Songs of the Dark

by Anthony Ryan

  Gallis kept an attic above a tanner’s shop on Skinner’s Row. Rents were cheap here due to the smell and Derla was obliged to shield her nose with a scented handkerchief as she pounded on the tanner’s door. “Ain’t been back all day,” the bleary-eyed and evidently peeved proprietor reported. “And I got no time for pestering doxies…”

  He was an old man and lacked the strength push the door closed as Derla stepped forward to brace her shoulder against it. “And I’m in no mood to suffer insult, you old fuck,” she informed him quietly, bringing her knife up, quick and neat, pressing the tip of the blade to his nose. “Gallis comes back tell him Derla’s looking and he’d better not delay in finding me.” She kept the knife pressed into the warty mass of the tanner’s nose until he gave a very slow nod.

  She spent another fruitless hour touring any haunt where Gallis or Livera might have gone, finding nothing. Eventually she forced herself to turn for home as the first glimmerings of dawn broke over the rooftops. Upon rounding the corner into Lofter’s Walk she came to an abrupt halt.

  Little Dot waited on her doorstep. Although a woman of nearly twenty years Dot stood a hair over three feet tall. Her miniature features, usually so bright and cheerful, were set in a mask of grim sympathy. “My sister sent me,” she said as Derla forced herself to take a forward step, a hard ball of dread forming in her stomach. Dot’s sister, Big Dot, was both healer and mortician for much of the Varinshold criminal fraternity.

  Derla managed a few more steps before coming to a halt, taking a second to steady her suddenly dizzy head as she stood staring down at Little Dot. The small woman clasped her hands together, blinking tears. She had always liked Livera, but then, so did everyone.

  “She dead?” Derla asked, surprised by the calm she heard in her own voice.

  “I’m so sorry, Derl…”

  “Gallis?”

  “Bashed up but still breathing.” Dot stepped forward, reaching out to take Derla’s hand. “C’mon,” she said and Derla allowed herself to be tugged along in numb silence. “Arrangements need to be made.”

  Chapter 4

  Big Dot was of a markedly less sensitive disposition than her sister, standing with her meaty arms crossed over her chest and heavy jawed features impassive as Derla looked down at Livera’s body. It was, Derla knew, the accustomed detachment of the veteran physician, learned thanks to years of watching grieving souls weep over murdered kin, or lovers. But Derla didn’t weep.

  Dot had cleaned Livera’s corpse, wiping the blood from her skin and washing it from her dark curls. She had also dressed her in a plain cotton shift before laying her out on the table in her vault-like cellar that served as a mortuary. A cloth was draped over Livera’s neck, presumably to spare Derla the sight of the bruising. Big Dot had also sewn Livera’s lips together with near invisible catgut stitches to remove the death grimace. Derla felt a small flutter of gratitude for this, but it faded almost as soon as it rose in her breast.

  We both died tonight, she decided, eyes tracking over Livera’s empty form. She felt no inclination to touch her, feel the cold, lifeless chill of her skin. She’s not there anymore.

  “How many times?” she asked Big Dot, raising her gaze from the corpse.

  The woman took a moment to reply, heavy brows creasing a little. Clearly it wasn’t a typical question. “Times?”

  “You said she was strangled then stabbed. How many times?”

  Big Dot blinked and exchanged a glance with her sister who sat perched on a stool by the door. “Just tell her, Dot,” Little Dot said softly.

  “Counted fifty wounds altogether,” Big Dot said, adopting a brisk professional tone. “All in the chest and stomach.”

  “Was she raped?”

  More blinking, another glance at her sister. “There was… damage to her nethers,” Big Dot said finally. “Lack of blood means it happened after death.”

  “Strangled her, stabbed her then fucked her corpse,” Derla mused. “Man who does that doesn’t just do it once.”

  “Haven’t seen one like this before,” Big Dot said. “Been years since the Hacker was about, and we settled with him right and proper.”

