The Scarlet Star Trilogy

by Ben Galley

  ‘For Maker’s sake. Whatever you and Miss Bloodthirsty have come up with, I expect it to be good. I think you’re making a mistake trusting Calidae. She could have already told Dizali. He could be waiting for you to drop into his lap. She is a lamprey after all.’

  ‘And she has as much hatred for the man as I do,’ Merion told her.

  Gunderton spoke up. ‘Karrigan guessed her father sat at the Order’s table, but could never prove it.’

  ‘She said as much on the Black Rosa. We’re using that legacy to our advantage.’

  Lilain worked her jaw, chewing over decisions. ‘Fine. We’ll trust you on that, so long as we know what we almost went swimming in the Iron Ocean for.’

  The boy raised an eyebrow. ‘What did I miss?’

  Lilain tapped her nose and Merion tutted. Sharing secrets worked both ways, it seemed. He made to get up. He wanted to go and wander the riverbank for a while, to clear his head and reorder his plot; but his aunt held up a hand.

  ‘Just do me one favour.’

  ‘And what, pray, is that?’

  ‘Tell me this ain’t some sort of suicide mission.’

  Merion pulled an offended face. ‘Almighty, no. Aunt Lilain, I intend to be laughing about this year of my life when I’m old and grey, boring my grandchildren half to death with stories of magick and blood. I decided that on the journey over here, and I’m going to stick to it. I think I deserve it.’

  That seemed enough for Lilain. She went back to poking the dregs of her tea. Merion tucked his hood over his head and stepped out into the gaslit gloom.

  *

  Lilain watched Gunderton as he went about cleaning up the spilt tea and shards of cup. For a man of his apparent prowess he seemed surprisingly quiet, even timid at times. Karrigan had clearly cut him deep with his sacking. Perhaps he’d never fully recovered, and that was why he was so intent on helping Merion; as though Karrigan could forgive him from the grave. Lilain couldn’t blame him. Her brother had a magnetism for loyalty.

  Time to break that stubborn ice.

  ‘So you’re a letter, too, I take it? Being a leech and lamprey at the same time, I guess it would just round it off?’

  ‘I dabble.’ Gunderton found a smile. ‘Brothers have to learn how, just in case we’re in a tight spot.’

  Lilain mused on that. ‘What have you got on you?’

  Gunderton shifted his cloak aside to display about half a dozen bottles, browns and reds. No labels adorned them. ‘Ox. Bat. Carp. Bullfrog. Salmon. Lupus.’

  Lilain leaned so far forward she almost fell. ‘Lupus?’

  ‘Indeed. For special occasions.’

  ‘You and I need to talk,’ she said.

  Lurker rolled his eyes and hoisted himself to standing. ‘In that case, I’m goin’ to check on the boy, ‘afore I get bored to death.’

  Lurker ducked the grimy sock that flew after him and slipped out of the door just as Lilain and Gunderton descended into a duel of letting knowledge.

  *

  After lighting a match against his stubbled chin, Lurker sucked on his cigarette and strode to join Merion at the edge of the riverbank. The boy was leaning over the stone railing, staring down at the rippling waters. There was a stench of fish-heads and silt in the air.

  Lurker stood beside the boy, and turned his back to the river so he could watch the scattered people moving to and fro.

  ‘Don’t blame you, y’know,’ he finally said, when the cigarette was almost smoked to the bone of his finger. ‘I see why now. Don’t need to explain keepin’ loved ones safe to a man like me.’

  ‘Lilain said you would need a lot of convincing,’ Merion replied quietly. ‘Looks like you’ve got soft in your old age.’

  ‘Hmph, I ain’t a cold man. Quiet, but not cold.’

  ‘It was never going to be forever. Just until I was finished here.’

  For Lurker, apologies were awkward, pointy things, best passed quickly and then dropped.

  ‘Why you all glum, then? You regretting it already?’

  ‘I’m trying a new tack. No regrets. Besides, it’s not that.’ Merion sighed. He stood up straight and patted Lurker awkwardly on the shoulder. ‘Imagine if you were rushing at a buffet, and all the smells and scents were attacking your senses at once. That’s what it feels like to have all these strings to pull.’

