From Hell's Heart

by K. T. Davies

  Almost before it broke the surface, the ‘girl’ unfolded into a writhing mass of saw-mouthed fronds, which were attached to a thin spine of twitching nerves and pulsing blue veins. The fronds rasped and latched upon the rotting meat, quickly drawing it into itself before reforming and once more becoming the demure maiden. The only hint that she was not what she pretended to be was a rippling twitch beneath her ‘skin’ as whatever the fuck it was digested the rancid flesh.

  “Meet the Angel of Death fungus; guardian of the southern entrance of the Midnight Court.” Pla waved me to follow her behind the pool and into an alcove where a mildew-dappled statue of a maiden echoed the serene beauty of the murder fungus. The Angel didn’t look at us as we passed, but I felt its attention upon me as keenly as one feels the deadly itch between the shoulders when under the aim of a handcannon or arrow. Pla pushed against a false wall and revealed a stairway leading down that was lit by the lambent evanescence of fungus lanterns. It struck me that even the princes of crime felt the need to burrow underground, to hide from the light in the bowels of the city. Pla slicked back her cropped hair and scraped mud from her boots with her heels before checking that her bow was in working order and her quiver of bolts within easy reach. “You ready?”

  “To meet a bunch of thieving coves? Aye, I think so.”

  “Best secure that mouth of yours. There’s people here you don’t want to annoy.”

  If only she knew. We passed a robed and masked cove coming up the stairs as we made our way down. They nodded as they passed. The chape of a scabbard peeped from under their cloak, and the outline of a cross shoulder bandolier stood proud against their back. It was good to know that even in this world, millers and bladesmen were just as obvious in their trappings as they were in the when from which I came.

  “Something amuses you?” Pla asked, noting my smile.

  “I’m just excited to be here.” The staircase led to a well-appointed antechamber with sofas, mirrored wall sconces, and a dresser upon which sat a vase of fresh flowers. It was all very civilized.

  “Through here.”

  A muffled din was coming from the other side of an implacable, iron door wreathed in sigils and inlaid with overlapping bands of copper and steel that fair hummed with magical power. A disconcerting hole ringed with bone-crushing iron teeth was set in the middle of the door. Pla squared up before it, thrust her hand in the hole, and held it there. I held my breath and waited for the ring of teeth to chew through her wrist. Seconds stretched before they retracted. Her shoulders dropped. And even though she hid it well, I heard her breathe a sigh of relief before she turned to me.

  “I’ve done some stupid stuff, but I ain’t doing that,” I said as the lock tumblers fell, and the door swung open.

  “You’re with me. I’m your vouch, so you, you lucky bastard, don’t have to do that.”

  We entered on what I gauged to be the southernmost wall of a vaulted chamber, half tomb, half excavation. A swarm of kinchin coves clad in the motley of a beggar band charged past, almost taking me down. I checked my valuables, such as they were. Nothing was missing. Clearly, I didn’t look like I was worth robbing.

  Half of the cave conformed to the stately dimensions of a noble catacomb and was clad and dressed in marble, granite, and stucco. The other half was rough roofed, fanged by stalactites and crusted with thick layers of calcified sediment. A river snaked diagonally north to south; a ragged tear clearly separating the rough from the refined.

  The rough side had subsided, probably due to some ancient earthquake and had caused the floor to crack. The fast-flowing water gushed furiously down the throats of iron-grilled fissures. The runoff flowed into shallow, travertine basins. Some of the pools had been boarded over or incorporated into a market that sold everything a thief could filch or use in the pursuit of their trade.

  A pair of bridges decorated with broken keys, old gallows ropes, and rusted knives stitched the two halves of the hall together, because even thieves and murderers like dry feet and heavy-handed symbolism.

  I might have been impressed, but that possibility was erased by the merest whiff of sulfur, fish, and sorcery mixed to a unique blend that stopped me in my tracks. Ludo. He was here somewhere. The bastard was here. I scanned the crowd, half expecting him to materialize before me. The smell seemed to come from across the hall, somewhere near a door that was being guarded by a pair of ogren. resplendent in gold maille. I tasted the air began to track the murderer’s scent when Pla grabbed my arm and steered me towards the wall.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” she demanded.

  “What? Nothing. Why?

  “I saw your tongue flicking and I saw you eyeballing them Links. You want to make a reputation, make it on your own time.”

  “Links?”

  “Links in the Chain, the guards.”

  It took a moment for me to work out what she was talking about. “Oh. Right. It was the gold armor; it caught my eye.” I looked over her shoulder, strained to recapture Ludo’s scent.

  She prodded me in the chest. “You would do well to avoid them, lest you gain the attention of the Chain.”

  Her prattle was annoying. “What fuckery is this now?”

  “Keep your voice down,” she hissed. “I knew this was a mistake.” She looked around before continuing in a whisper. “The Chain is the Court Enforcer, and a powerful sorcerer with a very bad temper.”

