by Ben Galley
Nobody was more surprised by the gunshot than Merion. He had to look, just to make sure he had fired the bullet. There it was: his own finger was wrapped tightly around the trigger, holding it against the wall of its tiny metal cage. Merion’s mouth hung agape. His traitorous heart slunk away into his chest. His legs began to wobble.
Gile was dumbfounded. All he could do was hold Castor as the lord fell back, a horrible, twisted grimace on his face and a hand clamped tightly to his chest. Blood seeped from between his white fingers.
‘You bastard, Hark!’ Castor cried, between tight lips. ‘You fucking bastard.’
Merion could do nothing but croak and gag at the smell of gunpowder pouring from his gun. He wanted to see it fall to the floor and be done with the horrid, murderous thing. But his finger would not let go. Something inside Merion held on, something ruthless and daring—the very same something that had pulled the trigger just a few short moments ago.
‘Aagh!’ shouted Lord Serped as Gile dragged him to a nearby armchair. Suffrous had turned a bright shade of red, a crimson storm cloud brewing in his cheeks. His hands were shaking too. Castor was already pointing at Merion with a crooked finger. ‘Get that boy! I want him tied up next to his aunt. And I want a bloody doctor too, Gile!’ he screeched.
Merion darted for the door as Gile reached inside his charcoal coat. Though not for blood; that would be too slow, even for a man like him. He reached for a gun instead, a stubby, six-barrelled pistol with hammers that curved like claws. Gile moved like lightning, and as Merion wrenched open the door, the gun began to thunder. Merion dove headlong for the safety of the corridor. Bullets burst through the door, ending in explosions of splinters and varnish. One after the other, they pounded a viciously neat line into the wood. Several zipped through his clothes without a scratch, but the very last clipped his ear, and sent him sprawling on the floor in a shower of blood.
The pain was searing. Merion clapped a hand to the side of his face and ran for the stairs. The boy knew where his aunt would be, where any self-respecting lord would keep a prisoner: away from prying eyes, in the hold.
The ox blood was dwindling now. By the Almighty did he feel weak. Maybe it was the blood, pouring from his head, or the fact that he had just shot a man. Merion could only shrug and hurtle on. This was about Lilain, not he, and that was the first time he could ever remember knowing what selfless meant. He was not quite sure he liked it, if this was what it took.
‘Tonmerion!’ came a howl. He couldn’t tell whether it came from Gile or Castor, but he was not waiting around to find out. He ran on, barging two guards into opposite walls as he sprinted around the corner. The ox blood was not quite done yet. The rolled-up eyes of the fallen man were testament.
‘HARK!’ somebody screeched. It sent a shiver down Merion’s spine but still he kept running.
Two more lordsguards stood at the bottom of the spiral stairs, but two swift kicks saw them both out cold and bleeding. Merion’s legs were beginning to ache, as if he had run a marathon to be there. He needed to rush again, before he collapsed. He sprinted on.
The first door led to a cupboard full of brooms. The second unleashed a cacophony of engine noise. The third revealed a row of bunks, mercifully empty. The fourth, however, was a cargo hold, and drenched in darkness. All save for the feeble glow of one tiny candle, sitting in the centre of the dark cavern. A shadow sat next to it. Merion shut the door behind him and weaved his way between the crates and support struts and ropes. There, in the middle of the hold, at the centre of a circle built of boxes, sat his aunt, tied to a chair with only the candle for company. Her head lay heavy on her chest, and her legs were at awkward angles from each other. Droplets of dried blood polka-dotted her bare and muddy arms. Her long hair was tangled and matted.
Merion took a deep breath to keep from crying out. He clicked his fingers in front of her face and tapped her lightly on the shoulder, but she did not stir. He shook her, gingerly, as if he were worried her head would come loose and fall into her lap. ‘Please, be alive …’ he prayed. He shook her again and elicited a moan. Faint, but a noise nonetheless. Merion rocked her from side to side and pressed a hand to her knee.
He got more than a moan this time.
‘Faaaahh!’ Lilain wheezed, eyes wild and bloodshot. She struggled against her ropes as she bit down hard on her lip.
Merion looked down at his hand and realised what he had done. Her kneecap was completely shattered. Blood had seeped through her trousers and turned them a deep crimson.
