by Ben Galley
After an hour of staring into nothing, there came a knock at the door, then a creak as it opened. Durnus barely noticed it. Four glasses of wine will make anybody distracted, even immortal Arkmages with the hearing of a god.
‘Anyone in ‘ere?’ called a voice, finally rousing Durnus from his thoughts.
‘Who is that?’ he challenged, wine in hand.
‘Jeasin.’ Ah, the woman Farden had brought from Albion. The blind one. The courtesan, so the others had tactfully put it. The whore, in other words. What was it with Farden and women? ‘The servants said you were in ‘ere,’ she muttered. He could hear her shrugging.
Durnus nodded. ‘That I am. And to what do I owe the interruption from a lady such as yourself?’
More accustomed to the stunted vocabulary of Tayn, Jeasin wasn’t used to such formality. It was why she had found Farden so intriguing in the first place. His accent and his words. Normally, if a person spoke like that, then they were Dukes, or lords, or nobles, or rich, or something of that sort, and therefore utterly untrustworthy. She was having a hard time shaking that preconception. ‘You sound busy. Mayhaps I’ll leave you to it.’
Durnus called out just as she was closing the door. ‘Would you like some wine?’ he asked.
Jeasin shrugged again, borrowed clothes rustling, and mumbled something that might have been a yes. Durnus took the click of the door shutting for his answer. ‘Four steps forward, mind the chair. Two to the right. Forward three,’ Durnus recited, as he felt the ridges and edges of the bottles. ‘Red, white, blue, or purple? Or gold, if you are that way inclined?’
‘Wine. Colour don’t matter to me.’
‘Gold it is.’
Jeasin followed the Arkmage’s instructions. She soon found herself at what felt to be a dresser, and soon enough a glass of wine was placed in her hands. ‘Don’t think I’ve ever met another blind person before,’ she said, absently.
‘Is that a good or a bad thing?’
‘Different, I s’pose. You know your way around. That’s useful. This place is so big I don’t dare leave my room.’
‘Is that why you came to mine?’
‘Can’t talk to walls.’
‘Lonely then.
‘Didn’t say I was lonely. I said you can’t talk to walls.’ She sounded offended.
Durnus chuckled softly. The wine was making its way from his stomach to his head. ‘Farden warned me you had a temper,’ he said.
There was a clink as Jeasin found a table to put her wine on. ‘Rich, coming from that bastard.’
Durnus was intrigued. This woman sounded almost like Elessi, in the way she spoke of Farden, and it wasn’t just the accent. ‘The marital status of his parents during his birth aside, how did you come to follow him here?’ he asked.
Jeasin laughed. ‘Follow? No. Dragged is more like it. Didn’t ‘ave a choice.’
‘Dragged? I find that hard to believe.’
A snort. ‘How well do you know that mage?’
The Arkmage put his chin on his knuckle. ‘I knew the one that went away better than he knew himself. I knew his uncle too. The Farden that came back,’ Durnus paused, ‘I haven’t made my mind up about him yet.’
‘Well, he ain’t like any man I’ve ever known. And I’ve known a lot,’ replied Jeasin, unabashed as always about her profession.
Durnus leant back in his armchair. Before he’d returned, nobody had told stories of Farden. He was a sore subject. They had just mumbled and shrugged him off. The old Arkmage smiled. ‘Tell me about him then,’ he said, sipping his wine and keeping the bottle close.
‘Well, the Farden that I know is a strange sort. Used to come by once a year maybe. Then twice. Then once a month. He was comin’ to the cathouse for six years before he asked for me. He was gentle, I s’pose, compared to most. Quiet, too. Think he said ‘bout four words to me in the whole evenin’. Part of me just thought he was just satisfyin’ a curiosity, you know? Like most of the other men. Want to know what a blind girl was like to fuck, pardon my cursin’. Thought I’d see him just the once, but then he came back the next day. Then the week after that, and the more he came back, the more he would say. A word here and there, just as he was leavin’. A whisper or two. Askin’ me about the house and its girls. What I liked, what I didn’t. He was a regular, soon enough. I used to find him waitin’ downstairs with the other girls. His hood would be up and his face down, just waitin’ for me.’
‘For what?’
‘ ‘Til I’d finished with whatever man I was with.’
‘Ah,’ Durnus cleared his throat, ‘patient, for Farden.’
