by K. T. Davies
“Listen, you.” She jabbed a finger at me. “Master Phyll is giving Cobb the chance to fetch it because he’s a kindly soul trying to help a fellow out.”
“Bollocks.”
She spat, squared up. “You calling me a liar, tert?”
Cobb got between us. “Breed don’t mean nothing by it, Miss Pla. Do you, Breed?” He shot me a pleading look.
I rolled my eyes. “No, nothing. Are you coming, Cobb?” I took a step, waited. Beset by indecision he shuffled.
“All you have to do is follow the directions.” Pla pulled out a small notebook and a key on a chain. “You don’t even need to break in.” She waved the key that was decorated with a grinning skull.
“Breed?” asked Cobb.
“What?” I knew where this was going, but I thought I’d make him work for it.
As I expected, the hat came off, and he rolled the brim like he was trying to strangle the damn thing. “I don’t like to ask…”
Yes, you do. “D’you want me to hold your coat while you and Fathands go and get the tome?”
Pla laughed. “It’s more a book than a tome. Tome makes it sound more than it is.”
It was my turn to give her the knife eye.
Cobb coughed, shuffled awkwardly. “I’d go, but my rheumatics play me up something awful these days.”
“What about him?” I chinned at Varcan while picking out the best route up the wall.
“Ah, well. Aye.” Cobb squirmed. “Look at him. He ain’t one for sneaking about now, is he?”
I sighed, more annoyed at myself for going along with what I knew was a bad idea. “I’ll do it on the condition that I’m the one who gets the introduction to the court.”
The old goat looked almost more disappointed than relieved. Almost. “Very well,” he answered too quickly. “You can be my proxy at the court.”
I sketched a bow before snatching the notebook and key from Pla and tucking them into my jerkin. “You’re too kind, Captain.”
“Aye, well, that’s as maybe. Now, if I were you, I’d—”
I took a run at the wall, dug my toes into a crack, pushed off, grabbed the edge of a block, and pulled. One… two… three. I was on top of the wall. “Who needs magic?” I felt decidedly smug as even Pla looked impressed.
Although the orderly layout of the city of the dead was still discernible, nature was working away at the sacred geometry. Trees forced their way through tombs and leathery vines strangled stone-eyed maidens. The broad avenues were all about a foot under water, but they took on a rare, fleeting beauty when the dying suns’ light turned the flood to molten gold. I turned to Cobb. “Don’t fuck off and leave me here, because if I’ve got to walk back to the city through that pestilential slough, I will not be happy.”
He nodded. “You have my word. I ain’t going nowhere until you return. Only…”
“What?”
“Try not to tarry much beyond suns’ set, eh?”
I grinned, enjoying the vitality of youth. “Don’t worry, Cobb. I’m probably the scariest cove in here, dead or alive.” I picked a spot below and flipped off the wall.
As it turned out, I misjudged my landing place and ended up thigh deep in stinking bog broth.
“You all right in there?” Cobb called.
“Of course,” I called as I climbed out of the mire.
The notebook contained details pertaining to a neatly drawn map folded inside the book. It was old; the parchment dry and cracked, but still discernible. It smelled of Pla, fresh ink, and blood. As with all treasure maps, a cross marked the location of ‘the book’. I followed the directions through the shredded light past spires, towers, and mausoleums. A family of tuskers snuffled around in nearby shrubs and watched my progress through the ankle-deep water without displaying the slightest concern. A thicket of spindly spring vetch warmed the air with its earthy perfume. I plucked a stem to mark a note, trapping the scent between the leaves. Of all the places I’d seen since arriving in this Valen, the necropolis was far from the worst. It was most certainly the quietest.
The map was accurate, and the directions clear. As the place was laid out like the spindles of a wheel radiating from a central funerary chapel, finding the right avenue and intersection was straightforward. Out of idle curiosity, I examined the book for any mention of the considerate author, but they remained a shadow, unnamed and unknown save for their elegant hand and precise directions. If there’s one thing I can admire, it’s a meticulous thief.
