by Mike Morris
Jack knelt in the cold water, sucking air back into his lungs as he pulled the knife free from the dead woman's skull.
Robert battled with another Turned, a man almost as big as he was. The creature was fast despite his size. He darted in and out, slashing at Robert with his claws, avoiding the Black Dog's knife, wearing him down one cut at a time. Robert was trying to remain in the light but the Turned seemed not to care, even though the creature's skin smoked everywhere the light touched it.
Jack scrambled in the icy blackness of the water, trying to force air back into his lungs. The cold water stung his hands and sucked at his legs, draining what little body heat remained. He staggered toward Robert. He had to help. Had to do something. He passed the screaming blond woman, slowed long enough to cut her throat from ear to ear. She may have been blind, but Jack wasn't going to let any of those cursed creatures live.
The man was moving at a frightening speed, nipping in and out of the shadows, avoiding every swipe of Robert's knife while slashing the priest with his claws. None were killing blows, but they were taking their toll on Robert. Blood ran from numerous cuts and scrapes across his face. He was the most formidable warrior Jack knew, but the Turned was carving him apart.
Jack waded toward them, anger brewing inside. He welcomed it. It burned through him, fighting the cold, fighting the fatigue. The priests couldn't allow even one of the Turned to live, nor the demon who created them. They'd not take another innocent life while Jack had breath in his body. Mankind's survival was delicately balanced on a precipice and it was down to the Black Dogs to ensure it remained safe.
"Are you going to do something?" shouted Robert, all bravado gone from his voice.
The Turned bounced back, slinking into the shadows. His teeth and claws glistened in the dark, his red eyes burned and a snigger escaped his lips. Jack could see his muscles tensing, getting ready to strike again. There wasn't much time.
Jack ran through the water to stand by Robert's side. The Turned looked from Robert to Jack, sizing up the threat they posed; saw the blood flowing from their various wounds, the exhaustion that was hard to hide, and clearly liked what he saw.
Jack shifted his feet beneath the water, making sure his weight was evenly balanced, slid his left foot forward so he faced the creature side-on. He wanted to give the Turned the smallest possible target. Jack held a knife in both hands, dropping the blades so the tips just skimmed the surface.
Robert moved so they stood back to back and he spat into the black water. "Enough playing, hellspawn. Time to end this farce."
The two men waited, staring at the creature. Jack forced himself to breathe as his world became no more than that moment, that place. Nothing else existed. Time itself slowed to a crawl. Jack would either live or die in the next few seconds. If it was his time, then he was ready. God would welcome him into Heaven, where Jack would join his already fallen comrades. But he'd not go gently. He would give everything he had left to destroy the Turned first.
"Come on," Jack whispered. "Come on." He wanted it done. He wanted it over.
The Turned sprang from the wall with a blood-curdling scream.
Robert and Jack moved as one.
Jack swept a knife up, drops of water tracing its wake, aiming for the chest. Robert swung his blade horizontally.
The Turned crashed into both of them. Jack stumbled back but managed to keep his feet. He took his eyes off the creature for no more than a heartbeat. When he looked back, the Turned had Robert in his grasp. Their faces were mere inches apart. Both were screaming at each other as Robert stabbed the creature in the side over and over again while holding the Turned back so he couldn't bite the priest's face. Jack knifed the Turned in the back, then yanked him off Robert. As they fell back into the water, Jack rammed the other knife into the Turned's head.
For a moment, he lay there, holding on tight to the Turned, knives buried deep in the creature, half-frozen in the dark sewer water. He almost expected the man to come back to life despite the killing blows. There were tales of Nostros run through by sword and spear still managing to attack and kill. But it was still. It was dead.
Robert loomed over him and hauled the dead creature off Jack. He tossed it into the water before reaching down and helping Jack rise. "Well done, son. Well done. I thought that bastard had me." His face was covered in cuts and his uniform hung off him in shreds.
Jack felt no better. His face stung where the dark-haired woman had raked her claws across him and his arm was on fire. Blood dripped from the bite into the water. He looked at Robert, tried to smile. "It was the least I could—"
The darkness took him and he fell back into the water.
23
Lin
Jack was dead. Jack was dead. Jack was dead.
The words ran through Lin's mind on an endless loop as she tried to attach some meaning to them, some belief that the words were true. She knew Nial believed it. She could understand why he did, why he'd told her what he had. The facts were the facts. Jack had gone with Robert and others into the tunnels beneath the city and someone had flooded those tunnels. Only a handful of men had made it out. None of the others, including Jack, had been seen since. No one held out any hope that they would be, either. It had been too long, the water too cold.
But still ...
Lin had returned to her room after the meeting with Willingham and Nial. She'd told the Black Dog about the attacks by the redcloaks as well as the attempted assassination in Taveson. He'd told her about Bridgewater and everything that had happened in Brixteth. None of it was good. The redcloaks were working for the Masters — of that there was no doubt. Everything they were doing was designed to weaken Abios just when it needed to be at its strongest. And with a Master in Arbour? It was terrifying to think what damage could be done. And yet, even with all that knowledge, it was Jack who occupied her thoughts.
Was he dead?
