by Ben Galley
‘I am Calidae Serped, and who exactly are you?’
There was another pause, longer this time. Finally the man answered. ‘Name’s Lurker. And I don’t talk to lampreys.’
*
Merion was tired. It was barely afternoon, and he was aching and browbeaten. All he wanted to do was hit the sheets of his bed. Part worry, part work, the boy was sore in his bones.
‘Don’t be givin’ up now, Merion. Try again, son,’ urged Big Jud, still sprawled on his bench. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his brow.
‘I’m done,’ Merion replied, shaking his head. ‘There’s nothing to be gained from repeating mistakes over and over again.’
‘Oh, you’re gettin’ it, you’re standin’ tall, takin’ the right strides. It just seems slower to you, is all. Keep at it.’
Merion furrowed his brow and paced some more. A tingle ran up his spine, and he looked around the big tent, feeling the prickle of eyes on his back. It was a sensation that had followed him around for almost two days now, ever since Lurker had vanished off the face of the earth. It might have been tolerable, the worry, the confusion, the anger, had they had stayed in one place. But no, since that night, they had travelled across several states, to the edge of the Iron Ocean. Yara had left a few of her men at various stations along the way, tasked with searching for the prospector, but Merion saw through her gossamer ruse. It was a warning, perhaps, goading him into action. But Merion was biding his time.
‘I want to speak to Yara,’ he said hoarsely, voice still raw from spending several hours of the previous morning shouting Lurker’s name at the desert.
Big Jud shook his head and mopped his brow with his handkerchief. ‘Yara’s busy, or so I’m told.’
‘I want to know if there’s any news.’
‘As do I,’ Lilain echoed, still silent and distant. Lurker’s disappearance had hit her hard, possibly even harder than Merion. She blamed herself, naturally, and Merion lacked the heart to tell her she was wrong. Not anymore. Whatever Lurker had got himself into, he had been driven by something, something more than just the usual pint of moonshine. Sharp words had been swapped that night, and their wounds had yet to form a scab and heal over. Lilain still struggled to see the foulness of it, and Merion was tired of trying to convince her.
Big Jud rolled his eyes. ‘Hey, Follust, Mien! Where’s Yara?’
‘Busy, I think,’ came Miss Mien’s shrill reply.
‘She’s with Neams, making sure the animals are secure,’ hollered Follust, the man with the perfect memory.
Jud shrugged. ‘See? Told you. Busy as a bee. Now I don’t know if you heard, but we got a big show tomorrow night. Possibly the biggest ever. Lurker missing is a damn shame, but she can’t fill all her mind with it, now can she? Not at a time like this. Wait till after the Bloodmoon, then we’ll find your friend.’
Merion chose to take a stab at the big man, to test him with something sharp. He saw his friendliness now as nothing more than another act. ‘And what if I don’t want to do the show? Not unless we find him?’
Jud dabbed casually at his forehead again, looking not the slightest bit bothered. Merion frowned some more. ‘Then we’d be short our finale, and I think there would be some disappointment.’
‘I can’t concentrate,’ Merion huffed, exasperated. He rubbed his eyes and looked over at his aunt. Lilain got to her feet and clapped his hands.
‘Lunch, Mr Jepson. That’s what my nephew needs.’
Big Jud nodded slowly. ‘Fair enough.’ He pushed his gargantuan weight from the bench and rubbed his stomach. ‘In fact, lunch doesn’t sound too bad an idea, now does it? Shan?’
Shan was busy staring at Lilain. ‘Not too bad at all,’ she replied quietly. She followed in Jud’s wake as he led them out of the big tent. Merion and his aunt promised to return in an hour and headed for some privacy. Merion found a little energy in his feet and walked faster, eager to get to somewhere comfy.
‘We’ll find him, you know. He’s a stubborn bastard. Whatever’s happened, he’ll be fine. Probably holed up in a saloon somewhere, drinking himself merry.’
‘You can try and convince yourself, Aunt, but I won’t. It’s too fishy. The night we find proof, Lurker goes missing.’
Lilain fell silent, as she always did when he mentioned what Rhin had found. She had denied it at first, then simmered with anger, then fallen silent, contemplative.
Merion stopped in his tracks, eager to see this farce dead and buried. ‘Sheen Dolmer really has conned you, hasn’t he?’
