by H. D. Gordon
The one on the right said, “Brim Ironwater.”
Another nod, slightly less common name, but still common.
“Can you tell me what happened Sir Fishwell, Sir Ironwater?” she asked.
“Wish there was more to tell, my lady,” said Fishwell. “I went in at eleven to check on the Stone and it was there.” His black eyes flicked to the other Hunter. “When Ironwater went in at midnight it was gone.”
Surah sat back in her chair, sure to keep the dread of what she had to do next off her face. She slid the glove off her right hand.
“May I ask you a question, my lady?” said Ironwater.
Theo shot the Hunter a glare, and Surah decided she liked Ironwater for not flinching. She nodded, curious. “Of course.”
“Are you going to be the new Keeper?”
Surah smiled. Her princess smile. On second thought, she should have declined his request. “That matter has not been decided, sir,” she said, and placed her ungloved right hand on the table, palm up. Ironwater sighed and placed his rough hand in hers.
Surah took a deep, silent breath and let it out. She could already feel the darkness in the Hunter that was a result of years spent near the Black Stone. It was a feeling that quite simply sucked the light out of the world. “Now tell me again, please,” she said.
Ironwater nodded. He repeated the story that Fishwell had told. Surah knew the way she always knew that he was telling the truth. She released her hold on his hand and patted it gently, then offered hers to Fishwell.
Same story. Same results. The two Hunters were telling the truth.
Surah sat back in her chair once more, giving Theo a nod that confirmed their stories. She bit the inside of her bottom lip a little as she wondered what she was supposed to do next, and wished for what seemed like the thousandth time in the past month that her brother were here. Keeper was Syris’s job, and he had been good at it. She hadn’t the slightest clue as to how to lead an investigation of this magnitude, or any magnitude, for that matter. She had a feeling it was going to be a very long day.
“The room that held the Stone,” she said. “Has it been searched?”
Theo answered. “Of course, my lady. I searched it myself before I came to King Syrian. There is nothing there.”
The way he said this made Surah’s back rise a little, as though this were a silly question, as if to point out that she didn’t know what she was doing. Or maybe she was just defensive because she didn’t know what she was doing. There had been no implication in the Head Hunter’s tone. This was why she could never figure out if she disliked him for warranted reasons or not.
Surah stood from her seat, and the three men followed suit. “Thank you for your cooperation,” she told the two Hunters. Then she turned and left the room, pulling her hood back over her head, the heels of her boots clicking on the hard earth and bouncing off the black walls of the tunnel. Theo followed right at her heels.
“What next, my lady?” he asked, and Surah got the impression that he knew exactly what to do next, and was testing her. Seeing if she was up for the job.
She continued down the tunnel that led out of the Mountain, wanting to be free of its suppressing weight, willfully keeping the snap out of her tone. “Now we go see about Merin Nightborn,” she said, and Theo smiled as if she were a toddler who’d just recited her ABC’s.
The stone that hung around her neck, tucked into her shirt, pulsed against her skin as she thought again about casting a Lightning Bolt at the Head Hunter. Of course, she didn’t. There were other matters to attend to, matters that seemed to be growing moldy and infected and more imminent by the second.
A Highborn was dead and the Black Stone was missing. It didn’t sound like a coincidence to her. Not at all.
CHAPTER 5
Charlie called Jude Flyer first, only because he wasn’t sure whom else to call. Then he turned the sign on his door from Open to Closed, shutting down the lights at the front of the bar so hopefully any passerby would turn away without peering in too closely. He stared down at the two bodies lying on his floor, a drunken old man and a highborn young lady. His throat felt tight. Today had started out like any other, and now he was waist-deep in a mess he couldn’t explain. It all carried a terrible sense of foreboding.
He’d hidden the stone though, the one that never left the place around his neck, even during sleep and showers. When the Hunters showed up, they wouldn’t find it.
