Sconces holding vapour lamps were affixed directly into the clay, lighting up the space. At the end of the room, Rory could see where the ceiling had caved, but in this part the beams and buttresses still held fast.
The items of a rudimentary camp were scattered about the chamber. Sleeping holes had been dug into the clay, covered with rough-spun blankets. In a corner was a bundle of clothes — women’s clothing, amongst other things. It looked, in fact, like the kind of thing a servant of the Old Girl’s might wear. And to her left was a rudimentary table on top of which were instruments like the ones from Longinus’ alchemy bench. In the middle was a sealed glass jar full of a dark liquid.
What little excitement Rory felt at having been right was drowned by the fact that she was trapped, that she was in way over her head, and that she was very possibly looking at a rapid shortening of her life. She continued scanning the room for anything that might help get her out of this mess.
The tall man from the Bazaar sat on an upturned crate, carefully sharpening his rapier. He glanced up at Rory, meeting her eyes steadily. Rory felt another jolt of recognition. She gasped. This time, she knew where she had seen him before. He had been sat down then too, so she hadn’t noticed his height. And anyway, her attention had been completely captivated by —
“Looks like a full house, boys!” The voice was raspy and instantly familiar.
Rory spun around, and her breath caught in her throat.
The Scarred Woman had entered the chamber, moving with the powerful ease that Rory remembered. She was instantly taken ten years back, to the childish awe she had felt then. She didn’t notice the man next to the Scarred Woman right away, not until someone shoved him forward and he fell.
A bag was on his head, hiding his features, but Rory would have known that green silk waistcoat anywhere. Behind Longinus was Jake. He greeted her with a scowl.
“Pick him up,” ordered the Scarred Woman, and Jake obeyed. She lifted the bag off Longinus’ head, and seeing them side by side, the resemblance was unmistakable. Rory realised why Longinus had looked so odd to her at first: time had washed the Scarred Woman’s features from her memory, but she had obviously picked up on the similarities without realising.
“So, brother dear,” the Scarred Woman said to Longinus in a mocking tone. “Didn’t you get my note?”
To Rory’s shock, Longinus nodded meekly, keeping his eyes trained to the ground. Where were the cutting remarks?
“I’m surprised you had the nerve to send your little trained monkey after me. Who knew you’d grow a backbone?”
“The name’s Rory,” said Rory, “and I’d thank you to use it.”
The man who had lifted her up grabbed one of her arms and twisted. “Quiet,” he grunted. The Scarred Woman raised an eyebrow.
“Rory? Oh, I remember you. Weren’t you that kid who came up to me at the Kraken all those years ago?”
Rory felt an absurd burst of pride that her idol remembered her.
“I don’t normally forget a face,” continued the Scarred Woman, “but I have to say, I didn’t think you’d last another summer.”
“Yeah, well, people are always underestimating me.”
“Evidently so. I take it that since you couldn’t come with me you had to make do with my brother. I dread to think how disappointing that must have been for you. Are you still a disappointment, brother dear? ”
Longinus’ gaze remained fixed on the ground.
“I bet you’re living in Mother’s room, aren’t you? Of course you are, you pathetic excuse of a man. And to think she threw me out over you.”
Silence.
“Can you believe it, Raynard?” The Scarred Woman turned to the tall man from the Bazaar. “My mother, the most talented, the most ruthless of assassins, threw me out over that. You,” she continued, jabbing Longinus in the chest, “turned Mother soft. With your stupid stories, your stupid clothes, your stupid alchemy. We did just fine until you came along, and then it was all about Longinus. You distracted her. You changed her. She would have been great if it wasn’t for you — the whole world would have known and feared her name, not just Damsport. You robbed her.”
Longinus seemed to shrink within himself.
“You robbed me, too,” continued the Scarred Woman. “You robbed me of my first kill. If you had bled out quicker, she wouldn’t have been able to save you.”
Rory shifted uneasily, remembering the door with the deadbolt, the bloodstained rug, the cut-out painting. Her dream of partnering with the Scarred Woman suddenly felt uncomfortable.
