“I wouldn’t say I knew Moonstone Maddy,” I began, “at least not well. We met and talked a few times in a tavern. Never alone or anything like that. It’s just that…that…we had a friend in common.”
This was hard—a lot harder than I thought it would be.
This was something central to me, something that had defined half of my entire life, if only to myself. And this hurt. It hurt a whole lot. I had never before even considered the idea of talking about it, especially with these three men.
And now it had become one of Drayton’s blasted cases.
“Go on, Mr. Cargill,” Drayton encouraged softly.
There was no avoiding it now.
“Her name was Camber,” I exhaled. “She and I had been friends since...well, for a very long time. She had come up on the streets with me, and had tried her hand at being a thief. Only a few rare girls are ever good enough to pull that off for any length of time, and in the end…she…in the end, she just wasn’t one of them. She saw that, and she was smart enough to quit trying before it killed her. So she started doing something else…and started going by the name Midnight Adell.”
I took another long drink of my cider.
And now here it came…
This next part was going to be the hardest to say.
“She was…”
I swallowed and tried again.
“She…was…”
I couldn’t do it.
“She was the second victim of the Cordwood Killer,” Heinryk finished.
Chapter Two
“It is in Khrem where the Great Caravan begins its long journey. There it is known as the Midwinter Caravan, for it is on the longest night of the year that it gathers its wagons, laden with the goods and treasures of the world, to embark on its march across the continent and through the civilized lands.” —Baulker’s Fleets of the Roads
“And what’s wrong with Midnight Adell?” Camber demanded. “It’s actually not bad, and there are a lot worse names out there.”
“What’s wrong with it is that your name is Camber!”
She folded her arms under the ample bosom that contributed to her problems, and leaned back against the gable. She lowered her head, causing her large mane of auburn hair to obscure her face, something she was prone to do when unhappy.
She had asked me to bring her up here, to the roof of Kragen’s Brewery. It offered an easy climb and had a great view of the city. Here the roof had a shallow slope, and there were large ornamental gables running the length of the building. A three-foot wrought-iron, decorative railing ran around the entire roof, making it so safe it barely counted as part of the Upperways.
“Camber is a dull name for a dancer, and I’m just dancing. It’s not like I’ve taken up the candle,” she insisted.
“No,” I said gently, “but you and I both know that’s the first step. And let’s face it, you can’t dance. You won’t be dancing, you’ll be shaking your jugs at a bunch of leering old men. And in a few months, the new dancer will be the old dancer. Then they’re going to want more from you to earn that roof they are letting you stay under—and that’s when they are going to hand you a little candle lantern, and put you out on the street. You know that!”
“Okay, I know that! What else am I supposed to do?”
“Keep working with me and Keris.”
“Keris is going to say ‘no.’”
“Then I’ll bob his ears and ask him again…real nice-like,” I glowered.
“Why? Because he doesn’t want to see me get killed? Or get him killed? Or get you killed, like I nearly did a month ago!? Do you think I want to live with that?”
“You slipped. It happens.”
“Yeah, and people die when it happens! Last time it was nearly you when you slid down that roof to grab me.” She looked up at me, unhappiness etched across her face. “And let’s face it, I can’t keep up with you and Keris anymore. I’m not fast enough. I’m just being practical here.”
“I thought I was supposed to be the practical one.”
“Cargy, you are! You are always the practical one! You are so practical that sometimes it has driven me and Keris crazy! But it’s what has kept us alive all these years!” she whispered fiercely. “So why can’t you be practical about this?”
She had me.
“Because…” I stammered.
She continued leaning against the gable and raised an eyebrow at me.
“Because?”
“Because…” I groped toward the answer, “...because I don’t want you to become Midnight Adell. I want you to stay Camber. And if you take that path, it will eventually eat Camber up, and all that will be left will be Midnight Adell.”
“I won’t let that happen,” she said with eyes that were suddenly shiny. “I’m doing this, Cargy. I can’t endanger you and Keris anymore, and I don’t really feel like falling off a roof to my death, either. At least this is something I can do!”
I turned toward the city, finding it hard to breathe.
I realized this would be her last visit to the Upperways. And now I understood why we were here. She had chosen this place to say goodbye.
The mid-summer sun set lower behind us, leaving us in the roof’s shadow as I looked out across the rooftops and spires of Khrem. Keris, Camber and I were all that were left. Eleven of us had escaped that orphanage, nine years ago. It had been us against the city, and the city had won eight times.
Suddenly, I hated it. It wasn’t going to win again.
Not this time.
I turned back to her and took her by the shoulders.
“Camber,” I said with quiet urgency, “you do what you have to do. But in six months, the mid-winter caravan will leave Khrem for Bellchester. I want you and I to be on it.”
“What? Cargy?”
She searched my face, as surprised as I was.
“I’ve got some good jobs in mind between now and then,” I rushed on, “and I’ll hold on to my share of the take. You save whatever you can, too.”
“But…”
“It should be enough to set us up,” I insisted, “and see us through till I get something else. I’ll find something, maybe an apprenticeship with a locksmith. I’m already pretty good with those.”
