But instead Digger got down from the tombstone and readied his cart. “Where to, sir?”
“Violet Avenue. And you may want to bring a bucket.”
TWO OF THE CITY WATCH waited outside the alleyway.
Violet Avenue led across the length of the island between the largest slums and the factories of the industrial district where so many of the island’s residents worked. The two workhouses bracketing the alley looked identical. Both were two-level structures with gated fronts and shuttered windows. With the sun starting to brighten the overcast above, the streets were full of pedestrians. They kept their heads down and walked quickly, eyes wary. All were giving the mouth of the alley a wide berth.
Digger parked his cart. “Sheriff down there?”
One of the men nodded. “Go on down.”
The wide alleyway had numerous rubbish bins and a few empty pallets leaning on the walls. A pair of lanterns had been set in the corners at the rear of the alley. The sheriff was crouched and looking at the ground. He tipped back his green hat and looked up at Digger with his piercing dark eyes.
Before him was a body that had been eviscerated. The corpse lay sprawled with limbs outstretched. It was a man and appeared to be pureblood. What had once been a frilled white shirt was soaked through with crimson. The bottom of the shirt and the pants had been torn and the guts ripped out. Pink strings of intestines stretched across the alley.
It was one of the worst murders Digger had seen in the city. But between the queen’s games and the terrible work he had done as one of the duke’s rangers, he had borne witness to enough gruesome scenes that the sight of the body didn’t unsettle him but for a moment.
The sheriff rose and nodded to the rear of one of the workhouses. “There’s a second one down this way.”
“Are you done looking? You want me to clean this up?”
“Not yet. I want to know what happened. Two purebloods butchered? This isn’t Claudia’s catacombs but the streets of one of Duke Tito’s counties.”
“This is the city watch’s jurisdiction.”
“And they sent for me. I’m in charge of the investigation.”
“So why am I here, besides the cleanup?”
The sheriff walked carefully around a spattered patch of blood. He held a notebook and a pencil. He pointed to a second body. This one was a woman and she was curled up with one hand clutching a sword. Digger looked at the faces. With a sudden dread he realized he recognized them. Both had been with the group of tourists who had been at the Dragon and Rose that night.
“Hold still,” the sheriff said.
He crouched before Digger and examined his shoes. He leaned close enough to the ground that he might be sniffing them. If Digger suspected he was going to be arrested, this would be the time to clobber the sheriff and run for it, but there was no knowing how many more guards might be nearby lying in wait. If the sheriff only wanted to arrest him, there would be no point in the ruse of summoning him to collect the bodies.
The sheriff stood back up and looked mildly disappointed. “Seems our suspect left a boot print. Yours don’t match.”
“That’s a relief. I was with people last night, if you need an alibi. Now normally this is where I take over and take these souls to a hole in the ground in East Hill. But they appear to be pureblood. They might have family who won’t want them placed in a common grave.”
“I’m sure the city guard will sort that out. I thought I’d talk to you first.”
“So talk.”
From his past interrogations by the sheriff, Digger knew the man was an expert at holding back information.
The sheriff scratched the scruff on his chin. “Two dead pureblood in a city divided between your kind and mine. If these had been murdered fel, the watch wouldn’t have bothered making a fuss. Now that I’m involved, the duke will need to hear about it, as it is my duty to report what I see.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because it won’t go well for your kind. Since the games, as you know, the curfew has been lifted. This might be seen as a direct consequence.”
“You’re implying a fel did this?”
“I’m not reaching any conclusions. But others will. Enough of the nobility in Bahia and at the duke’s court are already shocked at what takes place on this island. The youth flock here for the games and distractions. And now they’re murdered in the streets.”
“I still don’t see why—”
The sheriff cut him off. “Stop playing the fool. You emerged from the games a champion of your kind. Whether you know it or not, others will see it as a signal that they too don’t have to submit to pureblood rules. Your kind are emboldened. Add to this the generations of resentment ingrained in every soul, both pureblood and fel. Your victory is a catalyst. These murders are but the beginning.”
It was the first time Digger had seen any kind of intense emotion from the man.
Digger let out a humorless chuckle. “I thought you didn’t want to jump to conclusions. You think this is the start of fel killing pureblood in the streets? Fine. But what do you think’s been happening to my kind for years here? Infractions are met with the death sentence. The games are just a perverse way to make a profit off our suffering. And as awful as these two deaths are, it’s nothing we haven’t experienced in some form or another. Why should I care?”
“Because it can always be worse. You think Claudia’s rule is oppressive? Wait until Duke Tito tires of her open defiance of his edicts.”
“Why do you give a damn about what happens to my kind?”
“My concern is keeping the peace. I serve my duke. A crime like this will only cause unrest. I was hoping you’d see that you might play a role here.” He sighed. “It would have been so simple if your shoes had fit the boot prints.”
Digger stepped carefully forward to the edge of the blood spatters. While many of the smudges were mixed with the dirt and grime of the cobblestones, there was a single well-defined print where a boot had trod. It was smaller than his, but not by much.
