by Toby Frost
“Varro should have dealt with the others by now,” Cortaag said. Azul knew he disliked silences. “I sent Alicia to check on him.”
“Good.” Azul crouched down and pressed his finger to the procurator’s neck. The pulse was faint. He looked over the body, saw the blood on the side of the man’s head. Very gently, Azul touched the wound. It felt spongy. Fractured.
He removed the glove from his left hand. His left thumb had no nail. Below the knuckle, the skin became dry and smooth. The end of his thumb was covered in scales.
A slit opened at the tip of his thumb, widened, became a wet, pink mouth. Two long fangs folded down, slick with venom.
Azul pressed his thumb to the procurator’s neck. The snake’s jaws pinched the procurator’s flesh, and the fangs slipped through his skin. Azul willed the poison to flow, and felt a little rush down his arm as the venom glands emptied into the lawyer’s bloodstream. He lifted his hand away. The mouth closed.
“She murdered him. It’s tidier this way,” he said, standing up again. He pulled his glove back on. “I never liked him. He was like a scallop: hard on the outside, but soft deep down.”
Cortaag smiled.
Someone knocked on the door. Azul called out, “Enter.”
It was Alicia. She closed the door behind her. “Varro is dead,” she said.
“What? Where?”
“The Old Arms, where they were staying. They are gone. We found his body there.”
“Shit!” Azul’s mouth drew down into a scowl; his cheeks drew in. “They’ll try to leave the city. Cortaag?”
“Sir?”
“Get down there now. Remove Varro’s body. Destroy it – I don’t want another corpse floating in the canal. Get your men together and find these people. Take them alive if you can, but if they give you any trouble – kill them.”
“Yes, sir!” Cortaag bowed and left the room.
Alicia stood near the door. She looked dreamy, almost wistful. “Warn Benevesi about this,” Azul said. “Tell him to make sure nothing leads back to the bank.”
Alicia nodded. “I will.”
“Five days until our guests arrive,” Azul said. “I trust you have your party dress ready?”
Alicia beamed. “Oh, yes. I’m all set for it. The servants are ready, the food’s been brought in.”
“Good. Because this fucking mess had better be cleared up by then.” Azul looked down at the procurator. “Fetch the guards. Tell them that their master is dead.”
***
The city was dark and cold, and a light, chill rain sliced the sky. Giulia could see her own breath. I want to be out of here, she thought, and with the thought came a tremor of fear. Her horse paused as if it sympathised. Easy, she told herself. Stay calm.
It had been a bad idea to bring the horses at all. She had seen a few bored mules in the streets of Averrio, but nothing larger. We stand out like this, even more than usual. I’d try to ride out, if I didn’t think I’d end up in the canal.
As they walked, she tried to think about the last few days as if she wasn’t involved. It made her feel a little better. The scraps of information seemed to turn and slide together in her mind, starting to form a blurred, incomplete picture.
The procurator had known the identity of Father Coraldo’s murderer, but she’d not had the chance to get a name out of him. Chances were, it had been Varro, but that wasn’t important now. Varro was dead and the Watch wouldn’t believe her anyway.
She glanced left and right, looking for enemies, feeling like a sitting duck. We should have left the stuff at the inn and just run, she thought. What the hell is in Elayne’s saddlebags that’s worth dying for?
She felt sure that the procurator was not at the top of the conspiracy. He had been ruthless, yes, but he seemed to lack something, some degree of originality, or the sheer balls to come up with such a bold, callous plan. That meant that somebody very important was pulling the strings. But why had Coraldo been killed at all?
It didn’t matter very much now. In an hour, with luck, they would be on Edwin’s ship, slipping out of the city and away from danger. By dawn they could be twenty miles down the coast.
She felt a pang of regret that she would never be able to settle up with the bastard who had tried to frame her. It would have been good to know that he’d got what he deserved. Still, at least she was alive. After this evening’s events, that was good enough.
“Here we are,” Edwin said. “Stop here.”
