by Toby Frost
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © Toby Frost 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
First Edition
Cover Art by AutumnSky.co.uk
Typesetting by Ryan Ashcroft/BookBrand.co.uk
All rights reserved
It was hard to see the sun in the jungle, let alone to guess the time of day. Father Coraldo could have been walking for an hour, or all morning. He would not have been surprised if the weak light suddenly dimmed and they were obliged to make camp on the forest floor again. Frightened, but not surprised.
A root snagged his robe, and he slipped. His pack swung against him as if a child had leaped onto his back. Coraldo staggered, bit his lip and lurched upright again, fresh sweat itching on his brow.
“Can we stop for a while?”
The guide watched him nervously. “Holy Father, we need go fast. Zupai says you come today. If he says so, we must.”
Coraldo shrugged his pack back into place. He looked at the guide, and saw that the native was afraid. You’re afraid, I’m afraid – that’s what this godless place does to you. He glanced back between the close-packed trees, at what the guide had called a path, and imagined evil festering between the leaves like plague.
“Let’s go, then,” he said.
They walked on. Coraldo had no-one to talk to but himself, nothing to think about but his own discomfort. A toad the size of a pie glared at him from the roots where it nestled. It looked like a turd given life. This is the Devil’s own land. These poor savages are all the humanity that he lets exist.
Something thundered overhead. Coraldo ducked, his pack nearly overbalancing him, and saw a scaled body rush past as if he lay beneath an immense snake. He heard the thump, thump of wings against air, and then the monster was gone.
His fist was in front of his chest, holding out the holy sign that hung around his neck. The guide looked at him. “Couatl,” he said. “Is blessing us, Holy Father. Good.”
Coraldo heard hissing up ahead and saw water between the trunks. Without warning the forest ended and they were out beside a stream. Sand like fine sawdust stretched to a little river. The water was impossibly blue. Pretty fish danced in the shallows. Like a dream, Coraldo thought, and he remembered the beauty of the place when he had first seen the New World from the ship that had brought him here: all green and shimmering, steaming like hot meat.
On the far side of the stream was a clearing and, in the clearing, a multitude of strange plants: black-red balls on leafless stems as high as Coraldo’s waist. He stepped forward, and the sun hit his neck. In the jungle he had felt as if he were being boiled in a pot; suddenly he was exposed to the flame.
“Is safe,” the guide said. “I go now. Is safe.”
Coraldo walked towards the water.
“Safe to go cross, Holy Father. I go. Please.”
Coraldo began to wade across. Halfway there, he cried out.
They were not plants, but hundreds of rotting heads, each one driven onto a stake.
“Savages!” He stumbled on, disbelieving, and was hit by the stink of it. He stood at the edge of the stream and retched.
When he looked up, there was a man among the heads. The man approached, and light glinted on his helmet and breastplate. He carried a mace. His free hand waved.
“Father Coraldo!”
The soldier stopped at the edge of the clearing. He took his helmet off and tucked it under his arm. He had a hard jawline and light-brown hair, and in the sunshine he looked almost angelic. “Father.”
“Thank God. It’s so good to see an Alexian face,” Coraldo said.
“I am Ignazio Arrighetti, commander here.” The soldier grinned. “The natives call me Zupai. I’m glad you were able to visit us, Father.”
Coraldo could taste bile. He tried not to look around. “God in Heaven, what a place,” he said. “These heads, there must be a thousand…. What happened here?”
Arrighetti nodded grimly. “It’s these whoreson savages,” he said. “They’re a spiteful, godless, ignorant bunch. You can reason with them all you want, but sometimes – well, you just have to show them who’s in charge.” He smiled. “But it will be easier with you here. They won’t fight back so much, now we have a priest to bless our work.” He gestured behind him. “Come: let me show you your quarters.”
Arrighetti turned and walked into the clearing, into the smell of death.
