Bloodmoon (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 2)

by Ben Galley

  There was nothing else to do but grasp the handle and turn. Lilain drew her pistol and held it up, both hands clamped around it. The Mistress sat as steady as a rock in her grip.

  Crates and boxes sat in clumps in roped-off squares, some vast, some tiny, barely enough for a wardrobe. Lilain weaved between them, heading for the glow at the far end of the warehouse. She tread slowly, even though the walkways were clearly marked. All she needed was a forgotten chair or bottle to kick and that was it.

  She heard no voices, just something occasionally snuffling, though that was enough to rattle her since it did not sound human. As the shadows grew fainter and the light stronger, she began to make out cages of different shapes and dimensions, covered with blankets and curtains, sitting quietly on their own in the dark. She spied the lantern now, sat on a small table. It had a neighbour: a skinny, pigeon-chested man with white-blonde hair. Neams. She inwardly seethed, crouching down to fiddle with her laces. After all he had done for Rhin. It was almost as if each of them had been assigned their own personal liar.

  Neams had his chin propped in his hand, frowning at a book as if it were written in Cathayan. Every now and again he would flip back a page, frown even more, and then shake his head. Lilain crept forwards like a panther, soft and silent now without her boots. She walked in a wide arc, moving around behind him. Her heart thundered against her ribcage. She had never been one for sneaking. That was the faerie’s job. She winced with every step she took.

  Half a dozen paces away, and Neams shuffled in his chair, making Lilain freeze. Her breath caught in her throat, and, in the tension, she coughed, loud and clear. Neams, thank the Maker, took a few seconds to prick his ears and make sense of the noise. Lilain dashed madly forward, swinging the pistol with all her strength.

  It was an awkward strike, but somehow it did its job. As Neams leapt to his feet and whirled around, his hand reaching for his knife, the Mistress came swooping down. It caught him in the side of the neck, eliciting a dull thwack, like a fist pummelling a fat steak. There was a wet click as something in his windpipe split. He fell to the floor, gasping and clutching at his neck. Lilain leapt on him, hitting him a good few times in the face before pinning his arms to the floorboards with her knees and clamping her hand over his mouth. With her finger and thumb sealing his airways, she pressed down. Neams thrashed wildly, as any man will, no matter how stunned, when he is robbed of his air.

  Lilain clung on like a limpet, watching his eyes roll madly around their sockets in panic. But his struggling cost him precious air. Within a minute, he had slumped like a rag doll and Lilain released him. He wasn’t dead, but close enough. It would buy them an hour or two.

  ‘John!’ she yelled. ‘John Hobble, you’d best be in here!’

  And there he was. A gruff voice barking out. ‘Lil?’

  It was then that another voice rang out, one so unexpected it made Lilain stumble as she ran towards Lurker’s cage.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  Lilain stood open-mouthed. She swore she recognised that voice. It had come from the cage next to Lurker’s. She walked between them, reached up to seize the sheet that covered it, and yanked.

  ‘Calidae Serped, what a surprise.’

  And what a surprise it was. Lilain tried to keep her gaze fixed on Calidae’s eyes, even though it itched to wander to the scars, the puckered skin …

  ‘Madam Rennevie. And Tonmerion’s drinking companion too, if I’m not mistaken,’ the girl replied, as dry as an oven. The girl sat in the middle of her cage with her hands crossed. Her wardrobe was a far cry from what Lilain remembered. No silks, no satin, no feathers nor sequins. Just a pair of britches a size too big and a shirt that had seen so much of the sun it had forgotten what colour it used to be.

  ‘Let me out of this cage so I can belt her, Lil,’ Lurker grumbled.

  ‘In a minute, John.’

  The last time Lilain had seen her, she had been running full pelt into the burning carcass of her riverboat mansion, skirts swirling around her legs with the smoke. Lilain looked again at her fire-kissed scars and found she wanted to swallow. Shame was, her mouth was as dry as Calidae’s tone.

  ‘I think I told you before that Madam Rennevie died with Mister Rennevie. It’s still Lady Hark to you.’

  Calidae rolled her eyes.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ Lilain demanded.

  ‘That is a long and terrible story. One we most certainly don’t have time for.’