“She would have forgiven me,” said the Scarred Woman. “She would have, once she saw what life could be like, unburdened by you. Eventually, she would have forgotten you.”
Longinus never looked up.
“Let me g-g-g —” he closed his eyes. “Go,” he said at last.
Rory’s eyes widened. Longinus had a stutter?
The Scarred Woman let out a bark of laughter.
“I would, brother dear, I would. But you see, first you owe me a death. Second, I have business to attend to in Damsport, and would you believe it, I need your help. I really can’t thank you enough for your little imaginary friend, the Viper. He’s made the perfect cover. I can’t believe you’re still trailing him around after all these years. ‘Don’t hurt me, Myran, or the Viper will come get you,’” she said in a high, whiny voice. “Well, I’m about to make your Viper famous. You can thank me for that at least. I’m going to pull off the assassination of the century and the whole world will watch. You’ll become famous too, since I need a real person to take the fall for the job — although I imagine your fame will be short-lived.”
She turned away from Longinus, facing Rory. “You, kid. You still want to work with me? I could use another pair of hands. If I’d known who you were I’d have had you working for me from the beginning. Raynard doesn’t have my eye for faces, and I can’t do much in the open with such a recognisable scar. As it is, I’ll extend you the offer you wanted so badly back then.”
For a moment, Rory was elated. Her childhood dream had suddenly become reality, and it was magnificent. It must have shown on her face, because Myran laughed.
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”
Rory got a handle on herself.
“You want me to help you with what? I won’t help kill the Old Girl.”
Just saying it out loud made her even more uneasy, and yet this was the Scarred Woman… This was her dream coming true. If she went with Myran, in time she would become a warrior, a hero, to be admired and respected. But there was no way she could be involved in a plot against the Old Girl.
And then there was Longinus. Rory found that she couldn’t look at him.
“You’re going to k-k-kill the Marchioness?” asked Longinus.
“What’s it to you?” said Myran.
“Mother was loyal to her.”
“You’re wrong.” Myran’s face was the very picture of triumph. “You know nothing about Mother. I’ve been speaking to her. That’s the thing when you work for the Airnian Emperor: he has connections. He introduced me to a psychic who has been in contact with her. It was Mother’s suggestion that I come back to Damsport — it is her wish that the city return to the Airnian Empire.”
“Mother’s d-d-d-dead,” said Longinus, face straining as he pushed out the last word. “The Emperor is p-puh-pl-l
aying you.”
“Ha. The psychic said you’d say that. She knows things, things that only Mother could have told her. She knew of all the plans we had until you came along.”
Something flashed across Myran’s face, too fleeting for Rory to read it.
“Mother isn’t dead,” Myran added in a softer voice. “She’s trapped in another realm, and if I secure Damsport for the Emperor, he will help me get to her.”
“There is no other r-r-realm —”
“Quiet!”
The slap echoed shockingly loud in the silent chamber, Longinus’ head snapping sideways. Rory gasped and threw herself forward, but the man behind her only tightened his grip.
“Don’t move,” he growled.
Longinus lifted his head, an angry red mark on his cheek.
“Tell me something,” said Myran with a predatory smile. “Have you finally learned to say my name?”
Longinus didn’t reply.
“Go on, say my name. Say Myran so Rory can see how pathetic you are.”
Longinus fixed his gaze on the ground once more.
“Say it, say Myran.”
The second slap was as loud as the crack of a whip. Rory knew she should say or do something. She knew that she could never partner up with Myran now, not having seen the way she treated Longinus, and yet the full force of her childhood dream, of a life’s worth of desire, bore down on her and she couldn’t find her voice.
“Say Myran.”
Slap. Longinus remained with his head to one side, his cheek an angry red.
“It’s just two syllables.”
Slap.
Slap.
Rory could feel what was left of her dream crumbling around her, and it winded her.
The Viper and the Urchin: A Novel of Steampunk Adventure (Bloodless Assassin Mysteries Book 1) Page 17
