Darkhaven

by A. F. E. Smith

  They didn’t speak or even look at each other as they climbed back up through the brightening building to their apartment. Only when she reached the doorway to her bedroom did Ayla turn to face him.

  ‘Thank you, Tomas,’ she said softly.

  ‘You’re most welcome, Lady Ayla.’ His fingers brushed the back of her hand for the briefest of moments before he turned away. ‘Sleep well.’

  ‘You too,’ she whispered, and closed the door.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Sorrow studied the map that Travers had drawn for her. As well as marking Ayla’s room, he had helpfully indicated several landmarks along the way, including the mess hall, the prison cells … and the armoury. Sorrow traced the route to the armoury with a fingertip: it wasn’t very far. Myrren Nightshade was a precise sort of man. It seemed likely he’d have put her pistol in what he considered to be its rightful place.

  She turned in that direction, throwing a glance over her shoulder as she did so. Travers might have given her the freedom of the tower, but she still felt uneasy. It was probably just habit of thought. She’d never walked through Darkhaven’s corridors before; she’d never been welcome in Darkhaven before. Add to that the fact that if Myrren caught her here he’d probably want to clap her in irons, and she had reason enough for her disquiet.

  She saw no-one on her way to the armoury, not servant or Helm or Nightshade. That should have been a relief, but it only set her more on edge. She guessed it wasn’t much after fifth bell: the sort of time when people moved from one kind of activity to another, from their daily work to the evening meal. Why weren’t there more people? It was possible Travers had shown her a route that he knew would be unfrequented at this time of day, but she doubted he would be so considerate – until it occurred to her that he probably had no more desire for her to bump into Myrren than she did herself. It wouldn’t take very many questions to reveal how closely Travers was implicated in her actions that morning; his safety depended on her not being caught. Feeling slightly more relaxed, she blew out a long breath. If she’d known how complicated this job would turn out to be, she never would have taken it – no matter how good the money.

  The door to the armoury was locked, but Sorrow never went anywhere without a complete set of tools. It was the work of a few moments to pick the lock, slip through the door and close it behind her. Once inside, she glanced around the room, her gaze skimming over the ranks of weapons without interest. This was all bladed weaponry, or ways of countering it; she had quite enough of that already. There was only one weapon she wanted – the future to this room’s past – and she couldn’t see it anywhere.

  A locked cabinet in the corner of the room caught her eye, and she crossed over to examine it. It was a beautiful thing, most likely Parovian in origin: carved out of ebonwood, one of the hardest woods in the world, with elegant legs and a satin finish so smooth that it dimly reflected her face. Sorrow had an ebonwood safe back in her apartment; she knew quite well that it was stronger than metal, as well as far more attractive. She also knew that the multi-dial padlock keeping the cabinet shut would be more difficult to open than a simple door lock. Difficult, but not impossible, for someone who knew how it worked.

  Crouching in front of the cabinet, she got her tools out again and manipulated the dials on the padlock, listening for the clicks that would tell her when she’d got the right numbers. On her own safe she’d replaced the standard lock with an Ingalese combination lock, which was meant to be almost impossible to crack; clearly the Helm hadn’t felt such a high level of security was necessary in their own stronghold. It took her longer than the armoury door, but soon enough she got all the digits in place and was able to spring the padlock open.

  With a smug smile, Sorrow eased the cabinet door back on its hinges. There were two shelves inside, each stacked with a range of fascinating-looking objects, and in the centre of the top shelf was a gleaming black pistol. She picked it up with gentle reverence, turning it over in her hands. It wasn’t her own pistol – the barrel was longer, the hammer a slightly different shape – but it would do. It would do very well. Of course, she hadn’t learned its idiosyncrasies, as she had with her own pistol, but any firearm was better than none. And there was a certain justice in it: Myrren had taken a pistol from her, and now she was taking one from him.

  ‘Look! What’s that?’ The man’s voice reached her, muffled, through the door of the armoury. Presumably a Helmsman. She sat back on her heels, listening.

  ‘There’s someone in the armoury,’ a second voice said.

  ‘But isn’t it meant to be locked at this time of day?’ a third put in.

