For the last four years she’d been working for Don Jarrow, bringing her bad luck to those doing a little too well at cards or dice. The tables were straight and the dice clean, but the house didn’t want to lose too much money and Munroe ensured that it never happened. Unfortunately her bad luck meant she couldn’t get too close to anyone in case she hurt or killed them.
“We’re alike, you and I,” said Munroe.
“We’re outsiders. We don’t belong here.” Neither of them were officially part of the Family, and yet both were caught up in the business for different reasons.
“There is that, but I meant the other thing,” said Munroe. For the first time since she’d sat down Choss looked at her properly. He knew that part of the loneliness he saw in her brown eyes was reflected. “We’re untouchable.”
He reached across the bar and gave her right hand a squeeze. Someone cheered loudly in the crowd, but their joy was distant and didn’t affect either of them.
“I’m curious, how long has it been?”
“Since what?” he asked but Munroe just raised one eyebrow. “Ah, that.”
“Four years for me,” said Munroe, not bothering to hide her bitterness. “Four long, long years.”
Choss had to think, which told him it must have been a while. “A long time.”
“This dangerous business you’re involved with. Is it something you enjoy doing?”
“No, but it’s a means to an end. If it all works out, something good might happen.”
“I’m jealous,” said Munroe, letting go of his hand so she could finish her drink. “At least you’re working towards something. I just go around and around.”
Someone cleared their throat loudly behind Choss. He and Munroe turned to see a nervous-looking enforcer, sweating into his expensive clothing. “Miss Munroe, if you wouldn’t mind, we could use you at the tables. Please.”
“Duty calls,” she said, slipping off her stool and nearly falling onto her face. Both Choss and the enforcer moved to catch her, but Munroe righted herself at the last second. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” she said.
The enforcer heaved a sigh of relief and hurried after Munroe, staying two steps behind, poised to catch her again. The Morrin bodyguard followed her as well, muttering under her breath about her own bad luck at being stuck with looking after Munroe.
Finally the door upstairs opened and Don and Dońa Jarrow emerged, followed closely by Vargus and Daxx. The Dońa sat down beside him at the bar while the Don and Vargus went out the front door. Daxx glared at Choss, then took up his position a short distance away. Despite being in the heart of their territory, surrounded by a dozen armed enforcers and two hundred witnesses, Daxx wasn’t taking any chances. He endlessly scanned the crowd for signs of trouble.
“I’ve never met a more serious man in my life,” said the Dońa, catching his eye. “He’s good at what he does, but not really one for conversation. I think you would’ve been a much better match for me.”
Choss shifted uncomfortably on his chair, not sure if he should answer or not. He hoped she wasn’t thinking of getting rid of Daxx and asking him again. Turning her down once had been a risk, twice would not be acceptable.
“Enough about the past. I take it you’re here with some news?” she asked, smiling at the barman, who’d brought her a drink without being asked.
“I found something in the meat district. I think Don Kalbensham is responsible for the new lethal venthe, or someone in his Family knows about it.”
Dońa Jarrow put down her drink and turned towards him. “That’s a very serious accusation. One that could start a war. Tell me exactly what you saw.”
Choss told her everything, from the second he’d stepped into the meat district, to the moment he saw the injured Brass go into the warehouse. The Dońa said nothing throughout and only clicked her tongue when he mentioned the drug-addled prostitutes. When he’d finished she made him repeat everything again and this time asked him questions all the way through.
For a time afterwards she said nothing, just pursed her lips in thought, but eventually she spoke. “I can see it in your face. You know it’s not enough. We’ve no idea if Don Kal is behind this or someone else.”
“I need to get inside that warehouse, but I can’t do it by myself.”
“You’d need a lot of warm bodies,” said Dońa Jarrow, shaking her head. “And I can’t loan you any of our people. One person can go undetected. Twenty is a different story. And what happens if one of them is caught in his territory? They’d be put to the question and it would lead back to us. No, you’ll have to do this by yourself.”
“I can’t,” said Choss, hating her for forcing him to admit it. She knew it was impossible. She just wanted to hear him admit to being incapable.
“I could give you some new faces. Paper jackals with no official ties to us. They’re always desperate to prove themselves. Of course you’d need to make sure none of them survived.”
The casual manner in which she talked about killing people gave him a chill. There wasn’t even a spark of warmth in her gaze. Suddenly he found himself missing Munroe.
“I have one idea,” said Choss nervously, hoping this wouldn’t cross one of her invisible lines. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
Something that was almost a smile touched her face. “Tell me.”
“I think I can get in and out with one other.”
One of Dońa Jarrow’s eyebrows quirked slightly. “Who?”
“Gorrax the Vorga, if he’s still alive.”
He did his best to keep looking straight ahead and not stare at her. All he could see from his eye corner was a flash of red and black from her dress. Although the room continued to be noisy, a peculiar silence settled over them. Her breathing seemed loud and fast, but he didn’t know if that meant she was excited or angry.
“Why? Why him?” she asked in a cool voice.