He expected his aunt to whirl on him, her face like a thunderstorm and her words as hot as lightning. But all she did was look over her shoulder and sigh. ‘Did I ever tell you about my late husband?’
Merion looked confused. ‘You mentioned him, once or twice. And something about a hammer.’
Lilain began to walk again. He caught up to her, listening as she talked quietly, staring straight ahead. ‘Yes, well. He went to his grave fifteen years ago now. Don’t worry, Nephew, I ain’t going to get all teary about it. I’m just makin’ a point of how long it’s been since, well, anybody. Your usual lady, I ain’t. I don’t like long strolls along the promenade. I don’t take nicely to candlelit dinners. I’m allergic to flowers. I won’t be seen dead in a frock. I think makeup is for actresses. I curse like a pirate. I can’t cook and don’t want to learn, and if you want to keep your ears intact, then don’t ever ask me my thoughts on squeezin’ out kids.’ His aunt paused to shudder. ‘Damin Rennevie was never the man for me. I took his name and my time realisin’. It takes a certain type of man to love me, my good nephew, and those are hard to come by. I’ve made my happiness with that. You either love me for who and what I am, or you learn to. Won’t have it any other way. That’s what cuts so deep about Sheen. When you find something rare it’s hard not to grasp for it.’
Merion may have been young, and as unused to the concept of love as an octopus was to a mountaintop, but he understood that at least. He saw it now. The rug had been pulled from under her, like the rest of them, and believing something nefarious lurked within Cirque Kadabra was to recognise she now lay flat on her back. For somebody as tough as a cactus, that was hard. Merion felt a tinge of familiarity, recalling Calidae, and that look she had flashed him the night of the riverboat fire, as her father had pushed a piece of paper across the table.
Merion did not know quite what he was doing, but he reached up and put a hand on her shoulder. Awkward did not even begin to describe it, but it did the job he hoped for. Lilain looked down at him and nodded.
‘I’ve been a fool, and that’s something I ain’t very used to,’ she admitted.
‘Don’t worry,’ Merion replied. ‘I think we both have.’
They had arrived at their tent, and Lilain paused to scratch her head. ‘Thing is, I expect it of you,’ she smirked, before ruffling his hair and ducking into the tent.
Merion huffed and combed his bedraggled locks back into place with his fingers. He looked about, half-scowling at the circus around him, at the threads of people hurrying to and fro, all so wrapped up in their deception.
It was then that he caught a glimpse of a shape in the crowd, the profile of a man in a smart coat and bowler hat, gazing back at him. Merion blinked and the man vanished into the bustle. The boy shivered as if a ghost had climbed onto his back.
‘Nothing. Not a scrap of leather nor a drop of moonshine,’ Rhin was saying, arms folded, leaning against the tent-pole.
‘What’s this?’ Merion asked.
‘I found no sign of him in the camp. Spent all day looking and can’t find a thing.’
‘So Yara’s not hiding him here,’ Aunt Lilain surmised. ‘If she is keeping him.’
Rhin threw her a look. ‘You’ve changed your tune.’
Lilain tutted. ‘You should know by now how stubborn we Harks can be, Rhin Rehn’ar.’
The faerie hummed. ‘Yes, well, glad to finally have you on board.’
‘Family sticks tog
ether,’ she replied.
Merion cleared his sore throat. ‘And what an odd family this is,’ he murmured. ‘I say we bide our time. Lay low and keep quiet. Let Yara think she’s convinced us. Tomorrow night, we’ll catch them all out. Turn their show against them.’
‘And reveal their dealings with Dizali to Lincoln,’ Rhin affirmed.
Merion nodded. ‘In any case, I’m sure he’ll be keen to know.’
‘And are you ready for it?’ Lilain asked. Merion couldn’t hear any doubt in her voice, but if it was hiding, he wanted to crush it.
The young Hark smiled wider. ‘Aunt Lilain, I’m more than ready. They think they can trap me, but they’re wrong. Yara might be a liar, but I think she’s right on one thing: the Bloodmoon. I’ll use it against them, just like all their training. They’ll regret the day a leech like me wandered into their circus.’
*
Patience is a tricky thing. Some have it by the bucketload. Others can’t scrabble for a pinch. Others still can learn it, given time. Lilain Hark was not one of those people.
