Bloodsworn

by Nathan Long

  ‘This is perfect,’ she said. ‘I wager I could walk in daylight here.’

  Famke grimaced. ‘Not I. I burn even in the last purple of twilight. The curse is harder on me than most, so Lady Hermione says.’ She shrugged. ‘No matter. I know a hundred places here to wait out the day.’

  After a few more twists and turns, Famke led Ulrika down crumbling stone steps into a street slightly wider than the others. It might once have been a major thoroughfare, but over the years, the upper floors of the towering slums on either side had been built out and added onto and braced against each other to such an extent that now it seemed a subterranean cavern, with only a zigzag crevasse between the overhanging upper stories to let in a shaft of moonlight.

  Ulrika worried briefly that even that might be enough to reveal them to the bat-winged watcher, but at street level, the cover was complete, for a ragged junk market filled the space from wall to wall, and each stall extended filthy awnings that overlapped each other like the patches of a quilt.

  A sob escaped Famke as she stepped under them and looked around at the chaos of sweltering, torchlit commerce that surrounded them.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ asked Ulrika.

  ‘I’m home,’ she said, swallowing with difficulty. ‘I’m home.’

  Ulrika could see little to be homesick for. The shopkeeps and their stalls and the customers and their clothes all looked like they had been dunked in the sewers and then dried in the sun. Every face was gaunt and sick, and she saw more missing teeth, missing eyes and cropped ears than in a battlefield surgery. The merchandise on sale was filthy and broken – cracked plates, chipped cups, broken furniture, patched clothes, and meat and vegetables that looked like they had been scraped from the cobbles of better markets after a long hot day. She had been in a dozen cities in the Empire and Kislev, and had never seen a slum as sorry as this. But home was home, she supposed. Famke certainly seemed to think so.

  ‘This is where I came to escape my father,’ she said, starting through the labyrinth of stalls. ‘There was a little boy, Ham, and a girl named Retta, and some others. We would run around, nicking things and playing cat and rat with the costers. It was great fun.’ She pointed to a public well that looked like it hadn’t worked in a century. ‘That well was the border. Anything on the other side of it belonged to the Ashes Mews gang. We would fight them all the time.’ She smirked. ‘Well, Ham and the others would fight them. I just threw rocks.’

  A stall caught her eye. ‘Oh! Frau Neff is still here. She always had the best pastries. Day-olds from a fine shop up on the Handelstrasse. We robbed her blind, poor old dear.’

  Famke started forwards like she was going to talk to the old woman, a withered hag with a few mouldy, fly-covered tarts on a board in front of her.

  Ulrika caught her arm. ‘Are you certain it’s wise to get reacquainted?’

  Famke paused. Her face fell. ‘I… No. No, of course not.’

  Ulrika nodded towards a man who was selling wooden stakes and cloves of garlic and tin badges in the shape of the hammer of Sigmar. ‘The panic has spread here as well. We’d best keep to ourselves as much as–’

  She froze as she saw movement on the far end of the street – just a flash of dark hair and the gleam of a rapier’s pommel seen through the forest of tents and awnings, but enough.

  ‘The Lahmians,’ she whispered. ‘They’re here. Pick one of your hidey holes and let’s away.’

  Famke nodded and backed behind a tent, out of sight of Casilla and her swordswomen, then beckoned Ulrika towards an arch between two buildings on the east side. It led to a branching maze of alleys, courts and mews so tangled that Ulrika gave up trying to remember their path after the third turning.

  Finally, they stopped at a tenement that looked like all the others, but for the fact that the front door had been bricked up, and it seemed even closer to utter collapse than its neighbours. Famke looked both ways down the narrow street, then stepped quickly to an even tinier alley that ran along its left side. A dark arch pierced the side of the building, revealing stairs that twisted down to a cellar door.

  ‘What is this place?’ asked Ulrika as they started down.

  ‘Mother Ruin’s black hotel,’ said Famke. ‘A bolt hole for those who need to lie low. If you pay, she asks no questions – and gives no answers. I – I hid from my father here once, until I couldn’t pay.’

  Famke rapped on the door once, then twice, then three times. A brick in the wall next to the door vanished inwards and eyes peered through the hole.

  ‘Whaddaya want?’ said a rough voice.

  ‘A room.’