Both victims appeared to have been stabbed and torn open. It was a savage act, animalistic but not committed by an animal. This was man’s work, be they fel or pureblood.
The group that had left the Dragon and Rose had been staggering drunk. They must have split up. Why any of them would wander to this part of the city was unknown. Why these two had gone off alone was part of the mystery.
Was this a random act or something more? But this wasn’t his job. Cleaning the mess was.
He returned to the cart and collected a tarp. “Is there anything else or can I get to work?”
“You know where to find me and I, you. I’m disappointed you don’t understand what’s at stake here. Perhaps soon you will, and I pray it won’t be too late.”
Chapter Three
QUEEN CLAUDIA THE SECOND stepped over the exposed pressure plate set into the stone floor. Not an easy feat while wearing four-inch heels and a heavy gown, which she had to keep bunched up in her hands. One wrong step and twang! A crossbow would fire and skewer her, if it was armed.
After finishing the maneuver she hopped back.
Rochus, her fel steward, watched with barely concealed trepidation. “Your Majesty, please be careful.”
Standing next to him was Juan David Pizzaro, a fireplug of a man with a thick neck and hands that looked like cracked leather. He didn’t look worried. The man wore a workman’s smock filled with pencils and protractors and other small tools. He held a clipboard and was scratching notes.
“So what makes this so special, Master Pizzaro?” Claudia asked. “Once the surprise of the chessboard was ruined in my chamber of secrets, the squares were easily avoided. As my chief architect and designer, I expect you to make my traps to be a bit more dynamic.”
Pizzaro nodded deferentially. “I’ll leave the arranging of the rooms to you, my lady. But this is the new model. As you can see, the switch now has a set of modifiable triggers. These can be adjusted at
will, allowing us to change the trap in moments. So one day the switch fires an arrow like the old models. But now the next day it can be disarmed and new ones armed for the element of unpredictability. It will mean manufacturing more for an event like the chessboard. But consider the possibilities. How about an encounter where to open a door, two plates need to be pressed upon simultaneously? Or, a timed trap which makes it seem as if the mechanism does nothing only to have a moment pass, and zing!”
He punctuated this with a slap of his meaty hands.
Claudia giggled with delight.
“Perhaps this square activates others, making this the only safe place to stand? These simple locks and pins are modular and I can tailor them to whatever mischief you might dream up in that delightful mind of yours.”
She applauded and could barely contain herself. She did have so many plans, pages and pages of them, her notebooks filling one after another ever since her most recent round of catacomb games had gone so splendidly.
The response from the nobility had been instant. They were lining up, some declaring oaths promising to return glory to their kind, purebloods whose honor had been besmirched by the fel victory. Others just wanted more loot. And Claudia was pleased as summer punch to oblige both classes of contestants.
Never mind the angry letters from families who had lost their precious offspring to her contest. Threats that Duke Tito would hear about it were so tiresome. What was her silly brother going to do? Put a stop to the one economic gold mine in his dukedom?
Besides, some of the dark moments in the games could be blamed on her nephew Angel.
He had left a lingering bad taste on the catacombs, with his assaulting not one but two of his fellow noblemen and murdering one of the monsters after the round had ended and the fel’s freedom had been won. But Angel was missing and she decided she was happy to be rid of him. Still, her own side game with Angel felt like it hadn’t concluded properly. He should have either escaped the island with his life or been caught by one of several assassins.
Claudia didn’t believe him capable of disappearing without a trace.
He had owed the gangster Red Eye money. And she had made sure his debt wouldn’t be paid unless he won the catacombs, which he hadn’t. Red Eye had sent a message that Angel hadn’t been caught, and she knew he hadn’t made it off the island. Angel had met his end somehow, she felt certain.
A woman—a queen—knew such things. Her intuition had gotten her this far. And it was her intuition that made her hope that Angel’s brother Jamie might prove more interesting than his younger and dully ambitious missing sibling.
Jamie, however, was frail. Even today he had missed their breakfast, sending word via one of the servants that his stomach was feeling sour. That meant he was missing this, one of many meetings with the handful of designers and builders who would make her next round of catacombs a reality.
From an open wall, a guard cleared his throat. The steward gave the man a nod and cleared his throat as well.
She checked a pendant watch. She hated to be late for anything but the excitement had almost caused her to lose track of time. But she had no appointment scheduled for the next twenty-two minutes.
She scowled. “What is it?”
Her steward leaned in. “One of the spies, my lady. He’s waiting to report.”
“Thank you, Rochus. You’ll excuse me, Master Pizzaro.”
She accepted Rochus’s arm and he led her past an array of disassembled switches and metal parts and displaced stepping-stones. They passed through the open wall to a narrow corridor and a small stairway that led up past the galleries and lavish waiting rooms to another hidden door, which let out inside the castle wine cellar. A man in an ill-fitting suit with spiked white hair waited, his hands grasping themselves as he licked his lips at her approach.
Rochus gave a nod to a waiting guard, who left the three of them alone. “This man has a report for you, Lady Claudia.”
The spy gave a nod, appeared uncertain, and dipped his head even lower.