‘Fucking Castor,’ Merion cursed.
‘Fucking Castor indeed,’ Lilain whispered hoarsely. ‘Water?’
Merion shook his head, feeling suddenly guilty. ‘Only blood.’
‘There.’ Lilain nodded to a nearby crate, where a skin of water had been left draped over a corner.
Merion grabbed it and pulled the cork. He sniffed it and pulled a face. ‘It’s wine.’
‘Screw it,’ Lilain rasped. ‘I need something.’
Merion obliged her. She coughed and she spluttered, but she managed a few gulps, gasping as the sweet wine met the cuts on her split lips.
‘They’ve ruined you,’ Merion mumbled. He had pictured it with every muddy step on his way to the riverboat, but now he was here, he just wanted to be sick.
‘Thanks,’ she said, trying to wink with one puffed-up eye.
‘Was it Gile? A man named Suffrous Gile?’
Aunt Lilain nodded. ‘Most of the time. Castor too, when he was bored of watching.’
Merion pressed his fists to the floor.
‘And your Calidae too. She was here,’ Lilain sighed. ‘Watching just like her father. Not a trace of emotion in that bitch’s face.’
‘Aunt, please.’
‘You have to know, Merion. In case I don’t make it out.’
Merion was about to protest when shouting echoed through the hold, muffled but closing in, accompanied by the heavy thumping of boots.
Merion emptied his pocket of vials and spread them on the floor. ‘I’m not done yet, Aunt. I came here to rescue you and that’s exactly what I intend to do.’
Lilain smiled, or winced, Merion couldn’t tell. ‘Ever your father’s boy,’ she said, with a pained gasp. ‘And what happened to your ear?’
‘Bullet from Gile. Protect the family name and all that,’ Merion said, trying to sound nonchalant. His voice cracked instead. He looked to his vials.
‘Blue whale. Mongoose. Pigeon. Turtle. Eel. Bobcat.’
‘Drag me over there, between those two tall boxes. Careful now, and I’ll tell you what to do,’ Lilain told him. Merion thanked the Almighty for the last few scraps of blood. He rushed them hard and fast, letting them swirl around his head.
But this was no time to dabble in euphoria. He seized the back of the heavy chair and pulled, letting Lilain’s feet drag on the floor. She bit her lip and screamed in her mouth. Merion scrunched up his face and pulled harder, faster, remembering what his old nurses had told him of bandages and ripping them off quickly.
‘The quicker it’s done, the sooner it’s …’ Merion paused to lift the chair over an uneven floorboard before stopping. ‘… over.’
Lilain was on the verge of passing out. Her head swung back and forth and she moaned in one continuous stream of delirious pain. Her legs were twitching. Merion tried not to listen to the crunching of her cracked bones.
‘Bastards,’ Merion hissed, and in that moment the horror felt from pulling that trigger was forgotten, and his finger itched for it again, ruthless, and daring. ‘I’ll kill every last one of them. They’ll die just like Castor.’
That seemed to wake his aunt up. ‘Are you saying you … killed Castor?’ she squeaked.
‘I didn’t mean to … I …’
‘Good.’ Lilain spat a purple gob of spit on the floor. ‘About time somebody did. But you aren’t a murderer, Merion. Just get us out of here.’
‘Just one more then,’ Merion said quietly. There it was again: th
at inner voice that scared him deeply.
‘Gile.’
Merion listened to the shouting and banging for a moment. ‘He’s a leech, like me,’ he replied.
Lilain looked at him then, through the matted strands of her hair, and Merion saw something sad in her eye, something beaten. ‘Read out your vials again, nephew. Let’s see what we can do.’
Merion ran back to his vials. He rattled them off as quick as he could. ‘Blue whale. Mongoose. Turtle. Eel. Pigeon. Bobcat.’
Lilain took a breath and closed her eyes. ‘Blue whale. If you can stomach it, gives you the ability to create shockwaves by clapping your hands. Or fins, if you’re unlucky. Mongoose. Fast reflexes and sharp teeth. Bobcat, again sharp teeth but a ferocity that will be hard to stomach. Turtle. Protective magick. Hardens your skin to a shell. Not your shade, but maybe, if you’re strong enough … Pigeon. Used for homing. Can increase concentration …’ Lilain took a moment to wince and shift in her seat.
