by Luke Webster
“That is not the job of a regent,” Callis observed.
“No, it’s not. My informant suggested that Pierce is seeking to promote himself.”
“That would be suicide. I am sure you friend got his information mixed.”
“I doubt it.”
“Then we shall soon have a new regent. No noble would stand for it and I doubt the church would take lightly either.”
“We are the church.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“If Pierce lays claim to kingship then we should support him.”
“For what benefit?”
My associate is Rafpheal Tyme-Lal. If Pierce takes a kingship then he owes it to Rafpheal. If we support Pierce then Rafpheal owes us.”
“You think we can control Pierce… or the crime lords?”
“Nothing is done without the church’s approval in this city. With their support we can strengthen and reinvent ourselves within the church.”
“That is a giant undertaking,” Callis pointed out, an expression of greed touching his lips.
“It all depends how events unfurl. If we position ourselves correctly then we could reap great rewards.”
“If… when Pierce claims kingship we will need to convince the others to support him.”
“That is the challenge,” Pilus noted. “They might shy away from a war if it came to it.”
“Perhaps we should consider those who would oppose the idea…”
Pilus nodded, understanding the sinister undertone. Neither man would shy from assassinating one of their brethren for self-promotion.
“It would also do to consider those nobles most staunchly opposed to a return to monarchy.”
Callis nodded, holding forth a drink in salute.
“Tell me, where have our servants gone? My cup has sat empty for some time,” Pilus asked.
“The idiot child? I don’t know,” Callis replied.
“And your suckle boy?”
“He has left my service on account of incompetence.”
“You removed him?”
“Of course, the boy strayed against me, in your duty no matter.”
“I would have expected more from him,” Pilus sighed. “I guess he wasn’t such the hidden gem that you thought.”
“Well, he pleases others now.”
“This Islemann of yours?”
Callis nodded but did not speak.
“Tell me of him?” Pilus pressed.
“Was that Nielle’s mission?”
“It was a test to see his value… which he failed, but it served a double purpose of sorts. This man of yours compels my interest.”
“He is not my man,” Callis admitted. “In a sense I serve him.”
“Excuse me?”
“Have you heard of the tribesmen of Ith’aki?” Pilus shook his head. “I’m not surprised. They were once the dominant tribe among the Iron Reaches, before the time of the Patriarcht.”
“That was a long time ago,” Pilus noted, receiving a sarcastic smile for the trouble.
“Yet this man still lives,” Callis said. “And sought me out as a true follower of Aea-Baeni.”
“The Beast’s image of Ea-Manati?”
“No. Julkett, the two-headed wolf. The mother of Ea-Manati, in a philosophical sense. Lies and perverted truths have twisted her into what our brethren worship today. You should know, as my counterpart, that Aea-Baeni is the transcended being of this beast.”
“You are suggesting that this god once existed?” Pilus half-smirked.
“It was never a god. Fearful tribesmen placed that epithet on a creature renowned for desecrating their homes and possessing their people.”
“How does this lead to Islemann?”
“Islemann was possessed by the beast, infested with a type of parasite that kept him alive and gave him certain improvements.”
“Such as?”
“His strength is unparalleled by man, and despite his appearance he is incredibly hardy.”
“Why haven’t I heard more of these parasites? Why are they so rare?”
“From what I can discern there once existed different variations. He carries one string but cannot infect others with it.”
“A pity,” Pilus shrugged.
“Why is that? Would you wish to be infected?”
“If it made me immortal? Of course. You wouldn’t?”
“It depends, I can’t say how much freewill Islemann has. It stands to mind that if parasites have infected his body then they would take over his mind too.”
“Perhaps,” Pilus breezed over. “Why did he seek you out?”
“That is my mystery,” Callis sighed, leaning back in his throne.
61
Haylee thought it was a strange gift, turning the black statuette over. She held a two-headed dog, polished to give the steel a light sheen, mimicking a fur coat. Tiny razor teeth pocketed the two mouths, threatening to tear the skin of any who dare test with their finger. The letter that had come with the gift was a terse message, printed on a coarse scroll.
‘To commiserate your loss,’
Jacob Hornsberg
Emporium of Exotica
The page was pressed with the seal of ‘JH’ and addressed to her. She turned the statuette over again, noting the fine craftsmanship. Silvia finished drawing a hot bath for the girl, approaching with a smile. Since the night with Pierce, Haylee had dogged the woman throughout the citadel, nursing an imagined security with the servant’s presence. She had not confessed her run-in with Pierce to anyone, though Silvia had noted the increased nervousness in the girl.
“You seem fascinated with it,” Silvia noted, removing the gift and helping to undress the girl.
“It’s an oddity,” Haylee admitted. “I have no idea why someone would send such a thing.”
She walked to the tub, sinking deep into the heated water, Ty leaf petals swirling in the milky liquid.
“I will send your thanks to Master Hornsberg later.”
“But a two-headed dog? It looks grotesque.”
“The two-headed dog is a sign of resilience and strength,” Silvia chatted, pouring water over Haylee’s shoulder length blonde hair.
