by Rob J. Hayes
Thinking of Swift's sister made his mind tumble onto thinking about Swift, how the two had kissed and then she'd refused to kiss the Black Thorn after. She'd said something too, something about their mother but he couldn't remember it. Fact was, bastard though he was, Betrim kind of missed Swift. The man always had a story to tell, lies for the most part to be sure but he made them fun all the same.
Betrim missed Bones as well. The big man had been as close to a friend as he'd ever had and had saved his life more than once. He hadn't seen the giant fall in Hostown, truth was Betrim had been too focused on saving Henry from the shade to pay attention to anything else but by the time he was finished Bones was gone, Swift too and Henry. All three of them dead or fled and as Betrim had seen no sign of them on the road he was leaning towards thinking it was the former. He missed Henry most of all. Ever since the murderous, crazy bitch had stabbed him they'd been friends though Betrim couldn't say why.
He even missed the Boss. Betrim could see the big black southerner standing there now, swaying from side to side; eyes open and full of sadness as the darkness reached for him, took him by the neck and lifted him off the ground. Those great black jaws opened so wide it seemed they would swallow him whole. Instead they closed around his head, slicing through flesh and bone as if it were butter. Blood gushed and flowed and the Boss' lifeless, faceless body dropped to the floor like the sack of meat it was.
“Thorn.”
Betrim's eyes flicked open and he glanced around. The Nose was gone, Jezzet and the Arbiter were still there but neither were holding swords. The Captain stood with them on the bow pointing at something. He was a well groomed man was the Captain; dressed in vivid finery with dark brown eyes and an impossibly square jaw beneath a trimmed beard. He held his back so straight it looked like it hurt and his hand was never far from his sword hilt.
“Thorn,” said the Arbiter. “If you're not too pickled might be you want to come and see this.”
“Aye,” Betrim said as he pushed himself to his feet, took him two attempts but he made it. “I'm comin' ya bastard witch... Which one of ya said that?”
The witch hunter glared at him, Betrim shrugged as he stepped up beside him. “What? I can't help it if there's three o' ya.” He went to put an arm on the Arbiter's shoulder to steady himself and caught hold of nothing. He found himself on his knees, staring at the deck. Then there was a hand underneath his arm, lifting him upwards.
“Ya too damned strong fer such a scrawny bastard,” Betrim slurred into the Arbiter's face. Good thing about being drunk, he decided, was that you could get away with almost anything. “What am I lookin' at?”
“That,” the Captain said in a thick accent. Betrim squinted in the direction the man pointed. All he could see was blue, blue sea, blue sky, some darker line on the horizon maybe. “The coast of Sarth. We make port in Sarth tomorrow.”
“'Bout damn time.”
“Sober up, Thorn,” the Arbiter said.
“Last thing I want ta be when I set foot in Sarth is sober.”
“Shame that,” the Arbiter took Betrim by the arm and led him away, Jezzet followed close behind, “because the last thing we need is you drunk as a fish.”
They didn't take him to the cabin but instead led him to the mess. A small room consisting of a couple of tables, each with a couple of benches and all nailed to the floor. The cook stood in the corner stirring a pot of something that smelled at once delicious and disgusting.
The witch hunter pushed the Black Thorn onto a bench. Seemed he should be taking offence to being man handled as such but Betrim couldn't quite work up the bother.
“We make port tomorrow if all is well,” the Arbiter said to the cook. “We need him sober, no rum.”
“Aye,” the cook said with a scowl. “No rum.”
Betrim watched three Arbiters and three Jezzet's leave and turned to the three cooks all of whom were eyeing him. “Got any rum?”
The Arbiter
Never before in all his fifty years had Thanquil been so pleased to see Sarth and yet at the same time he dreaded it. It felt like years since he'd set sail away from here, away from the Inquisition and the dark looks, away from the God-Emperor and his suspicions. Hard to believe it was just a little over five months. Now he was back though, back without the proof Emperor Francis had ordered him to find. He had the name of one traitor but it wasn't the name he needed. He had the name of an underling, what he needed was the name of the Inquisitor behind Kessick.