  Lilain smirked. ‘We? There ain’t no we, Calidae. Lurker and I will be leaving. You will be staying.’

  The Serped girl was on her feet in an instant. She had grown wiry during her time in the desert. ‘You can’t do that. I’m the daughter of Lord Castor Serped!’

  ‘And that’s exactly why I ain’t taking you, Castor’s daughter,’ Lilain glared, sweeping the sheet off of Lurker’s cage. He looked awful. ‘Keys?’

  ‘Belt,’ Lurker rumbled, pointing to the comatose Neams.

  Lilain was back in an instant, a fistful of keys in her hand. She went back to the door of Lurker’s cage and began to work through the keys.

  ‘How did she get here?’ Lilain whispered.

  ‘Got no clue. Some fellow dragged her in earlier. Empire accent.’

  Lilain flashed him a look. ‘You serious?’

  ‘I can hear you whispering!’ Calidae yelled.

  Handing the keys to Lurker, Lilain walked around the girl’s cage, her eyes suspicious. ‘Who was the man that brought you here?’

  Calidae just sniffed, their eyes locked.

  ‘Fine, don’t tell me. Enjoy your stay.’

  ‘He works for the Empire. For Lord Dizali.’

  ‘Why is he here? What does he want with the circus, or you?’

  ‘He wants revenge.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘The death of his brother, a certain Mr Suffrous Gile. He’s been given orders.’

  Lilain sucked at her lip. Merion.

  ‘And where do you fit in?’ she asked.

  Calidae tried on a despondent look. ‘He came to Fell Falls. Kidnapped me. Dizali wants my father’s estate, as he wants your brother’s,’ Calidae said, tilting her head to the side. They stared at each other, Lilain trying to hunt out the lie. But Calidae was unreadable, and Lilain did not have the time.

  ‘Merion’s in trouble,’ she hissed.

  Lurker grunted as he manhandled the right key into position. The door popped open with a clang. ‘Well, we knew that …’

  ‘No, his plan. He’s got it all worked out. He’s going to hit them where it hurts, reveal them to Lincoln, before they can spring whatever trap they’re planning. But this changes everything.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘They’re not trying to trap him, they’re trying to kill him. Now that Karrigan’s been branded a traitor, they can do away with him and leave the estate heirless.’

  ‘Not quite,’ Calidae hummed.

  Lurker gripped Lilain by the shoulders. ‘You, Lil.’

  Lilain stuck out her chin and stared him squarely in the eye. ‘They can try,’ she hissed, before wrapping her arms around him and dragging him in close. Lurker was awkward for a moment, but then his big arms settled around her shoulders. ‘We need to get him out. They’re lampreys, John.’

  ‘I know, but Yara’ll be watchin’ in him now, like a hawk. We could ruin his plan.’

  Lilain shook her head, fighting with her feelings. ‘Then we’ll be ready to step in.’

  ‘Dear Almighty,’ muttered Calidae, shaking her head. ‘It’s all so touching.’

  Lilain whirled on her. ‘And you, do you want revenge on Merion?’

  Calidae gave her a flat look. ‘They’re trying to kidnap me. It would appear we’re in the same boat. Again. No pun intended.’ Her voice was colder than Lilain would have liked.

  ‘You try anything, and Lurker here will crush your skull, won’t you, Lurker?’

  Lurker growled, though Calidae didn’t look the least bit pert
urbed. ‘You help us, and we help you, lamprey,’ he said. ‘Just try layin’ a finger on Merion and I’ll end you.’

  Calidae smiled sweetly in reply as they began to hunt for her key. Within a minute, Calidae was free, standing with her arms crossed and waiting. Lilain and Lurker watched her warily, as if she was a poisonous insect that had just crawled into camp. ‘Well?’

  Lilain nodded. ‘Let’s go. We’ll find a place to lay low until tomorrow.’

  ‘Hold up,’ Lurker grunted, as they made to leave. He marched over to Neams’s little table, where the beast-keeper had left his bowler hat. Lurker grimaced as he wedged it onto his bald head. ‘It’ll do,’ he murmured.

  Calidae rolled her eyes once more.