“I…”
“I know it won’t be easy at first. We’ll have a lot to learn. But we can do it…we can make it work. As long as I have you to come home to, I will find a way.”
Camber stared at me in open astonishment, and I could see her struggle to reply.
She had never suspected…nor had I, up until that very moment.
“Do you really mean this?” Her soft whisper contained equal parts incredulity and wonder.
“From the bottom of my heart,” I swore. “You just hang on to yourself, and I will come for you in midwinter. Then we leave this city behind and start over…you and me…a real life.”
I paused, amazed and elated at what I had done, but wondering at the same time if I had done it all wrong.
She had tears running down her cheeks, yet this wry smile playing across her face.
“Are you going to save me, Cargy?”
Four months later, she was dead. And all the better parts of me died with her.
***
"I knew her," I said dully, "and through her I met Moonstone Maddy. And Silver Telestra, too."
"The fifth victim," Heinryk remarked.
"They all drank in the same group at The Bottle and Bucket, near the end of Candlewalk Lane. I would drop by to stay in touch, and make sure she was doing okay. I never met the other two victims. I guess they drank somewhere else."
"Those were Shadowlark Lani and Longbow Lia," Heinryk puffed on his pipe as he stared out over the city. "Lani was the very first victim. They found her in an alley, near the Cat's Seat Inn. It had been raining, and the killer had stacked her body parts in a little pile right in the center of a shallow puddle in the middle of the alley. Captain Leris said there was blood all over the walls, and so much had
mingled with the water that the alley seemed to be standing in gore. He said he would never forget her eyes staring at him, where her head had been stuck on top of the pile so it would be looking at whoever came into the alley."
"By the gods!" Poole breathed aloud, aghast. "And it was like that when you saw Moonstone Maddy's body?"
Heinryk grunted in affirmation, still looking out into the night.
"Why was she called Moonstone Maddy?” Drayton inquired.
I was grateful for the chance to change the subject.
“She had a thing about crescent moons,” I recalled. “Her jewelry was all moon-shaped, and this big shawl that she wore over her head was covered with a crescent moon design. They seemed to make her happy. She was actually a rather delicate little thing. I remember the other girls envied her for having ‘perfect hands’. She just didn’t seem the type that would last very long at the profession.”
At that moment, one of the coals in the brazier popped loudly. I guess being lost in conversation about people long dead had gotten us into a certain mood, because everybody but Heinryk jumped. Then, of course, we all laughed in relief and settled back down.
“Alright,” Drayton said, “so now we have a little history. We need to figure out what we are going to do to stop her. Apparently, exorcisms don’t work, and I’m not sure that having some kind of séance in the middle of Candlewalk Lane to contact a man-killing ghost is a very good idea. Where does that leave us? Suggestions, gentlemen?”
For a moment, we all pondered the question in silence. The only light on the patio came from the coals in the brazier, and a red lantern I had burning on the table. The dim crimson light was just adequate for seeing on the patio, and yet allowed our eyes to stay adjusted to the dark.
“An Issillian Witch-Goat!” Poole blurted.
We all turned to look at him.
“You want a goat?” Drayton asked in disbelief.
“Hey, it’s real. It’s even in that book about strange creatures Mr. Cargill has,” the young Watchman replied defensively. “Issillian herders use them because their graze lands are chock full of barrows, ruins and lost burials. These goats can detect the supernatural; they glow if some haunt or banshee gets near at night. That lets the shepherd know he’s getting close to something ugly, or if something nasty is closing in on him and the herd.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. I was just thinking that if they had one down at the Bazaar or the Stoneforest Market, we could walk it up and down Candlewalk Lane between the tenth and eleventh moons of the year. At least it might give people warning.”
“It must be getting late,” the Captain groaned, rubbing his temples, “because that actually makes sense to me. I don’t see the Watch footing the bill for it, though. Any other suggestions? Maybe ones that don’t include me going to the Watch Commander and telling him that I want to buy a goat that glows in the dark so my men can use it to hunt dead prostitutes?”
Heinryk grunted and turned around. He leaned back with his elbows on the railing, pipe still clenched in his teeth.
“Give her what she wants,” he stated. “Look, she’s doing this for a reason. She is either hunting down her killer, looking for revenge against the city for not looking for her killer, or maybe she’s just killing any man who approaches her because it may be her killer. The point is, whichever is her motivation, finding the Cordwood Killer is the common thread to satisfying her goal. I know it’s been a long time, but there never was an investigation. It might still be possible to get him.”
The night sounds closed in again as we pondered this suggestion. And as I turned it over in my mind, I realized I liked this idea.
As a matter of fact, I liked this idea a whole lot.
A cold black knot in me started to unwind, and it started to fill that aching hole tonight’s topic had reopened. Maybe, just maybe, there still existed a chance of finding this man. Maybe, with the Watchmen’s help, I could actually discover who had taken Camber’s life from her and had discarded her in that courtyard.