  Derla remembered the Hacker well, a deserter from the Realm Guard some said had been driven mad by one battle too many. He’d hidden himself in the Southern Quarter and embarked upon a month long rampage that left every whore in the city fearful of venturing out in darkness. The madman had eventually been cornered by a mob near the docks who, after a thorough beating, handed him over to a select group of aggrieved ladies. Derla still recalled the fellow’s screams and they didn’t trouble her sleep one whit.

  “I’d wager there have been others like this in Nilsael,” she told Big Dot. “Where was she found?”

  “The back yard of the Black Boar,” Little Dot said.

  Hunsil’s place, Derla thought. Where no one will be surprised to find another body come the morning. It was a decent enough ruse but she saw through it instantly. One Eye had no need to trouble himself with such an elaborate trap when all he had to do was send his lads to break down their door in the small hours of the morning.

  She allowed herself a final look at Livera’s face, seeing only a flaccid, bleached facsimile of the woman she loved. “Where’s Gallis?” she said, turning away.

  “Down the hall,” Little Dot said, hopping down from her stool. “I’ll show you.”

  “Derla,” Big Dot said, making her pause at the door. “What do you want done?” she asked, gesturing at the corpse. “I know a discreet Brother from the Second Order who’d be willing to say the words and give her to the fire.”

  “She held to the Alpiran gods,” Derla said. “They entomb their dead. Find somewhere… deep and hidden for her. I’ll take care of any expense.”

  * * *

  Gallis perched his muscular form on the edge of the bed, arms resting on his knees and his head slumped forward. Big Dot had shaved his normally thick black hair down to the scalp to get at the three cuts on his head. They were small but deep, the stitches dark spidery clusters amidst the grey stubble. Derla knew the pattern well enough. Three rapid blows from a cosh. More than one attacker.

  “Can you talk?” she asked him.

  Gallis’s head slumped lower still at the sound of her voice, his long-fingered, climber’s hands bunching into fists. “Yeh,” he said in a gruff mutter, the voice possessing a tension that told of lingering pain.

  “I think another dose is in order,” Little Dot said, moving to the earthenware jug and cup on a nearby table. She poured a measure of dark liquid into the cup and held it out to Gallis. It was, Derla knew, one of her more potent pain remedies, Redflower infused with various herbs to alleviate the soporific effect. Big Dot set the bones and stitched the cuts whilst Little Dot mixed the medicine, much of it more efficacious than anything the Fifth Order could provide.

  “Don’t wannit,” Gallis said, waving her away.

  “It’ll clear your head,” Dot insisted, reaching out to clasp one of his hands which he snatched away.

  “Just drink it,” Derla told him. “You’re no use to me with an addled brain.”

  Gallis looked up at her for the first time, red, moist eyes shining with what Derla discerned to be guilt rather than fear. After a second he blinked and took the cup from Dot, downing the contents in hard, punishing gulps that left him retching.

  “Leave us for bit, would you Dot?” Derla said. She waited for the healer to leave then closed the door behind her, turning back to Gallis. He continued to cough for a few moments then gave a heavy sigh, darting a look at Derla.

  “You want blood you can have it,” he said.

  “Not yours,” she replied, moving to sit on the small stool next to the bed.

  “I messed up Derl,” Gallis went on, still avoiding her gaze. “Didn’t do what you paid me for…”

  Derla slapped him, the blow swift and hard, leaving a red patch on his cheek and bringing some life back to his eyes. “We have work to do,” she said.
“When it’s done go and chuck yourself in the Brinewash for all I care. Until then, you owe me a debt and I expect payment. Understand?”

  He met her gaze, holding it this time. “Whatever you need.”

  “I need you to tell me what happened.”

  “Got jumped is what happened. Picked up Livera as promised and escorted her to the place Kwo Sha said, rooms above the old pottery on Raddler’s Lane. Client wanted discretion, Livera said. They jumped us at the corner. Three of them, and they knew what they were doing. I fought, Derl. I did. Managed to get my knife in my hand, pretty sure I scarred one good on the face. But…” His hand went to the stitched scars on his scalp. “Three to one is bad odds. I didn’t come to until the small hours, and she was gone. I looked, but…” He trailed off, letting his gaze drop.

  “You scarred one on the face,” Derla said. “Did you get a good look?”