He could go to the God-Emperor, tell what little he knew. That the traitor was an Inquisitor and a woman narrowed the list down to two; Inquisitor Heron and Inquisitor Downe but with no idea which and no proof, what could be done? The Emperor could not walk into the Inquisition and inform the council that he has it on poor authority one of them is a heretic any more than Thanquil could himself. No, it would be better to leave him out of this. Thanquil would find the name of the traitor and deal with her himself... And face the consequences of his actions after. Somehow he doubted whether he could rely on the God-Emperor to bail him out. He was chosen because he was expendable after all.
“That's your home then? Looks a nice place. Which one is the Inquisition; the white one or the black one?” Jezzet said from his right. She was close; she was always close these days. It took every bit of Thanquil's restraint not to reach out and touch her but that wouldn't do. She was here to help him not to...
“The black one,” he said pointing at it as if she couldn't see which was which. “The white one is the Imperial palace, home of the God-Emperor.”
They were stood on the bow of the ship, leaning on the railing and waiting. Sarth was a cautious port; all ships requesting to dock were greeted by a small skiff with a port official on board. The official would board the ship; talk with the Captain as to where he had come from and his next destination, and then tour the holds to inspect cargo. The man had already given the three passengers a brief look and decided they were no one of importance.
“It looks... dreary,” Jez said looking at the black tower of the Inquisition.
“It looks like hell,” Thorn rasped from behind. “Full o' demons ready ta come pourin' out at any moment. Risin' up all dark in the middle of a white city, all that spiky-looking rock. I know why it's black; soot an' ash from all the people burnin' is what that is.”
Thanquil might have laughed but there was a kernel of truth in the Black Thorn's paranoid rambling. The tower of the Inquisition had seen more burnings, hangings, dismemberments, massacres, beatings, mutilation and torture than any other building the human race had ever erected.
“I completely agree,” Thanquil said. “With both of you. I've never thought of it as a home. Just a place I have to report to every now and then.”
Thorn spat over the side of the ship, he was nervous, that much was plain. “Ya sure 'bout this, Ar... Thanquil. I mean my hair might be goin' back ta the red side but I got a fairly noticeable face.”
“It'll be fine, Thorn. Believe it or not most of us don't know what you look like and besides, where's the least likely place anyone would ever think to find the Black Thorn... Sarth.”
“Right under their noses.”
“As you say.”
“What 'bout you? Takin' off that coat don't exactly make ya invisible.”
“In a way it does. There are few enough in the Inquisition who would recognize me on a normal day. Without my coat even those who might, would not spare me a glance should I walk past them on the street.”
“Ya can't... I dunno, sense each other?”
Thanquil laughed. “No. We can't.”
“Bloody witch hunters. Struttin' around an entire fuckin' city. Bloody Sarth was never anythin' but a burden on my family an' you lot was the worst of it. I ever tell ya why that Arbiter came callin' on my folks back 'fore I killed any o' ya?”
“No.”
“'Cos they refused ta pay the food tax ta your fuckin' Inquisition. So they sent a witch hunter ta look in, find out wh
y. No doubt with the intent of burnin' my folks an' puttin' someone more agreeable in charge eh? Well by the time he got there my folks were already dead an' the Arbiter weren't long in followin'.”
“And then you ran...”
“An' then I fuckin' ran. Didn't exactly leave me much choice did ya? Barely more 'an a boy an' already on the run. Everywhere I went I had witch hunters watchin' me like they knew. Like ya could sense the presence o' someone who killed one o' ya own.”
“We can't.”
“Well I know that now don't I.” The Black Thorn's burned face twisted in what looked like it could have been pain, a moment later he was retching over the side of the ship.