  ‘Don’t think I ever been to a buffet. You just didn’t know how much you needed us, is all,’ Lurker replied with a sly smile.

  Merion nudged him with an elbow. ‘I have everything sorted, even without you.’

  ‘Do you now? Where is that lawyer of yours, then?’

  Merion snorted, and walked away. ‘I’m still working on that.’

  Lurker chuckled. ‘A man can be a peninsula, but he can never truly be an island. Family is too strong a bond, no matter how strange and unorthodox. Or at least that’s how King Lincoln put it to me. I guess he meant you should never refuse help when it’s offered.’

  Merion looked back over his shoulder with a suspicious glint in his eye. ‘You said “man”, not “boy”. Does this mean you’re finally listening to me, John Hobble?’

  Lurker produced another cigarette and lit it. When his weathered face reappeared from behind its smoke, he was grinning. ‘Your aunt told me to be nice.’

  Merion mimed the cracking of the whip before disappearing down the alleyway.

  *

  In the murk of the alleyway, Merion missed the door-handle twice before managing to snag it. He pushed his way inside, and was welcomed by the talk of blood and shades and history. Gunderton’s, apparently.

  ‘…And then I knew a letter in Constantia, when I fought in the Crimea. Marvellous man. He could do wonders with blood. Made blends you would never believe. I saw him once make a rusher breathe fire. Taught another how to catch a bullet from the air. He showed me a few things here and there, I’m pleased to say. But there are still a few letters of London, Lady Hark. More than you would think.’

  Merion clapped his hands together. He had been listening at the door, taking his time to undo his shoelaces.

  ‘That, Mr Butler, is exactly the kind of help I’m looking for. Seeing that you’re here, I have a task for you.’

  ‘Will you tell us your glorious plan in return?’ Lilain asked.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘What, then?’ they chorused.

  Merion put a foot on the chair and leaned on his knee. ‘I need the Fae shade.’

  Eyebrows were raised. ‘Why do you want that?’ the Brother asked.

  ‘For my glorious plan, why else?’

  Gunderton shook his head. ‘I’ve never known a letter that stocked it, let alone touched it. Not in all my… considerable years.’

  Merion sucked at his teeth. His idea had now fully bloomed. ‘Well then, in that case, I shall need some nimerigar blood.’

  His aunt looked worried. ‘Why on earth would you want that, Merion?’

  Words are like a drink, his father had once told him. Better to be served straight than mixed and muddled together.

  ‘Because I think it’s high time I rescued Rhin,’ replied Merion, matter of factly.

  His aunt gaped. Gunderton just looked confused. ‘Whats a rhin?’

  Merion smiled. ‘I think it’s time I brought you into the fold.’

  Chapter VIII

  OF MEDDLING AND MAGPIES

  3rd August, 1867

  ‘Next on the agenda then, my good Lords and Ladies,’ announced Longweather. It was one of those sorts of meetings; one that came on the tail of a busy night, and far too early in the day for such heights of politics. There was a staleness in the air; the stink of yesterday’s wine and the clinging odour of perfumed bedsheets. Everyone was fractious, in need of a good scarlet brandy.

  Perhaps it was the pressure of the path he had brought them down. Imprisoning a queen. It wasn’t every day the Order pulled such a stunt. Whilst Dizali had embraced the idea warmly, the others of his dark court were still wrapping their brain
s around it. They had no vision. No ambition. If they were baulking now, they would soon be wilting.

  Dizali wanted to cast them all out and rid himself of wagging tongues and ears to bend. But every game needed players. He could not simply defenestrate everyone and claim a victory.

  ‘And what is that, Longweather?’ Even his second-in-command was irking him today.

  ‘The war.’

  ‘Costing too much,’ said Admiral Caven brusquely. ‘We need more supply ships and workers to load them. We don’t have either. The strikes in Cheapside are not helping matters. These Royalists have convinced a whole factory to shut down.’

  Dizali let his chin rest on his tight fist. ‘Let me guess… A munitions factory.’

  Longweather nodded.

  ‘The people will remember their place once they forget the Queen.’

  ‘What we need is the Serped estate and the deeds for Harker Sheer,’ said Sargen, stating the obvious. Dizali had often thought of having her strangled. It was the only fitting end for somebody who talked so much.