They were on the eastern edge of the Great Canal. They stood beside a wide, empty square. The canal ran along the right side of the square. On the far side, a forest of pillars stood in front of a huge white building.
“That’s the ship,” Edwin said, and he pointed. Giulia peered towards the canal: she saw the low bulk of the Margaret of Cheswick, the masts sticking up like spines. Fifty yards away, at least.
“Can we call your crew?” Hugh asked.
Edwin shook his head. “Best not risk it.”
Giulia said, “You think it’s a trap?”
“I don’t know. Do you think it is?”
“It’s very quiet,” she replied. “But that could mean anything.”
Almost nothing moved on the canal. A few lanterns bobbed on small boats like lazy fireflies. Moonlight brushed the water: without it, the Great Canal could have been a dark canyon through the city’s heart.
Edwin pointed to the pillars. “The House of Exchange,” he said.
“What do you think?” Elayne said.
Giulia found her mouth was dry, even though the air felt damp. “I’ll look ahead. It seems clear, but…” She slid her crossbow from the horse’s saddlebag. She loaded up a bolt. “I’ll check there’s no-one there. If you see me wave, come across.”
“Right,” said Elayne.
Hugh had been gazing across the square. “Will you be safe?”
“I should be.” Giulia checked the bow.
“We’ll wait here,” Edwin said.
Elayne reached in and embraced Giulia. “Good luck,” she said.
It’s only fifty yards, Giulia thought.
She ducked low and ran along the side of the square. Above her, two pale statues gazed overhead: wide-hipped women, tridents in their hands.
Giulia reached the pillars and slipped between them, into a forest of dead white trees. She stepped into the shadow of a pillar and pressed her back against the stone.
The shadows were like great bars along the ground. The world seemed to be drained of colour, pitch-black and marble-white.
Giulia looked behind her. She could just make out the others at the edge of the square. They were discussing something. It looked like a minor argument. Giulia jogged into a shaft of moonlight, then the next shadow dropped over her. She looked back again, and Elayne waved.
Giulia wanted to wave back, but the way was not yet clear. Then she realised that Elayne was not waving, but pointing: not at Giulia, but at something to her left.
Giulia looked left. She raised her crossbow and looked down the line of columns. Nobody moved.
Hugh stepped into the square. Giulia showed him the palm of her hand. He paused and moved back into the dark.
Slowly, silently, Giulia crept between the columns. She stopped and pressed her back against the reassuring stone.
She saw movement on the side of a high building, and the bow flicked up in her hands. Something slid across the roof. It looked like a falling leaf. It was a tile.
Someone’s up there.
Footsteps behind her and she whipped round. Her finger relaxed. Hugh stopped beside her, out of the moonlight.
“Dammit, Hugh, didn’t I tell you to stay back?”
He spoke in a low, hoarse whisper. “Elayne saw somebody. Over there.”
“On the roof?”
Hugh nodded. “Let’s get h
im.”
“What about the others? Are they safe?”
“She’s fine.”
“Good. Follow me.”
Hugh pulled his cloak around his scabbard, muffling the sound as he drew his sword. Giulia scurried forward between the pillars. She heard him behind her, light on his feet, breathing carefully as he ran.
Elayne screamed. Giulia turned and saw people on the building behind them, half a dozen of them, a row of men and half-men scrambling over the peak of the roof. Hugh yelled, “Elayne!”
The men on the roof let out a ragged cheer. Giulia aimed and fired. One of the beast-men stumbled and rolled towards them. Hugh tore across the square, sword raised. Edwin was drawing his own sword. Elayne shouted something and threw out her hand. A man paused on the roof, framed against the sky, then staggered back and dropped out of view.
There was no time to reload. Giulia drew her long knife and ran after Hugh.