Eight Days before the Hanging
ONE
Winter did not freeze Averrio so much as slow it down. Only the narrowest canals were frozen over, but the cold seemed to get into the city’s veins. Men lingered for longer in taverns, boats crept from one landing-point to another, and on the network of bridges and walkways that stood in place of normal streets, people moved stiff-legged and slow.
The clerks of the Bank of Fiorenti were required to work with their sleeves rolled up, so they wore fingerless gloves that reached almost to their elbows. As he peered at Giulia’s pay-book, the clerk at archway four rubbed his hands together, as if to polish the palms.
“I’m sorry, madam, but I can’t do that. Only men can take out accounts. The Bank of Fiorenti does not lend to children, fey folk, women—”
“And dogs, I know. But I don’t want to take out an account.” Giulia leaned forward to address the cashier through the thin iron bars. “The money’s already there. It’s listed in the book.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t belong to you, madam. It belongs to the holder of the account, who is—”
“I know that. I can read.” Giulia glanced around the hall; apart from a worried-looking fellow two arches down, the place was deserted. “But the letter I’ve just given you, here, is from the man whose account it is. See? Sir Hugh of Kenton, there. That’s his signature, to say I can discuss it with you.”
“Is he your husband, madam?”
Do I look that bad? Hugh’s old enough to be my father. Maybe my grandfather. “God, no. I work with him. In business. Look, if you really have to talk to someone with a— someone male, I can bring him in here…”
The clerk managed a caring look, as if informed of the death of someone he didn’t know. “I’m terribly sorry, but I really can’t help.”
“Dammit, I only want to pay some money in! It can’t be that hard, can it?”
“You want to pay money in? Oh, I see! Well, then.” The clerk leaned forward. “How much money would madam like to add to the account?”
Giulia slid the little bags between the bars and watched as the clerk counted out the coins. He dipped his pen and scratched at her bank-book. Giulia heard boots just behind her; she turned and saw Hugh there, looking around the room with a kind of bemused optimism.
“Everything all right, Giulia?”
“Wonderful,” she replied. “If there’s one thing better than earning money, it’s watching someone else get rich by sitting on it. Did you find the place?”
“Yes. It’s called Horseman Square.”
“Well, lead on. I’m finished here. I don’t like being so close to money that I can’t touch.”
The street outside was narrow and cold. Giulia had taken to wearing her britches under her skirt: it was still freezing. They walked quickly. As they crossed the fifth short, high-backed bridge, a long boat slid beneath
them as sleek and quiet as an eel. A man stood at the stern, punting it along with a pole.
“Damn, it’s cold,” Giulia said. She rubbed at the scars on her left cheek. They seemed unusually tender today. “I can feel my face going numb.”
“It’s often like this in Albion, especially in the north. When I was fighting the reaver-knights…” Hugh blinked. “Anyway, how much money have we got?”
Giulia pulled her hood up. “We’ve got one thousand two hundred put away, and about three hundred in loose coin. Not bad, for a couple of thief-takers.”
“That’s good. Once we know how much it’ll take to hire a couple of fellows to help out…”
Giulia tugged her scarf tight around her neck. “More than a couple, Hugh. If we’re serious about this wyvern business, I’d say four or five, at least.”
“That sounds costly to me. We’d have to feed them, too. Perhaps we ought to try to get more wyvern scales. We’d make a much better profit that way.”
Easier said than done. “Shall we steal them off the same bird, or two different ones?”
Hugh did not notice her sarcasm. “They’re not birds, Giulia. They’re more like lizards – like small dragons, to be honest. I don’t know why you’re so worried. The scales just fall off them. It’s not as if we’ll be doing battle with it.”
“Small dragons. You’re really encouraging me. We need to hire some good people for this.” A real-life wyvern. Shit. Well, you wanted adventure, and here it is. Where do they nest, anyhow? Probably at the top of a bloody mountain. Giulia remembered something Hugh had said, just before they had left Pagalia: “It’s not an easy path, the Quest.” Well, no doubt about that. She pulled her sleeves down over her fingers.