“Oh stop with that,” Claudia said. “My steward said you learned something.”
“Y-yes, my queen. Queen Claudia. My lady.”
Rochus motioned for him to continue.
Claudia’s mind was already moving on to her next appointment. Who was on her list first, the carpenter or the mining engineer?
The spy finally got his words in order. “The fel you were looking for. I’ve found him.”
She gave the spy her full attention. “My champion? You found him?”
He nodded. “Half-breed. Bright fel eyes. Well muscled. Workman’s hands. Fits the description from the stockade and from everyone who saw him at the games.”
“And where did you find him?”
“At a bar. It’s closed, but they had some kind of party last night. Your steward put word out that he had been seen at a bar with other fel. There aren’t any of those in the Temperance District. This one we missed a few times because the front is boarded up. But I gave it a second go when I saw it had something going on. So I went around back last night and saw him. Face-to-face.”
“How certain are you? Let’s put a number on it. From ‘I’m-going-to-lose-my-life-for-wasting-my-queen’s-time’ to ten.”
He was sweating but managed to grin. “A ten, lady. I was right up close. Grabbed him, I did. Felt his arms and stared right up into his face. And like our intel said, he’s a laborer of some kind. Because I smelled the dirt. It’s him. Your champion. I hope you’re pleased.”
She took his hand and patted it. She was pleased. Very pleased. Because all the tricks and traps and game innovations she might dream up would all pale without the best of monsters to fill her dungeon.
Chapter Four
THE WORKERS HAD BEEN busy redoing the Dragon and Rose’s roof and the loft above the common room. They hadn’t begun on the stairs yet, so the climb up required a ladder.
Or, in Sprat Hellard’s case, long arms and a bit of grunting, as he pulled his large frame up to the loft so he could find a place to sleep. The workmen were banging away above, but Hellard stayed dead to the world until a section of roof was removed, letting daylight in. The worker who looked down at him didn’t comment and proceeded to inspect a section of rotting wood.
Hellard collected his bedroll and clambered down. He almost collided with Monty, who was cleaning up from last night’s improvised party. In his hands were two plates, both of which still held the remnants of supper.
“They didn’t like the vegetables,” Monty said sourly.
“They paid. Isn’t that what’s important?”
“You don’t understand. Anyone can roast goat meat. This was one of my dad’s recipes.”
Hellard sniffed the plate. Veggies were an only-if-you’re-starving option, and then, maybe.
Monty’s eyes darted about. “Sofia wanted me to ask when you’re getting those trolls out of her cellar. She’s worried about them doing their business.”
“Tell her it’s great fertilizer. In fact with last night’s profits I’m going to the waterfront to pick up a barrel of fish parts to feed them.”
“She’s worried about the stink.”
“It’ll add to the charm. As we saw last night, stupid purebloods will spend their money even on a place like this.”
“And what’s wrong with my place?” Sofia asked. The pureblood woman marched out of the kitchen and closed in on the ogre until she was inches away.
Hellard put on his best grin. “This place is a wonder to behold. A classy establishment. Besides, it’s not the décor but the heart, and you and Monty have enough to warm even the dankest of dives.”
Sofia scowled back. “Your trolls. I want them out.”
“I’m working on it. But for now, I think it best they stayed put. Besides, Tonto and Mudo like it here. They might be useful. Breaking up fights. Emergency cleanup, if you know what I mean. Vinca’s watching out for them.”
Vinca was the pureblood stable girl from the castle
who had helped Hellard escape during his misadventure in trying to rescue Digger and the others. She had cared for the trolls for the queen. While Hellard hadn’t had much of a conversation with her, she appeared content enough to receive room and board and a reprieve from whatever abuses had been heaped upon her from the castle’s stablemaster. Hellard had tried coaxing more details from her but she had clammed up. The stablemaster was now on his list of things to do.
Sofia looked like she was about to respond when a crash from above caught her attention. Roof shingles rained down through the hole and into the loft.
“Hey!” she cried. She positioned the ladder and climbed up to the loft, where she began to berate a pair of the workers.
“A dainty soul, her,” Hellard said. “I can see why the two of you are in love.”
“Don’t make fun of her.”
“I’m not. I’m making fun of you. But just a little. As far as the food goes, more meat and fewer vegetables. Give the patrons what they want. Besides, judging by last night, they’re not here for the grub but for the experience.”
Monty looked crestfallen. “But the food is the experience.”
Hellard wasn’t waiting around for the discussion to continue. He had his own things to do, and they involved seeing Isabel. She was the woman with the purse of coins from the catacomb winnings, and it was time for her to share the wealth.
THE BURNED-OUT BAKERY next door to the bar was also under renovation. Without having mentioned it to anyone, Isabel appeared to now be the proud owner.
She had a crew of workers tearing down most of what remained of the singed frame. Much of the ashen ruins had been taken away, leaving the floor and foundation intact along with a brick back wall. A pair of cellar doors were thrown open and she had a sizable space already cleared out. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt and gloves and carrying an armload of scrap wood up the steps when Hellard stepped in her way.
The Dragon and Rose Page 2