“I’ve never heard that,” she sputtered, wiping a slight sting from her eyes.
“It’s an old charm. The sort that the church frown upon.”
“An ancient legend?” Haylee asked, turning in the tub. She knew little of non-consensual history, the official diatribes requiring church approval.
“I wouldn’t say it’s ancient. If you were my age then you would have heard stories of Julkett growing up.”
“Julkett?”
“The two-headed wolf. One head devours, the other protects. It’s a classic story outlawed by the Manati. When the worship of the old gods was banned centuries ago much of that ancient lore was kept alive in fables and children’s stories.”
“So Julkett might have once been a god?”
“I think so. It is not hard to see the connection between his dual nature and that of El-Manati. They both create and destroy.”
“Maybe they are the same?” Haylee considered, splashing her face with eyes pressed tight.
“Whether that were the case or not I would never repeat such things aloud. The eyes of the church are many and they would not deny the stripping of flesh even from a regent’s daughter if they committed the blasphemies.”
Haylee huffed, she thought it had been a good idea.
“I think I should visit Sir Hornsberg personally,” she decided, letting Silvia rub her back.
“I will go on your behalf,” Silvia suggested.
“That’s not necessary. I would like some time out of the citadel and this gives me the chance.”
“You are vulnerable outside the city.”
Haylee was quiet, reflecting on her sister’s tragedy.
“I will sneak out then. No one needs to know.”
“If you are set in this line then I will guide you to the Emporium.
You’re right, it will be good for both of us to escape the castle for a while.”
Silvia continued to scrub Haylee, running a stone wash over her tender back.
“This is it,” Silvia noted from a veiled cloak. Hidden away in Trader’s Loop sat a small but well-furnished shop, the words ‘Emporium of Exotica’ painted on its glass storefront.
“We should have come earlier,” Haylee stated, worried by the early nights that came with the deepening autumn. Silvia responded by hurrying her into the store.
Subtle incense greeted them. A thin man approached, examining the fine cloaks that hid their faces.
“Welcome to the Emporium of Exotica,” he managed, erupting into a coughing fit as a type of unwanted exclamation mark. He pressed a handkerchief to his lips, removing the black spittle that gorged his mouth.
“Thank you sir. I am looking for one Jacob Hornsberg, would this be you?” Silvia said.
He nodded, not yet able to speak.
“On behalf of my mistress I wanted to thank you for this gift.”
She smiled as the statuette of Julkett appeared from beneath her cloak, disappearing just as fast.
“Please,” he wheezed. “Let me not keep you here. We should retire to better quarters.”
With a swift step he locked the front door, hanging a ‘closed’ sign. He guided the pair to the rear of the shop, passing through stores of antique furniture and crafts.
“This is my home,” Jacob coughed. “You are most welcome in it.”
They passed into the entryway of a quiet apartment, so plain that Haylee paused to wonder why such a man would bother to lavish gifts on others when his own walls were bare.
“If you would be so kind as to wait here I will prepare a drink.”
Silvia did not respond, letting the man leave them by an unlit fire.
“Do we need a drink?” Haylee asked.
“I would be surprised if he returned for one,” Silvia replied, correct.
Jacob did not return. Haylee gave out a yelp when Master Freeman entered, his face still swollen. She ran to him, giving a tight hug while he let out an uncomfortable laugh. Silvia approached on more dignified terms, shaking hands with the Master.
“I wasn’t sure if my message would be received,” he smiled, relieved to see the woman’s face.
“The citadel has changed,” Silvia murmured. “But it might as well collapse if they got rid of me in the process.”
Haylee stepped back, trying to unravel the curiosities of her confusement.
“You know each other?” She asked.
“We are in acquaintance Miss Steward,” Freeman nodded.
“Haylee, it would be best if you were not present,” Silvia warned.
Haylee’s face screwed up, offended at the thought.
“If you stay do not expect to be spared any grim details.”
“It’s okay,” Freeman vouched. “Miss Steward needs to be part of the talk.”
Silvia pursed her lips, surprised by the Master and conceding to their combined will.
“Tell me of Pierce’s motives. Does he seek to challenge the nobles?” Freeman continued.
“I have not heard such,” Silvia replied. “He is filling the castle with rabble, half of them have never seen a real battle, just cheap arms.”
“He is paranoid,” the Master mused, rubbing his bruised face.
“Becoming more so. He takes food and drink from one servant… and Haylee. I’m not sure if paranoid is the full word. He loves the military, his library is full of books on wars and conquerors. I fancy that he sees himself in a similar light.”
“The regent’s guardian was not chosen to conquer the city. The council should see this and dismiss him,” Freeman stated.
“Word tells me that the council play a diminished role these days. He prefers the outside company of that barbarian Gehrig to any civilised class. Now that you are gone there is little backbone left,” Silvia said.
Freeman nodded, self-aware of his own worth.
“Has he said anything regarding the children?”
“Not publicly,” Silvia shrugged.
“I’ve always been surprised how much information can leak from a pickled tongue.”
“Pierce is a professional at that. I fear he’s had too much practice at guarding his drunk words.”
