by Tom Lloyd
Drejen gave a deferential bow of assent and they moved on to the next office to inspect the scene. Before they even reached it, Narin felt a flicker of dread. The floor had fresh splinters scattered all around and the wooden door itself was a mess of deep scratches, such as might be made by a huge hound battling to get in. Once inside the office, however, things were a different matter.
‘Did they not get through the door?’ Narin wondered as he walked carefully around the desk. He glanced back at the door and saw that the clasp had indeed been broken open, but if it was hounds of any sort they hadn’t caused the same chaos as in the tavern.
Rhe didn’t comment as he peered down at the corpse wedged between a cabinet and the fireplace. Narin joined him and spent a long moment staring at the terror-stricken face of Administrator Serril. He felt a strange quiver as he did so, though he barely knew the man. It remained a strange, unearthly sight to see the corpse of someone he knew – someone he’d seen in life going about their business.
The paunchy, balding administrator had hardly been his favourite person, but it seemed a sick joke to see him caught up in the violence of a side of life he had no place near. While this had not been the brutal destruction of life in the tavern, there was no question of this being a natural death. Five small wounds were obvious over Serril’s heart, formed not quite into a circle, while the skin around his eyes appeared to be scorched, red and blistered.
‘Lady Pilgrim, walk with him,’ Rhe muttered quietly, ‘Lord Monk speak for him.’
Narin grunted in response, the prayers for the dead not so automatic to one of his caste. Before the age of ten, Rhe would have had the prayers memorised along with dozens of other forms and traditions, but the obligations of the low born were more mundane. Instead, he reached out his hand and held it over the wounds on Serril’s chest. Whether or not it meant anything, the uneven circle certainly corresponded to his four fingers and thumb, as though Serril had been killed by stiletto-like claws.
‘No hound kills that way,’ Rhe pointed out softly. ‘Is this something else?’
Narin shrugged. ‘The eyes remind me of something. Remember the fox-demons? I’m sure someone mentioned them stealing souls through a victim’s eyes. What if that means memories too?’
‘I must trust your knowledge there,’ Rhe said in a curt voice, clearly aware he wouldn’t get much of an explanation from Narin if he pressed him. ‘You think this is still hellhounds?’
‘Unless someone brought a wolf to the door,’ Narin said, nodding towards the damaged door. ‘Obviously there’s a piece or two we’re missing still, but my thinking is a hellhound might not use scent like a real dog. What if they use memories or thoughts instead? They use that to follow a trail, led to the next victim by images they stole from the mind of the last? Something happened to his eyes and it wasn’t needed to kill him. What if the stories of their prey going blind at the sight of them is simply an explanation for that?’
‘A hunting hound follows the trail, its master tells it what scent to follow. There is still someone guiding this hunt – directing the hounds.’ Rhe’s tone became more pointed. ‘And we know whose scent they follow, don’t we?’
Narin glanced up guiltily. ‘I know nothing, but you’re right; this is a coincidence too far.’
‘Were you planning on telling me?’
‘I didn’t know what there was to tell you!’ Narin took a breath, determined not to foolishly snap at his superior just because his temper was frayed that week. ‘A friend of mine occasionally drank at the tavern we saw yesterday, that’s all I knew. That he’s a shaman doesn’t make him unique in this city – there are all sorts here, you know that.’
‘But you suspected.’
Narin sighed and nodded. ‘I asked him about hounds. He didn’t have much to tell me, but he did say that you used hellhounds to track someone like him. What the barman knew about him I can’t say, but most likely his profession at least. It’d only be sensible to assume it was enough to lead them here.’
‘And where will the scent take them after this? Those who know your friend know that he does not have many. Are you the next link in this chain?’
Sorpan struck a match and leaned into the overhang of the arch he was sheltering under. He took his time about lighting his cigar as he watched the two Wyverns walk slowly past the civil tattoo office for the second time. They were both tall even for Wyverns, braids threaded with red and blue hanging down to the pistol butts peeking out of their heavy black coats.