Lights shone on the water, swinging in to the bank. What was that? Giulia saw a long, low boat, plated with armour at the bows, great wheels spinning behind it. As the men poured into the square, a crewman on the boat tore a sheet back, and Giulia saw a bundle of tubes threaded onto a clockwork spindle. The man swung the tubes on their mounting, lined them up with Hugh—
She screamed “Hugh!” and the organ gun roared. Hugh vanished. She looked right, saw him crumpled on the ground, and she ran towards him, shouting his name. Something howled in agony; Edwin was bellowing like an ox. A great weight slammed into her head – the world went white – and she lurched upright, spitting and cursing, swiped at a shadow and her legs gave way again. She fell onto all fours, and then the world was swirling away from her like so much steam, spinning away until all she saw was blackness, and then not even that.
NINE
The world was one long tunnel, and Giulia was at the end of it. No, not a tunnel, a well: and she was at the bottom, looking up.
She could feel her back, then her legs. Suddenly she was alive again, and knew that she was somewhere with a low roof that smelt of earth. Earth, she thought. I must be underground, and with that the pain in the back of her head seemed to flood her skull and swallow her, and it all went dark again.
***
Hugh came around slowly, piece by piece, but he did not move. Lying on the ground, one eye open, he looked at the sky and tried to work out how badly injured he was. There was a vague, steady pain down his upper left arm, and his chest ached as he drew breath. The breastplate didn’t seem to fit very well. For a moment that worried him, and then he realised that it had taken the force of the blast. They must have used grapeshot.
He heard boots crunching on stone, to his left. The men were eight or nine yards away, two of them.
Hugh remembered the dryad instructor from years ago, teaching him how to get the jump on dishonourable enemies. He imagined his soul drawing back into his heart, hiding there like a badger lurking in a sett, bracing itself to spring.
Very carefully, Hugh moved his hand to his side.
A voice said, “This the old man, then?”
“What’s it look like? Better check him. He might be shamming.”
“Will do. Don’t want the boss coming down on me. Right, you old whoreson: end of the road.”
Hugh listened to their foreign sing-song accents, imagined the men waving their hands as they spoke, the way they did abroad. He closed his fingers around the knife on his belt.
A boot came down close to his head. He shut his eye, which was the most painful thing he’d done so far. The man gave a little grunt as he swung something up into the air.
Hugh rolled over, drawing the knife as he moved, and punched it into the side of the man’s knee. The thug howled fit to split the sky. Hugh hauled himself up as the would-be killer fell. Hugh shoved him aside, picked up the hammer the man had dropped, and stood up straight. He swung the hammer to test its weight.
The second man stood a little way back, a knife in hand, watching his comrade rolling on the cobbles.
Hugh put a foot on the fallen man’s neck and whipped the hammer down into his skull. He wrenched the hammer-head free. The knife-man gasped and turned to flee. In two strides Hugh caught up with him. The first swing of the hammer took his legs out, and the second shut him up for good.
Hugh nodded, satisfied. He hurt, but it wasn’t too bad. It took more than a couple of louts to stop a knight. Getting up had been the hard part. The rest would come easily.
***
Giulia felt cold against her lips, smooth, cold glass. The bottle tipped and water ran into her mouth and trickled down over her chin. She swallowed. It tasted sour and sharp, like bad wine. She coughed and spat.
A hand touched her brow. “It’s fine. It’s a healing drink.” An old man’s voice, soothing and gentle. The bottle tipped again, and she took another sip. “There.”
She opened her eyes and saw a small man in an empty, dark-walled room. The candlelight glinted on his scalp. He wore dark gloves and a leather apron. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows.
Her body ached. It was very warm in here. A strand of hair had fallen in front of her eyes. She wanted to brush it away, but her arm wouldn’t move. Why was that?
She was tied to the chair.
Wide awake, horrified, she thrashed in the seat, yanked her wrists back and forth. The chair shook but nothing broke. She tried again, one big, long pull against the ropes, heard herself grunt. It did nothing. She stopped, panting. The old man took a step back.
Fear churned in her stomach like a live eel.