Jezzet was still staring at the city arrayed in front of her. From here Sarth almost looked like any port town except that almost all of the visible buildings were white, built from the marble that was so abundant in the kingdom and washed everyday by slaves to keep the city gleaming. The Imperial palace with its tower and its spires rose high above the rest of the city, from here it almost looked like two great white hands with fingers reaching towards the heavens. The tower of the Inquisition rose in bleak counterpoint; a single black, spiked spire thrusting out of the white around it like a sword driven through flesh.
“You've never been to Sarth before,” Thanquil said already knowing the answer.
“No. Never been many places if truth be told. Spent most of my life in Acanthia, around Truridge for the best part. Occasionally my master would take me with him when he went on his short journeys. Once I even visited the capital. More often than not he'd leave me though.
“After I killed him... after I became the Blademaster I went east to see the desert. Thought about trying to cross it but took a boat to the Five Kingdoms in the end. Wasn't long there, spent some time working as a merc but I soon came to the attention of that bloody Sword of the North... After that I made my way to Land's End as fast as my feet would take me and set sail to the wilds. Seemed someone like me could make some money over there, I thought.
“When all this is done I might find a ship to take me the Dragon Empire. Always wanted to see a dragon. You... you could come with me, it's a long journey, I hear. Might be less dull with some company.”
Thanquil laughed. “When all this is done I won't be...” When all this was done he would either be dead or in an Inquisition prison cell spending the rest of his days in darkness with only the company of rats and praying for an end to it all. “I have duties.”
Jezzet nodded and went back to staring at the city.
After a while the port official and the Captain of the Blue Gull re-emerged onto the deck, there they shook hands and the official climbed back down into his skiff looking far happier than when he had climbed on. Bribes for the more prime docking spots were not uncommon. One of the first lessons an Arbiter ever learned, where there is power, there is corruption. It seemed as though the lesson was doubly true when it was petty power.
As the ship lurched back into motion and began to float into port all three passengers stood at the bow not talking. The Black Thorn had quit his retching for now but looked almost green and showed no inclination towards talking and Jezzet had lapsed into a sullen silence. Even the Captain seemed to sense something was amiss as he strode up behind them and hesitated before speaking.
“Got you here safe, as promised, I did. Sorry about the delay but... well... no man can control the weather.”
“Not very well at least,” Thanquil said with a smile he didn't feel.
The Captain frowned. “Quite. You're free to depart soon as we dock.”
“Thank you, Captain Hail.”
The well-dressed Captain grunted, scratched once at his beard and strutted away. They floated the rest of the way into the docks in silence.
As the crew scrambled to tie off the ship and make ready to unload the cargo Jezzet asked the question. “So what's the plan?”
“First we get ourselves situated. There are plenty of cheap inns located far enough away from the Inquisition so no Arbiters will go to them.”
“Thought ya weren't in risk o' bein' noticed, Thanquil,” the Black Thorn said with a smirk.
“No point in tempting fate, Thorn. For either of us. Tomorrow we'll figure out the details of locating Arbiter Kessick.”
“Got any notions o' how we're gonna manage that?”
“As it happens I do. Jezzet is going to walk up to the Inquisition and ask for him.”
The Black Thorn
“Ya know, up close it looks even more like hell,” Betrim said and took a deep swallow of beer. He was fast learning to enjoy the taste of beer in Sarth; it was a far cry from the piss flavoured brown water they served you in the wilds.
“You're not wrong,” Jezzet agreed in a hushed voice.
The Arbiter said nothing.
Thanquil had found them a cheap inn in what he called the poorer section of Sarth and had paid for two rooms. Betrim got one of the rooms to himself, a luxury he was not ungrateful of, while the Arbiter and Jezzet stayed in the other. Betrim had spent a good amount of time in the common room drinking himself into a comfortable stupor. He'd paid for it in the morning, well and good, when he'd woke with his head pounding along to the pounding on his door. The Arbiter had taken one look at Thorn and sighed. Betrim had wanted nothing more than to punch the bastard at that point but he refrained. A few minutes later Thanquil had handed him a necklace and told him to wear it always but keep it hidden beneath his clothing lest another witch hunter recognise it as a charm. Betrim had been sceptical at first but just a few seconds after putting the thing around his neck his hangover had vanished freeing the Black Thorn up for some more drinking.