‘Not the most surreptitious, are you, boys?’ Sorpan mused. ‘So what’s your interest here?’
The Wyverns were heading his way, doing their best not to directly stare at the Investigator standing guard on the gate as they passed. Either they wanted to be noticed or were blithely ignorant of how to follow someone, but either way the Investigator had one hand on her stave as she returned the look, for all the good it would do her against armed warrior castes.
Sorpan turned to rest his back against the archway and puffed appreciatively at the cigar. Some assignments took a man to the distant corners of the Empire, and as exotic as such places sounded, they often weren’t known for their luxuries. There was little that wasn’t available in the Imperial City, however, and whether or not the cigar was just a plausible excuse to stop and stand, he intended to enjoy it.
The Wyverns came closer, muttering in low, angry voices to each other. Sorpan had been waiting at the Palace of Law for Lawbringer Rhe to emerge and discovered he wasn’t the only one interested. Most likely the Lawbringer’s colleague was the one he was looking for, but these Wyverns were a mystery Sorpan intended to solve before he let this hunt progress any further.
‘The last thing we need’s you two attracting attention,’ he muttered as they came closer. One of the Wyverns glanced up, hearing him speak, and scowled. Sorpan gave him a cheery smile – one far from the deference a warrior would expect – and tossed his cigar in the snow before ducking back around the corner.
The voices conferred again, their anger increased as Sorpan had expected. Their blood was up, that much he could see, and the warriors of any House were easy to predict at the best of times. The archway had led to a short alley with two exits. One opened on to steps leading up so he took that, his sharp ears detecting the crunch of snow underfoot as the Wyverns strode after him to take offence at the perceived disrespect.
Sorpan padded up the steps and ducked around a wooden dovecote. The Wyverns entered the alley not far behind and while they tried to decide which exit he had taken, Sorpan dropped noiselessly down behind them. He stubbed his middle fingers against the base of each one’s skull with a practised motion. The blow would have just mildly irritated the pair under normal circumstances, but Sorpan felt the needles drive home and the Wyverns staggered forward instead. They each managed a single step before dropping to their knees, grunting as one then the other fell face down.
‘Excellent,’ Sorpan commented to the world at large as he reached into his jacket and extracted a slim leather case. ‘Now let’s have you as docile as little lambs. My friends and I have some questions for you.’
He glanced back towards the archway, through which he could just see the corner of the tattoo office building.
‘Lawbringer Rhe, you and your friend may need to wait a while, but don’t worry. We’ll get to you soon enough. That I promise.’
CHAPTER 15
It didn’t take Sorpan long to work his arts on the two Wyvern warriors. When he revived them it was in a rather more muted state, one simple instruction occluding their thoughts. Once he released them the pair set off without a word, intent only on heading to the upper level of the Tier Bridge.
Sorpan hung back for a while after they’d left, preferring to tail them as though they were not slaves to his orders. With House Dragon being the dominant force in the Empire, there were always high-caste Wyverns in the Imperial District. The risk they might encounter and ignore someone they knew was too great to travel with the
pair, but he couldn’t ignore their involvement any more than he could interrogate them out in the open.
Snow lay thick on the ground so the numbers out on the streets remained thinned. There were no litters or carts for the oblivious warriors to impede and they walked without problem all the way to the bridge. Their faces and clothes made them unmistakable Wyverns, their weapons and collars declared their caste, so folk naturally parted for them. It was only when a second pair of Wyverns hailed them at the bridge that their deficiencies became apparent.
Sorpan winced as the two newcomers, a man and a woman, repeated their hails and his new pets stuttered to a halt. There was nothing he could do in public, but his crude workings had suppressed their thoughts and for a few long moments his Wyverns just stared blankly at, so Sorpan supposed, their friends. Unable to comprehend the greeting, they eventually just continued on their way – brushing past the others without a word and pushing on up the long, shallow slope to the upper tier.
