by Ben Galley
‘Are we close?’ Merion asked again.
‘A mile or so.’
‘You said that a mile ago.’
‘It’s been a while since I’ve been here.’
Merion nodded, looking around at a part of London he had never seen before. The streets were narrower than ever here, winding in all directions like a dilapidated maze.
After a dozen more bends, they came to a corner where a red-fronted shop squatted, shiny in the wet. The paint around its doorway and porthole windows was flaking away, revealing a previous life when it had once been green. Judging by the wrought-iron symbol of an open book hanging over the doorway, and the piles of spines and loose pages that pressed up against the windows, it looked to be a bookshop. A dim light shone from inside.
Gunderton rubbed his hands. ‘This is it.’
A bell sang as they opened the skinny door. Merion wiggled a wet finger in his ear as he wiped his boots on the mat.
A man strode out of a doorway behind the counter and bowed. He was in his later years, with shorn salt and pepper hair. He had a square jaw, and his nose was crooked. By the shape of him under his yellow cloth shirt, Merion guessed the man might have been a boxer in his younger days, or at least one for heavy labour.
The interior of the shop looked as though it had been consumed by some unstoppable fungus made of books. The blasted things were everywhere: the counter-top balanced on neat pillars of them; the chairs and tables were swamped; shelves bent with their weight; every gap and nook on offer had been filled with paper and spine. Merion wondered how on earth the man ever found anything.
‘A rainy afternoon to you,’ greeted the man, voice cracking at the edges, fond of the pipe.
‘And to you, Mr Spirn,’ said Gunderton, approaching the counter. He fished the dark scales from his eyes and blinked the sting away.
The man clicked a finger. ‘Ah! Errant. One of the Fifth, right?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘In that case, welcome back! And a new acolyte, I see?’
‘Merion Harlequin.’
Spirn wrinkled his nose. ‘Sounds high-born.’
Merion was about to tell him he was mistaken, but Gunderton answered for him. ‘Fear not, Spirn. Bastard son of some minor lord, he is.’
Spirn reached over the countertop to thwack Gunderton on the arm. ‘Still going strong, I see!’
Gunderton nodded and flashed a smile. ‘Indeed I am, though running low on crimson.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ Spirn sighed as he tossed a key to Merion and waggled his finger at the door. Merion locked it.
Spirn spread his hands over the counter. ‘Want to know what I got? Or just want to name ‘em and see?’
Gunderton made a show of pondering, even though they had discussed Merion’s needs at length. ‘Here’s one right off the top of the list. Fae.’
Spirn guffawed at that. ‘I should be so lucky.’
Merion tried not to look too disappointed. The bulk of his plan rested on that shade. ‘Nimerigar then?’ he asked with hope in his voice.
‘I don’t know if I have that…’ Spirn’s voice trailed off as he browsed his shelves, humming. His fingers went to work over the weathered spines, as if each dog-ear and rumple was a tiny signpost to where he was headed.
Spirn took his merry time searching. Merion held his breath.
‘You know what? You’re in luck!’ The letter plucked a small, fat book from the squeeze of its neighbours and placed it on the counter. ‘Last one in the city, I’d wager.’
‘What about electric eel?’ the boy asked.
‘That I have!’ Spirn fetched a small stepladder from an alcove and propped it against a nearby shelf. Up and up his hands spidered, until they came to rest on a tome with a burgundy cover. He slid it from its pile with care and laid it next to the other book. Merion stepped forward, curious as any young man would be.
The vials sat in expertly carved grooves in the pages of the books. Spirn slid the eel shade free and admired its clarity in the light. ‘It’s been steeped as well, like all my shades.’
‘Sounds good,’ said Merion, wondering what that meant.
‘Purity, Merion,’ explained Gunderton.
‘Ah.’
‘Always got to keep them learning.’ Spirn chuckled, and snapped a finger again. ‘That’s how you acolytes stay alive.’
Merion was confused, but smiled nonetheless.
‘What’ll be next?’
