by Ben Galley
The vial was empty by the time the butcher hauled himself onto the ledge, brandishing a cleaver in his ham-like fist. He waved it around in mad arcs, boots inching forward with every swing. He didn’t seem to fancy following his brother down to the cobbles.
Merion felt the blood surge in his stomach and clenched hard, forcing the magick into a dash for his skull. A hiss of exhilaration escaped his pursed lips; he hadn’t rushed since the night of the Bloodmoon, and by the Almighty did it feel good.
By the time he had the rioting blood under his control, the butcher was only a few paces away. No longer was his face expressionless; in the faint light of the candle, he had spied the meat, the vial, the syringe, and now the blood on Merion’s lips. ‘Vampire!’ he spat, waving his cleaver again. Merion bared his bloody teeth.
‘Leech, actually,’ he said, as the blood surged into his fingers and into his face. He held strong through the pain, letting the shade go to work. His fingernails were growing thicker, sharper, thrusting out of his fingertips. In a few short moments he bore two handfuls of claws, brown and knotted like antlers. He grinned at the butcher, even though he already felt the shade struggling to endure. The mole hadn’t been exactly fresh, and the blood had been lacking. Merion would have to be fast.
‘What by the Almighty are you?!’ yelled his attacker, face aghast.
With a kick, Merion extinguished the candle, and plunged the ledge into darkness. He blinked and found the night aglow with a pale light. He could see everything in crystal clarity: the horrified grimace on the butcher’s face; the sweat on his brow; the bootlace escaping from its knot. His mole eyes saw all. What a fine shade indeed!
The butcher was afraid of the dark, it seemed, and set about trying to carve it to pieces with the knife, howling for the Almighty at the top of his lungs. His reaction was to be expected; he was sharing a small ledge with a clawed vampire. Several nearby dogs took to howling at the racket.
Merion ducked a vicious slash of the blade and slammed his foot down on the wayward lace. At the same time, his claws raked the butcher’s coat to shreds, finding skin beneath. The butcher stumbled backwards with a cry, his cleaver falling to the stone. Merion kicked out while he still had the upper hand (or claw, to be exact). The man flew into the night, just like his brother.
Merion crept forward and peeked down. The fishmonger was struggling to his feet; he was clutching his back with one hand, and waving his filleting knife with the other. He balanced a boot on the ladder once more, and Merion saw in the man’s eyes that this had gone beyond coin. It was now personal.
Slashing at the empty air above him, the fishmonger climbed, pain flashing across his face with every rung. He was clearly struggling. The butcher lay where he had landed, silent and still. Merion could see a dark puddle gathering on the cobbles around his head.
The young Hark slipped backwards to perch on the far end of the ledge, giving himself some room. Once the fishmonger had finally dragged himself up the ladder, he began to thrust indiscriminately into the shadows. His breath was laboured, and Merion could see the blood at the corner of his mouth. He was close to collapse.
Merion edged along the brick and worked his way closer. The knife-blade almost caught him once, but he flinched away at the last moment. Thank the Almighty for mole eyes.
He ducked and slashed out with his weakening claws, cutting across the back of the man’s legs. The fishmonger sank to the stone like a sack of coal. He hissed as he flailed. ‘You evil bastard! You monster!’
Merion edged around him, gathering up his scattered things, careful to avoid the lunges. He stuck another claw into the man’s thigh to quieten him down. ‘If I was a monster, I’d slice your throat. It’s all thieves like you deserve, after all. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be moving on.’
The young Hark reached up to tug the brim of his hood as if it were an imaginary hat, and moved to the ladder. He slung his bags—now considerably lighter—over his shoulder.
At the foot of the ladder, he paused, looking up and down the street. The butcher still had not moved, and from the angle of his neck, Merion doubted if he ever would again.
The boy took a brief moment to press his head against the cold iron of the ladder, and let his thudding heart calm itself. Gavisham still lingered in his thoughts. He took a deep and slow breath, and pushed himself back onto the cobbles.