“It’s all right,” the man said again, and she knew that he was lying. “I gave you a potion to help wake you up,” he said. His voice was a slow, educated croak, the accent hard to place. He had that permanent scowl that came to some old people, as if he disapproved of everything he saw. “It also causes alertness and loquacity,” he explained. “It loosens the tongue.” His tortoise face managed a smile. “Which will help both of us.”
Someone was standing behind her. She thrashed again, and the old man waited for her to stop. Her face was wet, and she realised it was sweat. She needed to piss.
“You won’t be violated, don’t worry. I have no interest in you, in that respect. As a matter of fact, I find you very unattractive.” The little man folded his arms. A huge scar ran from his elbow to his wrist, curling around his arm and disappearing into his glove. It had been tattooed to look like a serpent: not blue ink, but some kind of shiny stuff to resemble snakeskin. It glistened. “All I need you to do is answer a few questions for me. Truthfully, of course.”
The person behind her stepped out. For a moment there was a blur at the edge of Giulia’s vision, and then she saw her: a tall, long-necked, sandy-haired woman, handsome but hard along the jawline.
“So you better talk, eh?” the woman said, and as Giulia noticed that she had a strong accent, the woman hit her in the face.
She heard the slap of the woman’s hand. The world flashed white for a moment, and then there was pain across her cheek and ear, and the little man barked, “Alicia! Never strike a prisoner unless I say!”
The woman stepped back quickly. There was a stupid grin on her face. Crazy, Giulia realised.
“I will see you later, then,” she said, and she strode out of the room.
“My apologies,” said the old man. He sounded as if he meant it. “I am many things, but a barbarian is not one of them. Now, then.” He approached, shrugging his shoulders. Giulia drew back as far as the chair would allow. He stepped off to her right, out of view. She saw that there was another man at the back of the room, a broad-chested fellow with a beard. He had no expression at all.
The old man was doing something behind her. She needed to know what it was, but she desperately didn’t want to know. She realised she could hear a crackling sound, a sound that she would hardly register, normally. A fireplace. He
was tending the fire.
“Look,” she said, “I don’t know who you are, or what you want, but— I don’t know anything. I’ll tell you what I know but, listen to me, you’ve got the wrong person.”
“You are a very resilient young lady,” the old man said. “The last few days are testament to that. I admire your fortitude.”
Metal scraped on brick. She wanted him to stay there forever, because when he came back, something terrible would happen.
“But the work of my little group cannot be jeopardised, not now. I need to know who sent you here, what your mission was, and how much you know about us.”
She heard him stand up. Light came with him, and as he stepped into view she saw the poker in his hand. The whole world shrank down to the glowing tip of the poker.
Her breath came out in shuddery little gasps. “Now wait, listen to me—”
“Oh, I will. Have no doubt about that. My friend and I here, we’re very good listeners. We may as well start at the beginning,” said the little man. “I think we’ve got time, haven’t we?”
The big man said, “We’ve got time.”
Giulia drew back from the poker, up against the back of the chair. She struggled again, tensed her legs and arms.
“Tell me what you know about the New World Order.”
“Please,” she said, “I don’t know anything.”
“Are you quite sure about that?” he replied, and he pressed the poker against her arm.
She talked. There was no question of holding out.
The important thing, the only thing, was to talk as much as possible, to keep the poker away from her. She had to keep speaking, had to keep him interested.
So she started with the easy things, things that didn’t matter. She told him about herself. He liked that. He nodded as she explained about Pagalia, about Astrago, about thief-taking. She told him that she could read and write, and that sometimes people had paid her to write letters for them. That didn’t interest him much, and he stood up and wandered towards the fire.
“I want to know about the knight,” he said.
God in Heaven, her arm hurt. He’d touched the poker to her upper arm for a few seconds, but the pain had felt as if she was going to die. It had burst out of her arm like a parasite, flooded down to her fingers, soaked through her shoulder and neck. She thought she could smell herself burning, roasting like pork.