Sorpan could only curse under his breath and hurry after them as the bewildered newcomers stared after them before following. Again they called out, but only once and Sorpan was almost spotted in his haste as the Wyverns nervously checked for curious onlookers.
They’re all engaged on the same mission, he realised as the pair started in their comrades’ wake up the slope.
A small smile, quickly smothered, crept on to Sorpan’s lips. They don’t want to draw too much attention so they’re just following along. It seems I’ve hooked a few more fish – let’s hope they prove useful after all.
The pairs of warriors made slow, wavering progress up the icy slope. Rather than follow them quite so obviously, Sorpan wove his way across the broad lower road and trotted up the right-hand slope instead. The spray of twisting white pillars that descended around each afforded him a measure of cover and he was sufficiently sure of foot to reach the top ahead of the Wyverns.
The slaved pair drifted to a halt once the road levelled out underfoot again. There were few people on the upper tier, it being a longer, harder route across even without inclement weather, so they merely stood in the centre of the street and stared forward at the assortment of houses lining it. The second pair were naturally cautious, but their attention was fixed on what was ahead, so Sorpan was able to make his way to a door on the city side before anyone else moved.
As he opened the door and slipped inside, the slaved pair recognised him and lurched to follow just as their comrades caught up. It was a small, two-storey building in the lee of a larger one – little space to move in, but Sorpan had no time for anything elaborate.
The slaved pair entered and followed Sorpan’s pointing finger to the back room, affording him enough space to slip behind the door, pull a short baton from inside his coat and watch the other two into the room. Again their attention was taken up by their comrades, but each had their hands on their pistols, ready to draw. In one movement Sorpan barged the door closed behind them and aimed his baton at the nearer of the Wyverns. They turned together and Sorpan squeezed the handle of his baton before either could react. A strip of air shuddered and wrenched between them, catching the nearer Wyvern full in the face. Her eyes rolled up and she simply folded up without a sound, collapsing to the ground.
Her comrade fared little better as Sorpan swiped down at the man’s hand before he could slip a finger on to the trigger of his gun. Another flick of the wrist brought the baton up into his face just hard enough to rock him backwards before Sorpan could fire it again at point blank range. The man dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut, leaving Sorpan standing over their bodies – the two slaved Wyverns watching him with unblinking eyes.
‘Right then,’ Sorpan began, more to himself than anyone else, but before he could say anything more there came a splutter of anger from the staircase in the far corner of the room.
‘What in Navigator’s name is going on here?’
‘Ah, Kebrai, good – help me, will you?’
‘What have you done?’ the big Leviathan asked, aghast. ‘You bring warrior castes here then attack them? What madness is this?’
‘Just a little improvisation, no need for hysterics.’
Kebrai swallowed hard and continued in a more level tone. ‘Sorpan, there are armed soldiers in the house. Do you have any idea how Priest will react to that?’
‘I imagine Priest will be less of a timid little child about such things,’ Sorpan snapped. ‘Now if you’ve finished, take their guns and any other weapons.’
Grumbling, Kebrai did as he was told. He received no resistance at all from the conscious warriors, which seemed to embolden him, and before long had pistol-sheaths and sword-belts over both shoulders.
‘Where’s Sharish?’ Sorpan asked as he retrieved some cord and bound the hands of the unconscious pair. ‘Still out?’
‘No, she’s upstairs getting ready.’
‘Excellent.’ He waved a hand at the two slaved Wyverns. ‘Take these two to her, she can use them instead of your mercenaries. These ones too, once I’ve interrogated them.’
‘Them? High castes? Why? What’s going on?’
Sorpan took a long breath and suppressed the urge to turn his baton on the Leviathan. He was beginning to see why Priest would soon be arriving in the city. Kebrai might be a useful servant, but he was no leader and far from adaptable.
‘I will tell you later. First I need to find that out myself exactly. I found Lawbringer Rhe, his friend too, but those two were following Rhe. Before we go ahead with any snatch of a dangerous subject, we need to know what they’re doing and why. This second pair we just picked up at the bridge – they were stationed to watch passers-by so I doubt we’re just limited to four. They’re not experienced in surveillance, though – most likely this is politics or some sort of blood feud, but anyone with guns getting involved poses us problems.’
