Farewell to the Liar

by D. K. Fields

  The weather was terrible, the air ripe with all the foulness of the docks, and yet she didn’t want to go back inside. Serus didn’t seem to want that either, so she hauled a crate to a partly sheltered spot, and they sat down.

  ‘What made you decide to come?’ she said.

  ‘After I saw the distiller’s, I got to thinking about what you said – about the need to ask questions.’ Serus wiped the rain from his face and stared out at the warehouses slipping by. With the daylight beginning to leach away, lamps were being lit. Dockside almost looked pretty. ‘I asked myself why the Commission didn’t want me to file a report on that fire.’

  ‘Any answers?’

  He shook his head and drops spun from his richly auburn hair. ‘This election… It’s not been right from the start. First a storyteller gets murdered, then the Hook barge sinks, the Torn ’teller willingly risks his own life for his story and, with the last word, pays the ultimate price. And then when a fire guts a building, people are said to have died, but there are no bodies and any talk of an investigation is quashed.’ He turned to her. ‘And a good detective of many years’ standing loses her job.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So I filed the report on the cause of the fire. At least I’ll be able to sleep at night. Figured I had nothing to lose.’

  ‘Apart from your job,’ Cora said.

  ‘I didn’t hang around long enough for the Commission to relieve me of my post. If it’s going to happen, there’s nothing I can say or do now to change that. So why not join you on this trip out of the city?’

  ‘I can think of a few reasons.’ Cora tapped a loose plank on the deck. ‘This fine vessel being one of them, plus the woman I arrived with – you must have seen she was badly hurt, Serus.’

  ‘But she had you to lean on, so things can’t be too bad. She’s your sister, isn’t she? The one you mentioned at the distiller’s?’

  ‘Ruth. She’s the new Wayward storyteller.’

  Serus stared at her. The metal plates in his cheeks moved, though he said nothing. It was as if he was chewing over what Cora had said, and who could blame him? It was a lot to take in, and there was more.

  ‘Ruth was never meant to be a storyteller,’ Cora told him, ‘but now she has to be. Nicholas Ento might be dead, but his story needs to be told. Ruth is the only one who can tell it.’

  ‘I thought storytellers couldn’t tell someone else’s story?’ Serus said.

  ‘This is a… special case. A sad case. Ento was Ruth’s son.’

  There was silence between them then. The rain was easing, but the drops still falling from the ledges and overhangs on the barge were loud. The sails caught the rising breeze and flapped, and as she glanced up at them, she became aware of a figure crouched there in the gloom of early evening. She stiffened, then the figure moved, fiddled with something on the edge of a sail, and Cora caught the dull gleam of a piercing. It was Harker, of course it was, just doing what a Casker bargehand did. But Cora was uneasy – she’d forgotten he was there, and now she had the feeling he was listening to her and Serus. Then from the ever-darkening quayside came a burst of shouting and her thoughts were scattered. It had been a long day, and she’d nearly lost Ruth. That was all it was. They were underway now, sailing out of Fenest, leaving behind Tannir, Morton and the rest of it. Cora needed to stop worrying.

  ‘You still haven’t told me where we’re going, Cora.’

  ‘That’s because I don’t know. Ruth hasn’t told me. But wherever we are going, the Wayward Hook is waiting there for her.’

  ‘The Hook?’ he said. ‘So that’s what this is all about.’

  The lights of the dock were thinning out. They were leaving Fenest, and as the city grew quieter, the river grew wider, louder – Cora could hear the water sliding past them.

  ‘Well, that and I thought if we had some time together, out of the city…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We could see where we were going.’

  Serus was about to say something when there was a shout from inside the barge, followed by a second voice. The loud, unmistakable tones of a certain pennysheet girl.

  Sixteen

  Cora couldn’t believe what she was hearing: it was Marcus. Marcus was on the barge. How was that possible? She rushed inside.

  The barge interior was a blaze of light from the lamps swinging from beams, hanging under cupboards, set on the crates that were everywhere. After the darkness of being outside with Serus, it took Cora a moment to focus.

