The Scarlet Star Trilogy

by Ben Galley

  Lurker spread a few of Lincoln’s coins on the counter. ‘Magpie, then, and lots of it.’

  ‘Right you are, sir!’

  Spirn clapped his hands and began to prowl through the nearest pyramid of tomes. He mumbled and hummed as he searched. ‘Anything else, gentlemen?’

  ‘Don’t suppose you’ve had any faerie in?’ Merion asked.

  Spirn looked up from his work and stared at the ceiling in deep thought. It made the boy’s heart lift, but it came crashing back down as quickly as the letter said, ‘No. It’s a rare one, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Never mind.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘More electric eel, please,’ said Merion. ‘And some newt, if you have that.’

  ‘Wisp?’ said Gunderton.

  ‘Oh…’ Spirn paused, working his teeth around his bottom lip. ‘Yes. One vial.’

  ‘Gecko?’ asked Merion, hand still clamped to his side.

  ‘You’re in luck.’

  ‘And possibly some weasel?’

  ‘A flitter? Well, why not.’

  Spirn took his sweet time finding the vials. A good five minutes passed before he had put the last vial on the counter. He ran his fingers over the glass and corks, counting the cost. Before he could name his price, the doorbell rang.

  They turned as one, and together their hearts clenched in shock.

  A Brother stood in the doorway, paused in confusion, bowler hat in hands and suit smarter than a shop window mannequin. Two faces peered over each of his shoulders, blinking in the bright light of the shop. The acolytes wore hats to match their master’s.

  ‘Busy tonight, Spirn?’ said the Brother, in a clipped Empire accent. With Lurker standing at the back of the queue, his wide frame casting a shadow, they had not yet recognised who it was that stood in their path.

  Lurker wasn’t about to give them a chance. He flew into action, grasping a handful of books with one hand. He managed to fit three in his huge fingers, and hurled them at the Brother. With the other, he reached for the Mistress, hiding underneath his leather coat. He dived for cover as he squeezed off a round.

  The Brother was fast, sinking to the floor as the Mistress sang, deafeningly loud. The bullet ripped cloth from his shoulder, and found a new home in the forehead of one of the acolytes. The man reeled backwards into the night, stone dead.

  Pandemonium erupted. Bodies threw themselves in all directions. Gunderton hurled book after book at the doorway, vials smashing, as he reached for his crimson. Merion snatched a vial of electric eel from the counter. Finding cover behind a table, he threw his head back and gulped it down, feeling the familiar burn. He knew this shade like a lover knows every curve and hollow of their partner.

  Within moments he was rushing, dragging the magick from his mind and pressing it into his hands. Hairs stood on end, skin rippled, and sparks jumped the gaps between his fingers.

  ‘NOT IN THE SHOP!’ Spirn was screaming, as he watched books fly. The Mistress ignored him. Another concussion shook the bookshop. The bullet went high, smashing a window.

  Merion decided to ignore him, too. This was a Brother and his acolyte. They deserved no pause or polite conversation. The boy poured lightning onto them as they scrabbled out of the doorway, bearing teeth. Books sizzled and smoked. Flames erupted from more than one pile. The acolyte wailed as the sparks coursed over his back before he escaped into the wet night.

  ‘Run!’ Gunderton hissed, swiping their vials from the counter, throwing a pouch of coins to Spirn, and sprinting from the door. He downed the weasel blood as he ran.

  Merion and Lurker needed no encouragement. They bounded after him, knowing their enemies would be reaching for their own vials. Merion felt like a bubbling pot. Had hatred not spurred him, then cold fear would have done the job. He saw flashes of the fight with Gavisham behind his eyes; the blurry edges of a choking death. He drew strength from those memories, and let them rush alongside the magick, turning his legs to pistons.

  One. Two. Three. They burst from the door like rats from a rattled pipe. Fire flashed in the night, reaching out for them, singeing their boots and coat-tails. Gunderton curled into a roll to avoid the heat and then doubled back to charge at the acolyte crouched by the bookshop’s door. The old Brother was like a shadow, ducking and weaving over the wet street. There was a loud crash as the acolyte’s head met a window. Fire sputtered over Gunderton’s cloak, but he kept swinging his punches.