‘We’ll need some more carp. The last lot was far from quality,’ said Gunderton, with a sideways look at Merion. The boy just rolled his eyes. His letting of the carp hadn’t turned out so well. He had mistaken its swim bladder for its liver. Fortunately, he hadn’t tried to rush it yet. It was probably still in the bin in Gunderton’s lair.
Spirn tapped his nose. ‘Now I got something you’d like. Two in stock, as it happens. A shade-blend of carp and anglerfish.’
‘Interesting.’ Gunderton rubbed his beard.
‘What’s an anglerfish?’ said Merion. Lilain hadn’t filled him in on that particular shade.
‘Let’s you see in the dark,’ said Gunderton.
Spirn nodded. ‘Makes your eyes glow, too. I’ve heard it’s fun.’
The Brother grunted. ‘Oddly ironic, when you want it for stealth.’
‘We’ll take one,’ said Merion, receiving another sideways look from Gunderton. He realised he had spoken out of turn, thanks to his eagerness. The shade was perfect for what he had up his sleeve. ‘Won’t we?’
Gunderton just tutted. ‘Anything for silence and obedience?’
Spirn frowned. ‘Fresh out.’
The man proceeded to take a jaunt around the shop, plucking two books from beneath a pile of old, beaten-up atlases. It was a miracle how he found them so quickly. Merion longed to know the secret.
‘Two blends!’
‘What are we up to?’ Gunderton asked.
‘Five florins and two shillings.’
‘Three more shades.’ The Brother counted the coins in his pocket. ‘Mantis shrimp? Leech?’
‘Good choices. Only got one leech—’
‘That’ll be fine,’ said Gunderton.
‘—but one mantis shrimp.’
‘Pick another, Merion.’
Spirn cleared his throat. ‘Tell you what, pick two more. I’ll do you a bit of a deal, seeing as you’re getting so many. Anything for a Brother.’
‘In that case, some armadillo and some magpie, please.’
‘I don’t have any armadillo blood, as I don’t like how it causes calluses and whatnot. But I have got lobster. Does the same thing, but a little better.’
‘I’ll take it.’
‘Coming up!’ Spirn delved into the hidden parts of the shop.
‘Quite the haul,’ whispered Gunderton.
‘True, but we are at war.’
Spirn returned, his arms full of books. He splayed their vials out on the countertop.
‘Here we are. All there. Seven florins and eight shillings.’
Gunderton winced as he placed the coins into Spirn’s waiting hand. Merion had no clue why, seeing as the coin wasn’t his.
‘Thank you ever so much,’ Spirn said, bowing while they took their vials and shimmied out the door. It had been a good day for the bloodletter. ‘Wish the others spent like you.’
Merion stopped in the doorway. ‘Others?’
‘The Eighth are in town,’ Spirn said with a shrug. ‘Thought you’d know, Errant?’
Gunderton shook his head. ‘Been working on something, quiet like. The generations don’t talk to each other much.’
Spirn tapped his nose. ‘Not a word. Keep yourself to yourself. I get it.’
‘Good day,’ bade the Brother, tugging up his hood and shutting the door behind him.
The walk back to Gunderton’s tiny house was as wet as the journey out, if not wetter. The downpour was relentless, turning the streets into slate-coloured streams. Everything swelled and dripped; a typi
cal August day for an Empire summer.
It didn’t bother Merion; he had his nimerigar. He did have questions, however.
‘So the Eighth are in town. They must be working for Dizali.’
‘I had a suspicion. Ran into a few of their acolytes not too long ago.’
‘And what is an acolyte?’ he asked, over the hammering of the rain. A rare steam carriage thundered around a bend, chuffing like a locomotive, brass hull gleaming with rainwater. A cloud of smoke belched from its black stack as it passed. The two drivers sat atop it would have looked smug had it not been for their soot-smeared faces. Merion shook his head.
‘Brothers have them. Fanatics, want-to-be’s. They normally stick close to Brothers. We never wanted ours.’
Merion nodded. ‘Is that Errant or Dower speaking?’
‘Dower,’ said Gunderton. ‘Errant died years back now. The last of the Fifth.’
Merion got the impression there was more to this story, but the Brother changed the subject.
‘There’ll be some work to do, when we get back.’