The tomb, for such it was, wasn’t the grandest in the necropolis, nor was it at all foreboding. There were the usual holy symbols and protections carved into the pediment, but I’d expected more of a benighted mortuary— an evil crypt dressed in grinning skulls. The only danger I could see was a briar rose that had run wild and wreathed the small portico with newly greened foliage and wicked thorns. Directly above the door the legend ‘Anculis’ was carved into the stone. The door was aged copper. Upon its now pitted surface was the relief image of a young human woman’s face, her eyes closed as though she was sleeping, because humans love a good metaphor. I took the key from my tunic and drew my blade. I had both of the barkers with me, but blessed star steel was more reliable when it came to slotting things of a supernatural nature.
I hacked a path to the door through the twining briar. The plant defended itself and didn’t give up its dominion without drawing blood. It was a fair exchange, given my savage pruning had set back its desire to enshroud the whole building. After careful examination, I slipped the key in the lock and turned. Tumblers ground, but with a little gentle persuasion, fell into place and unlocked. The door was stiff but opened with a shove. I peered into the darkness and waited for my light-blighted vision to adjust to the gloom. A sarcophagus stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by desiccated wreathes. Shrouded in dust the book lay on the lid, which according to the name carved upon it, was the last resting place of Lydia Anculis.
Again, it wasn’t what I expected. I’d imagined that after having fought my way through a cohort of undead guardians, I would find a hefty tome perhaps chained to a lectern and bound in demon hide or something equally tasteful. This was a slender volume, bound in faded, red leather with gold embossing. I crept within, alert and on the lookout for loose tiles, swinging ax traps, or poison darts. I eyed the book before picking it up whereupon I jumped back, sword at the ready. Nothing happened, nothing at all.
“Well, that’s a first.” I left the tomb and being a responsible cove, locked it behind me.
The way back to the gate was marked by lengthening shadows that stretched beneath a crimson sky and flocks of bats, beetles, and birds swooping and diving in chaotic, bug-hungry murmurations.
I briefly considered sneaking up on Cobb and the others as they sat on the bridge, drinking whatever was in Cobb’s flask. But that’s how accidents happen, and if the old cove dropped dead, I’d have to answer to his meaner half. Not to mention, everything had gone so well, it would be a shame to spoil it. I climbed back over the wall in plain sight and waved to get their attention before climbing down.
“Well then, let’s have a look, eh?” Cobb rubbed his hands together, his face lit with glee until I handed him the book.
His smile vanished. “Is this it?” He eyed me suspiciously.
“Aye.”
“Love poems?” He flicked through the pages. “You sure?”
I folded my arms. “Aside from the one made of pure diamond that I’ve stuffed up my arse, aye.”
It took him a moment to curse under his breath. “There’s fresh blood on it.” He stabbed the page that I’d accidentally smeared with a thumb’s worth of my personal ink.
“There were briars.”
“What?”
“You know—briars with thorns. Here, take these too.” I handed him the notebook and the key.”
Hammerhand loomed over his captain’s shoulder and squinted at the book before Pla joined them. She took the books and carefully wrapped them and the key in
a piece of oilcloth before putting the parcel in her satchel. “Did you see anything…out of the ordinary while you were in there?”
“Let’s see, there were the blood drinkers, infernals, and spectral hounds, but otherwise nothing out of the ordinary, no.”
“Varcan’s right,” said Cobb. “You were born to die young.”
I inclined my head. “But unlike him, not a virgin. Shall we go?”
“You’re obsessed with my virginity,” Hammerhand grumbled as we set off across the bridge. “And there’s nothing wrong with being a virgin— even though I’m not.”
“Methinks he protests too much…”
“Methinks I’m going to beat that devil’s tongue out of you one day…”
“But not today, Fathands, not today.”
16
“Nothing at all?” asked Hammerhand.
“No. It was quite pleasant. It was quiet, clean, had excellent views. Other than being a foot under water, it’d be a nice place to hole up, and let me tell you, I’ve holed up in some very nice tombs.”