  Lurker let loose another two shots. His bullets chased the Brother as he darted across the street towards a coach with four black horses; huge steeds stuffed with muscle. Two more acolytes were standing beside them, expressions drenched in confusion. Screams echoed through the streets as passers-by ran for their dear lives. They screamed even louder when lightning surged over the cobbles, its electric blue fingers flickering from wall to drainpipe, hindered by the puddles and flooded gutters. Merion felt it in his fingers. Lightning and water never were the best of friends.

  ‘This ain’t wise, boy!’ Lurker hissed. The boy agreed wholeheartedly.

  ‘Gunderton!’ he yelled. The old man’s acolyte had proved a hard nut to crack. He had been knocked senseless, head lolling on his chest; but he still swung feeble punches. Gunderton sprinted back to them unnaturally fast, legs powered by the weasel shade.

  ‘We need a carriage!’ Merion panted, skin crackling with every puddle he scattered.

  ‘There!’ Gunderton pointed to the outline of a small open-top carriage, just about visible in the murk of the street. A thick fog was rising, growing fat on the damp spoils of the day. Two piebald horses could be glimpsed. Not as good as four, but better than none.

  Without a word they ran; boots thudding on cobble. Gunderton reached the carriage in no time. Its owner had apparently taken refuge in a nearby shop, but the driver was still seated, and ready to defend his employer’s property. Gunderton dodged his poorly aimed knife-thrust and introduced the man’s forehead to his own knee. The driver tumbled from his seat and landed in a puddle with a groan.

  Gunderton seized the whip and reins as Merion and Lurker latched on to the carriage’s handrails. They threw themselves inside as the horses lurched into motion. Gunderton barely had to crack the whip: the beasts could smell the panic in the air. Their ears ringing from gunshots and lightning-snap, they were already skittish to the edge of bolting, and now they’d just been handed a chance to do just that.

  Within moments the carriage was flying over the cobbles. Merion and Lurker climbed to the back seat and hunkered down. The Brother’s coach was giving chase now; hazy in the mist but getting closer. Four horses are still better than two, no matter how spooked they are.

  ‘Brothers don’t use guns, I assume?’ Merion shouted.

  ‘Never, but some of their acolytes do!’ said Gunderton. No sooner had he said it than a shot rang out, and metal ricocheted off their iron-clad wheels. The Brother flattened himself between the foot-board and the driver’s seat. ‘See?’

  Lurker returned fire, bracing his arm against Merion’s shoulder and taking his time with his shots. The boy plugged his ears just as the prospector fired. They heard a yelp and a shape tumbled from the side of the coach.

  ‘Fine shot!’ Merion shouted.

  With some excess weight now lying bleeding in the gutters, the Brothers’ coach began to gain on them. Merion and Lurker ducked as another bullet whizzed over their heads, clipping one of the horse’s ears, startling it into galloping faster. The two vehicles stayed level for a moment, trading bullet after bullet. All around them, London screamed through the muffle of the fog. They could hear the whistles of the constabulary in the distance.

  ‘Darn it to hell! I’m almost out!’ Lurker rasped, digging around in his pockets for forgotten bullets. Merion clenched his fists and let sparks spin around them.

  ‘Worth another try?’ Merion asked, smirking.

  ‘Be my guest!’ Lurker replied, crouching down and clutching his hat.

  Merion crept to the edge of
the splintered seat, and waited for the carriage to stop swerving. They had escaped old London, and were heading into the main thoroughfares of the city’s core.

  Flame flashed, gnashing at the carriage’s heels. The rushing wind held it back, just far enough. Merion turned his smirk to a grin. His shade wasn’t held hostage by the elements.

  He let the magick fly. A fork of energy cascaded down the street, flitting from cobble to cobble until it found the Brother’s coach. The horses screeched and skidded to a neck-wrenching halt; utterly terrified despite their training. Another yell, as the coach swung around, almost lifting from its wheels and toppling. Something held it back. It crashed back down to earth with a crunch of wood and metal.

  ‘Don’t stop now!’ Merion yelled to Gunderton. The Brother had no such intention, and kept the horses moving. With the Mistress silent, and the magick faded, they sat back in their seats and blew great sighs of relief.

  ‘Too close,’ Merion muttered to himself. ‘Too bloody close.’