‘It wasn’t up to my standards in any case,’ he said aloud, before setting off at a brisk pace, aimed north and east once more. He would find somewhere quieter, less greedy, and perhaps catch a few hours’ sleep, before tomorrow’s tasks of visiting graves and tracking high-borns.
There was a lot to be done, when plotting the downfall of a king.
Chapter III
IN THE MOUTH OF THE BEAST
29th July, 1867
Earlier that day
Once gathered in great quantities, coin does not like to linger; not in pockets nor vaults. It cries to be spent, and that siren call is heard by the rich and powerful in every corner of the world. And though rich they may be, they are as powerless as the penniless because of it.
A fine line can be drawn between those who have piles of coin, and those who have mountains. It’s easy to tell the two apart: the former smear their coin over their walls, dangle it from ceilings, make it glitter from every alcove, and drape it from throats and wrists. The latter treat it like a game; a deception. You have to peer closely to see their wealth; in the threads of a suit, the weight of a solitary ring, or in the ease with which they barter things, and lives.
Calidae could tell Lord Dizali’s kind in an instant.
He wore no finery about his neck or wrists, save for the signet ring common to all lords and ladies of the Empire. Though his halls were grand, they lacked the tacky lick of gold paint familiar to Calidae from the homes of lesser nobility. Even her father had been guilty on occasion; and her mother, with her jewels and passion for paintings. Dizali played his coin how she imagined he would play cards: close to the chest.
Calidae thumbed the soft leather of her chair. Dizali was late; an obvious ploy to see if he could get a sweat out of her. This had been clear in the downward curve of his smile when he had greeted her at the Emerald House, not several hours earlier. It was an expression of mistrust, and Calidae knew it well. She had worn many like it in her time.
And now she sat in Clovenhall, trying to ignore the feeling that she was finally home, where she belonged. Instead she summoned up every scrap of hate she held for the master of this house, and let it smoulder in her breast.
She had a job to do.
There came a grappling of the door-handle, and in swept Dizali with an attendant. As he spread his hands over the wide, leather-topped desk, his man stood at the window, staring idly at the topiary and pines beyond the glass. He wore a grey bowler hat and a matching suit, and the ensemble tickled a part of Calidae’s mind in a way she didn’t like. It was only when he turned to flash her an inquisitive look that her fears were confirmed.
One blue eye, one brown eye. Another Brother, then.
Calidae smiled again, studying Dizali’s face. He shuffled some papers on his desk before looking up at her, running his fingers through his goatee.
‘Lady Serped.’
‘The very same.’
‘My apologies for rushing you away from the Emerald House,’ Dizali began, tapping his fingers on the leather. ‘I find that there are too many wandering eyes and curious ears in the city these days. We wouldn’t want your face smeared all over the morning’s papers now, would we?’
Calidae cocked her head to one side. She could never pass up the opportunity to make somebody squirm.
‘Is my face no longer suitable for the papers?’
Dizali didn’t know the meaning of squirming, it seemed. He levelled a flat gaze at her.
‘Maintaining your privacy is what I aimed to imply, Lady Serped.’
‘Of course.’
‘And when tongues begin to wag, they nev
er seem to stop. Better to have our discussion here and in private.’
Calidae flashed a look to the Brother standing by the window, absently tracing smears on the glass. Dizali followed her eyes. ‘Just a manservant of mine. His tongue does not know how to wag.’
She decided to wade straight in. She had the impression that Dizali, for all his vile games, was a man who enjoyed talking in a straight line. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have some fun along the way, to see if she could rattle him. Merion had told her not to, but caution be damned. She was the one sat in that chair, not the Hark.
‘Gile was the same,’ she replied quietly. ‘Mr Suffrous Gile, that is. My father’s manservant was of the same breed.’ The Brother gave her a sideways glance, full of curiosity. Perhaps he hadn’t known that Calidae Serped was part of the club, so to speak; a lamprey like the rest, one whom Dizali was no stranger to. She had attended many of his parties and ceremonies before Castor had been sent west by the Order itself. There were no secrets here. ‘Like your Mr Gavisham, if I’m not mistaken.’