  ‘I am fully aware of that, Lady Sargen. I should be receiving a delivery from the Brothers Eighth very soon.’

  ‘You said that in our last meeting.’

  ‘The leech-blood,’ Lord Darbish piped up. ‘How successful was the hunt?’

  ‘Very, from what I hear,’ Dizali lied. He hadn’t heard a thing. Gavisham would have kept in constant contact.

  ‘And you believe it will fool this contraption and find us the deeds?’ asked Neritis.

  Dizali wanted to spit at the mention of ‘us’, but he held back. ‘Yes. I do.’

  ‘It had better,’ said Sargen. She was intent on trying his patience today.

  ‘I have it under control, Lady Sargen. Fear not.’

  Kiefel spoke up. ‘This is not your private venture, Lord Protector. We are not members of a board for you to consult with when it pleases you. One for all, not all for one. As it has been for forever and always.’

  ‘Do not dare lecture me on the rules of the Order, Kiefel. I know them as well as you do.’

  Dizali’s eyes flicked to the clock and saw a chance to cut the meeting short. There was only so much moaning and posturing he could stomach before he wanted to vomit or, better yet, reach for a knife. Problems needed to be cut out, not massaged and poked at.

  He rose from his chair, fetching the decanter and two handfuls of glasses. He poured as he spoke, and the glasses cycled around the table.

  ‘As for the Serped estate, I shall take young Lady Serped to Slickharbour Spit within the hour, to show her the weight of her inheritance. I will offer to manage it for her, with her full control, as any member of this table would expect. And that is exactly what we will give her. A seat at this table. I have already hooked her with the idea. Now it is time to land the fish. She could never refuse us if we invited her here, where our good friend Castor Serped once sat.’

  ‘You cannot make that decision by yourself!’ said Kiefel.

  ‘If you would let me finish, Lord Kiefel, I was about to suggest it to the rest of the table. You see, Lords and Ladies, I have everything under control. Trust has always been the backbone of this Order, and I expect you to trust me now, in these new days. I have seen us right thus far and will continue to do so.’ Dizali raised his glass. ‘To continued success and to a new member?’

  They knew it was rhetoric. They weren’t as blind to his wiles as the Emerald House. But his words were solid, and to quaff at them would have appeared seditious. Each of the Order raised their glass in unison.

  ‘A new member,’ came the dull chorus.

  ‘And to a new age!’ Dizali said, before swigging back his brandy. It shivered in his gums as he savoured its fiery tail.

  ‘A fine lineage,’ Darbish commented, as he smacked his lips.

  ‘The finest, as always, Darbish. But please, don’t guzzle it so,’ said Dizali.

  ‘And speaking of trust, do you actually believe the little girl’s story?’ asked Neritis.

  Dizali hissed over the rim of his glass. ‘She’s more woman than you think, madam. You would be wise to remember that. Castor schooled her well.’

  ‘But her history? Her arrival…’ argued Oswalk.

  Dizali waved a hand towards the door. ‘I am having her watched very closely.’ He pressed his fists to the table. ‘Now I must call this meeting adjourned, until next time.’

  The scraping of chairs and the shuffling of feet rose and fell. The room grew empty and silent; just the way he liked it.

  Dizali gazed at the grain of the leather spread across the tabletop, letting its complexity distract his eyes while his mind slowly ticked and tocked over every block of his mighty scheme. Checking, adjusting, caressing. It never failed to help calm him.

  He reached for the decanter, and poured himself another tot of red brandy. He was enjoying the tingle of the magick on his tongue. He relished this one, taking small sips and letting the sugar and sharpness fill his mouth. He must have stood there for ten minutes, just sipping, until his glass was dry.

  ‘Hanister!’ Dizali barked when he was done.

  The man poked his head through the doorway. ‘Yes, Milord?’

  ‘Come in.’

  Hanister sauntered to Dizali’s side.

  ‘Two things. Your Brothers and Calidae. Report.’

  Hanister rubbed his chin. ‘They should be arriving by next week, if I had to guess, Milord.’

  ‘I don’t want guesses.’

  ‘I’m usually right, sir. I can feel it.’

  ‘And Calidae?’