  My heart skipped a beat. I cast a glance at the door. “He wouldn’t be called Ludorius by any chance?”

  “No. He’s called Althan Arnus. He’s been the Chain for longer than I’ve been alive.”

  “Arnus, seriously?” I sniggered.

  “No one makes fun of it.”

  “Really?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do you remember what I said about watching your tongue?”

  I trailed after her to where three, repurposed tombs proclaimed not the names of the noble deceased, but the holy trinity of mortal delights: ‘Baths’, ‘Beer’ and ‘Brothel’. Pla entered the door marked, ‘Beer’.

  There were fresh rushes on the clean, mosaic tiled floor. The walls had been painted a dark umber, and the ceiling was covered in patches of fungus that shone with a soft orange light. To augment the glow, tallow candles burned in copper cups on each of the dozen or so tables. Intimate booths lined the walls.

  “Pla!” Professionally friendly, the barkeep smiled and waved. He was a tall, well-rounded fellow, as bald as an egg save for his brows, which were long and as dark as his apple pip eyes. “What’ll it be?” he asked.

  She waved and surveyed the rainbow of bottles lining the shelves behind the bar. “I’ll have a bottle of nijin, please, Garten.”

  He took a bottle from the shelf and poured a small measured cup’s worth into a mug. “And for your young friend?”

  “Got any milk?”

  He frowned for the second it took him to realize I was joking, and then smiled before pouring me an ale. “On the house.” He winked, and handed me the mug in such a way that our fingers touched. I didn’t balk; free ale is free ale after all. He turned to Pla. “And how is your Master?”

  “He is well, thank you.”

  “Excellent. Let’s go into my cubby, away from prying eyes, and attentive ears, eh?”

  I made to follow them, but she shook her head. “You wait here, or in the back room, just don’t wander off anywhere…or speak to anyone.”

  “Is he the fixer?”

  She nodded and hurried inside. Left alone, I decided to take a nosy in the back room as the only free tables in here were those in the middle of the floor. The back room was quieter; the bubble of chatter from the main bar muffled by a heavy velvet curtain draped over the door. This was where deals were done. Behind the haze of tallow smoke, in the nooks and booths, quiet conversations detailing murder and theft would be conducted in icy whispers. It was in places like this that illicit lovers sought to purchase the poisonous solution to marital problems. It was also in places like this that
cracksmen and women planned their diamond dreams beneath the shadow of the gallows. One particular group of the aforesaid ne’er-do-wells caught my attention and caused me to pull up short.

  “To the Guild!” Raiber, a Blade I’d known since I was a kinch, raised his mug.

  “To the Pearl!” A cove garbed in Shennish robes charged his mug against Raiber’s, anointing their hands with frothing, beery blessings. Their comrades raised their own mugs, and declared as one, “To Master Ludorius!”

  17

  I wasn’t shocked by the rogue Blades’ betrayal of Mother, because I knew them, or rather I had known them in another…you know what I mean. Suffice it to say, they were thieves and murderers; their god was blood and their loyalty was to gold. I doubted that Ludo had told them he’d slotted Mother. But even if he had, they were a pragmatic crew. As long as he kept them in gainful employment they would forget she’d ever existed.

  I still wanted to kill them for toasting that bastard, mind. I still had an almost overwhelming desire to burn them to ashes and stamp on the bits, but there were no hard feelings. It was just business; theirs to survive, and mine to exact revenge. My palms grew sweaty just thinking about it.

  “What the fuck are you looking at, snake-face?” Raiber was staring daggers at me, which was when I realized I had been gawping at him. Conversation quietened as the other patrons slyly swiveled their attention towards us. Raiber was the oldest of my sworn comrades, and it was passing strange seeing him after what had felt like several lifetimes. That he was giving me the evils only added to the surreality of the encounter, leaving me momentarily at a loss for words.

  “Leave the kid be, Rai.” The primping cove hanging on his arm was a bawd called Tarby. She worked as Raiber’s jostler and distractor when he was dipping pockets. Nix was the third member of the triumvirate of treachery and the most dangerous of the three. Even though I couldn’t see the face behind the mask, I could feel her eyes upon me, weighing me up, calculating my strengths and weaknesses. Mother had her teach me blade work when I was big enough to hold a sharp. She was tough, gave me some scars or ‘lessons’ as she termed them, but she was a good teacher.

  “Rai?” I half expected them to vanish as so many of my ghosts had done in the past. They didn’t. Upon mention of his name, Raiber’s expression changed, grew wary. His hand dropped out of sight. “Who wants to know?”

  And then it struck me. I knew them, but they didn’t know me. They weren’t the ghosts here, I was.

  “Bean. Bean Delgaro.” Bean? Fuck’s sake. I should be better at this by now. Unimpressed, they responded with stony-faced silence. “I did a job with you…about nine years ago in Appleton?”