Now they sat in a different inn, a fancy one not more than a few hundred paces from the Inquisition. Betrim had never seen such an inn before; the floors were clean, no straw or reeds just wood. The tables all had chairs not just stools and benches, the man behind the bar was dressed as fancy as one of the blooded and the serving maids were all fully clothed and had some of the best sets of teeth he'd ever seen. The place even had a balcony on the first floor for folk to sit on and drink in the open air and, just like all the other buildings in this part of town, save for the Inquisition, it was made out of some sort of white stone that took to shining in the sunlight.
The white city of Sarth in the Holy Empire of Sarth they called it but Betrim reckoned they'd get far more folk like himself making port if they added; city of good beer and clean women. Almost made up for the number of witch hunters he'd seen walking about. At least Thanquil had been right about them not even sparing him or the Black Thorn a second glance. Truth was Jezzet got more looks than the two men combined.
“You see the guards at the main gate,” Thanquil was saying to Jezzet. “They'll stop you but they won't talk to you, don't say a word to them just wait. There'll be an Arbiter in the gate house who will come out to enquire about your business.”
Jezzet nodded, she looked nervous and to be honest Betrim didn't blame her. Felt a lot like she was placing her head in the lion's jaws no doubt. “What should I say?”
“The truth. You're here to speak to Arbiter Kessick.”
“And the one at the gate will go fetch him?”
“He'll send someone to fetch him and keep you under watch until Kessick arrives.”
Again Jezzet nodded. “What if Kessick isn't here?”
“Then we're out of luck and at a loose end.”
“What if there is no Kessick?” Betrim asked. “What if your traitor jus' dressed someone up as a witch hunter and sent the man ta H'ost? What if this Kessick used a false name? Seems this plan o' yours has a lot of 'what ifs'.”
Thanquil had no reply to that. Betrim took another swallow of beer. The witch hunter claimed his dwindling supply of coin wasn't enough to keep them all in alcohol for their time in Sarth but Betrim had looted the Boss' corpse back in Hostown and had ten gold bits to his name; a fortune if ever he'd had one and enough to keep him drunk until they were d
one.
“So if Kessick is real and is there... what do I tell him?” said Jezzet, frowning at Thanquil.
“Tell him H'ost is dead. Convince him you're a messenger from Hostown and that you were ordered, in the event of H'ost's death, to come to Sarth and inform Arbiter Kessick. Keep my name out of it but try to tell the truth wherever possible.”
“Ya can't lie ta an Arbiter,” Betrim put in.
“Exactly.”
“I mean it, Thanquil. What if this Kessick asks Jez some questions? Seems he'll figure out the truth pretty quick.”
“I should be able to make you a charm that will protect you from his compulsion.”
“Should?” Betrim snorted. “What ifs, maybes and shoulds...”
“It's OK, Thorn. I'll be fine.” Jezzet looked at the Arbiter. “Maybe you should ask me some questions so I know what this compulsion feels like.”
The Arbiter winced and shook his head. “I... I don't...”
“Feels like someone pokin' around inside ya head. Like someone's reachin' in, grabbin' hold of what they want ta know an' forcin' it out o' ya mouth. Ya can't think of anythin' else, can't control yaself. Feels like bein' forced ta do somethin' against ya will. Right, Thanquil?”
The Arbiter was staring into his beer nodding, his hand shaking somewhat. Seems the man had never used his magic on Jezzet. Come to think of it Betrim couldn't remember him ever using it on the Black Thorn either.
Betrim waved over a serving maid to ask her for another beer. The girl stared at his face with part shock and part horror. Once that might have made the Black Thorn angry but instead he just laughed. “Feels worse than it looks, trust me. Wanna touch it?” He ran a three fingered hand down the burned side of his face as he asked and the maid turned and near ran away.
“Do you have that effect on all women, Thorn?” Jezzet asked with a pretty smile.
