by Toby Frost
“Yes…”
“You know how I killed Publius Severra, right? When he cut my face?”
“Yes. It’s a shame you had to do it on your own, but, yes, I suppose honour was satisfied, in a way.”
“If I leave now, everything I did there will have been a waste of time. It’s hard to explain, but after all the effort it took to get even with Severra, to walk out now would be – it’d be like saying I was wrong all along.”
“It’s a matter of honour, you mean?”
“No – more than that. I trained for years to get Severra, and to leave now… I just couldn’t. It would be like saying I’ve wasted my life.”
Hugh smoothed down his moustache. He sat silently, frowning, thinking it over. He looked severe, like the elderly father of a grand family. Then he smiled. “Yes, I know that feeling. Used to happen in my questing days. You ride out, and you see how big the task is before you, but you can’t back down from what you’re meant to do – you’re too far in to turn back. Yes, that’s the questing life, all right.” He leaned back, contented and very slightly pompous, like an old actor Giulia had once seen talking about the stage.
Something like that. Except with less chivalry and more slit throats. “Yes, I think that’s right.”
Hugh smiled. “You and I see it the same. Of course, it’s a bit strange, you being a woman and all, but I understand.”
“So we’re both in?” she said. She pressed her upper arm, testing the bandage. It was still numb.
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Let’s find out what Sethis and his people have to offer. If they can help us, fine – if not, well, we’ll just have to do it alone.”
ELEVEN
Sethis was waiting for them in the great hall. His head was cocked back so he could admire the ceiling, and he seemed completely lost, as though gazing at the face of God. Except, of course, that wasn’t his god up there at all. He looked down, and Giulia was struck again by the neat strangeness of his face: the small mouth, high forehead and kindly, inhuman eyes, glittering behind his spectacles.
“Hello again,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“Much the same as an hour ago,” Giulia replied and, realising she sounded ungrateful, she added, “Not too bad, thanks.” He seemed much more human than Anna had done. Giulia did not feel the same strange attraction around him, nor quite the same unease.
“Good. I remember when they first painted that,” he added, glancing upwards. “Quite an event. Scaffolding everywhere.”
Hugh gestured to the portrait of the black knight addressing the troops. “Who’s the heathen fellow?”
“That’s General Attelani,” Sethis said. “He’s not a heathen, actually: he’s in your Church. Anyway, the painting shows him about to take on the pirates of Sarpesi. He won, if you’re wondering.”
“I thought he might have done,” Giulia said.
“He’s actually a patron of the Scola. Seems sort of right, somehow. We’ve both got our detractors in the city. Now, then,” he said, “we’re ready to discuss this business when you are.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Giulia replied.
“Sorry, I should have explained. We are myself, of course, and my friend Arashina. We’ll also be joined by Vurael, who serves Lord Portharion.”
Giulia said, “Portharion the wizard?”
“The very same.”
“Who does Portharion work for?”
“Nobody. He works for himself.”
“So who do you work for?”
“Me personally?”
She gestured at the hall. “All of you.”
“The Scola works for the good of the city, and of scholarship in general. But I don’t suppose that answers your question, does it?”
“Not really.”
Sethis thought for a second. “Well, the Scola is an organisation for the promotion of learning and the arts, mainly painting. Members pay a fee for the upkeep of the building and grounds, and get to exhibit their work here in return. The Scola provides a place where we can meet and talk freely.”
“Are you a painter?”
The dryad smiled. “Sadly, no. I’ve tried, but it’s not for me. I just help out. So then: are you happy to talk to us now?”
Giulia nodded. I hope I’m ready for this.
“Great. We’re meeting in the little garden outside. Don’t worry,” Sethis added, with a conspiratorial smile. “It’s quite warm.”
He led them down a staircase, towards the front of the building. Giulia recognised the room on her left, with its pictures of worthies who had addressed the Scola. It was the place where she had met Iacono. They turned right, into the servants’ wing.
