Blood Under Water

by Toby Frost

  Cortaag stood up straight as if jabbed in the back. “Officer!” he barked, and the other men put down the bottle, hurried into lines and stood upright along the water’s edge.

  People entered from the landside door. First came a tall woman in a practical dress and a heavy cape. Giulia caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were wide and staring, as if her madness was only just reined in. It was the woman from the cellar, the one who had struck her and whom she had used to escape.

  After her came Azul. He wore a grey coat and heavy boots. His dark clothes and lined face made Giulia think of a widow.

  She shuddered at the sight of him – not from fear, but repulsion. For a moment she wanted to spit and retch, as if she had reached for someone’s hand and taken hold of slugs. Giulia swallowed, lifted the bow and lined the bolt up with Azul’s ear.

  “Are we all set?” the inquisitor rasped.

  “We’re ready,” Cortaag replied. “We’ve got the signal from downriver.”

  Straight through the brain, stone dead. Then run like hell.

  Azul bent down. Giulia tilted the bow to keep him in her sights. Stay still, you little shit!

  She put a little pressure on the trigger, then a little more. Azul crouched at the edge of the channel, looking into the water. He chuckled.

  Something popped up from the water.

  Giulia flicked up the bow, yanked her hand away and the bolt fell out of the groove. She groped for the bolt by her side, eyes fixed on the thing sticking out of the channel.

  It looked like a bent pipe. Very slowly, the pipe turned, and she saw that there was a lens on the end. It turned to face Azul, and his shoulders shook. It took Giulia a moment to realise that he was laughing.

  What the hell was that? A breathing tube for a man walking on the bottom of the canal? The neck of some animal?

  Then the pipe shot upwards, and a great black shadow rose under it, and it was all she could do to keep herself from crying out.

  The shadow broke the surface like a whale. With a hiss of parting water the bulk of a huge machine rose into view, slopping water over the floor, rattling and creaking as it appeared. Wood and brasswork filled the channel; wet lenses and rivets winked in the lantern-light.

  Giulia crouched wide-eyed at the top of the stairs.

  It looked like a massive barrel on its side, tapered towards the front, held together with metal bands and shiny, folded leather. A stubby chimney stuck out of the back of the thing, where a fish would have had its dorsal fin. There was a lid on the chimney. As she watched, fascinated, the lid began to turn.

  Black magic. The dryads said he knew magic. Two hulls. It was in the books. Azul bought two hulls. Varro did the work.

  She could see big paddle wheels at the sides. There was some kind of rudder at the back, with a metal thing like a stretched-out apple peeling behind it.

  The lid squealed as it turned, as if it pained the machine.

  There’s someone inside it. A person? A monster from the sea? Giulia’s stomach was tight. She reloaded her crossbow.

  The lid stopped turning. The room was silent apart from the slap of water on the stone floor. Giulia breathed slowly and carefully. Fear was tightening in her, winding itself up in her guts and limbs, readying her to strike and run.

  The lid flopped back against the chimney with a loud clang. From her position at the top of the stairs, Giulia could see things moving inside the fish-machine, the shine of light on leather. Alicia began to cough. Azul wrinkled his nose and took a small step back.

  A demon leaped whooping out of the hatch. Giulia saw a flash of metal, a hideous gold face and black limbs beneath; she flinched, and her finger jogged the trigger. The crossbow fired. The bolt slammed into the metal face, and the thing grunted and fell back.

  The demon’s body lolled in the open hatch, and in the frozen second before chaos broke out she realised what he really was: a dead man in a leather suit, a golden mask over his face. Coins spilled from his hands, twinkling on the fish-machine, dropping into the water.

  Azul howled and flailed at the falling coins. “Get that money!” he cried. Cortaag rushed forward and Azul straightened up, pointed into the shadows and yelled, “Look!”

  Giulia was up and running in half a second. She tore down the corridor and turned left as their boots clattered on the stairs.

  “Get him! He’s up there!”

  She raced into the room, slammed the door, shot the bolts, and a hand battered on the wood. “It’s locked, get a hammer!”