  Once they were several streets out of danger, Gunderton slowed the horses to a snuffling walk. Exhaustion did the job of calming them, even though they still flinched in their hames. Merion found some spare blankets to cover the bullet-broken areas, and then sat back, as if returning to a dull ride. Gunderton even managed to look like the under-butler of old for a spell, with his back straight and arms out and steady. All he lacked was the hat and tails.

  Merion felt the shade seep from his veins and tiredness settling in its shadow. He fought off the fatigue by listening to the constabulary whistles.

  When a police carriage came rattling past, full of suspicious eyes, Gunderton waved and made a show of pointing back the way they had come. The man even managed to look scared; something he wasn’t used to. Merion exhaled loudly.

  Far too close.

  *

  By the time they had ditched the coach in a finer part of town, and wandered a winding path back to Gunderton’s lair, it was late in the evening. The fog had finally seized control of the city; strangling its streets, twisting around its columns and spires. The air was like frayed wool.

  Lilain was understandably worried, grabbing at them all and checking for bullet-holes when they told her what had happened.

  ‘Maker darn it, you’ll be in the papers tomorrow!’

  She threw up her hands and went to put the kettle on. She was getting used to this Empire tradition of tea in a crisis.

  ‘Well, we have ruined all measure of surprise, but we escaped alive and that is what matters,’ said Merion, sinking into a chair and rubbing his hands. They always tingled after rushing eel.

  ‘Does that change anythin’?’ said Lurker.

  Merion shook his head. The plan might have meandered, but it was still on course. ‘Not in the slightest. The plan goes ahead. We still need Witchazel.’

  Two rescues in the space of a week, he thought. Each as dangerous as the other.

  The boy felt a sharp twinge in his side and pulled up his shirt to find the stitches of his arrow wound had pulled. The blood was oozing again. He grimaced as he brought out the newt shade. He sipped half of it and let the magick go to work. The flesh began to knit itself together before his eyes.

  ‘Aahh… Much better.’

  Gunderton cleared his throat. ‘Be glad there was only one Brother, not all three.’

  ‘At least Lurker put two of their acolytes in the ground,’ said Merion.

  Lilain patted the prospector’s arm gently as he moved to stand near her. The boy watched as she laid a small kiss on his stubbled cheek. Jake also squawked in appreciation, curled up in a ball by the dormant fireplace.

  ‘Two less to worry ‘bout then,’ said Lurker, seeking his own chair. ‘How many more are there?’

  ‘Probably half a dozen.’

  Merion shrugged. ‘Then they will just have to receive the same fate as their masters, won’t they?’

  ‘You are your father’s son,’ Gunderton told him.

  Lilain snorted. ‘Tsch! He weren’t always like this, believe you me. He was a right pain in the backside when he first landed on my doorstep, weren’t you, Nephew? Couldn’t have been further from the Bulldog.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you, Aunt,’ said Merion. ‘I am nothing more than what time and circumstance have made me.’

  They all took a moment to stretch their limbs with weary groans and satisfied sighs. Almighty knew they needed a rest, after all the excitement.

  Merion moved to a nearby crate stuffed with torn blankets and soft straw. There lay a very tired, bruised and beaten faerie indeed. For a moment he though him sleeping, but after a polite cough, Rhin opened his lavender eyes to squint at him.

  ‘You’re awake.’ Merion kept his voice quiet, wanting a moment alone without the others.

  ‘Lilain got me up an hour ago, with all her pacing. What did I miss?’

  ‘Nothing we couldn’t handle,’ said Merion, rubbing his fingers together. Some of the shade still lingered. A tiny crackle flitted between his fingertips. ‘A Brother and his acolytes.’

  Rhin smirked and closed his eyes for a moment. ‘You ain’t the boy I watched drift away to sea,’ he whispered. ‘And you’ll have to explain what that means when my headache isn’t trying to drill a hole in my forehead.’

  Merion shook his head, heavy with guilt. ‘I knew you were there, watching me go. After the fight with Gavisham, I didn’t know where you were. I had to run. Lincoln offered me a way back. I knew you wanted to protect me. I shouted for you…’ The excuses sounded awkward in his head; gelatinous like cold gravy.