Horseman Square was small, and the tenement buildings that rose around it made Giulia feel like a mouse in the bottom of a box. A little crowd stood in front of a doorway at the far end of the square, where a herald on a platform was calling out names.
The horseman himself was a bronze statue on a plinth in the centre, in old-fashioned armour and a crusader’s tabard. His shield bore the Sign of the Sword; his lance, cocked over his shoulder, acted as the pole for a limp flag. It showed the griffon rampant, the emblem of Averrio, rearing up over two crossed spears.
Hugh gazed up at the statue. Giulia nudged his arm. “Over there,” she said, looking at the crowd. “That’s our place.”
They approached. The men wore breastplates and swords. Some carried bows and guns in wrapped parcels. Several had darker skin: she reckoned they would have come from Dalagar, Averrio’s province to the far south. All of them wore feathered hats and sleeves slashed to show bright colours underneath.
Mercenary fashion.
“Six men needed to join a marine crew to Orromano,” the herald called out. “Must be skilled with gun or crossbow, and willing to assist on the oars.”
A couple of men had stepped forward; as the oars were mentioned, they grumbled and looked away.
“Lazy buggers,” Hugh muttered, slightly too loudly. “Typical hirelings.”
“Come on.” Giulia slipped through the crowd and into the building behind.
Like many city tenements, the lower floor was open as a shop. Unusually, there was only one business here: scribes worked at half a dozen desks, while customers chatted to company officials on armchairs in the back. Engravings on the walls showed soldiers brandishing pikes at one another.
A slim man in red velvet came forward to meet them. “The work’s outside, sir,” he said cheerily, blocking their way. “If you want to sign up, you can take the oath—”
“We want to hire some soldiers,” Giulia said.
“Oh, I see. Well, I’m happy to discuss that. Your armour suggests that you’re a captain-of-arms, sir—”
“I’m a knight,” said Hugh.
I’m over here, you idiots. “We’re hunters,” Giulia put in. “We’re getting a crew together to hunt beasts up in the mountains. We need to hire several men—”
“A couple,” Hugh said.
“Quite a few men with experience of this sort of work. We’d pay on success.”
“A few good fighters, eh?” The contractor gestured to the rear of the room. “Well, we don’t get much call for hunting. Most of the mercenaries we use end up helping train the city levy, supporting the city guard and the like. May I ask what sort of beasts you’ll be hunting, sir?”
“Wyverns,” Hugh replied. “We’re going to get some wyvern scales. To sell to apothecaries.”
At the back of the room, a large, smartly-dressed man turned to look at them.
“They’ll need to be good scouts,” Giulia explained. “And good fighters, if it comes to it.”
“I’m sure we can find just the men for the job.” The contractor looked oddly pleased. Giulia wondered if he relished the challenge of finding suitable men – or if he was amused by the folly of stealing wyvern scales. “I need to have a word with a colleague of mine, but I’m pretty sure I know some people who might be able to help. May I take your name, sir knight?”
“Sir Hugh of Kenton.”
“Excellent.”
Giulia added, “And I’m Giulia Degarno.”
“One moment,” said the official, and he stepped away. Giulia had the feeling that he had gone to laugh about them with his friends.
She said, “He’d better not try to foist rubbish onto us.”
Hugh frowned. “I don’t rate most hired men, myself. What we need are knights errant, eager for glory, like in the books—”
“Wait,” Giulia said. The big man was approaching from the back of the room, a little faster than seemed quite right. “Someone’s coming over. Do you know that man?”
“Good lord,” said Hugh.
The man walked straight up to them. “Hugh of Kenton? Is that you?”
“And none other,” Hugh said. He was beginning to smile.
“Hugh!” The man thrust out a hand and Hugh shook it hard. “Good lord, fancy meeting you here!”