Jeasin sipped her golden wine and nodded. This old man seemed to want to hear the story, so she went on. ‘Generous too. Paid well, he did. Other girls used to try to get a piece of the action. He weren’t havin’ any of it. I once heard him turn down three at a time, for the price of a song as well. He just kept starin’ at the floor and shakin’ his head, just waitin’ for me. So it went for months and months. Sometimes the Duke…’
Durnus raised an eyebrow. ‘Duke?’
Jeasin nodded. ‘Kiltyrin. Whatever Kiltyrin wanted, Farden would do. I never asked much. Don’t want to know too much. The guards that came to the house blabbered enough that I never ‘ad to. Those pillocks don’t know what tongues are for,’ she paused here. She seemed to notice the stillness in her listener. ‘You didn’t know ‘bout the Duke?’
‘No.’
‘Do you w…’
‘Carry on.’
Jeasin shrugged and settled back into her own armchair. ‘You don’t need eyes to see bruises. I could tell by the way he walked into the room sometimes. You must know what it’s like. Cracked rib ‘ere. Broken finger there. Whole arm once. Barely said a word to me that day. He was the Duke’s man, if you know what I mean. There were plenty of other men, but he was the Duke’s man. The little blade in his boot. Came out to play quite often too. Sometimes he was away for weeks at a time. Didn’t see him for six months once. Came back with a bag of coin so big I could ‘ave used it for a pillow. I actually did, for a while. He’s partly how I bought the cathouse outright. Became the molly.’
‘Molly?’ Durnus asked. ‘I have to admit I am not the most familiar with courtesan parlance.’
‘ “Call a whore a whore, but treat her like a lady.” That’s what the old city watch master used to say. He kept his word too, for the first few tankards of ale. I make no apologies for what I am,’ Jeasin shrugged again. ‘Molly’s a mother cat. Head of the cathouse.’
Durnus nodded. ‘I see.’
‘Kiltyrin. You know him?’
‘Unfortunately.’
‘Then you know?’
‘Know what?’
Jeasin sniffed. ‘Mayhaps you don’t then. Not much to tell as I didn’t see it ‘appen. I’m just here because of it.’
‘What, woman? What?’
‘Farden killed the Duke. Finally snapped if you ask me.’ Here Jeasin shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. ‘Though part of that might be a little of my fault,’ she confessed. Durnus seemed to be waiting for her to press on. She sighed. ‘A cathouse ain’t without its troubles. Mine wasn’t any different. Rowdy men. Drunk men. Poor men. Thievin’ girls. An’ jealous wives to boot. The usual. I used most of the coin I got to bribe the guards and keep ‘em happy. I’ve never told Farden, but I think he ‘elped, in a way. Men knew not to talk about him, let alone get in his way. Knowin’ I was his favourite girl gave us a little protection.’
‘So how is Farden murdering the Duke your fault?’
‘I’m gettin’ to that. So, Farden came back from a job one day. Quiet as you like. When he left, there was a man waitin’ outside my door. Bald man. Spoke a bit like you do. Suspicious sort. He had a proposition.’
‘Which was?’
Another sigh. ‘He wanted to watch Farden and me, when he came back to see me. I thought he was like that, you see. More interested in dogs, than cats, we used to say. I said yes. Sounded like he worked for the Duke, an’ he paid me
in jewels.’
‘Jewels?’
‘A pile. Enough to set a pair of guards on the door and feed the girls for a year without me workin’. It was everythin’ I’d ever wanted for them. Protection. The Duke’s favour.’ She almost sounded wistful.
‘Then what?’
‘So Farden came. The man watched through a little gap in the wall he’d made. An’ I never saw him again.’
‘Why?’
‘Who knows. Never told me.’
‘What happened to Farden?’
‘He was gone for weeks. I assumed he had another job from the Duke. Apparently they tried to take his armour. Duke wanted it for himself. And they did it too. Nearly killed Farden in the process, strung ‘im up in a tree and stabbed ‘im with a spear, so that Loki said. Somehow he survived, and the next thing I know I’ve got an unconscious guard captain lying on my floor and Farden blackmailin’ me. Forced me to leave my girls, he did. Said the guards would blame me for harbourin’ him.’ Her tone grew harder. ‘Fucked me over. Sorry.’
‘I do believe it sounds like it was you who did a bit of the fucking, so to speak.’