“Everyone knows the Vorga are only loyal to themselves, so no one would ever think he was working for you. Most people can’t tell them apart anyway.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Choss thought for a moment and tried again, not sure what she wanted to hear. “The odds will be still heavily stacked against us, but there’s a small chance we can do it. He’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever met and is a vicious fighter. We have to hold him back in the arena, but not this time.”
Dońa Jarrow touched him on the arm and he turned to look at her. Her calm expression had cracked a little and behind it he saw a flicker of rage. She raised one arm, pointing at Daxx across the room, who instantly tensed, one hand on a sword.
“With one small gesture, I can order him to kill you. He would do it without question, and no one in here would stop him. I could walk through the streets of this city splashed in your blood and no one would come after me for vengeance.”
The room had fallen silent and he felt every eye on him, but when he looked around nothing had changed. People continued to gamble and drink as before. A few glanced curiously in their direction, but Choss felt as if he’d been struck deaf. He tried to speak a few times, unsure of what to say, but eventually managed the truth.
“I don’t understand.”
“Never tell me what you think I want to hear,” hissed Dońa Jarrow, her expression calm but her knuckles had turned white around her glass. “I will ask you one final time. Why do you want the Vorga?”
Choss was left with the truth. “Because I trust him. Because he’s loyal to me, and because he’s my friend.”
Dońa Jarrow stared at him and Choss didn’t turn away from her piercing gaze. He wondered what she saw when she looked in his eyes, because all he saw in hers was ambition and a beautiful exterior that hid a cold and merciless heart. She was a cruel killer, far worse than Daxx.
Eventually she lowered her arm and Daxx sneered, disappointed at not getting the chance to kill him. Choss sighed in relief, trying to slow the frantic beating of his desperate heart. Touching a hand t
o his forehead it came away damp. It had been a long time since he’d been that close to death.
“You’ll find the Vorga in the tombs. He will be released into your care on one condition.”
“Thank you, Dońa Jarrow,” said Choss. He dreaded finding out what had been done to his friend in those dank cells, but made no comment and waited in silence for her stipulation.
“When this mess with the venthe is resolved, you will give up the arena and serve as a full member of the Family.”
Half a dozen responses ran through his mind, but only one question mattered. “Why?”
“Because you need to understand your place, Champ,” she said, using his title like an insult. “You belong to us, and you’re nothing more than a Paper jackal.”
She left her drink and went out the front door. Despite the friendly atmosphere and noisy crowd, Choss had never felt so alone in his life.
CHAPTER 20
Fray came awake with a start. For a time he just lay there in the dark, listening to the silence. In another two weeks, when he and the other novices received their monthly stipend, he would be able to move out of this grimy hole and never come back. He certainly wouldn’t miss it. The vermin, the chill and the constant threat of catching damp lung. He had no fond memories on which he might look back in years to come. But today it was still his home and now he wasn’t alone.
Turning his head very slightly Fray looked over towards the window. The thin curtains were full of holes from hungry moths and they didn’t fill the space. Light leaked in from around the edges, but even so the room was almost completely black. There was just enough light from outside for him to see shapes and contours. Sat on his chair beside the window was a figure, their hooded face turned towards the meagre light.
Moving one hand very slowly, his fingers crept towards his sword which he’d stashed beside his bed.
“If I wanted you dead we wouldn’t be talking.” The raspy voice made it difficult to tell if it was a man’s or woman’s. “Cover your eyes.”
A second later something bright flashed in the room. Fray had shielded his eyes too late. He had a brief glimpse of something gold and black before spots danced in front of his face.
Shuffling back he sat up in bed, pulling the thin blanket to his chest. Now that he was awake his body had begun to cool down and he felt a chill. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the gloom. Looking around he realised the stranger had simultaneously lit all the candle stubs dotted around the room without moving.
“You already know how,” wheezed the stranger, whose breathing sounded incredibly loud, hissing in and out of tired, old lungs. Fray didn’t understand why he hadn’t heard someone breathing earlier.
Staring closely at the stranger Fray tried to determine something about them, but there were few clues to unravel. A loose black ankle-length robe with a deep hood, and a stylised gold mask, gave very little away. The mask had only a slit for the mouth so he couldn’t see the shape of his visitor’s lips, or if they had stubble on their chin. A bisecting line ran down the centre from forehead to chin and a symbol he didn’t recognise was painted on the right cheek.
The person’s posture gave little away, even their hands were covered with black gloves, but some instinct told him the stranger was female.
“What do you want?” said Fray.
“Don’t you want to know who I am?”
“If you wanted me to know, you wouldn’t be wearing such an elaborate disguise. And as you pointed out, you could have killed me while I slept. So you want something from me. So what is it, Milady?”
The woman chortled, another dry sound. “I’m no Lady, but you can call me Eloise.”
Fray didn’t know if it was her real name or not, but at the moment it didn’t matter. “Why are you here, Eloise?”
“I need your help.”