Kebrai stared at him blankly for a moment, then a hiss from Sorpan jerked him into movement. ‘Sharish, right. Ah, you two, follow me.’
It took Kebrai a while and a flurry of pantomimed gestures, but eventually he urged the warriors to follow him up the stairs and through the false panel that led to the house next door. Sorpan left him to it and hauled the incapacitated warriors to the small, unused kitchen at the back, dumping them in chairs. The man and woman were still out cold, minds temporarily overwhelmed by the baton weapon, but it wasn’t a long-lasting effect. Sorpan gagged the man, knowing he’d likely be out longest, and pulled up a chair of his own to wait.
He withdrew another cigar and lit it, then placed his baton on a side table along with a pair of knives. To add to the effect he dug a rusting cleaver from a drawer along with a meat tenderiser and a handful of nails.
‘I’ll leave your imaginations to do the rest,’ he advised the slumped Wyverns, ‘but let’s hope you’re easily persuaded. I’d prefer there was something left for Sharish to work with.’
The stage set, Sorpan got comfortable and started his brief vigil.
At the Civil Tattoo Office, Narin and Rhe were finishing off when the clatter of feet heralded a new arrival. Before long a breathless novice of the Lawbringers appeared in the room. The girl goggled at the corpse now laid out flat on his desk while she recovered herself, but wasted little time in relaying her message to them in short, abrupt gasps. She had dark hair cut above the shoulder that would have given her a boyish air, but for her defined, delicate features.
‘Message from Lawbringer Cailer, sir. Two murders for you. Merchant in Eagle district, Veneis Street. Pair of servants in Fett, Hymber Lane.’
‘Were any details given?’ Narin asked with a sinking feeling, knowing the answer already.
‘Brutal.’
Rhe grunted. ‘Time we split up. Narin, you take Fett. After that, you have an expert to consult.’
‘What about the district posts? We were going to check on progress there later today, no? Should we divide them up?’
Rhe shook his head and turned to the novice instead. ‘What�
�s your name, girl?’
‘Tesk, sir. Avrin Tesk.’
‘I have a job for you, Tesk. Return to the Palace of Law and find some young Investigators able to spare the day for me, make sure they can all write. I want one at each of the district posts of Wolf, Redearth, Iron and Salamander. They may have a wait on their hands, but I want a report as soon as possible – Lawbringers at each are collecting information for me, they are to receive and record that information before bringing it to me or Narin at the Palace of Law. Do you understand?’
‘Yes sir,’ Tesk said after a pause.
Rhe’s cold grey eyes narrowed. ‘Novice Tesk, we are hunting a savage murderer. Better I repeat my instructions than an error is made.’
The young woman wilted. Less than fourteen years old, Narin judged, she was a slip of a thing and more than a foot shorter than the famous aristocrat. But even as Narin’s heart went out to her, Tesk straightened and looked Rhe directly in the eye.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said rather more clearly than before. ‘Wolf, Redearth, Iron and Salamander – Investigators to wait at each district post for your reports, record them and return to one of you with all haste.’
Rhe nodded approvingly. ‘Good, be off with you then.’
The novice turned and ran back the way she’d come.
‘Cailer’s eye for talent remains as strong as ever,’ Rhe commented as they took one last look around the murder scene. ‘Remember that one’s name.’
With nothing else required of them, they left the body in the charge of Second Custodian Drejen, who was compiling painstaking lists in the next room. A message had been sent to the temple of the God-Empress, whose devotees performed most death rites, so their priority was now the new murders.
Under a crisp white sky they crossed the Crescent together, Fett and Eagle District being neighbours, with Rhe staring up at the high palazzos of Eagle without speaking the whole journey. Once the boatman had left them, however, Rhe caught Narin’s arm before he could head off in search of Hymber Lane.