  The eyes looked Famke up and down, taking in her fine clothes and cloak. ‘Are y’sure y’don’t want the palace, fraulein?’

  Famke sighed and threw back her hood. ‘The clobber’s a con, y’clot. I’m from Rag Court. Now let me in.’

  The eyes blinked as Famke’s refined diction dropped like a veil and the harsh accents of her youth reasserted themselves. The brick was replaced, and a second later, bolts were drawn back and the door swung in. A scarred old bruiser gave Famke and Ulrika a grin and a salute as he waved them in.

  ‘Sorry, chit. Y’look like the real thing. Mother’s in the cage. Speak to her fer lodgings.’

  ‘Ta.’

  Famke led the way down a brick-walled corridor which opened into a large, low-ceilinged room that looked something like the taproom of a tavern, but without any of the cheer. It had tables and benches, and the smell of stale beer and staler food mixed with the smoke from the lamps hanging from its blackened oak beams, but the few men and women who sat at the benches talked in low whispers if they talked at all.

  Eyes at every table followed Famke and Ulrika as they started towards a window set in the far wall. Ulrika didn’t like it. What eyes saw, tongues might tell. She wanted to turn around and leave, but this was Famke’s world. She supposed she must know what she was doing.

  The window looked like a teller’s cage in a dwarf-built bank, with sturdy stone around it and heavy bars protecting it, and a slot at the bottom for passing items through. A bent old hag in a dirty night-robe sat behind it, smoking a pipe. The stink of tobacco and gin came through the bars like a fog.

  ‘Who’s this, then?’ she asked, squinting with rheumy eyes. ‘Why it’s little Famke. Sink me if y’ain’t lovelier than ever, dearie.’

  ‘Hello, Mother,’ said Famke. ‘I’m glad to find you well.’

  ‘Heh. As well as can be at my age, but I haven’t seen you since before yer pa died.’ She grinned, showing toothless gums. ‘Didn’t have anything to do with that, by any chance?’

  Famke laughed nervously, but the crone carried on without waiting for her to answer.

  ‘Not that I’d blame ye if y’did. A right bastard, he was, and good riddance. But now, ye’ll be wantin’ a room, eh? Fer you and yer dashing drake?’

  Ulrika smiled at the flattery and gave a bow.

  ‘Aye, Mother,’ said Famke. ‘A night or two.’ She pulled a thin gold bracelet from her wrist and slipped it through the slot.

  ‘Well now,’ said Mother, picking it up and holding it an inch from her eyes. ‘This might do. Anyone likely t’be comin’ after ye?’

  Famke exchanged a look with Ulrika. ‘No, not likely.’

  Mother Ruin smiled slyly. ‘Not likely, but possible. Well, the rent’s double for trouble.’ She snapped her tobacco-stained fingers. ‘One more bauble, but you’ll have it back if there’s no fuss.’

  Ulrika scowled. A bracelet like that would have paid for a week’s lodging at a Handelbezirk inn. Two such for two nights was outrageous. Famke, however, made no complaint, and passed a delicate wrist chain through the slot.

  Mother nodded, satisfied, then pulled a skeleton key off a board at her side and slid it through. ‘Third floor, second door on the left. Food and drink and privies down here. If ye need
a surgeon, no questions asked, I know the best. It’ll cost ye, but he’ll do the job. If y’want to stay longer, y’pay in advance. Mother takes gold and silver, not promises. Savvy?’

  ‘Aye, Mother,’ said Famke, taking the key. ‘Thank you.’

  She and Ulrika turned and started for a stairwell that opened on the left side of the room. Again eyes lifted to them as they passed, but mostly to Famke. The men stared with undisguised lust, mouths agape. The bolder ones leered and winked and murmured sly come-ons. Ulrika knew Famke was beautiful, of course, but in Lahmian society she was just one of many. Here however, she was like a queen walking through a leper colony, and like such a queen, she began to draw her skirts close about her and shudder with revulsion.

  ‘Steady,’ said Ulrika, putting a hand on her elbow.

  Famke straightened and went on, but whispers followed in their wake and she began to shake again.

  ‘That’s Leibrandt’s daughter,’ said one. ‘Didn’t recognise ’er with ’er clothes on.’

  ‘And without ’er ankles by ’er ears,’ chuckled another.