  Rhin just raised a hand and rested it on the boy’s knuckles. ‘I know,’ he whispered. Sometimes that is all that needs to be said between old friends, even if they are a boy and a faerie. ‘Besides, the banshees would have killed you had you stood with me. Or tried to take me with you.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘They found me at the docks. As you can guess, they took me, but I put up quite a fight.’ Rhin wagged a finger in a tiny splint. ‘Wasn’t easy for them. Stabbed them pretty good with the pine knife. They’ll think twice before hunting down a Rehn’ar again.’

  ‘Did I ever tell you you’re crazy?’

  ‘Many times… Then Sift got her claws into me. Put me up against a mole in the Hollow. She had me in her torture chamber for days. I dread to think what would have happened had you not come along.’

  Rhin shuddered, despite himself. He looked Merion in the eye for a moment, speaking just before the pause became uncomfortable. ‘I still can’t quite believe what you did. If I think about it seems like a dream trailing on the end of a nightmare. I never thought you would go that far for me, after… everything.’ The words weren’t polished, but the meaning was there.

  Merion thumbed his chin as he examined the grubby cornices.

  ‘I know now how easy it is to pull a trigger.’ He thought back to Castor Serped, and the goggle-eyed look pasted on his face.

  Rhin tilted his head and winced. ‘Hmm, but now I owe you my life twice over. Looks like you’ll never be rid of me.’

  Merion gave the faerie a chuckle. Lilain cackled at something behind them and they spent a moment staring.

  ‘Your aunt told me you left them behind in America,’ Rhin said.

  Merion nodded. ‘My plan was to keep Lilain and Lurker safe in the Endless Land until Dizali was dead and ruined. However, they had other ideas, and followed me here.’

  ‘Stubborn pair, aren’t they? Seems to run in the family.’

  Merion rolled his eyes. ‘Stubborn, indeed. They came over in an airship, or so they tell me. Even found a Brother on the way. It took me a while to admit it, but now they’re here I wouldn’t be without them. Castor, Yara… My grand plans failed before because I thought I could execute them practically alone. I was wrong. I’ve learnt that lesson and learnt it well. Now we will do this as a family.’

  ‘And what is the latest hair-brained scheme of yours?’

  ‘Not just mine. Calida
e Serped had a hand in it.’

  There came a curl to the faerie’s grey lips. ‘I must have lost some of my hearing. It sounded as though you said—’

  ‘She saved my life that night, Rhin. Just before Gavisham almost killed me.’

  Rhin looked guilty.

  ‘You had no idea where I was, fear not,’ said Merion, shaking his head. ‘She only saved me so she could visit her revenge on me later. Fortunately, Dizali is her priority for now. She’s in Clovenhall as we speak.’

  A few owlish blinks were the only reply he received.

  Merion rapped the side of his crate. ‘Trust me. It’s under control.’

  ‘Right. Think I might need some of that sweet tea before I hear any more. My head is spinning.’

  Fortunately for the faerie, the kettle had boiled and the tea was in the midst of brewing. Merion moved the crate closer so Rhin could drink with them, using a spare vial as a mug. Soon enough, their strange family formed a circle of weariness, sipping quietly at hot, sugary tea, and pondering the events of the night. The might-have-beens were always morbidly tantalising. The future could wait until tomorrow.

  *

  Dizali was swirling around a glass of brandy, wondering how to berate the Brothers further. Unless they could beat it, kill it, or rush it, they were quickly proving close to useless. It sat on his nerves like a fat pigeon on a wire.

  ‘What do the maids have to say for themselves?’ he said, taking a liberal sip.

  Hanister shook his head. ‘Not much, Milord, nobody saw anything of the butler’s leaving.’

  Dizali saw his brandy to the bottom of the crystal glass. He was beginning to feel the dizziness at the corners of his eyes. Alcohol and magick were a strong mix.

  ‘I want a full search of the house and grounds done again. Tomorrow.’

  Heck looked very confused. ‘But he’s most likely long gone… Milord.’

  ‘Or he’s dead in a bush somewhere and you haven’t noticed.’

  ‘Yes, Milord.’

  Dizali was about to demand a refill of his glass, when the sound of boots thumping on carpet grew loud, clattering along the hallway outside. Hanister instantly reached for his vials. Heck just stood there, as out of place as a lemon in a potato field.