“Edwin! Good to see you, man!” Hugh stopped shaking Edwin’s hand and they briefly embraced. Even for an Anglian, Hugh did not much like physical contact: this had to be a very great friend.
Giulia looked the man over. He was quite like Hugh – built for the same purpose, but from a slightly different mould. Edwin was big and bulky where Hugh tended towards wiriness: if Edwin stopped taking exercise, he would go to fat. He was slightly shorter than Hugh, and there was less grey in his moustache and hair. Edwin wore newer clothes and no armour: Giulia had almost never seen Hugh without some kind of breastplate.
“So,” said Edwin, “who’s this?”
“This is Giulia Degarno,” said Hugh. “A friend of mine, a freelancer.”
“Hello,” Giulia said. She put out her hand and Edwin, looking slightly surprised, shook it. His grip was strong. He looked straight into her eyes, which meant that he was trying not to look at her scars. “I work with Hugh,” Giulia explained. “I’m a thief-taker by trade.”
“She’s a good sort,” Hugh said.
“Pleased to meet you, Giulia,” Edwin said. “So, what brings you to Averrio, then?”
“We’re looking to hire some fighters,” Hugh explained. “We’ve got a job planned, but we need men.”
Edwin nodded. “Likewise. I need some fellows to help guard my ship. It’s not cheap staying safe, I can tell you!” He had a broad, honest-looking smile. “Here, that contractor fellow’s staring at us. Let’s go outside.”
“So, a boat, eh?” Hugh declared as they stepped into the cold. “I never saw you as a seaman, you know.”
They pushed through the crowd of mercenaries. The herald shouted out jobs over their heads as if he hoped that the statue on its plinth would answer him instead of the crowd. “Two dozen needed to join a company of pike! Lowlanders preferred!”
�
��Nor did I,” Edwin called back. “It’s hardly a big boat,” he explained as they broke free from the crowd. “Twenty men, two masts – but she’s quick. Margaret of Cheswick, she’s called. I got together with a merchant called Gilbert Langton, who ships wool out here. Anyway, we’re waiting to load a new cargo right now, so we’ve got a bit of time to kill before we can head back for home. Dammit,” he added, stamping his feet, “I left Anglia to get away from this bloody cold! So, what about you? The last I heard you were guarding the ambassador up at – what’s its name – Pagalia?”
Hugh smoothed down his moustache. “Yes, well, they got this new fellow in to help run the embassy. Marsby, his name was. Absolute idiot. One day he told me I wasn’t friendly enough to his guests. Well, I’d had a few jars that morning, and I told him what I thought of that. And of him. So I left, and to cut a long story short—”
I found you drunk in a pub, and you helped me kill half a dozen men who’d been sent to murder me. Giulia looked left, between two of the high tenements. A serving-girl stood in the alley, beating dust out of a rug with a flat-headed brush. It made Giulia think of the slums of Pagalia.
“Elayne and I are staying at the Old Arms, up in the north,” Edwin was saying. “It’s pretty pleasant, as they go, and not too expensive. Popular with travellers and the like. Where are you?”
Giulia didn’t like giving her location away. It was force of habit. “We’ve only just arrived—”
“Well, why don’t you come and visit, eh? Come over. Bring your horses, too. It’s just inside the city wall, on the land before you get to the lagoon. It’s very pleasant there – good beer, too.”
Hugh smiled.
“Ah, I knew that would make your mind up!”
Giulia said, “We’ll think about it.”
“Excellent. Elayne will be delighted. It’s been ages, Hugh!” Edwin rubbed his hands together as though he had struck a good bargain, and looked towards the canal. “Well, I’d best get back to the stevedores. They’ll do bugger-all unless someone’s watching them. I think this hiring business is a dead loss today. Let’s come back here tomorrow, and then we’ll have a think about finding some men for you. Remember – there’s nothing two knights can’t accomplish, God willing! Am I not right?”