She stared across the rooftops as she searched her feelings. It was madness to think it but she shared a connection to Jack, a link between them that had grown stronger over time. If he was really dead, she would've felt it. She would've known without needing Nial to tell her. But she'd felt nothing. Not even a niggle at the back of her head.
No. Lin didn't believe Jack was dead. Not when Nial had first told her, and not now. She was certain he was alive. He might be hurt, but he was alive as sure as the sun shone in the sky.
Lin stared at Brixteth across the water. She stared at the shanty houses and the crammed-together buildings, the dirty roofs and the wobbling shacks. Jack was in there, somewhere. She had to find him.
She grabbed her sword and her cloak and left her room. She walked quickly, the conviction growing in her with every step that this was why she was in Arbour. Jack needed her and she was going to find him, even if she had to rip the city apart to do it.
When Lin reached the stairs at the end of the corridor, she went down them two at a time, nearly knocking over a servant with a tray in her haste. She knew where the stables where, or rather, she had a good idea of where they were. She'd get her horse, head over to Brixteth and start looking for Jack there.
The stairs led down into the back of the palace. She passed laundry rooms, boot rooms, storerooms and a kitchen twice the size of Whitehaven's. At least thirty cooks bustled away, preparing something that smelled wonderful and got Lin's stomach growling in appreciation. They had so much food in Abios compared to what humans under the Masters' rule were used to. She wondered if the traitors helping the demons had thought about that — or were they keen to get Turned and eat human flesh? Either way, they'd be no more than glorified slaves for the Masters. They wouldn't end up grafting like a Sweat or worrying about becoming a Meat, but they'd be at the Masters' beck and call all the same, their lives hanging by a thread.
She found the door to the rear courtyard after taking a wrong turn or two and exited the palace. The cold shocked her, even with her thick tunic and warm cloak, but at least it wasn't snowing. The
sun shone in the bright blue sky, and Lin was glad to see it even if it didn't carry any warmth.
"Hello."
Lin jumped at the voice from behind her and spun around. Simon leaned against the wall, smoking a small clay pipe. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you." The Black Dog straightened and tapped out his pipe against the wall. "Willingham said you'd be off somewhere."
"How did he know?"
Simon shrugged. "The man knows everything. I don't know how he does, but he does. There's nothing going on in this city that he's not aware of."
"Apart from a Master killing people and turning them," replied Lin. "And a secret group of traitors helping destroy everything."
Simon chuckled. "You've got a point there. Still, he was right about you. Where were you planning to go?"
"To Brixteth, to look for Jack."
"Your friend you mentioned last night?"
"Brother Nial told me he was dead, but he's wrong."
"Brother Nial?" said Simon. "I'm sorry, but if he said your friend's dead, then he's dead."
"He's not," replied Lin through gritted teeth. "I'd know if he was."
"How? How would you know?"
"I ..." Lin shut her mouth. There was nothing she could say that didn't make her sound unbalanced. "I don't have to explain myself to you and I've wasted enough time as it is." She looked around and spotted the stables on the other side of the courtyard. "See you around." She stormed off to get her horse. She didn't look back. Whatever it was about the priest, Simon knew exactly how to piss her off. One of these days, he was going to get a smack in the mouth for it.
She found a stable boy just inside the door of the stables. "Get my horse ready."
"Mine as well," called Simon over her shoulder.
She turned on him, fists clenched. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm coming with you."
She stepped towards him, baring her teeth. "No, you're not."
The priest held up both his hands. "Willingham's orders, I'm afraid."
"Fuck Willingham's orders. I don't belong to him."
Simon took a step back. Perhaps he realized how close he was to getting hit. "Look at it this way: you want to find your friend in a city you've never been to before. Let me be your guide. You'll move quicker and be more effective. And if you run into trouble ..."
"I don't need you to save me," said Lin. "I can take care of myself."
"I've seen that," said Simon. "I only meant that I can help you deal with the threat."
Lin glared at him, furious with him and furious that he was right. Brixteth was a rabbit warren and she had no idea where to even begin. She hated to admit he was right but he was. "Fine. Come with me. But don't get in my way."
"Do you have a plan of some sort?"
"I'll go to where he was last seen. They'd found some tunnels beneath the city and went in to look for the enemy. Then the bastards flooded them."
Simon nodded. "If we follow the tunnels, he might've been washed out somewhere."
"Exactly."
The stable boy brought out their horses and both mounted. They left the palace and retraced their route from the previous day. As they rode down the Queen's Avenue, Lin marveled at the stalls on the side of the road. They sold everything from roasted chestnuts to fresh fish still dripping wet from the river to old books piled high to brightly colored scarves and clothes. A man played a guitar and sang sad songs while passersby threw coins into an old battered hat. She shook her head at the madness of it all. Word must've reached their ears about what was happening over the river and yet they were behaving as if it were an ordinary day.
Things changed the closer they got to the river. The amount of people on the streets increased — but these weren't the well-to-do types nearer the palace. These were dressed in dirty, mismatched clothes, designed for function rather than fashion. There were dirty faces, scared faces, worried faces and angry faces. They clutched small bags and sacks as if they contained all they owned in the world. They wandered around with no destination, chased by the stall-owners and the shopkeepers, and looked down on by the rich. A few shouted at Simon, calling him every name under the sun.