Those that do have precious little amounts of patience soon find it quickly eroded, like a sand dune in the face of a hungry sea. Lilain’s patience had worn out by sundown.
Now she lay on her side, curled up under her sheets, letting herself sweat it out. Her stare had not inched away from the tent-flap in at least an hour. She barely blinked. All she could think about was getting to her feet, marching out into the night, hauling that Sheen Dolmer from his bed, and giving him a piece of her mind, a heavy, sharp piece indeed.
She could hear Merion snoring softly beside her, lost in misty dreams, fitful though they seemed. The afternoon spent under Jud’s instruction and Shan’s relentless training had worked their magic. Not to mention helping to set up Neams’s circus, ready for the morning’s work. The boy was exhausted. Sleep had claimed him in seconds.
But not Lilain. Sleep was an elusive, slippery eel, always out of her grasp. Her mind was too busy concocting things to say to Sheen, hopping in and out of common sense and promises. She knew anything she did would jeopardise the boy and his plan. She knew it full well, and yet her feet kept twitching, dragging her towards the door.
Half an hour passed, until finally, she could stand no more of it, and settled on a short walk to clear her head. Slowly and quietly, she slid from the bed and got to her feet. A few long strides and she was out in the coolness of the night, filled with the murmur of the city. A few carriages rattled along the streets in the distance, the clatter of wheels floating gently across the fields. The dome of Capitol House shone in the gaslight. The unfinished Spike was black against the starry sky, alone on its hill. And behind her, the Ivory House, its windows glowing and white marble gleaming even in the darkness. A fat moon lingered on the horizon, an inch from full. Already it wore the faintest of pink tinges, like a dress rehearsal, readying itself for the festival tomorrow. Lilain squinted at its craters.
Her eager legs guided her around the slumbering camp. At first they took her in the opposite direction from the Dolmers’ tent and wagon. But slowly, and undeniably surely, they led her in a loop. With a growl, she found herself standing fifty yards away from it, hands on hips and foot tapping. Torn, she wrestled with herself. Forwards or back. Stay or go. Risk it or wait. Patience or passion. Lilain grew more irritable by the minute, and after spending several of them swaying back and forth, grinding her teeth, she strode forward.
Not a sound came from the Dolmers’ tent. Not even a snore. Lilain crept around it, checking for any sign of life. It seemed the twins were fast asleep. A busy day for them too, no doubt. Lilain had seen Sheen only once, hurrying past with a crate. He had smiled, but could not stop. She’d scowled.
Their nearby wagon looked peaceful enough. No lights. No creaking of axles. She tiptoed to its side, fingers wiggling over the cords on the canvas. They were nimble and swift. She put an eye to the gap, but there was nothing but gloom.
As she carefully and quietly clambered up the side of the wagon, Lilain wondered what it was exactly that she intended to do. Proof of her own, that’s what she wanted. Not that she didn’t believe that impetuous nephew of hers, she just wanted something to throw in Sheen’s face, literally speaking. Maybe Lurker had come here, in his jealousy, and found something he shouldn’t have.
As she crept about the darkness, she instinctively put a hand to her hip, but no fat holster was there to comfort her. Lilain frowned while she felt about, hands gently flitting over drawers and tools, making not a sound. Her feet tread softly, remembering where the creaking boards were. She had already spent hours in this wagon.
There had to be something she had not seen. Surely there were plenty of hiding places in the wagon. Her hands felt around its edges, its shallow walls of canvas and wood.
No treasure is ever worth finding if it’s easy to discover. Fell Falls taught her that. Now she tested her patience again as her hands roamed back and forth, over and over, hunting for someth—
There. A hollow in the wood, and a ring that could be fished out with a fingernail. Lilain cautiously inched it open. It was a drawer, hidden in the front of the wagon behind the driver’s bench. It was short, but wide and deep. Just the right size for hiding a pistol, it seemed. Lilain instantly recognised the cold metal and wood in her grasp. She held it up against the canvas, faintly illuminated by Washingtown’s lights, to see the shape of it.
The Mistress.
Lilain’s was torn between a sense of victory and the sourest contempt. Her expression morphed between the two for a few long moments.