  At the store cupboard, Nullan was hauling out a grubby leg at the end of which was a boot Cora recognised; she’d paid for the pair, after Marcus’s previous ones had grown so full of holes they’d been practically sandals. But the trousers the girl was wearing… It was hard to be sure with the cluster of people in the way and Marcus flailing, but Marcus’s clothes looked to be much better than any pennysheet girl could afford. Not just clean, better cloth too. Cora dismissed such thoughts for now. She needed to break up the fight, then find out what Marcus was doing here.

  Marcus was wildly kicking Nullan. From inside the store cupboard came the noise of the pennysheet girl shouting and grabbing anything that came to hand. Many wooden things cascaded to the floor.

  ‘Looks like we have a stowaway,’ Serus said, and on hearing his voice Ruth turned. She was beside Nullan, leaning against the frame of the cupboard. Her face was set with tired resignation.

  ‘This is your doing, I suppose, Cora? Paid her to sneak on board?’

  ‘I had no idea she was here.’

  ‘Really? After the trick you pulled in the Water Gardens this morning.’

  ‘You know this child?’ Serus said.

  ‘You could say that, but I swear I didn’t—’

  ‘Throw a net over it!’ called Captain Luine from somewhere.

  Then Nullan took a boot to the cheek. Wincing, she motioned for Ruth to move back. ‘If she should kick your bandage…’

  But there was no room in the corridor to move back, not with Cora, Serus, Ruth and Nullan there. A wisp of smoke told Cora that Captain Luine was at the far end, looking on from her wheel but sensibly deciding not to get involved.

  ‘Get your hands off me, you inky beast!’ Marcus shouted at Nullan. ‘I ain’t done nothin’ wrong!’

  ‘Oh really?’ Nullan said between gasps. The Casker’s face was slick with sweat, and it was hot in the cramped space. The damp that had got into everyone’s clothes earlier was now steaming.

  Cora handed her coat to Serus and was about to help Nullan when there was a flash of movement above, and Harker dropped through the hatch. The shock made Marcus stop thrashing for a second, which was all Nullan needed to finally pull her out of the store cupboard. Between them, Nullan and Harker bundled Marcus into the saloon. Cora followed, and when Marcus saw her, the girl stopped struggling.

  ‘Detective – get ’em off me!’

  ‘You’d do wise to pipe down, Marcus,’ Cora said.

  The girl glared at Nullan. ‘She’d be wise to take her nasty inky hands and boil them.’

  Nullan ignored this, and the two Caskers pinned Marcus in the corner as if she were an animal that might bite. As well she might. Marcus had survived on the streets of Fenest. Biting was probably a handy skill.

  ‘Everybody out!’ Cora roared, and roared again when no one moved. ‘I said, everybody out. This place is too small to pretend you didn’t hear me.’

  Serus and Harker went willingly. Nullan left, panting and wiping the sweat from her face. She shot a parting glare at the girl. Ruth closed the door behind the Casker and then sank onto one of the benches that ran round the room – clearly Ruth didn’t believe she was included in ‘everybody out’.

  ‘I’m looking forward to hearing this story,’ Ruth said.

  Cora grunted in reply then opened the saloon window. It did nothing for the heat, but it would mean her bindle-smoke had somewhere to go. She stayed by the window as she rolled two smokes. Marcus had lost her fighting spirit as soon as th
e others had gone, and now gazed around as if on some kind of Seminary trip. Her legs were too short to reach the floor, and she banged her boot heels against the wooden box of the seat. Cora was dismayed to see, through a rip in the girl’s new-looking trousers, a gash in her knee. Blood was smeared down her leg.

  ‘Can I have one of them smokes?’ she said.

  ‘No,’ Cora said. ‘So, you going to tell me what you’re doing here?’

  ‘Fancied a little holiday, didn’t I? Ain’t you always telling me to give the ’sheets a rest, Detective?’

  ‘So that you can go to school.’ Cora lit the smokes and handed one to Ruth who took it without lifting her gaze from Marcus.

  Marcus shrugged. ‘There ain’t no school these days. It’s on a break.’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Yeah, it is, and I done you so many favours lately—’

  ‘Which I paid you for.’