‘Can I mix any of these?’ Merion blurted. He could hear banging at the end of the corridor. His heart thudded, almost painfully.
‘You’re not ready for that,’ Lilain gasped. ‘We don’t know what shades you can mix.’
Merion spluttered. ‘Gile can do it. How am I supposed to …’
‘Pigeon,’ Lilain exclaimed.
‘Pigeon?’
‘Pigeon!’
Brooms clattered on the floor. Engine noise blared.
‘Mix it with the mongoose, quickly!’ his aunt urged him. She was shaking in her bonds, eyes constantly flicking between him and the faraway door. ‘They’ll hit you both like a brick, so hold on and concentrate.’
Merion nodded, and as he walked slowly back to the centre of the dimly lit circle of boxes, a candle his only ally, he uncorked the vials and knocked them back. Putting the red into his belly, Merion muttered to himself, as he felt the sour sting in his throat.
Chapter XXXIV
“ROTTEN AS THE REST OF THEM”
‘I knew I had to take it Karrigan. I had to ask him outright, and show him I was serious.
He saw me in the shadows of his fire before I had a chance to call out. I told him of Sift and the Black Fingers’ visit, told him of the White Wit and who he’d threatened. Merion. I asked him for a Hoard to pay them off. He told me no. With barely a thought. I asked again. He told me it was impossible. He ignored my pleas. His face was like stone. I see why Merion fears him the way he does. I saw then why they call him the Bulldog.
His fucking son, I told him. And if that wasn’t a reason to pay them, I didn’t know what was!’
6th June, 1867
The blood kicked him like a mule, never mind a brick. Merion fought the urge to double up as his stomach roiled, just as the door to the hold burst open under the force of boots and rifle butts. The hinges shattered and the door lay flat with a loud bang. Merion flinched. His hands were shaking. It felt as if every strand of muscle in him shivered uncontrollably. Merion winced, trying to work it into some sort of fearless grin as four lordsguards rushed inwards.
Merion stood his ground, unmoving. He stared down the barrel of each rifle in turn, daring them to crackle. The rushing blood and swirling magick made him bold. And then in walked Calidae, small gold pistol in her hand and a vicious glare on her pretty face. Her hair was coiled up in a tight bun, and she wore a slim black dress with frills at the bottom. Merion narrowed his eyes, wondering whether she was a friend or foe. He desperately hoped it was the former. Gile came next, holding a very pale Castor under his arm. Ferida was there, glowering just as darkly as her daughter. She too had a gun, though she was too busy making sure her husband could stand to wield it. The whole family had come out to play.
Merion felt very alone in the centre of his circle. His eyes flicked from one Serped to the other, and then to Gile. He could see it right away, the way his eyes jittered and flickered, the way a glimmer of sweat sat on his brow, the way his knuckles burned white: he was rushing, though Merion had no idea what.
‘So here he is, the murderer,’ Castor sneered, his voice a hoarse rattle. His coat was soaked with dark blood, and despite Ferida’s dabbing, the wound continued to ooze. Castor would die, but not before he’d seen his murderer die at the hands of his manservant.
‘The monster,’ Calidae spat. The viciousness of it made Merion wince again.
‘And yet you’re the ones who kidnap an innocent woman, tie her to a chair, and beat her senseless,’ Merion retorted. He had never spoken to Calidae like that, and the shocked look on her face confirmed it. Her gun rose up an inch or two. So did Merion’s. If Calidae had chosen a side, then so be it. Her wiles would not work on him anymore.
‘Did you think you could get away with this, boy?’ Castor wheezed. ‘Come into my home, shoot me, and steal my prisoner? Audacious, Hark. Foolishly so. Just like your dead father.’
‘He was a fine leech, it must be said,’ muttered Gile. His wild eyes had not yet left Merion. The young Hark stared right back, letting them wax lyrical and threatening. Merion just wanted to get on with it, whatever it was. The blood surged in him, waiting to pounce. The mention of his father had made him boil.
‘And my father would be doing the same thing, were you trying to cheat him instead of me.’
‘We’re trying to help you, Merion,’ Calidae hissed.
Merion sneered. ‘You’re trying to rob me, Calidae, all of you. Thieves. I expected better from a lord of the Empire,’ he goaded them.