  Giulia ran to the window and kicked out the glass. She bashed the remaining pieces out with the butt of the crossbow, snatched up the rope and tossed it out the window.

  She scrambled onto the windowsill. She leaned out, grabbed the rope, wrapped her legs round it and slid down.

  A figure ran round the side of the warehouse, sword in hand. Giulia dropped the last ten feet, hit the ground hard and took off towards the wall of the boatyard. Dirt slid and crunched under her boots. The guard was puffing behind her, but he was fast like a charging bull. She didn’t have long – not long enough to climb the wall before he dragged her down.

  Giulia dodged left, between the figureheads. She stopped, turned, and as the guard ran into view she smashed the butt of the crossbow into his eye. The man staggered and fell onto his arse, and she ran again. She left him rolling in the wet dirt, shouting promises of vengeance and calling to his friends.

  Where to now? Not Edwin’s ship: no, too risky. Giulia ran past one figurehead, then another, turned and saw Azul’s men lumbering behind. She sped up again, pulling the bow over her shoulder as she ran. She saw a door in the wall and darted through it. Her heart pounded as if to shake free from her chest. Someone, Cortaag perhaps, was calling the men back, telling them to stop.

  The Arsenal loomed ahead, its clockwork turrets slowly turning as they surveyed the bay. Giulia headed inland, slowing a little. She ran past one block, took a right into a tiny alleyway and stumbled out into a little courtyard. There was a bench in the middle. A man sat on the bench and a woman stood astride him, pulling up her skirts as if trying to find where her legs began. Giulia ran straight past, leaving them gawping after her.

  She jogged down another alley, took a right and dropped into the doorway of a tenement block. She flopped against the wall, giddy with sudden exhaustion, her head spinning as if struck. Her palms stung from the rope, and the backs of her legs ached. But she had escaped. She wanted to shake her fist at them all, at the fat criminals who couldn’t keep pace, to climb onto the rooftops and shout “Screw you!” at Azul and all his men. Magic, smugglers, men in gold masks, a bloody underwater ship – she wanted to shout her defiance to them all.

  All you did was get away. And they’ll come sniffing after you. There’s nothing to celebrate. Keep sharp.

  This time she was not furious for missing him. Azul had escaped again – the swine led a charmed life, perhaps literally – but she’d be back. She knew his game now, smuggling gold in from somewhere in that fish-boat thing.

  God, it was cold. The ice had tightened around the city like a torture device. She pulled her crossbow across her body and hid it under her cloak. Then she stood up and began to walk. She strode through the back-alleyways with her hood up, the breath pumping out ahead of her. Thirty yards on, she remembered what else she’d seen.

  Edwin’s a traitor. Edwin and Elayne are on Azul’s side. Fuck, how long have they been working for him?

  Above, a bird screeched. Giulia thought, Was it them who killed the priest? Were they plotting against us from the start?

  She checked herself. Maybe they’re innocent. Perhaps they don’t know all of it. Perhaps they’ve been forced to co-operate. A dog saw her, gave her a long, guilty look and sloped into the shadows.

  Then she thought, What will I tell Hugh?

  The sun was rising at the edge of the lagoon
. Giulia watched it tinting the horizon, too tired to much care, and she turned and wandered back into the town. The fierce joy of victory was gone. Nobody bothered her as she walked to the edge of the canal. A few people milled about; none came close.

  She took as roundabout a route as she could manage. Giulia kept under the eaves, out of the way of the fading moon. At one point, she felt sure that something moved above her, and she darted into the shadows and waited there, half-expecting a griffon to sweep lazily through the sky. She counted to a hundred, saw nothing more, and went on her way.

  Some of the boatmen slept in their boats. It was easy to wake one and catch a ride back to Printers’ Row. She sat at the bows and watched the Great Canal come to life, the first boats welcomed by the shriek of gulls.

  Light fell on the water and the rooftops, on the striped mooring-poles, the pale stone bridges and the brightly-painted mansions on the waterfront. Now that she was too weary to hate Averrio, she could see how someone could come to love it.