  ‘—that I thought you wouldn’t mind if I came along. To see them sights people is always going on about.’

  Marcus’s heels drummed the wood. The blood on her leg glistened in the lamplight.

  ‘How did you know we were leaving on this barge?’ Ruth asked.

  Marcus shrugged. ‘Heard it somewhere.’

  Her sister sat back and stared at Cora. ‘Did you now.’

  ‘Ruth, I swear – this has nothing to do with me. Why would I need this ruffian on the trip?’

  Marcus folded her arms. ‘Well that’s charming, that is – ruffian!’

  ‘Marcus, this is important, really important.’ Cora perched on the seat next to her. ‘Who told you about this trip?’

  The girl reached for Cora’s smoke, so Cora tossed it out the window.

  ‘When I picked up my morning ’sheets, first edition, people was talking about a storyteller going upriver.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Other ’sheet sellers. Young ’uns like me. I thought it was a story they was telling each other and it was a good one, so I listened. And then at the Water Gardens I was behind you for a bit, Detective. I was getting ready to do what you paid me for, to make life difficult for anyone in purple who give you trouble, and I heard you and her,’ Marcus nodded at Ruth, ‘you was talking about a trip upriver.’

  Did she and Ruth talk about the trip while they were in the Water Gardens? She couldn’t remember. It was possible.

  ‘And I thought maybe it weren’t a story that I’d heard from the ’sheet sellers,’ Marcus said. ‘Maybe it was true! So after the Rustan story I followed you to see if you was getting on a boat. Saw that bloke cut you,’ she turned to Ruth and pointed at her side, ‘saw him do that and the detective carrying you.’

  ‘And then you waited outside the whorehouse?’ Cora said.

  ‘And then you come here.’

  It was on the tip of Cora’s tongue to mention the gig that she and Ruth had caught across the city to the docks. How had Marcus kept them in sight all that way? Clinging to the tailboard? It wasn’t out of the question, but unlikely. Cora would have noticed her.

  ‘And you really expect us to believe you’re here for a holiday?’ Ruth said.

  ‘Why else would I be?’

  ‘Because someone is paying you,’ Cora said. ‘Is that it, Marcus? Someone’s paid you to come on this trip?’

  The girl yawned. ‘I wish! A holiday and getting paid for it – that’s a good story, Detective. With selling ’sheets and all the jobs you give me to do, I ain’t got time to sleep, let alone do more work. So don’t you go asking me to do nuffin on this heap of junk.’ Marcus eyed the peeling paint on the saloon walls and kicked a grubby cushion away from her. ‘I ain’t come to be a skivvy.’

  ‘Given the state of the cupboard you’ve just emptied,’ Ruth said, ‘I doubt Captain Luine will be asking for any assistance.’

  Marcus’s grin slipped into another yawn, and Cora felt herself needing to do the same. Ruth rubbed her eyes. It was late.

  Cora opened the door and made to call for Nullan, but found the Casker waiting outside where she’d clearly heard everything.

  ‘Can we set her down here,’ Cora asked Nullan, ‘let her make her own way back to the city?’

  ‘We’re well past Fenest now. Had a good wind, and a good captain.’ Nullan gestured in the direction of the for’ard end of the barge, where the figure of Captain Luine was visible beside her wheel. ‘If you’re happy to set the girl down here and have her take her chances in the scrub—’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Thought you’d say that.’

  Cora glanced back into the saloon. Marcus had stuck her head out of the window and was booming questions to Ruth: How fast does it go? Why doesn’t it sink? Did you bleed a lot when that bloke cut you?

  ‘Can you find her somewhere to sleep?’ Cora asked Nullan. ‘She’s not that bad once you get to know her.’

  ‘As long as she keeps her fists to herself, we’ll manage. The saloon seats can be folded out into something halfway decent.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be better than she’s used to.’

  ‘Or deserves,’ Nullan muttered.

  Ruth was heading for her cabin, her face pale, shadows making her eyes deep pools.

  ‘Ruth – wait.’ Cora kept her voice low. ‘The fact that Marcus heard about a storyteller taking a barge upriver, that people were talking about it in the streets, that’s not good. Morton’s people might have heard too.’