‘How dare …!’ Castor gasped, as he struggled to stand straighter. ‘You foolish little boy, you dare to lecture me on being a Lord? You are nothing, Hark, not even a shade of your father. You have no idea what it requires, and no idea how lost you are out here. Alone. Forgotten. There will be nobody to bury your corpse when Gile is finished with it, nobody to write home and apologise to. Your estate will be divided up and carted away. Dizali will see to that, as will her Majesty. They will be most pleased, when I present them with your signature.’ Castor cackled. ‘Calidae?’
Calidae raised her gun, saying nothing. Merion steeled himself, but then he realised that she was not aiming at him, but rather, just past his arm, at his aunt.
‘No,’ he said, instantly standing between them. ‘Leave her out of this.’ Merion raised his gun up to match hers. His finger shook. Castor was one thing, but Calidae …
‘She’s one of them,’ Lilain hissed at him. ‘Don’t you dare hesitate.’
Castor held up the contract, surprisingly untouched by his oozing blood. ‘Sign it, boy, so we can get on with burying you.’
‘Sign the contract, Merion, or I’ll shoot her,’ growled Calidae.
‘You’ll have to shoot me first,’ he said defiantly, hoping there was some vestige of fondness in her, hoping it hadn’t all been an act. ‘I won’t move.’
‘Calidae …’ Castor urged.
‘Just sign it, Tonmerion,’ she told him. ‘There’s no way out.’
Merion’s eyes darted back and forth, looking for any hint of a twitch in her aim, or a crack in her cold voice, like winter ice meeting spring. No matter how hard he looked, there was nothing. Not a sliver of the humanity he had glimpsed there before. Like her father, she was nothing but false promises and deceit. He had been duped by her fluttering eyelashes and little smile, and now that all else had been burnt or cut away, he could see her true self. It was as rotten as the rest of them.
He drew himself up to his full height. ‘Go to hell,’ he said, before swinging his gun to the left and opening fire on Castor, and Gile, the guards, the whole lot of them. Merion didn’t aim; he was too busy pulling the trigger, and wondering how many bullets this contraption had in it. He just wanted to keep firing until all of these people were gone, and he was alone.
Five was all it sputtered. Merion looked up from the pounding hammer of the gun.
Castor was sliding down the doorframe, leaving a bloody smear on the wood. Ferida was splayed on the floor and still as bone. Gile was somewhere behind th
e boxes, saving his own skin. One lordsguard clutched a knee and howled. The others were shouting and throttling their guns, ready to fill the young boy with lead.
So was Calidae, Her mouth hung agape, and her eyes raged with fire. She stared down at her shoe, and her mother’s hand that rested on it, limp. Lifeless. Calidae looked up at her father, and found him pointing at Merion with a weak and crooked hand. ‘Kill him, daughter!’ he croaked.
Calidae needed no further encouragement. She too opened fire, marching forwards with each wrench of the trigger. Merion felt the icy cold flush of fear as the gun was levelled at him, but he had forgotten his blood. It surged through him, pouring magick into his muscles and tendons, making them quick. The first bullet flew at him, and Merion watched it fly past as he ducked. The next came, and it too slid past him without a scratch, Merion marvelling at how it spun as it flew, the air rippling behind it.
Four bullets came at him and four bullets slipped past him. He was so enraptured by this strange new ability, that he didn’t notice Calidae bearing down on him. Only when she pressed the barrel of her gun against his chest did he notice. Before even he could react, there came a horrifying click that froze them both. Her gun was empty.
Merion moved like lightning. He knocked the gun aside and brought his own down on the side of her head, just above the jaw. She was out cold in the space of a blink. Almighty, if this mongoose blood wasn’t fast.
‘Gile!’ screeched Castor, somehow still clinging on, even though blood now oozed from his stomach as well as his chest. Merion had aimed true. Fate seemed to want Castor dead as much as he did.
Suffrous Gile emerged from behind a crate with murder in his two-tone eyes. He held his hands out flat and upturned so his fingers could curl like claws. Electricity jumped between them, crackling, sparking and making Merion take a step back. He needed something to attack with.
‘Blue whale!’ hissed a voice from behind him. Merion delved into his pocket and fumbled for his vials. Gile was entering the circle.