  The brothel on Printers’ Row was closed. Giulia needed to get out of view. Roaming the streets dressed like a man was suspicious enough: carrying a crossbow was inviting trouble. She hammered on the door until the shutters flew open over her head. The lean-faced woman who had guarded the door last night glared down at her.

  “I’m back.”

  The woman said, “Stay there, would you?” She disappeared inside. Giulia tapped her foot and wondered how hard it would be to climb up the facade and through the window.

  The door opened and Frannie looked out. “He’s gone,” she said. “Went last night.”

  “What happened? Is he all right?”

  “Two friends of his came. Said they were taking him to his wife. Sep and Rupe, they were called,” she added, as Giulia moved to speak. “He seemed to know ’em well enough.”

  “I see. Can I wait here?”

  “No. Go to the beer shop over the bridge. There’s a man waiting for you.”

  “Who?”

  Frannie shrugged. “Rich fellow, smart looking. I don’t go asking for names where they’re not given.”

  “Right.” Giulia turned and walked over to the little beer-house. Her legs ached as she climbed over the bridge. She ducked inside, into the smell of dust, hops and varnished wood, and sat down in the darkest part of the room. She pushed her crossbow under the table, then called for a drink. The proprietor set half a bottle of wine before her, and Giulia watched his hands pour the wine into a grimy cup. She let him wander away before she relaxed.

  Every part of her was exhausted. Her limbs were stretched and aching, her eyes sore, her mind reluctant to dwell on anything except how weak she was. She thought about the warehouse and felt neither triumph nor disgust. Slowly, Giulia lifted the cup and took a sip.

  As she drank she thought about Edwin and Elayne. So you were playing us, eh? she reflected, too worn out to feel much spite. I always thought there was something strange about them. Too bad I’ve got to tell Hugh, and then she felt something close to dread. She reached up and tentatively pressed her bandaged arm. It hurt a little, but the pain was dull and tolerable. She wondered where the rich man that Frannie had mentioned was.

  It might be a trap. Fuck it: I’ve beaten one trap, I can take on a few more. She almost smiled at the idea. Giulia Degarno, Our Lady of Battle, the hardest woman to take up arms since the angels appeared to Saint Cordelia. Right now, Our Lady of Battle needs a soft bed and a week asleep.

  Hugh came back into her mind. How will I tell him? Finding out your beloved works for a bunch of ex-Inquisition smugglers. Sorry, Hugh, your fair damsel’s actually a murderer. What a shitty thing to learn.

  So, this is it, eh? See the world, hunt the wyverns, have adventures and get rich. She looked at the bottle, now nearly empty, and reflected that she could see why Hugh had spent several years choosing beer over human company. Friends betrayed you, lovers treated you like shit and moved on to a newer and better version once you were all used up, but wine didn’t care whose company it kept. Princes got drunk, kings and queens as well, all the way down the scale to women with cut-up faces who’d always be alone, and broken-down knights who’d be funny if they weren’t anyone she knew.

  Damn it, woman, you need a rest.

  The Melancholia rose up in her. Giulia rubbed her brow, gritted her teeth and screwed her face up. It was the same old sense, the mounting desperation, the feeling of being trapped and furious. I have to get out, she thought, and then: I can’t get out. I want to be somewhere else, in the sunshine with someone I love and who loves me back, and I never will. I’ll be stuck here forever, getting betrayed, tortured, never getting out—

  Shut up. The way out is through. You’re like an arrow-head: you’ve gone in part of the way, and now you have to tear straight through if you want to see the light again. You have to keep going.

  “Excuse me?”

  She glanced up. A short, curly-haired man stood before her. He looked friendly and strong.

  “Are you Giulia?”

  For a moment she felt embarrassed, as she wondered what her expression must have looked like when he walked in. Then she became wary. “Who wants to know?”

  “I’m from Iacono.”

  She peered at him, not quite alert, and he added, “Battista Iacono, the mapmaker? He instructed me to come and find you.”

  “Him? What does he want?”