"Poor bastards," said Simon. "Nial's got men forcing them out of Brixteth until he catches the Nostros."
"Why are they angry, then?" asked Lin. "He's saving their lives."
"No one likes getting kicked out of their home."
"But there is a Master loose over there."
Simon shrugged. "Probably not many of them believe it yet. There's not been enough dead to get them worried. The cold's more of a problem for them. They'll want hot food to eat and somewhere warm to sleep before too long."
"Isn't there anywhere for them to go?" asked Lin.
The priest shook his head. "I heard they'll put up tents for them later. It's not much, but it's something. Of course, when those tents will arrive is another matter."
"There are enough houses here to take them," said Lin. "The palace on its own could house most of them."
Simon smiled, but it was without humor. "I don't think the queen would open her doors to strangers, nor would most of the people in Grayston."
"Strangers? We're talking about human beings. Would they rather they die instead? Or get Turned?"
"No, they'd rather we stopped that from happening first."
"In the meantime, they'll let the bodies stack up?"
"Maybe we need the Nostros to show us how to care for each other again."
"It'll be too late then," spat Lin.
They passed a park where fires were being built. People stood around, waiting for some warmth.
The Black Dogs were everywhere as well, fully armed and ready for trouble. A large group were busy building a barricade at the Brixteth end of the bridge. They'd left a small passageway to allow people to cross the river but they weren't letting anyone return. An angry crowd watched from the Brixteth side of the barricade, shouting abuse and doing their best to hinder progress. No one wanted to leave their homes, despite the danger the Master posed. More Black Dogs were stationed in front of them to stop the mob from pulling the barrier apart as soon as it was built.
"I'm not surprised they don't want to leave if they've got nowhere to go," she said.
"It's a tough call Nial's made," said Simon. "It's not going to win us any friends, that's for sure."
"It wouldn't be a problem if others would help."
Simon glanced back toward Grayston. "It's not their problem yet."
"They're idiots."
"Best tell the boss what we intend to do," said Simon, pointing to Nial. He stood to one side, talking with a tall, thin man. Even in all the chaos, Nial looked like he had everything under control.
They dismounted and walked their horses over.
"Excuse me, Brother Nial. May I have a word?" asked Simon.
Nial looked up, saw Lin first, then his eyes moved onto Simon. "Yes?"
Simon bowed. "My name is Brother Simon. I'm based at the monastery here in Arbour but I'm working for the chancellor at the moment."
"You are?" asked Nial. He looked around. "I can't see him here."
"My duties are to look after Miss Lin, sir."
Nial smiled. "From what I know, Miss Lin doesn't need looking after."
"That's what I told him," said Lin.
"Quite," said Simon, "but Miss Lin wants to go into Brixteth to search for Brother Jack and I've said I'll act as her guide."
Nial turned to Lin, lowered his head. "Jack's dead." He kept his voice soft. Probably his attempt to be comforting.
"Not until I see a body." Lin stuck her chin out, defiant.
Nial glanced at the tall man beside him, who gave the barest of shrugs. He turned back to Lin. "Brixteth's a dangerous place at the best of times. It's even worse now."
"As you said, I can look after myself."
Nial tilted his head in acknowledgement.
"We thought we'd start where you found the tunnels," said
Simon.
"All right," said Nial. "You can go, but get back here before sunset. I'm not having you stuck over there after dark."
"I'll get her back in time," said Simon.
"You know Monmoth Street?" asked Nial.
"I know it."
"There's a big house nearly the length of the whole street. Some of my men were taken there and dragged into the tunnels through a hole in the floor."
Simon nodded. 'I'll find it."
"You discover anything, you come straight back and get help," added Nial. He pointed at both of them. "No heroics."
"No heroics," replied Lin with a smile. "Sure thing."
"Remember there are people trying to kill you, Lin," said Nial. "Don't underestimate them."
Her smile fell away. "I won't. But if they come at me, they'll regret it."
"I'm sure they will," said Nial. "Best leave the horses and go on foot. I'll have someone look after them here for you. Now be off, the pair of you. I've got work to do."
"Come on," said Simon. "I'll take you to the tunnel."
"Thanks, Brother Nial," said Lin.
"Stay alive, girl," replied the big man.
"I'll do my best." Lin and Simon left their horses with a Black Dog and headed to the barricade. It was over six foot in height, with a small step on the priests' side of the bridge for the men to stand on and see over the top. It'd been scavenged together with random bits of wood. There was part of a wagon in it, some broken barrels, and a couple of chairs by the looks of things. The priests had added sharpened stakes to it as well to help encourage people to stay away. It was crude, but effective.
The mob on the other side wasn't too happy to see them walk past and a few hard words were tossed in their direction. Simon kept his head down as he walked past, ignoring them, but Lin was happy to meet a few eyes and let them see the threat in hers. Life at Grosnar had taught her to never show weakness, never show fear, and never back down from a challenge. If you did, you'd regret it bloody fast. She believed that when she'd been a Sweat and she sure as hell believed it now she was free.