Sethis opened a small door and held it for her. She stepped into the chilly garden. It was not cold enough for snow, but there was a sterile crispness to the air. The scars on her face felt tender and exposed.
“Where’re we going?” she asked.
The dryad pointed towards the little clump of trees at the end of the garden. “That way.”
Giulia glanced over her shoulder at the pale bulk of the Scola, and saw an attic window that could have led into her room.
“I do various bits and pieces for the Scola,” Sethis said. “Among other things, I’m a kind of messenger.” He strode across the wet grass. “The members sometimes need the help of the fey folk. I act as a link between the two. This way,” he added, gesturing at the trees. “There’s a canopy inside.”
Giulia looked at the cold trees, their bare branches crossing like bars. If there was a canopy hidden away between them, it would be small and damp. She glanced at Hugh, who seemed entirely uninterested, and watched Sethis stroll into the little wood. Giulia took one long look behind her, back at the house, and followed him.
“I suppose you might call me a sort of ambassador for my people,” Sethis said, “although that’s a bit grand for it. I’ve spent quite a lot of time among you humans, so it’s easier for me to make friends.”
Which explains the normal clothes, Giulia thought.
Perhaps the trees on the edge of the copse kept the wind away: at any rate there seemed to be more greenery past the first row of bare trunks. Autumn appeared not to have really ended here: yellow leaves still clung on to branches, and the grass seemed more verdant, more alive. The pines looked fatter, and the deciduous trees were fleshed out with foliage as if winter had never come. Perhaps these savants had poured something into the soil.
“Why do you have these trees?” Giulia asked. She no longer saw her breath when she exhaled.
“To be a meeting-place,” Sethis said.
“Hmm,” said Hugh.
The path weaved a little, and it was hard to tell how far they had gone. Ten, twenty yards, perhaps? They’d be coming out the other side soon. Sethis was humming something under his breath; above them, birds twittered.
That was wrong. There shouldn’t be so many birds at this time of year. Light filtered through the trees, warming her face: not the hard sunlight of a clear winter’s day, but warm, life-giving light. She was walking out of winter, into spring. Giulia followed the dryad into the forest, as his humming mingled with the birdsong.
Giulia fell back a little, level with Hugh. She leaned in close. “Look at the leaves!” she whispered. “Where are we?”
Through the trees to her left she glimpsed something moving. She peered after it, thinking it was a horse. A stag weaved between the trees thirty yards away, its antlers seeming to merge with the branches. It stretched its thick-furred neck upwards and let out a hoarse bellow, turned, and was lost to view.
She looked back: no sign of winter, or the way out. To her left, she saw a wide length of light-blue cloth stretched between the trunks, weaving away like the wall of a tent. Suddenly, Giulia noticed movement: a sleek figure stood watching them a little way off. It was a
dryad, unarmed, its sex impossible to determine at this range. She felt the first tinges of sweat on her body, from heat and apprehension.
“This is fey business,” Hugh said. “Keep going.”
“Nearly there,” Sethis announced.
There were sheets between the trees. Swaths of cloth in soft orange and blue had been threaded through the trunks, guiding them into a corridor. There was no doubt that this was magic, Giulia thought: no way that she could still be in the little wood at the bottom of the Scola gardens. Where was she, then? Faery, she realised. She felt uneasy, not quite scared. It must be Faery: where the fey people live, where humans can’t go without a guide.
“Here,” Sethis said. He reached over to the blue cloth and unhitched a section from the branches, holding it back like a door. Giulia stepped through the last trees and stopped, astonished.
They were on a hillside. The bottle-green meadow rolled away from them like an ocean. There was woodland in the distance, so thick and bright that colour seemed almost to pulse out of it. A river ran glinting through the valley like the back of a snake. The sky was almost cloudless. In some of the far pastures horses grazed, and little man-shaped specks walked and sat and talked. Some of the specks were pink all over – Naked? Surely not. The fields were dotted with tents and pavilions, elegant and brightly-coloured, painted with symbols that she did not understand.