He shook his head slowly, clearly irked that I hadn’t been eaten by ravenous ghouls or some such. “You ain’t right.”
I snorted. “Say’s the man trying to drink chai from a thimble.”
Anger flitted across his shaved bear face. His fingers twitched around the tiny porcelain bowl that I could see he was dying to crush.
Cobb’s booming voice rattled the door before the captain peered around it. “Master Paradoxa would like a quick word with you, Breed.” He didn’t look concerned, didn’t tip me a wink or any sign that anything was amiss, so I entered, casually cautious, confident that I was quick enough to be able to defend myself if I had to.
I was wrong.
Phyllocanus Paradoxa was horribly fast. Before I knew what hit me, I was flat on my back, and he was on top of me, a clawed forearm across my throat. “Listen very carefully, Breed.” As he hadn’t killed me, I thought it only polite to do as he asked. I was aware of Cobb hovering in the doorway with Hammerhand behind him. “They tell me you’re some kind of sorcerer. If that is so and not just the usual, bullshit gossip, you will know that I have the power to divine the truth. What else was in the tomb? Answer honestly, or I will know, and I will kill you.”
Up close, I could see a skull-faced walnut bead hanging from a chain around his neck. Magic emanated from the charm and filled the breath between us with the taste of sweet iron and petrichor.
“Nothing, just the book.” His forearm pressed a little harder, the barbs pricked my skin. “If that shrunken knacker around your neck is real, you know I’m telling the truth.”
“Last chance, Breed.”
“It’s the truth.”
I didn’t know him, and based on our brief time together, couldn’t predict what he was going to do. I was fairly convinced that even if I had control of my powers, I couldn’t kill him before he killed me. But I’d still give it a damn good go. Heat began to burn in my veins but before it reached the point of no return the pressure on my throat eased.
“Damn,” he said and leaped back. The wicked, clawed-arms folded. “I really wanted there to be something more than this.” He picked up the oilskin wrapped bundle and tapped it thoughtfully.
I stood up, ignored the trickle of blood running down my neck. “You could have just asked me.”
Paradoxa shrugged. “The charm needs a drop of blood to work, and I wasn’t sure you’d consent.”
“Again, you could have just asked.”
“Best draw a bit more blood and ask again, just to be sure,” Hammerhand called.
Paradoxa turned to him and smiled. “Thank you for the advice, Varcan.” He put the book on a barrel and paced. I turned to Cobb, who shrugged. It wasn’t until Pla cleared her throat that Paradoxa looked up and noticed us again. “Go on then, fuck off.”
I thought about trying to summon a spell, but given how badly that had gone of late, I decided that discretion was the better part of survival and headed to the door.
“Breed!” the gang boss called after me. I dropped into a crouch and drew my handcannon. Paradoxa grinned. “Don’t embarrass me at court.”
When we were outside, and the door was closed, Cobb breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
I wiped the blood from my neck. “Thanks for the warning.”
“I did not know he was going to do that,” Cobb lied.
“Obviously,” I lied back.
The captain put his arm around my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Breed that was proper rough. I understand if you don’t want to go to the court now, and —”
I wanted to punch him, but I patted his arm instead. “Oh, no, Cobb. A deal’s a deal.”
“Indeed.” He failed to hide his disappointment. “You know what to do?”
“Aye, Captain. I’m to find the King of the Midnight Court and tell him you said he was a cunt, that was it, wasn’t it?”
The sound of porcelain cracking drew all eyes to Hammerhand. “I’ll go,” he solemnly declared. “Please, let me go, Captain.”
I had to laugh. “It’s almost worth letting you, just to see how long it would be before you got sold as a galley slave or to one of those weird, Pharrian whorehouses that like a bit of strange.”
He turned to Cobb. “You can’t let this fool represent you.”
Cobb looked helplessly between us.
I folded my arms. “Aye, go on; let a stagehand represent you in the Cutthroat Court.”
“And I was in such a good mood.” Cobb took out his pipe, and angrily stuffed it with pel and lit it from the nearest lamp. He took a deep pull before pointing the stem at Fathands and me. “I’ve every faith that Breed knows when to clown and when to be serious, right, Breed?” It sounded more pleading than I suspect he intended.