Jeasin snorted, but she didn’t reply. She knew he was right. ‘Perhaps I did.’
Durnus took a deep breath. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to hear this after all. ‘And here I was thinking he had become a simple hermit by the sea.’
‘He was that too.’
‘I can see now why he did not want to divulge any of his past,’ he mumbled, swirling his wine. He swirled a bit too vigourously and spilt some on his sleeve. ‘His bloody, murderous past,’ he added, wincing at the lump that had formed in his heart. It made sense, in a way.
‘He likes to keep his secrets, that mage does. Kept all of it from me for more than ten years. Maybe it’s the wine talking, but I’d always dreamt of endin’ up here. Krauslung. Or Essen. Or Kroppe. Any of the places the men used to talk about. Anywhere but that bloody island and its Dukes. Maybe Farden did me a favour, in a way.’
Durnus sniffed. ‘I know the feeling.’
‘Something tells me that you actually do…’ Jeasin hummed.
‘I had another life once, before this one,’ Durnus began, and then finished with the same breath. ‘And that is a story for another time.’ He drummed his nails along the rim of his glass. He had suddenly been struck with an idea.
‘Suit yourself.’
Durnus shuffled to the edge of his armchair. Jeasin could feel him coming closer. She held her wine close. She could smell him. He smelled of tiredness and dust. Of thick cotton robes and wine. ‘Now, young lady,’ he said. ‘I would bet good coin that you ran a few hustles in your time? Hmm? A con or a swindle here and there? That is what whores do, isn’t it? When they are not whoring, of course.’
Jeasin sensed something behind his words. ‘We’ve been known to dabble,’ she replied coyly.
‘Good, good,’ said Durnus. ‘Why play fair, when you can play dirty?’
Malvus was in high spirits. Leaving the sea-fog to hug the gates, he strode into the Arkathedral with a slight spring in his formal step.
Years of planning. Barrels of coin spent. Months of coercing and pulling the tiniest of strings. Working his way to the top of the Copse, and now to the twin thrones. By all logic, his tongue should have been worn to a stub. More so than any other council member.
Politics, like most things, could be compared to war. The battleground was the well-trodden marble flagstones of the great hall. The quarrelling factions the sides of opinion and allegiance. The arsenal of weapons were rhetoric, magniloquence, facts, rumours, lies, and the tongues that delivered them. Some weapons were heavy and bludgeoning, like the trusty mace. Others were like daggers, subtle and sinister. And, like war, politics were far from fair. Sides could be bought, blackmailed, persuaded. Everybody had a weakness. He had seen that from the start.
Wars are fought for one purpose only. Never mind causes and injustice, or even greed or land. Rubbish. Wars are fought to be won. They are not fought to be lost. And Malvus liked winning. He was close, he could feel it.
Tonight it felt as though he were storming the final stronghold.
Malvus approached the Evernia guardsmen that were standing on either side of the formidable gates. They were watching him closely. He nodded almost imperceptibly as he passed between them, and with a heave, they swung the gates shut and locked them with one of the great iron bars.
Council Malvus took the steps two at a time. He barely noticed the levels and floors passing him by as he jogged to the tip of the Arkathedral, where his chambers lay waiting. The Arkathedral was almost empty at that time of night. Even the servants were heading to bed. A few sleepy-eyed feasters were waddling back to their rooms, holding bulging stomachs and grinning at the memory of wine. They smelled of perfumes and silk.
Malvus strode to his door and stopped mid-pace. His foot dangled in the air, yet to find the floor. His hand hovered in front of the door, yet to find the handle. His door was ajar. He felt for the little sickle-shaped blade that was tucked under his belt. Could Durnus be this underhanded? he asked himself. He had once pondered simply killing the Arkmages off. Quietly, of course. An unfortunate accident perhaps. But no, it was unspeakable to execute an Arkmage, never mind both. Besides, it would have been too obvious, what with his tongue. It would turn his own followers against him, and the city too.
As he pushed the door open and strode into the candlelight, Malvus flicked the blade from its sheath and held it ready. His rooms were empty, dark. He padded around, cautious, knife held at the ready. But he needn’t have bothered. It was in his bedroom that he found his intruder. It was a woman, a blonde, all alone. She was sitting in a chair next to his expansive bed, entwined in shadow. The maids had lit the candles some time ago and now they were beginning to sag in their cradles.