  Chapter XXI

  COLD OF THE NIGHT

  16th July, 1867

  There was a weight to the air. A ball and chain shackled to every second that crept past, teeth-clenchingly slowly. The hours were like shades of treacle, each one thicker than the last. All of the circus felt it. Hands moved to pocket-watches and timepieces whenever they found themselves idle. Eyes snuck to the sun now and again, checking where it lay in the sky. Everybody itched for the night, for the Bloodmoon.

  Merion had felt like this before. Sitting on the rooftop of his aunt’s house, watching the lazy hands of a clock take their sweet and merry time over, well … time. He had felt nervous then, and he felt nervous now. It felt too similar for his liking. Though instead of waiting to be carried into a hornet’s nest, he was already thoroughly embedded in one.

  Lincoln’s men were back, performing their checks. Yara led them about proudly, tiring their legs with ceaseless tours. She would bore them into submission if she could not convince them.

  Merion sat on a box, his chin cradled in his hands and his eyes half-closed. He watched them all come and ago: Devan Ford, flexing and practising in front of a propped-up mirror; behind him, Cabele whirled herself into ever-tighter backflips and somersaults; Spetzig sat nearby, flicking peach stones into the air until they seemed to fly in a constant circle. Everywhere Merion looked, he saw the tension, the nerves, the sideways looks and occasional grins. He had never seen Cirque Kadabra like this.

  This was bigger than just him. He could see it now. It might have taken him a while, but now it was as obvious as a slap around the face. Their effort made it plain. All of this could not just be for trapping themselves an Empire boy. Merion could have been whacked over the head and bundled up in a sack at any time over the last two weeks. They needed him for something bigger. Merion smiled behind his fingers. Whatever it was, they would be very disappointed.

  There was a cough beside him, small and polite. Rhin was in his usual pose: leaning against the box with his arms crossed, as if standing unsupported was too much of a hassle. He eyed the busyness around them. ‘Can you feel it yet?’ he asked.

  Merion hunted again for any sort of tell-tale tingle. ‘Not yet. I think you actually have to wait for the Bloodmoon to rise before anything happens.’

  ‘Shame. You could hit them now and save yourself the trouble of a crowd. Tired of all this waiting.’

  ‘A crowd is exactly what I need.’

  The faerie grumbled something and eyed the sky and the seagulls that traipsed lazily across the blue. ‘Any sign of your aunt?’

  ‘Not a peep,’ Merion sighed. ‘I need her. We need her.’ There was a pause. ‘What if they’ve taken both of them? Both Lurker and Lilain?’

  Neither of them wanted to give utterance to the question hiding in the silence that followed. They both knew it was a possibility, but spitting out those words would have made it real. Death, they could do without.

  Fortunately for them, a distraction came along at that very moment, in the form of a Mr Nelle Neams.

  The man was red in the face. His hair hung over his face, dishevelled. There was a dirty great bruise on his neck, and he pawed and clutched at it, coughing weakly. He hopped up and down behind Yara’s circle of officials, waiting to be noticed. Yara begged her visitors’ forgiveness and stepped aside, where Neams proceeded to whisper feverishly into her ear. The officials looked on, bemused. As Merion and Rhin swapped a glance, Yara put a firm hand on the beast-keeper’s shoulder and calmed him with a word. He nodded and sidled away.

  ‘Well that can’t be good,’ Rhin mused.

  ‘A kink in the plan, perhaps?’

  ‘All the better for us.’ Rhin sighed. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be training?’

  Fate must have been eavesdropping on the faerie, for at that moment, Shan came to tear him away from his idle staring. Sent by Yara to keep him diverted, no doubt.

  ‘Merion? Are you ready?’ she asked, clutching a large bag to her chest.

  The young Hark got to his feet in a flash. Appearances are very important things to keep up when you’re barefaced lying. ‘Born ready, Ms Dolmer,’ he affirmed. He left Rhin to trail after Neams as she led the way to a large marquee.

  At least this would pass the time, Merion told himself. He was worried about tiring himself out, but if Yara needed him fresh, she wouldn’t have had Shan come. She trusted in the Bloodmoon, evidently. Merion chose to believe her about that. A feat in itself.

  ‘Right. Today we master reptile.’

  Merion had not expected that. ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’

  ‘Are you doubting me, Merion?’ Shan asked.