  ‘Could be an intruder,’ the first man agreed. ‘Better go and investigate.’

  Sorrow closed the cabinet and stuffed the pistol into her bag. She was about to show herself, to tell them she had their captain’s permission to be there, but something stopped her. She hadn’t left any sign of her break-in. At a casual glance, no-one should be able to tell the door was unlocked – so they must have been watching her to know she was in the armoury at all. If they didn’t know she was meant to be there, why hadn’t they challenged her sooner?

  Unless, of course, what Travers had told them was significantly different from what he’d told her he’d tell them …

  She didn’t stop to think through the full implications. As the door to the armoury opened, she grabbed a blackjack off the wall and swung it with her full strength at the first Helmsman who entered. He wasn’t expecting the attack; the weapon landed squarely on his forearm, making him howl with pain and drop his sword. Another blow hit his knee, sending him stumbling back into the arms of his colleagues. While they were distracted by that, Sorrow brought the blackjack round in a sweeping arc and caught the second man across the side of the head, suppressing a wince at the sound it made on contact with his skull. She’d chosen the blackjack because she didn’t want to kill anyone until she knew what she was dealing with, but she might have misjudged that last blow. He’d certainly dropped as though his strings had been cut.

  ‘Sorrow.’ The third Helmsman had struggled free of his wounded fellows and was now advancing on her with sword in hand. He showed no surprise that she was the supposed intruder, which confirmed her apprehension that all wasn’t right. She threw the blackjack aside and drew her twin swords in time to catch his blade. This was nothing like fighting Myrren Nightshade; the man was competent enough, but no master. She drove him backwards until his heels came up against one of his fallen colleagues, then took advantage of his momentary stumble to knock the sword out of his grasp. She’d learned that trick off Myrren only that morning.

  ‘On your knees,’ she ordered the Helmsman, a blade either side of his throat leaving him in no doubt that she meant what she said. Then she circled behind him and put an arm around his neck, applying steady pressure to both sides. His struggles became weaker and weaker until she felt him go limp, at which point she released her chokehold and let him slump to the floor. He’d probably wake up with a headache, but he should be grateful for that. He’d only got away with his life because she preferred not to kill unless she was being paid for it.

  Sorrow wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist and studied her fallen attackers, ignoring the whimpers of the one with the smashed kneecap. Only three of them, and they’d thought to capture her when she was trapped in a bloody armoury. It was almost insulting. Rolling one of the unconscious men over with scant regard for his dignity, she stripped off his striped coat. He was both taller and broader than she was, which meant his coat covered her bulky knife-belt; with her short hair, she’d look like a Helmsman to anyone who didn’t get too close. Her two sheathed swords went into her bag, but she took the time to load the new pistol. Something very strange was going on here, and a single well-placed shot could mean the difference between freedom and capture.

  When she was ready, she left the armoury and worked the lock back into place behind her. With any luck, it would be some time before the three me
n on the other side of that door were found. By now she was pretty sure that Travers was playing a double game, and all her instincts were screaming at her to leave as fast as she could by the nearest exit, but still she hesitated. She wanted to see Elisse. She wanted to confirm with her own eyes that Myrren hadn’t hurt the woman. And even though she knew it was probably a bad decision, she couldn’t make herself run away.

  You’re a bloody fool, Naeve Sorrow, she told herself, before turning in the direction of Ayla’s room.

  She already had the route memorised from Travers’ map, and it didn’t take her long to get there. From time to time she passed another Helmsman, but she kept her head down and her pistol concealed inside her borrowed coat, and no-one gave her a second look. When she reached Ayla’s room, she took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Elisse answered, and for an instant Sorrow was reminded of her own arrival in the fourth ring – was it only yesterday? She’d gone over to the safe house fully expecting to despise Elisse, but instead she’d found something altogether different. As yet, she wasn’t ready to explore what that something might be.

  ‘Naeve!’ Surprise sparked in Elisse’s face, but it quickly turned into a beaming smile. Sorrow didn’t think anyone had ever been that pleased to see her before. Nor did people tend to call her by her first name, but for some reason she didn’t mind it from Elisse. ‘What’re ya doing here? Are ya all right? I didn’ think they’d let ya see me.’