And when I found him…
“They’re both good ideas, Captain,” I announced and stood up. “Poole, if you see that goat at the bazaar, send a courier to my house. I will pay for it. Captain, would you and Heinryk write me a list of questions you think would be good to ask people who knew those girls back then? Those types can smell a watchman a mile away, but I think I could get them to talk to me.”
The Captain looked at me with mild surprise.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Cargill,” he said. “This is very generous of you. I know you usually don’t like getting taken away from your business for our cases.”
“Captain, I just want to help.”
Chapter Three
“Give me a girl on Candlewalk Lane, they’re neither too coy nor outright profane.
Spare me the trollops with warts and big feet, the type you find on Silkwinder Street.
And I’ll pass on the slatterns who carry the pox, who practice their trade on the Low Harbor Docks;
Some say Waterdancer Street is the thing, but those girls come at the price of a ring.
(chorus)
Oh give me a Candlewalk Girl, she’s brassy and classy and neat.
Oh give me a Candlewalk Girl, she’s a sassy lassie but sweet. (chorus)
Tis better to fondle an Issillian Boar Toad, than sleep with a tramp on Brindlefish Road.
I’d never lay with a lass in a Pick Street shack, I’d likely wake up with a knife in my back.
As for the shady tarts in the Royal Park trees, it would only be fair if they paid me,
No give me a girl on Candlewalk Lane, who’s neither too coy nor outright profane.”
(repeat chorus)
—”Candlewalk Girl,” a popular tavern song on Candlewalk Lane
Being careful to not trip on my borrowed scribe’s robe, I stepped out of the coach and on to Candlewalk Lane.
In the daytime, it loomed as a dismal, empty tunnel of gloom. Like much of Khrem, each story of the building overhung the lower one until the roofs almost met high over the street. Unlike much of Khrem, its business was mainly nocturnal, which left it rather deserted during the day. Alleys where the roofs had joined long ago were now dark holes lining both sides of the street. Some led to courtyards, and some led to a winding maze of more alleys that flanked both sides of the lane. You would need a lantern to navigate those, even at midday. The lane itself hardly ever ran straight. It wandered with twists, turns and small shadowed plazas throughout its length.
Somewhere, the slow breeze blew over some empty bottles and a soft moan of hollow solitude filled the air. Above it all hung a fugue of desolation, as if here waited the last dead end one could reach in life, with nowhere lower left to go.
I rapped on the door of the coach and it moved off down the lane, the clop of the horses’ hooves only making the silence more pronounced.
Across the street, a small tavern sign creaked on its hinge. I crossed the street and peered at it, trying to make out the unfamiliar emblem.
The faded lettering proclaimed it The Candle Wick, for the literate patrons. A small, furry spider stared down at me from its web between the sign and the wall. The grimy windows were dark, but the front door stood slightly ajar, indicating the establishment was open. I felt a bit of a relief, since a lot of taverns on this street didn’t even bother trying to do business during the day.
The peeling door opened with a creak when I pushed against it, and I stepped into the murky tavern.
Seventeen years ago, this had been The Bottle and Bucket.
It was here that Camber came in the late afternoon to drink and be with the other girls, before heading out into the darkness. And here stood the only place she ever allowed me to meet her, strictly forbidding me from ever being on this street after dark.
That had been her one condition to agree to leave with me on the midwinter caravan. I had to leave Candlewalk Lane before sundown and never, ever return after dark.
At the time, I figured she didn’t want a jealous suitor complicating things with her boss or customers. It was only after she was dead, and I was much older, did I realize she just didn’t want me to ever meet Midnight Adell. She had been doing what she promised, and trying to stay “Camber” for me.
This had been the one place where her world and mine were allowed to meet.
It had changed, and yet, somehow remained exactly the same.
It was cramped and dark, filled with heavy tables and benches made to withstand the worst of drunken escapades. No stools or easily thrown furniture here. The heavy wrought iron lanterns were bolted to the walls, and they looked like the same ones from long ago. The large lewd painting of a drunken orgy that had covered the far wall had been replaced with a large lewd painting of a different drunken orgy. The bar itself still ran along the back wall, giving the tavern keeper a clear view of every patron who entered the tavern, no matter which end of the bar he worked.
“You gonna come in, or are you just going to stand there and let more flies in?”
As if the flies needed company.
The time had come to go into my act.
With a hurried bow, I turned and mostly closed the door, and then scurried to a table. I tried to find the cleanest spot available, and then placed the sheaf of parchments I had been carrying down on the table in front of me. I adjusted the spectacles that sat on my nose, and looked around the tavern. The tavern keeper, a sullen balding man in a greasy leather apron, took his time coming over to greet me.
“We don’t have food until nearly sundown. It’ll be mutton stew or boiled oats and butter tonight. You can have a beer now, though.”
“Ah…yes, that would be fine,” I said, still peering pointedly around the tavern. “So, this is the famous Bottle and Bucket?”
“Not for about ten years,” the tavern keeper snorted. “Old Magrew died and the place fell to his daughter, Kara. I married her and took over. Now it’s The Candle Wick….and what was so famous about it, anyway?”
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