  The curly-haired man looked around. He was middle-aged, Giulia realised: his friendliness gave the impression that he was a decade younger than he actually was. “It’s about the Scola,” he said. “He’s waiting at home,” the servant added. “He doesn’t really like coming into places like this.”

  “Too much fun for him?”

  “You’ve met him already, then?” the man said, and he smiled.

  ***

  “Shit,” Cortaag said. “First Varro and now this. They’re on to us.”

  “They’ve always been ‘on to us’,” Azul replied. “They’ve wanted us dead for years, you know that. Now they see a chance, that’s all.”

  He watched four men lift the dead body from the underwater-ship. They lowered the man down and laid him along the side of the channel, still in his gold mask.

  The men crowded around the corpse. One knelt down and carefully removed the mask. The bolt had worked its way free, and there was a red mark on the blue-grey face, as if someone had smudged a blob of spice onto the smuggler’s forehead.

  Azul touched Cortaag’s arm. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Alicia waited in the yard. She had no skill with people, and could be relied on to say something crass, so Azul had sent her outside while the men retrieved their dead comrade. She strolled out from among the figureheads, tall and proud.

  “Let’s go to the waterside,” Azul said.

  They walked down to the canal, the inquisitor and his two adjutants. Once they were at the water’s edge, Cortaag glared at the tall buildings on the far side. “What a fucking night,” he said.

  “So,” Azul said, “it seems that Giulia Degarno has decided to return.”

  “That little bitch came here to murder us,” Alicia added. “Let me go after her. I’ll rip her guts out.”

  Azul shook his head. “I think you’ll find that she came here to murder me.”

  “Shit!” Cortaag spun on his heel, took three steps away, and then walked back. “It’s that Watchman, isn’t it? I told them to finish him!”

  “Falsi isn’t important. Orvo doesn’t matter either. We don’t need their help anymore. It doesn’t matter if Lieutenant Falsi got away. What is he without his rather lowly post? His word is worth nothing now. He won’t be back, anyway: he’s in no shape to give us trouble. As for our friend Giulia, however…”

  “So it’s not the Watch coming after us,” Cortaag said. “Who are these people, then? Don’t tell me they’re from the fuc
king Scola.”

  Azul shook his head. “Not them. The Scola are no doubt angry we closed them down, but they lack the guts to fight us properly. Artists, natural philosophers and similar degenerates: there’s not a proper soldier among them.”

  Cortaag snorted with contempt.

  “It’s the woman and the knight,” Azul said. “They’re freelancers of some kind. Perhaps the Scola is employing them – I’m sure they’re linked somehow – but they’re the ones to blame for this. To their minds we’ve wronged them, and they want revenge.”

  “They’re not the only ones that want it,” Cortaag growled. “That old bastard…” He rubbed his midriff, where Hugh’s sword had run him through. “When I get the chance, I’ll smash his fucking skull.”

  “And the woman,” Alicia said. “She needs to go back in the chair. I know her sort.”

  I’m sure you do, Azul thought. Alicia had started off as a country girl assigned to his unit as a laundress. There had never been any female inquisitors, but the soldiers had disliked guarding the women of the Berendanti, seeing it as beneath them, and Alicia had volunteered. Her cheerful brutality had made her perfect for the role. As their research into the Berendanti had drawn to a bloody close, it had seemed only fair to reward her with the ability to shapechange. He remembered suggesting her to Leth, their apothecary, as a test subject. Ah yes, the charming Brother Leth, he thought, and the prospect of seeing the alchemist again made him feel uneasy.

  A large boat swung into view. It moved slowly up the canal, a single lantern at the prow lighting its way.

  “Brother Praxis will be here tomorrow morning,” Azul said. “The others will follow. We’ll need everything ready.”

  Cortaag leaned in. “It already is, sir. I can check again, if you’d like—”

  “No. I need you for something else.” He paused, watching the lone boat pass by. “The important thing is that our meeting passes uneventfully. We have to persuade our visitors that our operation is not just lucrative, but safe. Can you get half a dozen men together tomorrow afternoon, armed with bows and guns?”