When Jude tapped on the glass door to the outside Charlie jumped off his stool like a frightened rabbit, composing himself before he let his friend in. Composure would be key until this matter was cleared up.
He pulled the door open and Jude stepped through, his velvet cloak rippling behind his back, his soft shoulders ridged with self-importance. He was a short, pudgy man, with fingers that looked like they should be perpetually covered in grease, even though his little white hands were always clean and his fingernails manicured.
A lot of people in the town weren’t fond of Jude, and some of this had to do with the cloak he wore and the way he spoke. Some of it had to do with his profession. He was just a step above a commoner, but he wore the cloak like the drapes of a king, spoke the language like a professor of the art, as though his step above them on the social scale was more a leap. But he was a decent man, conceited maybe, but decent, and Jude and Charlie had got on just fine over the years. Jude always paid for his booze, Charlie kept filling his glass. A fine relationship, indeed.
“What in the name of the White Stone could be so important, Chuck?” Jude asked, skipping over a greeting. “I have a client due in my office in half an hour.”
Charlie nodded. “Sorry bout that, Jude, but…” he rubbed his hand over his jaw. “Ah hell, I’ll just show you.”
He led Jude over to the bar, where the two bodies lay exactly how they had fallen, their skin as pale as paper, their chests unmoving. The Defender’s expression did not show any alarm, and Charlie wondered how many times in his years Jude had been called to a scene like this in his line of work. Probably several.
When Jude pulled his wand from beneath his coat and began writing an invisible message in the air, his sausage fingers gripping it delicately, his pudgy, moisturized face smooth save for a crease between his thick brows, Charlie swallowed once and asked, “What are you doing?”
The Defender’s expression didn’t change, his wand didn’t stop scribbling. “I’m canceling my appointments today,” he said, signing his name in the air with the wand. The tip now glowed like the end of a cigarette, making the name hang in the air like the trail of a sparkler. His arm returned to his side. He looked over at Charlie now, his mouth a tight line. “This is serious, Chuck. If that’s Merin Nightborn dead on your floor, I’d say you’re neck-deep in shit.” He pulled out a barstool, the wooden legs scraping against the floor, and climbed up on it. “Now tell me what happened.”
Charlie told the story as it had happened. Well, almost as it had happened.
***
He was being held prisoner in his own office. Jude Flyer sat beside him, his fat, jeweled fingers laced together over his stomach. Two Hunters stood on either side of the door to the office, and perhaps a dozen more were investigating the scene in front of the bar. They had asked him what happened, and he had given them the same story he’d given Jude. It hadn’t been that hard. Charlie was good at lying. He just didn’t like to do it.
The night dragged onward, and still Charlie and Jude were held in the small office. A Hunter brought them some dinner upon Jude’s demand, and when Charlie had to use the bathroom, a Hunter waited outside of the stall for him. The Hunters were cold people, Charlie knew that, knew that they had to be, but the hard way they looked at him made his stomach tighten nonetheless. He wasn’t exactly worried yet. The Hunters were the protectors and enforcers of the law, and they were just following procedure. They would investigate the matter fairly, and find that Charlie had not killed Lady Nightborn. He had faith in King Syrian. He was a fair king.
; So no, he wasn’t exactly worried just yet, but he did have two concerns. One was his use of the piece of White Stone he had no business having; the one he had taken from around his neck and hidden. The other was the question of who would be leading the investigation, seeing as how Syris Stormsong, the former Keeper, was dead. He wondered if it would be Theodine Gray, and hoped not. Charlie had never liked the man, and Theodine had never liked him. They both had long memories.
Of course, there was a chance the new Keeper could be her, and he couldn’t decide whether that would be a good thing or not, whether he wanted that or not.
When the princess walked into the office where Charlie and Jude still sat, the two men had been there for nearly five hours, having been questioned about the scene in the bar several times by several Hunters. When the door opened with a smooth glide, having been moved with Magic, Charlie looked up, his face wary but carefully composed.
And it was her.