  ‘Not at all. I just don’t want to jeopardise any …’

  ‘You won’t,’ Shan cut him off. She busied herself with her bag, picking out different vials and shades.

  Merion scuffed his feet on the grass, idly smiling at how he didn’t have to kick dust any longer.

  ‘Here.’ Shan held out a triangular vial, a brownish blood lingering in it.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘It’s another amphibian, to ease you in. Your blood’s hot, and the reptile shade is a cool one. We need to get you prepared. Newt. Also called Nevercut.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  Shan tutted, seeming on edge for some reason. ‘You’ll see.’

  Merion shrugged, tensed himself as he had practised, and put the red in his belly. The blood was cold, making him flinch a little. Even after all this time, that part of rushing still made him want to vomit. It hit hard, taking root in his stomach and coursing up like a vine. Merion held on tight as it climbed, burning as it went.

  In a leap, it was in his brain, and he focused its swirling down into a single point in his chest. He felt it immediately. His work-ache faded away. That sore elbow he’d been nursing half the morning was gone. Even that crick in his neck. Vanished. ‘Is it a stamina shade?’ he whispered.

  ‘A healing shade. Its rushers are rare, though if you’re lucky, and practise enough, you can grow back an arm, a leg, even stitch up a hole in your chest.’

  Merion pulled a face. ‘How exactly do you practise for that?’ He dreaded to think.

  ‘I did say rare, didn’t I?’ Shan reached into her bag and pulled out a knife. Merion stepped back, wary. ‘Relax, boy. Here,’ she said, flipping the knife over so the handle was waving at him. ‘Try it out. The shade has to be used for your body to learn it.’

  Merion looked abhorred. ‘Are you serious?’ he asked, as he gingerly took the knife.

  ‘Deadly,’ she replied. She crossed her arms and waited.

  Merion took a breath and held up his hands, one holding a very sharp-looking blade, the other empty, and already cringing. He grit his teeth as he waggled its point into his palm. He hissed as the blood poured.

  ‘Now focus on that wound,’ Shan instructed, now circling him.

  Merion bent his will on it, letting the magick throb in his fingers. His eyes grew wise as the wound knitted itself back together. He wiped the blood away, and found neither a single scab nor scar. ‘I could get used to that,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘You’re a quick learner, Master Harlequin,’ admitted Shan. Merion might have been wrong, but he swore he heard a tinge of wistfulness in her tone.


  Next she brought him a square vial, a blood so brown it was almost green. ‘Next is gecko. A true reptile shade. It’s time to try.’

  Merion felt a tremor in his heart. Was it excitement or nervousness? He hadn’t a clue, but he still reached for the vial and thumbed its cork. It had an acidic tang, wafting up to his nose as he held it to his lips.

  Down it went, thick and cold, as if he were swallowing an eel. He winced as heartburn rose. He clutched at his stomach, tensing hard, attempting to bend this new vein to his will. He had no idea how, but he tried all the same, pressing and pushing, with both mind and muscles.

  Like a stubborn mule, the magick refused to budge. But as with every mule, a little coaxing and a hearty push here and there goes a long way. Bit by bit the shade crept into his veins.

  ‘I can feel it. Biting at my fingertips,’ Merion gritted.

  ‘Careful now, not too fast. You have your limits.’

  ‘And how will I ever learn …’ the boy squeaked, as he held on tight to the rush, ‘…if I don’t push them?’

  ‘Gently then, Merion. Gently!’

  It felt like his hands were on fire. The young Hark lifted them up, trembling with the strain. His fingertips were covered with bristles and pale eggshell scales. Feeling curious, and just a tiny bit scared, Merion put his fingertips together. They stuck fast, and he laughed through the effort. When finally the ferocity of the shade calmed, he wandered back and forth, looking for something grasp. Shan looked like a good prospect.

  ‘Hey!’ she cried, as his fingers latch onto her wrist. He grinned as she tried to pull away, but he was like glue. Only when he concentrated, and dragged the eager magick back, did she escape.

  ‘I have to use it, you said,’ Merion smirked.

  Shan shook her head. ‘Just take it easy. You won’t be able to rush this for long, and if you burn it up even quicker, you might feel some side effects.’

  Merion raised an eyebrow, busy getting stuck to a roll of fabric. ‘Which are?’