“How have you handled it Haylee?” Freeman asked, turning to the girl.
“I stay out of his way. I think Damian does likewise…” She did not mention her encounter in the hall.
“A decent plan, but one we might have to challenge.”
“You have a proposal?” Silvia asked, fearing the question.
“A simple poison should suffice. We are in agreement that he must be removed, correct?”
Silvia nodded, Haylee remained still.
“You wish to use the girl?” Silvia asked.
“You said yourself she’s the only other person able to bring him food and drink. Who do you trust more, Haylee or his serving wench?”
“Serving boy,” Silvia corrected, stalling for time. “There would be too much risk.”
“Can you get a poison into his food?”
“Not without the child tasting it,” Silvia agreed. “We could use a slow release drug.”
“And you scold me for risk?” Freeman snorted. “We both know how ineffective they can be. How much dose would you need to take down a prize like Pierce?”
“Too much,” Silvia swore. “There are other options.”
“You do not need to consider them,” interrupted Haylee. “I will deliver the poison myself.”
She shuddered with the memory of his cruel hand pressed hard to her breast. Silvia frowned, unhappy with the choice.
“I will teach you how,” Freeman beamed. “It will need some practice to perform without detection. Easy enough to learn, once the trick is mastered.”
Haylee thought of her own father’s death, the topic of poisons reopening the wound.
“What poison?” Silvia asked. “Tylon Ferment?”
“No, I would never use such a poison, it carries the risk of detection.” He looked to Haylee as he spoke, noting her forlorn look. “Dreamweb would be a better choice.”
“That’s difficult to come by.”
“For some,” the old man shrugged. “I know a few stockists, there shouldn’t be a problem getting some. Visit me in three days and it will be prepared.”
“Three days,” Haylee verified.
Never before could she have considered murder. Pierce would make a fine start. The idea of waiting seemed unbearable to her.
“Three days,” Freeman repeated. “Keep away from Pierce until then.”
They left the house hours later, staying up over an unlit fire discussing the future of the city. Freeman seemed unconcerned by Ammba’s disappearance, almost noting it as a convenience. He was also terse during talk of Damian, preferring to focus his attention on Haylee and her position. Silvia noted the old man’s attention too, recognizing his schemes. When confronted with them he did not deny his intentions siblings.
62
Numbness hugged Locke’s entire body. Pain had turned to agony long ago, before his own mind had shut it out. With the burden of carrying Fredrick through a frozen wasteland littered with sharp inclines and precarious drops, Locke’s body neared the point of shut down. Blisters pocked the exposed skin at his face while his winter suit, sodden by continued snowfall, dragged him down. With a final heave, the thief turned mountaineer dragged his charge into a shallow rock outcrop providing partial shelter from the turning blizzard.
Locke pushed the child as far into the rock as he might, before pressing his own frozen body close, hoping for some tiny spark of warmth to reach him. Hours passed, the pair rocking in and out of fitful sleeps, sharing similar nightmares. As night grew thick in the mountains there was only a slim register of time for Locke, awakening the next day, not sure whether he had dreamed the night passing or if it had happened, feeling just as exhauste
d.
The snowstorm headed north, passing the sheltered pair as they awoke. Locke tore off a stretch of duck jerky, handing it to Fredrick, the boy struggling to chew with his shattered jaw. Neither felt talkative and they prepared themselves in silence. Fredrick tried to stand but was too weak, his wobbling legs a threatening sign, the swinging motion tempting the jerky to regurgitate.
Locke resigned himself to another stint at dragging the boy across the mountains. They had travelled east along the side of the Hawk, unable to find a point where they could double back and return to the abandoned steam carriage. Locke was sure that they were now in the Notorious Clefts Proper, a poor stretch of ranges that held little mining attention.
His map showed one potential landmark, a small mining depot further south. Locke knew that if he kept his bearing then he would stumble across the rail line that led to it. Most lines deep in the mountains were built so that they did not become bogged down in snow, raised higher than a typical city line. With luck, Locke thought that he would be able to spot the line even with the amount of snow that had fallen through the night.
He clambered on, shoulders and back already stiff. Rather than slinging Fredrick over one shoulder as before, the child was now strong enough to hold onto Locke’s neck so that the thief could piggyback him.
The deep autumn’s sun reached its zenith in the south, a grim reminder of the dark days fast approaching. Despite his hardship Locke pressed on, proving his wiry strength could hold out under strain.
They descended a slope and stood in the center of a sharp valley. No sign of a rail line was evident and despair started to creep into Locke’s thoughts. Fearing the end, he took a gamble. Locke turned south and followed the valley away from the city. Fredrick received no answer when he questioned the plan.
Fredrick shrieked, lifting Locke’s weary eyes. Before them, rising out of the valley, stood the remains of an abandoned mining depot. Weariness was washed away and replaced with excitement as Locke stumbled forward with Fredrick bouncing on his back. Without certainty they had followed the line to the station, the thick snow covering all trace of the iron rails. Locke’s excitement grew at the sight of a steam carriage under dock, the words ‘Tell Industries’ emblazoned across its boiler.