I straightened up, tried to appear attentive instead of quietly fuming that I’d almost been killed because I’d done a good job. “Indeed, Captain.”
“Good. And you know what to do?” Some of his eyes were twitching.
“Pla’s going to introduce me to Master Paradoxa’s fixer with whom I shall discuss the delicate matter of Miss Sakura and not cause shit for you or him.” I had no intention of mentioning Cobb to the fixer. What deal I cut would be mine alone. The captain was now nothing more than a temporary guardian for the girl, and if everything went to plan, he would remain none the wiser about my game.
He dabbed sweat from his brow but still looked as tense as a cock with a knot in it. “Aye, that’s about the sum of it. Aye. Yes. Good.”
Hammerhand scowled and brushed the fragments of the cup from his calloused palm.
In another life, I’d visited the demesne of a noble of Valen’s disparaged court, but I’d never seen the heart of their dark kingdom. I expected it to be grim but impressive, lots of black marble and faux gold, so I was surprised when Pla took me to...
“A flower market?”
Amused by my reaction, she nonetheless tried to hide her smile. “Not just any flower market, this is the finest flower market in the Empire.” She pushed the wrought iron gate, which swung open on well-oiled hinges. “They also sell vegetables and fruit.”
It was late. The boiling rain had pounded the pulped remains of the day’s sales into a potent tea that smelled of sugar and earth and made my nose itch. The enclosed market was stacked with empty boxes and bare stalls. A hall with a graceful, iron-framed glass roof stood at the opposite end of the yard. Nearby, knots of bull-shouldered porters were huddled together, drinking mugs of hot, spiced chai while they waited for farmers to arrive before first light with their wares. Yawning, Pla set off across the yard after first making the sign of the three-fingered crown against her leg. A likely cove who was feigning sleep beside a pile of turnip sacks brushed the brim of his battered hat in acknowledgment.
We entered the great glasshouse. “Watch your step,” said Pla as she skipped past a bucket of giant, white blooms with leaves like sheets of curling parchment. We might as well have been ghosts for al
l the attention the costermongers paid us as we passed through their place of work. Before us stood another glasshouse, the windows of which were fogged with condensation. The door was ajar, but upon reading the sign above it, I understood why a lock probably wasn’t required.
“In there?”
“Aye.”
“Where it says, ‘Danger! Beware! Carnivorous Plants’?”.
“Reading as well as comedy. Are there no ends to your talents?” She smiled, amused by my reaction. “Don’t fret, they don’t walk around.” She rummaged in her doublet and pulled out a glass vial of something inky. “Here, have a nip of this.”
“What is it?”
“Poison, obviously.”
I gave her a questioning look.
“It’s an antidote to most of the worst in there, perhaps not the Angel of Death, but most of the others.”
“Reassuring. Is this enough for both of us?”
“I’m topped up.”
I took the vial and removed the tiny silver stopper. It smelled of soap and licorice with just a hint of sulfur. “All of it?”
“A good sip.”
Something rustled in the glasshouse. A pipe hissed, and hot steam drifted through the door.
I had ‘a good sip’ and hoped it was neither too much nor too little before making sure that my handcannons were primed and loaded.
“You’re going into a hothouse, not going to war.”
I drew my sword.
Most of the flowers in bloom stank like rotting meat and were festooned with fat pearls of sickly smelling dew and glitter-winged flies sucking on the festering remains of whatever they’d been fed.
A marble basin of slime-skinned water stood at the center of the house. A wax-pale, naked girl was sitting on a half-submerged log in the middle of the pool. Her feet trailed in the tannin mire, her hands were folded demurely on her lap.
“Watch this.” Pla pulled her scarf over her nose and mouth and picked up one of the skewers that were propped against the side of the pool. She used it to flip open the lid on an iron-bound bucket, releasing the stench of the greening chum fermenting within. With no small measure of skill, she stabbed a fat lump of something and flicked it into the pool near the pale girl.