‘No doubt my aunt will be ready and waiting.’
‘If your good friend Lurker has managed to fetch the supplies she needed.’
‘He’s a resourceful chap. They made it to London, didn’t they?’
‘From what I heard, he saved our airship from ploughing into the Iron Ocean.’
Merion tutted. ‘So that’s what my aunt was alluding to.’
‘He’s a brave chap.’
‘I think it’s simpler than that. He’s seen so much danger and death in his time that it all seems perfectly normal. That’s what life has become for him. For all of us.’ Merion thought once more of the theft of his normal childhood. He had made his peace with it, testing all its edges until he had blunted them. ‘Even me.’
‘True enough.’
‘It’s the perception of what is acceptable that changes. That’s all,’ said Merion, feeling the need to expand, even if it was just for his own peace of mind.
The Brother thought for a moment, watching the steam carriage skid around a nearby corner, spraying a businessman with a wave of dirty water. ‘It changes quickly, too. It didn’t take long under the tutelage of the masters to become—’
‘I don’t believe it,’ gasped Merion, scraping to a halt.
Gunderton had clearly been on the cusp of a personal story. He grunted in annoyance. ‘What?’
Merion pointed ahead, silent in disbelief.
Not half a dozen yards ahead of them, a small shape stood on the pavement, still as a statue except for the occasional flutter of a wing. It was a magpie, bedraggled yet bold, ignoring the rushing feet of passers-by.
Merion’s suspicions were confirmed as he walked closer. It was a familiar magpie, indeed. One-eyed and drenched to its hollow bones.
Jake squawked a harsh greeting around the scrap of letter he carried in his sharp beak. With a burst of flapping, he hopped from the soaking pavement and up to Merion’s shoulder, making the boy flinch.
‘Er… hello?’ Merion had thought the bird either lost or dead; yet here he was, undeniably neither.
Jake cackled in his strange tongue, poking the letter into the boy’s face.
Merion took it. ‘What?’
More chattering. ‘I guess I’ll read the letter.’
If only he could. The rain had stolen most of the ink from the page. It had seeped into the thread of the paper, which practically melted in his hands as he unfolded it. All he could make out was the word “hunting” and a vague “C” at the bottom of the letter. Calidae had finally replied.
‘That’s not good,’ Merion sighed.
Jake chattered on, nodding and waving his head in all directions. ‘Lurker it will have to be.’
Gunderton raised a finger, catching the strange look of a passing street cleaner. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I’ll explain shortly,’ said Merion, setting off.
Gunderton followed, shaking his head. Jake hopped down into Merion’s arms and let himself be tucked inside the boy’s coat, out of the rain. Merion could feel the bird’s tiny heart beating against his fingers, fast as a drumroll. Rhin had told him long ago about the secret of a faerie’s long years. The smaller a creature is, the faster its heart beats. The faster a heart beats, the shorter the creature’s years. But a Fae heart can beat very slowly indeed, when allowed to. That, and a dash of magick, turned a faerie’s decades into centuries.
Merion felt that familiar flash of angst once more as he thought of Rhin, and the sense that time was running out. He wondered what state he was in, whether he was still alive. The boy set his jaw tightly and kept on trudging, pushing it from his mind. He had the nimerigar shade and that was what mattered.
They walked in silence for the remainder of the journey, boots tramping in unison through the wet and the puddles. There was nothing like the cathartic thud of a swift pace to keep an excursion brief.
Merion’s assurances turned out true; Lilain was so eager to see what shades they had procured she barely let them squeeze through the door. It had clearly been far too long since working the vials of Sheen Dolmer’s wagon, back in the Endless Land. But she was frozen by the shock of seeing what hid in Merion’s cloak.
‘By the Maker’s hammer, what have you found? Jake?’
There came the sharp scrape of a chair and Lurker’s head reared up out of gloom. ‘Not possible!’
He rushed forward, gently removing Lilain from his path, before staring open-mouthed down at Merion’s hand, where Jake perched, nonchalant and as confident as ever. The boy winced as Jake took flight, hopping onto Lurker’s shoulder and squawking in his ear. The old prospector ruffled his iridescent feathers and grinned, his weathered face cracking into a smile he reserved for moments like this.