“Hugh?”
“I’m here,” he said by her side.
“Are you seeing all this?”
“Yes,” Hugh replied. “Pleasant view, isn’t it?”
“You ever see anything like this before?”
“Not for a long time.”
A group of tiny fighters were sparring in a paddock half a mile off, kicking and leaping. Behind them, in the very distance, a long-necked creature lumbered across the horizon. Its back was studded with delicate minarets like a little city. It must be the size of a siege tower, she realised with a rush of alarm and a strange, crazy delight.
Giulia looked away, afraid for her mind if she saw much more. Very carefully, she hooked her thumbs into her belt and made her hands stay still. These are friends. Easy now.
“My God,” she said.
“Mine, actually,” Sethis said. “This way, please.”
Just outside the forest, someone had laid a stone patio half a dozen yards across, like the dais of an altar. Birch trees rose around the edge of the patio. Cloth had been wound between the trees to form walls. Thirty feet up, the cloth stopped and the branches stretched across to one another as if to shake hands, cut and shaped to form a living wicker roof.
A table stood in the middle of the patio, and behind it sat a dryad woman. She was still: pale and doll-like, as though she wore a mask. Her hands rested on the table in front of her. A thin cigarillo smouldered between her long fingers. The air smelt of burning herbs.
Quietly, the woman stood up and stepped out of the shade. She was almost beautiful, and slightly like some insect that had shaped itself into nearly-human form.
Her hair was long, black and extremely thick. Like a wig, Giulia thought. The woman held out a hand. Giulia’s skin tensed.
“My name is Arashina. Please, come and sit down.”
Giulia glanced towards Hugh. He shrugged. Sethis caught her eye and smiled. Easy for you, she thought. You belong here.
The seats were polished and carved, the sort of thing you would find in the home of a nobleman. Giulia pulled one out and sat down. There were clay cups and a big jug of wine on the table. Hugh took the seat opposite.
Birds chirruped. Judging by the shadows and the sun, it was early afternoon – here, anyway.
“This is Giulia Degarno, and this is Sir Hugh of Kenton,” Sethis said.
“A pleasure, madam,” Hugh said.
“Pleased to meet you,” Giulia added.
“Thank you.” Arashina raised her hand and sucked on the cigarillo. “Welcome.” Her mouth was wider than Sethis’, but thinner at the edges, like a scar. She’s even less human than he is. Maybe the longer they spend in our world, the more they look like us.
“I represent the hunting party of the Lord and Lady of the Woods,” Arashina said. “Sethis here is our voice in the Scola san Cornelio. Vurael attends on behalf of Lord Portharion.”
She gestured vaguely at the trees. Giulia looked around, and started. A small figure stood there, robed in dark red like a tiny monk. The hood was big, almost absurdly so, completely obscuring the face. The arms were folded: she could see no hands. It could have been a child, or a piece of cloth propped up on sticks.
Giulia wanted to make the Sign of the Sword across her chest. She thought, Saint Senobina, if you can hear me here, watch over me.
Sethis poured the wine and passed the cups out.
“So,” said Arashina. “You are mercenaries, I assume?”
“Not so,” Hugh replied. “We are adventurers. I myself am a knight of Anglia, veteran of the Battle of the Bone Cliffs. Giulia here is – well, do you know the stories about Robehood, or John Greenwood? Like that, but in the city.”
Arashina nodded. “You steal from the rich, and give to the poor?”
“To an extent,” Giulia replied. “We came to Averrio from Pagalia. We’ve been doing some thief-taking work: supporting the guilds and things like that. I’m a friend of Grodrin the dwarrow,” she added, hoping it might win her some respect.
“We know him,” Arashina replied. “If you are a friend of his, I’m sure you can be trusted.”