  ‘I made a deal with Captain Travers.’ Whatever that was worth now. Satisfied that Elisse showed no sign of injury – and that she seemed happy enough – Sorrow stepped to one side, trying to peer over the other woman’s shoulder into the room beyond. ‘Is the priestess there?’

  ‘No. She’s with Lord Myrren.’

  Interesting. By Sorrow’s reckoning, it was well past sixth bell; most people would have sought their beds by now. Looks like Travers was wrong about her and Myrren.

  ‘Can I come in?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure.’ Elisse stood back, letting her into the room. Sorrow closed the door behind her and glanced around: all very old-fashioned and heavy, not the kind of style she admired. She looked back at Elisse, who was watching her expectantly.

  ‘I just wanted to make sure you were all right.’ The words sounded lame in her own ears. She tried again. ‘I mean, after I failed to stop Myrren from taking you away –’

  ‘I didn’ blame ya,’ Elisse said firmly. ‘Lord Myrren is overlord o’ Darkhaven. Ya couldn’ hurt him too much, whatever Travers said.’

  Sorrow nodded. The next question came out without any forethought on her part, simply because she wanted to know the answer. ‘How much do you trust Owen Travers, Elisse?’

  Elisse shrugged. ‘’Bout as much as I’d trust a hungry wolf.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t be surprised if he went back on his sworn word?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Neither would I.’ Sorrow considered it, frowning. ‘I think he’s trying to pin everything on me. I think he’s trying to cover his tracks where you’re concerned. But now I know the trap is there, I know how to evade it.’

  ‘What d’ya mean?’

  ‘I mean he’s a bastard.’ She began pacing the room, assessing it for threats, then caught herself doing it and grinned. ‘So did any of his dire warnings come true? Does Myrren mean you any harm?’

  Elisse frowned. ‘I don’ think so. But he wants me ta stay here in Darkhaven. Ta bring the baby up as a Nightshade.’

  She didn’t look very happy at the prospect. Sorrow raised her eyebrows at her.

  ‘Isn’t that what you knew would have to happen, someday?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Elisse sat down in an uncomfortable-looking chair, folding her hands over her bump. ‘Florentyn always promised we’d be able ta stay outside the tower, the baby and me. That he’d have a say in its education, bu’ he’d only step in ta claim it once it showed signs o’ having the gift.’

  ‘Your baby has the blood of royalty in its veins,’ Sorrow said. ‘Maybe it’s better for it to know that as soon as possible.’

  ‘I s’pose so.’ Elisse sounded sad. ‘I jus’ don’ want it ta have this life, that’s all. All politics and walls and – and loneliness. Now its father’s gone, I’m the only parent i’ has left. But even if Lord Myrren has the best of intentions, how much involvement d’ya think he’ll let me have in my baby’s upbringing? I never married Florentyn Nightshade. I’m no-one important. I’m jus’ a girl from the country.’ She looked up, the knowledge stark in her eyes. ‘My opinion won’ count for anything at all.’

  ‘Then why don’t you just leave?’ Sorrow asked, and Elisse shrugged.

  ‘They’d only come after me.’

  She looked as if she was about to say something more, but she was interrupted by a knock on the door. Not a polite knock, the priestess announcing her return before walking in on whatever Elisse was doing; an urgent banging. Straight away Sorrow’s thoughts leapt to the bargain she had made with Travers. He knew she’d intended to come here. Either he’d already found his men in the armoury, or he was accounting for all possibilities.

  Before Sorrow could decide how best to defend herself, Elisse got to her feet, a determined lift to her chin. ‘Get in the wardrobe. I’ll deal with this.’

  Sorrow hesitated – but really, in this situation, hiding was the only sensible option. And besides, she was mildly amused by the way Elisse had taken charge. Without demur, she climbed in amongst the rich fabrics that hung in the wardrobe: presumably Ayla’s abandoned clothing. Elisse swung the door shut on her, leaving her surrounded by darkness and the musty smell of brocade. A series of creaks sounded that must be Elisse crossing the floor, followed by a longer creak as she opened the door to the bedroom. Darkhaven was a bloody noisy place.