‘To whom do I owe this rather unexpected pleasure?’ Malvus said. His voice sounded loud in the silence.
The woman turned her head, and Malvus recognised her as the blind woman he had seen at council, with that halfwit Farden. Guests of Farden and his uncle, so it had been whispered. Malvus knew to pay attention to whispers.
‘Does a name matter?’ she replied.
Malvus shut the door behind him. He didn’t lock it. Not yet. ‘So what shall I call you then, woman? I think it is only right that I know the name of my intruder.’
‘Call a whore a whore,’ smiled the woman, with a casual shrug.
Malvus raised an eyebrow. He had thought as much, from the way she held herself. The way she dressed. ‘I don’t remember requesting a whore.’
Jeasin turned to the window and away from Malvus. ‘I’m blind, Council Barkhart. They say that when you’re born without your eyes, the gods make up for it with other things.’
‘Such as?’
‘I can smell a tavern from a mile away. In fact, I can hear one below in the streets. I know there’s fog in the air tonight; I can smell its damp. I can taste the salt from those docks, where I can tell you’ve been. S’on your clothes.’ Malvus let the eyebrow fall. Jeasin raised her sightless eyes to seemingly look at the high, arched ceiling of his grand room. ‘And I can smell the danger in this old place too. Stinks of it.’
‘Danger? Of what?’ Malvus lifted up his dagger.
‘Change. Something I feel certain people aren’t going to like. Like that Arkmage. And his lapdog, Farden, for example.’ She said the last name with a face that wanted to spit.
Malvus smiled. He would have caught himself but the woman was sightless. He needn’t have cared. Releasing his grip on the sickle-blade, he strode to the side of the bed to look at her, to take her in. Despite her bedraggled hair, her simple, borrowed clothes, she was attractive enough. Blonde locks. Curled. Eyes of blue, green maybe. Hard to tell by the candles. Not the finest he had ever had, no, but attractive enough. She was of Albion stock too, by her accent and cheekbones. A foreigner. He reached out and raised her chin up with a finger. She didn’t flinch. ‘Perceptive, aren’t yo
u? And what is it that you want from me? Why my room, and not another’s?’
‘I heard you in that hall of yours. I recognise a man in charge when I hear one.’ Jeasin rubbed her finger and thumb together. ‘They’ve always got the deepest pockets.’
Malvus wrinkled his lip, withdrawing her hand. ‘A common beggar, then. You came here for my coin.’
‘My only price tonight is a promise from you, Council.’
‘That sounds expensive. Promises usually are. A promise of what then, whore? I’ll bite.’
‘Just your protection, for now. Maybe a room in this Arkastle or whatever you call it. Fancy myself a lady of its court, maybe. If there will still be one, when you’ve finished.’
Malvus sneered. This was a woman he could understand. Direct. Selfish. Clever. ‘Self-preservation. I see. You feel the mountain sliding out from under you, so you want to find a sturdier footing.’
Jeasin nodded. ‘Sounds about right to me.’
‘Clever girl.’
‘I try,’ Jeasin said, getting to her feet and turned to face the councillor. With a smile and hands that moved with the confidence of practice, she slipped the straps of her dress from her shoulders. ‘I have your word then?’
Malvus said nothing. He simply went to lock the door.
Chapter 6
“The Smiths and Pens of Scalussen were a ruling class in their own right. Not quite lords, born into land and power. Nor were they kings or queens, with royal blood passed down from vein to vein. No. Theirs was a hierarchy and position based on skill and skill alone. Theirs was a democracy of ability and wisdom. The finest Smith and Pen would ascend the ladder of authority, ruling until usurped by another. A perfect system? Perhaps not. Jealousy was also forged in the fires of Scalussen, in time. But that is true of all hierarchies.”
From the writings of the infamous, and anonymous, critic Áwacran
Fog had swallowed the north too, in one giant gulp.
It was the cusp of morning, and it was as though the Waveblade floated on the edge of a half-dreamt world. Featureless, smothering, the fog was thicker than a stew. Even the crow’s nest had been partially swallowed by it. Those standing at the wheel had to squint to see the bow. There was nothing to guide them save for the distant, muffled hiss of a beach, and the faint shadow that gave the grey some precious depth. Had it not been for the murmuring and slapping of the waves at her keel, the ship could have been flying through a dream.