“I’m only a novice Guardian.”
Eloise waved that away. “Not that sort of help, although your position may be useful later on.”
Fray ignored the new questions that came into his head and focused on the first mystery. “What do you want?”
“I’ve been told that your father died five years ago saving the lives of everyone in this city. There are many rumours and all of them mention he fought against someone with magic,” said Eloise. Fray was still trying to piece together what had happened and he still had so many questions. “Your father was a hero, but now people have conveniently forgotten he used his own magic to do it.”
“The war has made people afraid. They think anyone with magic could be the next Warlock.”
“And yet it was a Battlemage who killed the Warlock and turned the tide. And now here you are, protecting the people of Perizzi like your father before you, using the same magic as him. But you have to lie about who you really are.”
“I know magic isn’t evil, but I can’t change the past. All I can do is try to earn people’s trust, and hope one day they’ll change their minds.”
“A noble idea. Naïve, but noble. One day it may happen, but in the meantime people are needlessly suffering and dying,” said Eloise, shaking her head. “We both know magic cannot be ignored and it’s not going away. A time will come when people will need powerful magic again. When their steel will not be enough. We need to be ready for that day.”
Fray had to ask. “Who are you?”
The mask moved and he sensed Eloise was smiling behind it. “The gates of the Red Tower have been reopened. A new Grey Council has been formed.”
“You’re a Seeker,” said Fray.
They’d been common in his early childhood, people who criss-crossed the world as part of their work for the Red Tower, testing children to see if they had any sensitivity to magic. Those with any ability were taught how to control and master their power at the Red Tower in Shael.
Without training, children could die unexpectedly or trigger unusual accidents, often killing themselves and other people in the process. After the Grey Council had abandoned their posts sixteen years ago, the Red Tower became disorganised and the number of Seekers dwindled.
Since the end of the war no Seekers had been seen anywhere in Yerskania and Fray knew it would be the same in every other country. People were trying to pretend the problem didn’t exist in the hope that it would just go away.
“You’ve heard the stories,” said Eloise. “Children dying in bizarre accidents. Parents casting out, or even killing their own children, if they show a hint of magical ability. Some of them might survive on their own and become adults, but then what? They’d be outcasts, forced to live on the fringes in places like this,” she said, gesturing at the room around them. The words stung a little, but they were true. Once he had lived well, but those days were over and he’d been forced to adapt. He wouldn’t wish this life on anyone where he was always hungry and afraid of strangers. For the first time in many years Fray saw that he had a future.
“I’d like to help, but I don’t know what I can do.”
Eloise reached into her robe and held out a small pot of red paint. “When you find someone with the ability, mark your window with this. A Seeker will find you and we’ll take care of the child.”
“I don’t know how to sense magic in others.”
Eloise picked up the chair, moved it closer and sat down beside him. “It’s easy. I will show you how. Open your senses to me.”
For the first time in many years when using his magic, Fray didn’t have to worry about upsetting the person sat opposite. Eloise’s lips moved behind the mask and he guessed it was a smile of encouragement.
The world rippled around him as Fray embraced his magic. Suddenly the room became much brighter and it teemed with colours where before there had been only grey and black. When he looked at Eloise his mouth fell open in shock. It took him a moment to understand what his eyes were showing him.
She was glowing from head to toe. Waves of orange and yellow energy spread out through the air in time with a new pulse he felt in his mind. The light faded a litt
le until just the outline of Eloise glowed, but still he could feel a connection to her that had been absent before.
“That link between us is our connection to the Source. You can sense it in others, even without doing that,” said Eloise, gesturing towards his face and glowing amber eyes.
She guided Fray through a series of simple exercises and gradually he learned how to sense Eloise’s magical ability without embracing his own. A couple of hours passed without Fray noticing, but fatigue began to set in.
“It will become easier with practice,” said Eloise, moving towards the window.
“If I asked who you are under that mask, would you tell me?”
She paused with her back to him. “As you said, the past is lost and we cannot change it. The person I used to be died in a fire.”
With that she launched herself out of the window and all of the candles were snuffed out, plunging the room into darkness. He heard nothing outside on the street, but sensed an echo of Eloise moving away and then it vanished.
As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Fray stared at the pot of paint she’d left him. He wondered how differently his life would have turned out if his father hadn’t hidden him from the Seekers.
After another gruelling morning of training Byrne came for Fray after lunch. They set off for Bav’s house in silence, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. He could see Byrne’s eyes were distant and apparently he’d forgotten what he’d said yesterday. Either that or it didn’t register as important enough to bring up again. That draconian and callous attitude was at odds with the man Fray had known. It wasn’t the man he thought he’d been reunited with a few days ago.
Turning his thoughts away from his problems Fray studied the people on the street. Eloise’s words from earlier in the night echoed in his mind and more than once he saw fear etched into faces. Mostly it was around the eyes, and although many seemed happy at first glance, their smiles were only on the surface. The war had broken many families, but it had also left an invisible mark on everyone that would not be easily removed.
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