‘You’re a strange old beast, Jake, that you are! Where have you been? Don’t you give me that. There’s no way you could have known.’
‘If I could interrupt the reunion for just a moment,’ said Merion, ‘he was carrying a letter.’ He held up the sludge that was left of the note. ‘But I can’t read it because of the rain. Did he, by any chance—’
Jake cut him short, launching into a barrage of chattering and clacking of his beak. Lurker fixed him with a stare and nodded along. Merion stepped forward.
‘Our little friend here has watched you since the moment you landed. Been here for weeks.’
‘Clever bird,’ Lilain interjected. ‘But why?’
‘Seems he knows more about us than we do ‘bout ourselves. Who knows how. Anyways, says he knows the message from Calidae. It’s about a lawyer, who she ain’t spoken to ‘pparently. And that…’ Another squawk. ‘…Dizali is killing leeches.’
‘Hunting,’ Merion corrected. It was one of the few words he’d gleaned from the letter. ‘He’s hunting leeches to get to me.’
‘The Orange Seed. Dizali must have it.’ said Gunderton. ‘Thinks he can outwit it with another leech’s blood.’
‘The what?’ asked Merion.
The Brother clicked his fingers. ‘Probably where the deeds are, too! Karrigan used to keep all sorts in it.’
‘You didn’t think to mention this earlier?’ Merion questioned him.
‘I hadn’t figured Dizali had it.’ Gunderton sought out a chair, rubbing his head as if massaging an old memory. ‘A contraption your father had built to guard his most precious stuff. Cost a bloody fortune, but worth it. There is only one key that can open it.’
‘And that is?’ Lilain asked.
‘You, Merion,’ said Gunderton, levelling a finger at the boy.
Merion patted himself down as if he’d been carrying a key all these years and had no idea. ‘What do you mean, me?’
‘Your blood. Only a drop of leech blood from the Hark line can open it. It’s a big thing, size of a library globe. He used to keep it in your mother’s old chambers, but he must have moved it to his study. Clever man, your father. Almost like he saw this coming.’
&n
bsp; ‘That he was,’ Merion said, smiling. ‘That works perfectly for me.’
Lurker furrowed his brow. ‘How? Don’t that mean Dizali has the deeds?’
Merion winked. ‘But he can’t get at them without me.’
The prospector shook his head. ‘This plan of yours has lost me.’
‘Would it open for another leech?’ Lilain asked.
Gunderton shook his head. ‘Trust me, we tried. I don’t know how the thing knows, but it does. Dizali will never get it open without you, no matter how many leeches he hunts down.’
‘It means Dizali’s a bigger fool than I thought,’ said Merion, running a hand through his sandy-blonde mop. ‘And more villainous than I’d feared. I’ll make him pay twice over.’
Gunderton cleared his throat. ‘When do you plan to rescue Witchazel?’
‘Soon,’ said Merion, steel-eyed. ‘Very soon indeed.’ He turned to the magpie and Lurker. ‘Can he get a message back to Calidae?’
Squawk! ‘Of course.’
‘Aunt, how long will the blending take?’ He looked to Lilain.
She tapped her lips in thought, humming. ‘A day or two, at the most. If we work hard, that is.’
‘I’ll help,’ offered Gunderton.
‘Then Jake, tell Calidae five days.’ Merion counted on his fingers. ‘The evening of the tenth. One hour past midnight.’
Jake clacked his beak, but stayed right where he was. Merion looked to Lurker.
‘He’s cold and wet, Merion. An’ hungry too, no doubt.’
The young Hark waved his hand. ‘Of course, sorry. I’ll write a letter for him later. Where are my manners?’
‘Think I saw them by the roadside back in Iowa,’ said Lilain, smirking.
Merion caught her by the shirt sleeve as she turned away. ‘Will this work, Aunt?’
‘Ain’t nobody who can make a blend like I can, Nephew.’ Lilain looked down at him with a cautious look. ‘Tell me, are sure you want to do this?’