  “They wore scarves. Caught a glimpse of the one I cut, though. He’d be hard to miss, got him from here to here.” Gallis traced a finger from the bridge of the nose down to his chin.

  Derla sat in silence for a time, mind churning over the various possibilities, though it was an effort to prevent it straying back to the sight of Livera’s empty, stitch-mouth face. Ambushed before they got to the place. Means the client was waiting somewhere else.

  “We need a crew,” she said, getting to her feet. “Reliable folk who don’t balk at the wet stuff.”

  “Hiring help ain’t too easy just now,” Gallis said. “One Eye’s calmed down a bit, but not much.”

  “Offer two golds each for a few nights work. Double it to four if you have to.”

  Gallis’s brow creased in a doubtful frown. “I know you do well for y’self, Derl. But that’s a lotta coin.”

  Coin can’t be spent by a dead woman. “Vouch for me,” she said. “Make sure they know I’m good for it.” She moved to the door. “Bring them to my place tonight. We have a call to make on Kwo Sha.”

  Chapter 5

  Kwo Sha claimed to be a bastard born to the favourite concubine of some Far Western merchant king. His mother, having fallen pregnant thanks to a forbidden tryst with a minor courtier, had fled the palace to raise him in a secret mountain hideaway. Kwo was fond of recalling his early years in the mountains where he received the fruits of his mother’s excellent education in languages and mathematics. However, the merchant king’s reach was long and his desire for vengeance implacable. As his soldiers drew ever nearer Kwo Sha’s mother grew resigned to her own fate. At best she would be permitted to commit suicide and at worst subjected to an inventive form of torture involving a thousand scorpions and a bed of rusty nails. However, her love for her son was fierce and she contrived to spirit him to the coast and thence onto a vessel which would carry him far away to a small, damp land beyond the vengeance of the Merchant King. Abandoned as an infant on the Varinshold dockside, Kwo Sha had been forced to make his own way. Thanks to his mother’s tutelage he quickly carved out a place in the spice trade and in time became something akin to a minor merchant king himself. His success was ostensibly rooted in the lucrative contracts he agreed with ships plying the spice routes to Alpira and beyond. However, his true source of wealth lay in his role as intermediary between those at the top of Varinshold society who wished to make use of the various services only those at the bottom could offer.

  “Tell me something, Kwo,” Derla said, poking a toe through the detritus littering the floor of the trader’s shop, “is any of it true?”

  Kwo Sha looked up at her from amidst a pile of shattered glass and pottery. Blood leaked from his rapidly swelling nose, staining the fine silks he wore. At her instruction Gallis and the others had kept the beating brief, but possessed of sufficient bone breaking force to leave no doubt as to their intent tonight. Kwo Sha had been wise in employing a trio of bodyguards, but unwise in not employing more. They lay about the ruined shop in various states of bloodied unconsciousness as Derla’s new employees helped themselves to whatever trinkets or stock took their fancy. There were five besides Gallis, all willing to work for just one gold apiece, another mark of Livera’s popularity.

  “Your fascinating life story, I mean to say,” Derla said, moving to crouch at Kwo Sha’s side. She smiled, angling her head and raising an eyebrow. “It’s not, is it? Your mother wasn’t some tragic heroine saving her darling little bastard from the evil king. Most likely she was a sea-whore who dumped you on the orphanage steps before climbing back on whatever bilge-tub brought her here. I’m guessing you never even knew her. It’s your accent, y’see? Pure Varinshold under all the soft vowels and occasional memorised phrases spoken in a language you don’t really know. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  She reached behind her back and drew her knife, Kwo Sha’s eyes widening considerably at the sight of the curved gutting blade. “Your mother was a whore,” Derla said, placing the edge of the blade against his cheek, “just like me, and Livera.”

  He tried to speak, producing a bubbling froth of blood and spit instead. Derla let him sputter on until he achieved a modicum of articulation. “I didn’t… know.”

  “How unusually ignorant of you.” Derla turned the blade a little, pressing the edge into the flesh of his face, just enough for a small line of blood to colour the steel.