  ‘Clean as a whistle, save for a few night-time walks. Nothing to report there, either. She seems quite content to just follow your orders.’

  ‘Good,’ Dizali mused. Everything was indeed under control. ‘Fetch her for me. I want her in the atrium in half an hour.’

  *

  Despite how punctual he was with his other guests, Dizali was always late for Calidae. It was clearly a game he liked to play for her, to chip away at her confidence; dangling a gift then drawing it back, making her want and yearn for it. She listened to the echo of his footsteps against the stone as he approached. Good luck. She was the player here, not the instrument.

  ‘Lady Serped,’ Dizali called out from across the atrium. He donned his hat and gloves as he walked. London had been busy ruining the summer with a day of rain, and the early afternoon was currently spitting and depressingly grey. She wore a long grey coat and held an umbrella in her hand.

  ‘My apologies. Our meeting ran over. Discussing you, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘No apology needed,’ Calidae replied, sweet as a button. Nonchalance always seemed to catch him out, as did ignoring his bait. ‘Shall we?’

  Dizali pointed the way and together they made for the grand doors and climbed into a waiting carriage.

  ‘Will you still not see one of my surgeons?’ Dizali asked, as he adjusted a glove.

  Calidae tilted her head. He had been staring at her again. ‘You shall give me a complex if you keep asking, Lord Protector. Will my face not do?’

  This time he squirmed at the accusation. It was a cord she thoroughly enjoyed pulling.

  ‘Not at all, Lady Serped. But it must not be comfortable.’

  Calidae shook her head. ‘It’s healing every day.’

  ‘The offer remains.’

  ‘I appreciate that, Lord Protector. You could do me another favour, however.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  Calidae nodded out of the window. ‘Tell me where we are going?’

  Dizali followed her gaze as the buildings began to roll past. ‘I had hoped to keep it as a surprise.’

  ‘The Lord Protector is a fan of surprises? Surely not!’

  Dizali ignored that. ‘As you keep asking, and I did indeed promise, we are headed to Slickharbour Spit.’

  ‘Excellent news,’ Calidae smiled. Finally.

  Merion must have been going mad with the silence, as her home was the one place
they had agreed to share messages. Calidae had envisaged visiting it frequently, but Dizali’s ideas had been very different, and when in the mouth of the beast, you tend to go where the beast goes.

  Calidae had carried the letter for the last few days, just in case Dizali had decided to whisk her off and pay Slickharbour a visit. Dangerous, maybe, but necessary.

  She busied herself with the landscape as it slid past like an ever-changing painting; a window into the world outside Clovenhall. Calidae had seen it all before, but she wanted to drink it in all over again, to make sure it was real. Like Merion, she had missed this city. She filled her eyes with every edge and face that her darting gaze could capture. She let the roar of the carriage wheels and hooves mingle with the muffled shouts and yells outside, to make it all so real indeed.

  It took over an hour to reach the Spit; an hour spent in silence as the world slipped from towering city to lowland, with stately homes and quaint villages.

  ‘Castor was not fond of the city, was he?’ said Dizali.

  ‘The countryside is cleaner on the lungs, my Lord.’

  ‘It has its benefits, I suppose.’ Dizali looked out of the window as if hoping to spy some. Calidae tried not to roll her eyes.

  Soon enough they were waiting for the guards to manhandle the gate open. Calidae found herself leaning closer and closer to the window, wanting to be the first to glimpse her home. It was childish and she knew it, but that is the power of a long lost home. Even though she knew there was nobody but her to fill it, it was still her family estate.

  When the Spit and its fishing village swung around a corner, she clenched her fists. The dark shape of her house in the distance, towering over the thatched cottages and jetties, matched every image in her mind; every curve, every tower, every roof-tile, burned into her memory. She compared them over and over, as if searching for a flaw in her own recollection.

  All too slowly they reached the unguarded gates.

  ‘And here we are!’ announced Dizali, opening the door to let her climb out. Together they walked to the door, where a lordsguard was now fumbling with the keys. Calidae made a mental note to hire men of a better class, when she was done with this farce.

  ‘Sorry, Milord. Milady,’ said the guard. Calidae tapped her foot on the step, wanting to make the man sweat some more.