She got to her feet and thrust the long barrel of the pistol into her belt. As she turned towards the exit, a flame burst into life in front of her. In its flash, she glimpsed a face, one with an abundant amount of pitch-black facial hair, one with wide eyes and thin lips, with no trace of the smile of which it was so usually fond.
Another match was struck, and this time it found a candle. Lilain, even though her heart was thudding with the shock, was not one for a back foot. She crossed her arms, drew herself up, and gave him her best glower. ‘You’ve got a lot of explainin’ to do, Sheen.’
‘I expected this of your friend, but not of you, Lil,’ he replied, shaking his head. In the glare of the candle, which he held like a dagger, Lilain was abruptly aware she could not see his other hand—or what it might have held. She loosened the weight of her arms, her right arm burrowing down, ready to pluck the Mistress from her belt. She just hoped Sheen had kept it loaded.
‘Don’t call me that,’ she hissed. ‘Not now. Not ever again.’
‘Come on, you know me …’
‘I truly thought I did.’
Sheen took a step forward. Lilain took one back. ‘Don’t be angry because you fell for me.’
‘You?’ she spluttered. ‘Ha. You just had what I wanted.’ Lilain looked around at the shelves and cupboards. ‘Blood, and lots of it.’
Sheen managed to look moderately offended. Lilain smirked, even though she boiled beneath it. ‘I think it’s time you come along with me. Yara will need to hear about this. Don’t you try anything stupid, now.’ Another step was taken, slow and careful. Lilain caught a glint of metal by his thigh.
‘Come on, Lil,’ he whispered.
‘I told you not to call me that!’ she hissed again.
Lilain might have been growing old in the bones, but by the Maker could she move when she wanted. Her hand flew down to the Mistress just as Sheen raised his heavy tent-spike, ready to knock her senseless. The pistol swung up and out in a wide arc, catching him under his chin. The barrel was sharp and solid, and there was an audible crack of metal on bone. Sheen made a strange sound and wobbled on his feet, head back and eyes rolling. As he fought to stay conscious, Lilain hit him again, in the place that any man holds most dear—a place reserved for moments like these. Sheen’s eyes bulged as he sank to the floor, reeling as he fought to breathe. Lilain disdainfully stepped over him, keeping the pistol trained on his face just in c
ase he had the mind to try again.
‘Where’s Lurker?’
Sheen couldn’t do anything but wheeze. Lilain pressed the barrel of the Mistress against his forehead and let him see the steel-hard look in her eye. ‘I’ve killed liars like you before, and I don’t mind sayin’ there are few things in this world more satisfying. I’ve been itching for some good old fashioned justice lately. To scratch a few of my own notches in the sand, know what I mean? Now where’s Lurker?’
‘Docks,’ came the strangled yelp as Lilain pressed harder, her finger creeping towards the trigger. ‘Warehouse. Ambler & Co.’
‘There’s a good boy.’
She fought the urge to spit out anything more than words. ‘When I see you again, I’ll kill you. You and the rest of your deceitful, conniving little family,’ she growled, before bringing the handle of the Mistress down hard between his eyes. Sheen crumpled to a heap, and she slipped out of the wagon, quiet as a shadow.
*
A cold breeze was coming off the river, chased by the frigid winds of the Iron Ocean, a score of miles away. It made Lilain shudder even though the flagstones and dust were still warm from the day. The streets were almost abandoned. Lilain kept her head down and her ears pricked up, letting her boots decide the rhythm. Her plaid shirt rustled with each purposeful stride, and her ponytail thumped against her shoulders. The Mistress jostled for space against her spine, hidden under her belt.
Every now and again, Lilain would mutter something threatening as her mind unravelled the outcomes of what she’d done. And what she was still doing. Despite her gnawing doubts, she strode on, her boots not wavering for an instant.
The docks wandered on and on, little streets and avenues leading here and there, stoking her into an impatient temper. Half the gaslights had been extinguished, doing wonders for sign-reading. Each flat-faced warehouse looked the same. Street after street came and went, and with every one Lilain grew angrier.
After half an hour spent stamping around the docks, Lilain found it: Ambler & Co., a box of a warehouse halfway down a lane with the river at its end. Lilain hovered by the door. There was a faint light flickering in one of the windows, the wavering shadow of a lonely lantern.