Dizali may have blinked, she wasn’t sure. He had noticed the past tense in her words.
‘You are not. And what of Mr Gavisham?’ he asked, leaning forward to temple his fingers. ‘Why is he not here with you?’
Calidae touched her face, as if recalling the memory was too painful. ‘He found me several days walk outside of Fell Falls; what was left of it. Of course, seeing as he was a stranger I lied about who I was. Still, he was kind and offered me escort. We travelled together for several weeks, heading east until meeting up with the circus in Washingtown. He never once mentioned his employer as we walked. I simply recognised the eyes, and from what my father and Gile had told me of the Brothers. When he mentioned his task, I suspected that you may be behind his orders, my Lord.’ Calidae paused for a moment to clench a fist and deepen her scowl.
‘Go on,’ Dizali urged, eyes wide.
‘He died on the night of the Bloodmoon. The Hark traitor killed him with a stool when his back was turned.’ Calidae caught the flinch of the Brother’s shoulders in the corner of her vision. Dizali was slowly turning a shade of beetroot. It was hard to resist smirking.
‘With a stool?’ Dizali was clearly furious.
She nodded solemnly, dropping a quiver into her voice. ‘He was caught completely off-guard. We were escaping the madness of the attempt on Lincoln’s life. Gavisham was trying to get me away from the fighting when Tonmerion walked out of the shadows and broke a wooden stool over his head. He kept swinging and swinging until he held nothing but splinters, and still he kept going.’ Calidae thought of the blood that had decorated her hands that night, and the sight of the mess she had made of the man. She let her eyes fall vacantly on the desk.
‘And what has become of the Hark boy?’ Dizali’s tone was sharp. His fears had been confirmed.
‘Escaped, I believe. Hopefully he was killed in the madness. Bullets were flying in all directions.’ It was Calidae’s turn to lean forward. ‘Not to mention magick. They were all rushers, my Lord, every one.’
‘Cirque Kadabra?’
‘All of them. Disgusting!’
Dizali pondered. He was still suspicious. ‘Tell me, Lady Serped, how is it that you were able to cross the Iron Ocean and escape such carnage?’
‘I hid beneath a wagon until Lincoln’s soldiers had quelled the attack. Then I slipped out of sight, and went straight to the docks. I used what coin Gavisham had in his pockets to barter passage home. My father taught me to be resourceful, my Lord.’
‘Indeed he did,’ Dizali thumbed his goatee once more, thinking hard. ‘Why is it that you came to the Emerald House and asked for me?’
Calidae saw the glint in his eye, so she spoke plainly. ‘Because of Gavisham’s orders. He told me, at his end. As you seem intent on protecting me, I assumed you would have use for me. So I went straight to the Emerald House without delay, to find out what and why.’
Dizali hummed, deep and low, before spreading his fingers across the desk. ‘Eager to be of service, are we?’ he murmured.
Calidae chose her words carefully, but didn’t shy from being bold. This was no time for subtlety.
‘I am eager to make my father’s memory proud, sir. To serve the rightful authorities as he did.’
Dizali eyed her. ‘The Order.’
‘Precisely, my Lord.’
A pause. ‘Then on that note, Lady Serped, I would like to offer my assistance.’
‘And what assistance is that, Lord Dizali?’
‘Any that you need. Lawyers. Words in the right ears. Protection, even.’
‘Am I to assume I’m in need of such things?’
‘There is the matter of your inheritance to consider.’
There it was. Earlier than expected. Calidae wasn’t the only one being bold. ‘Quite. My father schooled me in its nature since I could walk, my Lord. I am ready to take the reigns. In fact, he held no secrets. I am aware of the Order, my Lord, and I wish to assure you that the Serped family will be remaining loyal to it.’
Dizali stared at her. ‘I appreciate the sentiment, but these are trying times for all, Lady Serped. The queen has betrayed her people. The Emerald House is in a state of flux. And of course, there is a war on.’
Calidae nodded. ‘So I have heard.’
‘Of course, when an estate as grand and as large as your father’s becomes, let us say, vacant, all sorts of worms wriggle from the woodwork. Rather hungry worms.’ Dizali was shameless in his tack.