  ‘It’s no good trying to talk me out of this, Cora. It’s too late.’ Ruth’s hand strayed to her injured side. ‘I have to collect the Wayward Hook, and we’re on our way now. She’s just a child. Nullan can handle her.’

  ‘Ruth—’

  But her sister shut her cabin door. From the saloon came mutterings from Nullan and louder protests from Marcus. She was too tired for anything more tonight: dealing with Marcus, trying to talk Ruth out of danger. Cora went to her own cabin, eager for some rest.

  ‘Where did you find that child?’ Serus said. He was sitting on the narrow bed, leaning against the wall. His slipdog coat was folded neatly beside him and his tunic was open enough to reveal the softest part of his throat and the auburn curl of hair that clung to it. And the barest hint of metal?

  ‘I get asked that a lot.’ Cora sat next to him, and that took up most of the bed. ‘Marcus has had a rough life.’

  ‘I could have guessed that bit.’

  ‘Her stories had enough danger to interest the Partner back when I found her, living in an abandoned printworks not far from the Assembly building. Marcus could see the glass dome from her bed of pennysheets. I got her fixed up selling the ’sheets instead of sleeping in them, working for one of the better bosses, paid for her to attend the city school. Now it’s the Messenger who hears Marcus’s stories.’

  ‘And you hear them too?’ Serus said. ‘She seems a useful person for a detective to know.’

  ‘I have a habit of finding them.’ Cora put her hand on Serus’s leg and leaned towards him, but he was moving away, getting up. Her hand slipped to the rough, stained weave of the bed’s blanket.

  ‘I don’t want to rush this, Cora. I… This means too much to me.’ Serus gestured towards the narrow bed. ‘I don’t want us to take things further just because there’s only one bed in here.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ Though she was disappointed, she understood. And the sight of him standing awkwardly in the small space of the cabin, his fingers fretting at one of his metal cheek plates, made her take pity on him. ‘I guess I could bunk in with Marcus in the saloon.’ She made to get up, but Serus stopped her.

  ‘There’s no need. While you were talking in there, I had a rummage in all the cupboards and drawers, and I found this!’

  With a flourish that would work for a street performer, Serus produced an armful of rope from somewhere on the floor. At Cora’s lack of excitement, he explained, ‘It’s a hammock.’

  ‘If you say so. Looks to me like a fishing net that’s seen better days, just like the rest of this barge.’


  ‘There are some hooks to tie it to on the deck. Captain Luine showed me, said it’s going to be a dry night so…’

  ‘So you’ll be under the stars, Serus.’

  He smiled. ‘I will. But I won’t be far away.’ He bent and kissed her, and it was long and good and she wanted more of him, but he was heading out the door.

  Weariness overcame her then. She lay on the bed, and something cool and soft grazed her neck. Serus had forgotten his slipdog coat. She got up with the intention of taking it out to him on the deck but the smell of him was on it: smoke and spice. So she lay down again and used it for a pillow, to have some trace of him with her.

  Cora’s last thought before sleep overtook her was that the barge had stopped moving. She could feel the difference – the slight tremor through the wooden structure had gone, and the sway of the barge she hadn’t noticed until it stopped had been replaced with something gentler. Perhaps she was becoming something of a bargehand already. It was worth considering as a trade. She’d need something to do after all this was over.

  Seventeen

  When Cora stepped onto the deck the next morning, the sky was cloudless, the air already warm even though it was still early. The deck and everything on it were dry. The rain must have held off overnight, just as the captain had told Serus it would.

  The river had widened, the banks on either side further away than Cora felt was comfortable. When she’d gone to sleep, the last lights of Fenest were still in sight. Now the city was a small hump on the horizon behind her, and on either side of the river stretched the winding roads and small towns of Perlanse. West Perlanse, to be precise. When she and Jenkins had gone to investigate what befell the prisoner transport that was carrying Finnuc Dawson to the Steppes, they’d gone in the other direction, east. To Cora, this landscape looked just the same. If there was a difference between the two duchies, as the Perlish were always harping on about, Cora couldn’t see it.