She still looked exactly as he remembered her, only older, of course. Her hair was the same curly lavender, only it was cut short and shaved a little on the left side, where black jewels crept down her pierced ear. Charlie decided he liked the look immediately, even though it was not as he had so often imagined it, not the long flowing style she’d worn as a girl. It curled in and out around her chin, where her fine jawline made a nice frame for her full pink lips. She wore a cloak, black on the outside with what seemed like a million glittering stars sewn into the fabric, which shimmered as she moved. Her hands were gloved in black leather, her face a smooth expression of nothing.
Until her eyes settled on Charlie, and something flashed there that made him think she might know who he was, even though the two had not seen each other or spoken since that day when they were children, some nine-hundred years ago. But it was gone so quickly that Charlie chastised himself to even think the princess could’ve remembered him, let alone know who he was. They had only ever met that one time, and who was he to be remembered by someone like her?
And how young she still looked. Not a day over twenty. Charlie had stopped ageing around twenty-five, and had not had any children, which would cause the aging process to continue, if very, very slowly. Her youthful appearance told him the princess didn’t have any children either, and this made a little guilty relief flood through him. It didn’t matter. As far as birds went, Charlie Redmine and Surah Stormsong were not of a feather. Just his jeans, boots and flannel shirt said as much as that.
Charlie’s heart seemed to be beating out of his chest, sinking when he saw that the princess would not even look back at him. Then his heart stopped completely, because following Surah, Theodine Gray walked into the room.
The Head Hunter no doubt remembered Charlie, just as Charlie remembered him, and a small sneer twisted Theo’s lips as his eyes settled on him. He wiped it clean only a moment after, and that was the first time Charlie realized that Jude had been right.
He was neck-deep in shit indeed.
CHAPTER 6
The scene of Merin Stormborn’s death was just a small bar off the countryside. As soon as Surah saw it, she wondered what a lady like Merin would even have been doing in a place like this—though she had her suspicions, knowing Merin. Places like this existed solely in the country land, just a small wooden building, not like the trendy bars in the city. The road leading to it and the parking lot were a dusty brown, and two dozen Hunter’s motorcycles were lined up in front like black and chrome wasps. The sign over the place read DRINKS, painted in a fire engine red that stood out on the wooden building. The night stars were the only illumination save for the soft light spilling through the glass door, and the Black Mountain loomed miles in the distance. It was kind of lovely in its simplicity, but Surah felt out of place here immediately in her black cloak and expensive black boots, which caught the dirt on the ground and held it as she walked.
“What could Merin have been doing here?” Surah asked, more to herself than to anyone else. The sight of the place had made her forget Theo was still at her side.
“That is an excellent question, my lady,” Theo said, giving her that crooked grin again.
Surah released his arm, ignoring his slightly insulted look, and took a deep breath of the fresh country air before stepping into the bar, where the aroma would surely be booze and cigarettes. The short heels of her motorcycle boots clicked on the wooden steps as she climbed up the porch. Flicking her wrist, the door to the place swung open, and Surah stepped inside.
It wasn’t as she had expected, not dirty and dusty, but instead clean and polished and warm. The lights were set intimately low, the walls a richer, darker wood than the exterior of the building, and paintings of the different scenes of the countryside hung on the walls. They were beautifully done oil works, the colors and strokes having captured perfect portraits of the land at perfect moments, as if the artist had sat out all day just to wait for the light to fall right. Wooden tables with soft chairs sat in the center of the room, and red booths lined the walls. To the right was the bar, a polished oak that gleamed under the soft lights. Rows and rows of liquor bottles lined the shelves behind it, standing like soldiers, shoulder to glassy shoulder. Surah found herself taking another deep breath, and finding the smell not stale or unpleasant, but clean and inviting, like a grandmother’s home.
There were no customers, of course, but Hunters were everywhere, standing around in their black cloaks, moving from here to there, writing things down with their wands. When they saw Surah and Theo, they all stopped what they were doing and bowed to their princess. Surah waved a hand, telling them to rise. One of the Hunters strode over to them, a tall man with a wiry build and nervous, flicking eyes.