  ‘Made good money for ’er pa ’fore he died,’ said a third. ‘Wouldn’t mind ’er doin’ the same fer me.’

  Famke spun on the man, eyes blazing. ‘No man will sell me again, d’ye hear! My father died for it, and so will any other pimp who thinks to try!’

  Everyone looked up. The room went silent. Ulrika crushed Famke’s arm and urged her on. ‘Move. Now.’

  A heavyset older man with a sagging face stood. ‘Y’killed yer pa, then, chit?’

  Mother Ruin banged on the bars of her cage with a cane. ‘Never you mind what she did. Yer all villains here, and yer all under Mother’s truce! Any what makes trouble for any other under my roof gets tossed to the gutter, no matter who’s looking for ye. Savvy?’

  The men all settled reluctantly back into their seats at this reminder, and Ulrika hurried Famke into the stairwell. The moment they started up, she groaned and put her hand over her eyes.

  ‘I should have kept walking.’

  ‘Forget it,’ said Ulrika, leading her up the stairs. ‘What’s done is done. We’ll lock ourselves in. All will be well.’

  Famke nodded, distracted. ‘I’m too hungry to think straight. Running to find you. Running from Casilla. I’m dizzy with it.’

  ‘And I,’ said Ulrika. ‘Best, though, to wait until you can go back to Hermione and your maid. Feeding in the city is an uncertain business.’

  Famke raised her chin. ‘I’m not going back.’

  Ulrika stopped and looked at her. ‘What? Famke–’

  ‘No. I’m done with her and her intrigues. Sending Casilla after you was the last straw.’ She fixed Ulrika with shining green eyes. ‘You remember how you asked me to run away with you? I’m ready now. I don’t want anything to do with them any more.’

  Ulrika hesitated, thrilled and uneasy at the same time. She had wanted Famke to come away with her, back when she had wanted to turn her back on Lahmian society entirely, but things were different now, and perhaps even more difficult.

  ‘It’s harder than you think, Famke,’ she said. ‘There are no swains to feed from out here, no coaches and rich houses to shield us from the sun and the cattle. And – and I still hunt the Sylvanians. We might be attacked at any time.’

  Famke waved an angry hand. ‘Forget the Sylvanians! Forget the Lahmians! Leave them to kill each other and let us run away together like we always talked about.’ She held up her wrist. A dozen more delicate gold bracelets circled it. ‘Look! I can pay our way anywhere. We’ll go to Bretonnia, or Tilea! We’ll go to Cathay!’

  Ulrika stared into her eyes, momentarily caught by her dream of freedom. Aye. Why not just run? There were better places than this. Why not leave behind all the convoluted conflicts that tortured their hearts? Why was any of it their responsibility? They hadn’t asked for it. And yet–

  Drunken footsteps thudded on the stairs above them, waking Ulrika from her reverie. She put her hand to her rapier, thinking they might have overheard, but the man staggered past them like a sleepwalker and continued down to the ground floor.

  Ulrika took Famke’s hand. ‘Let’s talk in our room.’

  They climbed to the third floor and unlocked a stifling closet, just big enough for two grimy cots and a chamber pot. Before Ulrika could close the door behind them and turn the key in the lock, Famke started up again, as excited as a child.

  ‘Listen, beloved,’ she said. ‘I have it all planned. We’ll wait out the day here to be sure that Casilla has left, then go to the docks tomorrow night and buy passage on–’

  Ulrika held up her hands to stem the tide. ‘I can’t, Famke. I’m sorry. I can’t leave them.’

  ‘But – but why not? You must hate them worse than I.’

  ‘I…’ Ulrika sighed. ‘I hate them for their stubbornness, yes – for not letting me fight, but Gabriella is my mistress. I vowed to protect her – to bring her the Sylvanian leader’s head. I will not break that vow. I have broken too many of late. I have to prove myself to her. I will prove that I can be loyal without being chained.’

  Famke lowered her head.

  Ulrika squeezed her arm. ‘I will see the world with you some day, Famke. But for now you should go home.’

  Famke knotted her hands together. ‘You make me ashamed, sister. I have also made vows. My mistress may be mad, but she is my mistress. I’d not let the Sylvanians kill her. If only she’d–’ She broke off angrily, then looked up at Ulrika. ‘Let me stay with you. Hunt beside you. I have something to prove too.’