  Sorrow drew the pistol out from the inner pocket of her borrowed coat, just in case. Then she set her ear to the inside of the wardrobe door, listening intently. She heard the rumble of the Helmsman’s voice, and the end of his sentence: ‘… looking for Naeve Sorrow.’

  ‘She’s gone,’ Elisse said. ‘She only stopped by for a moment.’

  ‘Did she say where she was going?’

  ‘No.’ Elisse sounded indifferent. ‘Ta be honest, I didn’ ask. I know Captain Travers thought i’ would be a good idea ta hire her, bu’ she scared me senseless. I’m glad she’s gone.’

  Another rumble; Sorrow couldn’t make it out, but she caught Elisse’s reply.

  ‘All right. I will. Thanks for letting me know.’

  Sorrow heard the main door close, and a few moments later the door to the wardrobe swung open. Elisse stood there with one hand on her hip and a grin on her face.

  ‘How was that?’

  ‘Pretty good.’ Sorrow jumped down out of the wardrobe, landing lightly on her feet. ‘So I scared you senseless, did I?’

  ‘Ta start with,’ Elisse admitted. She looked at the weapon that Sorrow was still clutching in one hand. ‘Ya got ya pistol back, then?’

  Sorrow shook her head. ‘This one’s from Darkhaven’s armoury. I figured Myrren Nightshade owed me.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Elisse’s smile was replaced by a troubled frown. ‘It’s true what ya said, by the way. They are looking for ya. That Helmsman said ya killed a man.’

  So that blow to the head had proven fatal after all. Sorrow shrugged, though she wasn’t very happy about it. ‘If Travers doesn’t want his men to get hurt, he shouldn’t make bargains he has no intention of keeping.’

  ‘Then it’s true?’ Elisse asked, wide-eyed.

  ‘Yes. But it was accidental … sort of. And they were going to arrest me, or maybe kill me … I don’t know.’ Seeing the expression on the other woman’s face, Sorrow sighed. ‘This is what I do, Elisse.’

  ‘I know.’ Though Elisse’s reply came quickly enough, her eyes still showed a hint of the same uncertainty they’d held back when Sorrow had first arrived at the safe house. It was always the same. There was a reason why people in Sorrow�
�s profession couldn’t hold down relationships for long. She picked up her bag.

  ‘Well, I’d better get going.’

  ‘Will ya stay?’ The question was tentative. ‘It’s jus’ … ya the only friend I’ve got in Arkannen. And I don’ like being in this place alone.’

  Sorrow hesitated. ‘I can’t hide in your wardrobe forever, Elisse. If Myrren sees me in Darkhaven he’ll want to have me arrested – and I’m beginning to think Travers has the same intention. Between the two of them, I don’t stand much chance.’

  ‘I understand.’ Elisse didn’t look up. ‘Well … i’ was nice knowing ya, Sorrow. Thanks for everything.’

  Still Sorrow lingered. She should leave, she knew that. Her involvement with this situation had already tangled her life up more than she liked. But, after all, this was the last place either Travers or Myrren would look for her. Myrren had no idea she’d even been in Darkhaven, and Travers wouldn’t expect her to have stayed this long. If either of them wanted her, they’d be more likely to send men to her apartment. Which really meant she was safer here than anywhere else.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay. If only for tonight.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Serenna lifted her hand to knock on the door, then lowered it again without touching the wood. She still wasn’t sure this was a good idea; she had never visited Myrren in his own room before, and certainly not this late at night. Yet she knew without needing to be told that he would want to talk to someone. He would be trying to decide what to do as a result of Elisse’s earlier revelations. And of all the people in Darkhaven, Serenna would be the only one he felt he could be honest with.

  With a deep breath to ease her nerves, she reached out and rapped on the door before she could think any more about it. Myrren opened it; he looked as grave and calm as ever, but she saw a hint of strain in his eyes before his brows drew together in surprise.

  ‘Serenna! Is everything all right?’