The Hunter bowed again when he reached Surah and held out a hand to her. Surah placed her hand in his and waited while he kissed the top of her glove. “My lady,” he said.
Surah princess-smiled, pulling her hand gently from his. “Rise, sir,” she said. “Are you the Chief in this jurisdiction?”
The Hunter nodded. “I am, my lady. Hunter Sand. Very pleased to meet you.”
“And I you, Sir Sand.” Surah looked around at the Hunters, who were looking back at her. “Have your men moved anything?”
Sand shook his head, and Surah could tell he must have just recently been promoted and was uneasy about the job. She thought she could sympathize with that.
“No, my lady. We were waiting for the Keeper.”
Surah nodded, choosing to ignore the obvious question on his face asking if that would be her. “Show me, please,” she said.
Sand led Theo and Surah over to the bar, where the Hunters there parted and lowered their heads respectfully. Her breath caught a little as she saw the old man dead on the floor, his milky eyes staring toward the ceiling. Then she saw Merin Nightborn sprawled on the floor as well, her fine cloak fanned out around her, her red lips parted but pulling no air. Also very dead.
Surah’s stomach did not flip or twist at the sight, but something spiraled there. Maybe it was a little intuition, and it told her that this was in no way going to be an open and close case. Something serious was going on in her father’s kingdom, and until it was settled she had an obligation to help. For the second time this day, she thought, oh dear.
“Who owns this establishment, Sand?” Theo asked, his eyes going hard at the sight of Lady Nightborn. Surah could tell he wanted justice. The playfulness he had been exhibiting with her was gone.
“We got the owner in the back, sitting in his office,” said Sand. He paused, that nervousness back in his eyes. “He’s got Jude Flyer with him.”
Surah raised an eyebrow at that. Jude Flyer was a pretty well known Defender. Not highborn, but very good at what he did, nonetheless. Some of the Highborn Defenders used to laugh at the little man, but that had stopped after he’d won some pretty tough cases. He was uncommonly good at finding evidence that exonerated his clients, even when it looked like they were a step away from the chopping block, their hands all but painted red. The
mention of him made Surah’s unease grow, though she couldn’t say why.
“Let’s see them,” Theo said, a smile coming to his handsome face that Surah didn’t like one bit.
Theo allowed Surah to go first, as was the custom, and she flicked her wrist so that the door to the small office behind the bar swung open. Then she stepped inside.
And it was him.
She couldn’t say how she knew it was him, just that she knew. He still looked the same as in her memories, even though he had grown older, of course. He had gone from a boy to a man, his body having filled out and grown hard with what she knew had to be years of actual labor. Not the cultivated muscles that Theo wore, but harder somehow, as though they had been earned through callouses and sweat. Dark hair had grown in across his strong jawline, and his eyes were still the jade of topical ocean water that Surah remembered so clearly. He wore only a flannel shirt, faded jeans, and work boots on his feet. His position was relaxed, reclined in the chair behind the desk, fingers laced together over his chest, as though he had been sitting right there for hours.
Surah pulled her eyes away from him and they settled on Jude Flyer, who also looked as though he’d been sitting a while. He ran a hand through his thin, slicked-back hair and rose from his chair. After a moment, as though he had momentarily forgotten his manners, his client did the same. Both men bowed to their princess.
“My lady,” Jude said, offering a chubby-fingered hand. Surah sighed mentally as she held her own out to be kissed, glad once more that she always wore her gloves, especially since it was the same hand Jude had run through his greasy hair. “It is an honor,” continued the Defender.
Surah nodded, pulled her hand from his, and took a seat in one of the two chairs opposite the desk, all too aware that the other man’s eyes followed her the whole time. Surah glanced over at him to see the smallest change of expression cross his face, just a slight movement that made her cock her head just a fraction.