  ‘Are you certain? It will be hard.’ Ulrika nodded towards the basement. ‘You saw what awaits you in the world of men.’

  Famke nodded. ‘That won’t change my mind.’

  Still Ulrika hesitated. That was only a small taste of what living outside the shelter of the sisterhood would thrust in Famke’s face. She had no idea. She would be much safer at home, but at the same time, how could Ulrika force her to go back to a life she herself hated?

  ‘Very well,’ she said at last. ‘Then tomorrow we will find a new place and begin our war.’ She lay down on her cot. ‘Now get some rest.’

  Famke lay back too, but pressed a hand to her breast. ‘I hope I can. The thirst is strong.’

  Ulrika smiled weakly. It was strong in her too. ‘Consider it your first lesson in living away from home.’

  A low moan stirred Ulrika from a dream of chasing a loping shadow over endless rooftops. She couldn’t tell at first if the moan had been in her dream, or if it was one of pleasure or of pain, then it came again. It was in the room. Was Famke having a nightmare? It sounded too low to be her, too masculine.

  Ulrika’s eyes opened, the fog of unconsciousness rapidly dissipating in a wave of panic. A man in the room? Was someone attacking Famke? She turned her head and reached for her rapier, then froze.

  There was indeed a man in the room – one of those who had winked at them as they had passed through Mother Ruin’s common room. He was sprawled on Famke’s cot, a look of feeble bliss on his pale, sweating face, as Famke hunched over him, sucking greedily at his neck.

  chapter nine

  INNOCENT BLOOD

  ‘Famke!’ cried Ulrika, bolting up. ‘What are you doing?’

  Famke raised her head, her eyes dreamy. Blood ran down her chin to her neck. She smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Ulrika. I wasn’t going to keep him all to myself. I would have woken–’

  ‘I don’t care about that!’ snarled Ulrika. ‘What are you doing feeding at all? Do you want to get us killed?’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right.’ Famke waved a tipsy hand behind her. ‘There’s a window. We can throw him out. No one will know it was us.’

  Ulrika clenched her fists to keep from punching the idiot girl in the mouth. ‘No? And how did he get here? Did you go down to the common room and lure him up? D
id you go to his room? Did anyone see you?’

  Famke laughed. ‘Of course not. I’m not a fool. He came here. Knocked on the door with coins in his hand.’ She smiled, showing bloody fangs. ‘How could I refuse him?’

  ‘Famke…’ So many different admonitions were whirling in Ulrika’s head that she didn’t know which to speak. ‘Famke, you… you must take more care. How do you know he hasn’t told anyone he was going to see you? How do you know someone won’t come looking for him? When he winds up dead below our window, don’t you think people might begin to wonder?’

  ‘But, I…’ Famke trailed off, her brow lowering. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. I was so thirsty, I didn’t–’

  Ulrika closed her eyes. ‘This is what I meant when I said it would be difficult living away from your sisters. You are used to feeding when you wish, upon whomever you wish. Out here, you must think first. Can you drink without discovery? Is there a quick escape? Will the victim be missed? Do you need to disguise your bite marks?’

  The blooded man raised a hand to Famke and cupped her breast through her robe. ‘’S a dream,’ he mumbled. ‘A beautiful dream.’

  Famke slapped his hand with a cry of disgust, then shrank away from him. ‘Oh, Ulrika. I am a fool. I didn’t think. What are we going to do?’

  ‘That is a very good question.’ Ulrika thought for a moment, then sighed and stood. ‘We are going to do just what you said. We are going to throw him out the window, then pretend nothing happened. We will stay here until tomorrow night, pay our respects to Mother Ruin on the way out, and go find permanent lodgings. If anyone asks about–’

  She broke off as she saw that the man had spilled blood on Famke’s bed – a lot of blood. Famke followed her eyes, then hissed with fright.

  ‘Oh no!’

  ‘Forget it,’ said Ulrika. ‘We’ll turn the mattress. I’ll wager it’ll be years before anyone turns it again. But first, have you had your fill?’

  Famke looked at the man, who was mewling and cradling his slapped wrist, then nodded, looking nauseous. ‘More than enough. Gods.’