  “The client…” Kwo Sha spoke in a rapid, wet babble. “Wanted an Alpiran girl… Sweet natured he said. He was new to the city. I couldn’t know his habits…”

  “You’re a surprisingly poor liar, Kwo.” She turned the blade, more blood welling on the edge. “He had help. Locals who knew the best place to dump her. Where’d he find them, if not thanks to you?”

  “He had his own people…” Kwo Sha choked off into a pained squeal as Derla added pressure to the blade. “Meldeneans,” he went on quickly. “Pirates by the look of them. They know this city as well as any local.”

  Derla glanced over at Gallis, standing close by with his bloodied cudgel at the ready. “Could be,” he said with a shrug. “But pirates would’ve been more likely to finish me off. Meldeneans ain’t known for their merciful customs.”

  “Killing you would’ve left them with another body to deal with,” she said. “And I’d guess they were in a hurry.”

  Derla returned her gaze to Kwo Sha, watching the relief flood his eyes as she lifted the knife from his cheek, then flood back in again as she pressed it to his throat. “I know discretion is the foundation stone of your business,” she told him, “so I would like to propose a transaction of such profitability as to overcome your admirable scruples. Tell me the client’s name and where I can find him and I won’t pull your tongue out through the hole I’m about to carve in your throat.”

  * * *

  “Nice place,” Gallis commented, a small glimmer of greed lighting his gaze as he surveyed the mansion. Derla supposed it was too much to ask for him to forgo his thief’s instincts for one night. She had to admit it was an impressive house, standing three stories high with numerous windows of glass rather than shutters. It lay just to the north of where the Brinewash deepened and curved back on itself for a short stretch, creating a teardrop shaped bulge where many of the city’s merchants made their homes. The depth and course of the river insulated these worthies from Varinshold’s less desirable precincts whilst remaining within a reasonable carriage ride of the docks.

  They had crossed the river just after the tenth bell tolled, making use of a somewhat leaky boat procured by a bargeman of Gallis’s acquaintance. Once ashore they hid themselves in the deep shadows of the house’s exterior wall, Gallis peering through the railings to gauge the best way in.

  “Plenty of pickings to be had in a house like that,” he went on, Derla detecting an obvious question in his tone.

  “Get me where I need to be,” she said, “then the place is yours.”

  “Kwo said he’s got a wife and two daughters.”

  Derla met his gaze, seeing another, weightier question there. “Not my concern,” she said, “or yours,” s
he added, raising her voice to address their five compatriots. “Tie them up and gag them. That’s all.”

  “And the pirates?”

  “That’s your score to settle. Just don’t be too quick about it.”

  “Right then.” He settled the coiled rope over his shoulder and reached up to grasp the railings, pausing for a second before hauling himself up. “You know you should’ve killed Kwo, right?” he asked Derla.

  She ignored the question and gave an impatient flick of her hand. Get on with it. Gallis pulled on a leather mask that covered the upper side of his face, flashed her a brief grin and leapt, gripping the top of the railings and vaulting over in an effortless display of his art. He landed softly, took a second to scan the surrounding flower beds then made a beckoning gesture to the rest of the crew. They duly clambered over the railings to crouch at Gallis’s side whereupon he led them towards the house in a straight sprint across the lawn. Derla lost sight of them as they rounded the mansion’s north facing wall. Now she could only wait.

  Her eyes flicked from one dim window to another, ears alive for the sound of alarm as the seconds stretched to minutes. She knew Gallis would be climbing the rear of the house, searching for an unsecured window or other useful entry point. Once inside he would toss the rope to his crew and the night’s business would begin in earnest. She found her hands trembling a little as the minutes dragged by, and frowned in puzzlement at the sweat dampening her palms. Since viewing Livera’s corpse she had felt little save an unwavering sense of purpose, yet now the fear chose to make itself known.

  Is it fear? she wondered, smoothing her palms over her skirt. Or anticipation?

  The signal came a short while later, a single oil lamp flaring to life in one of the front facing windows, unnerving in its suddenness as she hadn’t detected a single sound during her vigil. Derla rose from her hiding place and made her way to the front gate. It stood closed but unlocked, one of several misjudgements made by the mansion’s owner.