“Thank you,” Giulia said. She sipped her wine. “So, um, you wanted to talk to us.”
“Yes I did. We have enemies in common. You have seen them. You can tell us where to find them. You could lead us to them.”
“Wait a minute.” Sethis raised a hand. “I think we ought to explain the situation here.”
Giulia said, “It would help.”
Arashina shrugged and drew slowly on her cigarillo. “As you wish. We are looking for a group of your people,” she said. “Old enemies of ours. They have acquired – no, stolen – certain abilities that originally derive from the Lady, our goddess. This cannot be permitted.”
“What kind of abilities?”
Sethis looked her in the eye. “Changing shape.”
Arashina nodded. “The difficulty is, none of us have seen these people for decades – at least, none have seen them and survived. We gather you have.”
“I saw them, all right,” Giulia replied. “They’re the bastards who burned my arm.”
“Well, yes.” Sethis sounded uncomfortable. He chose his words carefully. “I understand that you and Hugh killed one of them—”
“That’s right.” Hugh sat up in his chair. “Fellow name of Varro. He made boats, I believe. He was a tough bugger, too. Their wounds seal up, you see.”
Giulia gave him a wary glance. There was only a certain amount she wanted him to say.
“The moon allows it,” Arashina added. “They draw strength from it.”
Giulia looked at Sethis this time. Arashina was strange, otherworldly. If she was to get any straight answers, they would come from him. “Look, what are these people? Are they even people at all?”
Hugh said, “Werewolves, surely. In Teutland—”
“Not exactly.” Sethis said. “They can change shape, that’s right, but it’s not really wolves they turn into – not just wolves, anyway.” He frowned. “They become beasts. Wolves, bears, ghouls and other things, all mixed together.”
“A perversion,” Arashina said. She blew scented smoke towards the roof.
Sethis nodded. “Yes, a perversion. That’s the word for it.” He took his glasses off and polished the lenses on his sleeve.
“Which we intend to destroy.” Arashina exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curling up into the branches over her head.
“That’s what I
want, too,” Giulia said. “I’ve seen their leader. I want to hunt him down.”
“Their leader?” Sethis put his glasses back on. “Who’s that?”
“Don’t you know?”
“We have no idea,” Arashina said. “An alchemist, I assume, someone skilled in black magic. Beyond that—” She shrugged, and her dark hair shook.
“I don’t know his name,” Giulia said. “But I could describe him.” She licked her lips, suddenly unwilling to talk. These new friends might not be trustworthy: they might want to keep that evil piece of shit alive, or worse, they might want to steal the privilege of killing him for themselves. What if they just don’t believe me?
But then she remembered the old man’s prim, sour face, and fury flared up inside her like white flame. “He’s a little man, a bit shorter than me. Old, too, as old as Hugh. No offence, Hugh.”
“None taken.”
“He looks… angry. Like he’s in pain.”
“Is he?” Arashina said.
“Not yet. He had his sleeves rolled up. There’s a long scar, from his elbow down to his wrist, maybe further. It’s got to be a bad one: it’s raised up from the skin, the way a bad burn is. You know what I mean?”
They did.
“It was tattooed to look like a snake. It was really convincing, too. Must’ve hurt like hell, tattooing a scar like that.”
Arashina looked at Sethis. She said something in the dryad language.
Giulia said. “I’m sorry? I didn’t hear that.”
Sethis hesitated.
Giulia said, “Look, I mean no offence, but I need to know what I’m fighting here. If there’s anything you know, it would help.”
“She’s right,” Hugh said.
“That’s fair enough,” Sethis replied. “I’ll start from the beginning. This might take a while.”
She reached out for the jug. “I’ve got time.”
“All right. Well, I’m sure you’ve seen that out in the villages, people aren’t so, er, precise about the difference between the old and new faiths. They worship your god in church, but honour ours in the fields. There’s a place on the road to Pagalia called Gellani—”