Calidae looked shocked. ‘Are you suggesting my estate has been plundered?’
Dizali waved a hand. ‘Not yet, Lady Serped. Not yet. But chaos breeds opportunity, as they say.’
Calidae took a moment to mull over his words, wrinkling her brow, fingers tapping. In truth, she was holding back her tongue. She was finding this harder than she had expected. It had been rather easy, plotting from the safety of Lincoln’s ship. Now that she was here, acting it out, all she wanted to do was find another chair and make another mess. But she had promised.
‘In that case, Lord Dizali, I may have to call on your assistance. Should I find any worms in my path.’
‘Once again, you have my condolences for your father and mother. And for Suffrous Gile too, on Hanister’s behalf.’ Brother Hanister nodded, his expression a little on the stony side.
‘He died trying to take down that monster of a boy,’ Calidae hissed. As far as I am concerned, he died doing his duty.’ It was time to offer another tidbit to reel in the Lord Protector. ‘I was as surprised as you were, no doubt, and more so for seeing it with my own eyes. I am not sure if you’re aware, my Lord Protector, but the Bulldog’s son is not just a rusher, but a leech. And a foul one at that.’
Dizali took his time in answering. This was clearly a sore subject. ‘Yes. I am aware. I learnt of it only recently. A trait passed down by his father, it would seem.’
‘No doubt.’ Calidae flicked a tendril of hair out of her eye as she shifted the subject. That was enough manoeuvring for the time being. Now she wanted information.
‘I must admit, my Lord, I am rather intrigued to know more of Victorious’ crimes.’
Dizali’s expression shifted from scowl to smirk. This subject was more to his liking.
‘A fortunate discovery, right when we needed it most.’ He paused to sit up straighter, unabashedly proud. This subject was clearly more to his liking. ‘And as your father has schooled you, I shall bring you into the fold. The House has been fractured since Karrigan’s murder. The Order saw it as an opportunity. Upon procuring the rights to the Hark estate, we threw her Presence from the House and deposed her in one fell swoop. A master stroke, Lady Serped. Most of the Emerald House is now under our sway, thanks to our good Queen’s warmongering.’
Calidae nodded The old creature had always thirsted for a splash of gunshot and battle. It was why the Empire of Britannia covered two-thirds of the known world.
‘A bold move. The Order is taking grea
t steps.’
Dizali’s eyebrow rose an inch. Music to his ears, apparently. He tapped his desk. On cue, the Brother opened a cabinet and produced two crystal glasses and a decanter of dark crimson liquid. Calidae felt her mouth begin to salivate. She was a lamprey after all; a slave to her cravings. She had been secretly waiting for a moment such as this. Blood was the only master she could bear to tolerate.
Dizali poured. He slid a glass towards her, and raised his own as he spoke.
‘And you may just take them with us, Lady Serped. It would not be the first time an heir has filled a family seat at the Order’s table. Since your father once sat at my side, we have an empty space. I will need to put it to a vote, you understand…’ Dizali’s voice trailed off as he raised a glass.
Calidae’s words stuck in her throat. She hadn’t expected to graduate to this level so soon, nor so easily. It was almost worthy of suspicion.
‘You honour me, my Lord,’ she said, after taking a quick sip to remind her voice how to work. The brandy almost made her sag in her chair. Her gums shivered in the wake of the magick as it surged down her throat, leaving that same old bittersweet kick. Oh, how she had missed this.
‘I trust that I can be of use to you,’ Calidae said.
‘You will be useful indeed, my Lady. You have seen the Endless Land for what it is. You have clashed with the Hark boy. And after all, you are the only survivor of the Serped family, a proud and old line whose members have been part of the Order since Victorious first left it to us. It would be wrong to not give you the chance, do you not think?’
Dizali was rubbing this part in; the loneliness, the finality, the sorrow. Calidae wanted to snort. She had cut these things out of her on the desert road, and left them to roast in the dust. She smiled.
‘Then I would be most happy to fill my father’s shoes.’