  I couldn’t hear the deathly glide of steel because Raiber wasn’t an amateur and had lined his knife sheath with velvet, but I could see the muscles in his arm relax as he halted the draw. “What fucking job?”

  Bollocks. Ambushed by false familiarity and a raft of confusing emotions, I’d made the mistake of speaking to them, but there was no going back now. I looked around as though cowed and afeared. “Smuggling jade wings.”

  The job really had happened—in my time. Mother had a hankering to cash in on the fashion for rare birds; it was one of her least well thought out schemes, and the whole business had involved half a dozen crews from various cities. It was a proper fucking mess from beginning to end and resulted in a waste of money, a hanging, and a lot of dead birds. Of course, in this version of Edolis, it might not have happened at all, in which case I would soon be in a proper pot of arsepickle.

  Raiber gave Tarby a questioning look. She shrugged, and drunkenly laid her head on his arm while drawing her senc fur tippet around her thin shoulders. Nix didn’t so much as twitch. She just stared from behind the face mask that was shaded to inky black by the hood she always wore. It was a common enough gimmick amongst millers and bravos. Some might say it was a ridiculous and impractical affectation, but if they liked their guts on the inside, they wouldn’t say it to Nix.

  As for the contingent from the Pearl, they looked on, drunkenly amused by what they thought they were seeing— a callow youth being teased by their elders and betters.

  “You could only have been a kinch nine years ago.”

  “I was with Big Jemmy on lookout.” It was a plausible tale. Big Jemmy Gurginin was a freelance smuggler who ran a crew of kinches, and in my version of the world they’d been on that job. Raiber narrowed his eyes and rubbed his grey-stubbled chin in pretense of recollection, but I doubted the old sot could remember what he did last week, let alone nine years ago.

  Tarby adjusted her pink wig and snuggled against Raiber. “Ease up, Rai. It’s a party.”

  Curdled by booze, he shrugged her off. “Don’t tell me what to do, wench.”

  Tarby slapped his arm. “Stop acting like a prick.”

  “Who says he’s acting?” Nix’s interjection caused all to laugh, except Raiber. He only managed a mawkish sneer but otherwise had to swallow his ire because in the hierarchy of sinners, killer trumps thief. I wasn’t sure what I knew anymore, or where one world had ended and another had begun. I knew that even though I was vexed by their mercenary ways, it was good to see them, even though they didn’t know me.

  Raiber kicked a chair towards me. “Come on, kid, pull up a pew.” His magnanimity was more to regain position as host of the party rather than out of kindness. I joined them, tried to remember that even though they were smiling and laughing like ordinary coves, they were as vicious as snakes in a piss pot. Any one of them, even sweet, little Tarby might turn on me for no reason other than I wasn’t one of them. I looked around. If they decided to cut my throat and drink my claret from their ale mugs, none of the grim-eyed fucks in the room would stop them or think twice about it. Damn, but I’d missed the company of bastards.

  “What’s your story, Bean?” Tarby asked, sweet as honey.

  I really wasn’t sure what my story was as I hadn’t thought of one yet. One of the Pearl, a fellow with a dirty blonde top knot and bad teeth came to my rescue. “Why do they call you ‘Bean’?” He leaned in, failed to put his elbow on the table and almost chinned himself. Another one of them slopped some ale into a mug and shoved it towards me.

  “My given name’s Behananathara. Apparently some folk think it’s hard to pronounce, hence Bean.” They all nodded at the sense of it. “I’m here because my boss is after his bona fides.”

  “Who do you run with?”

  Oooh. Good question. “The Bilge Rats out of Tentley under Scorpion Jai.” I pulled the name out of my arse, but a few of them nodded as though they’d heard of him.

  Tarby’s bleary gaze drifted slowly from my face to my coin pouch, betraying her professional interests. “Tentley near Drakeford?”

  “Aye, that’s the one.” I prayed to whatever gods might be listening that she wasn’t a local of Tentley, which was a place I’d only visited once. Despite the possibility I might be undone, I was enjoying myself. I downed my ale.

  Rai puffed his cheeks and gave vent to a long, loud belch. “Your lot all terts?”

  “He means Third Estate,” Tarby corrected.

  “Mongrels.” The most cup-shot of the Pearl drooled stupidly.

  “No, it’s a mixed crew, and I prefer ‘half-breed’.”

  “Thoasa?” Another of the Pearl, a fellow with greying whiskers asked.

  “Aye.”

  He nodded sagely. “Good fighters, thoasa.”

  The door to the kitchen opened. I glanced over my shoulder at a trio of servants carrying trays of steaming grub. I don’t know why I looked this time; servants had come and gone all the while I’d been talking to my old not friends. But something wasn’t right, and whatever it was changed the composition of the air and caused my hackles to rise. The servants were all garbed in ill-fitting, blue over robes. There was nothing unusual about that or the trays of steaming, hot food they were carrying. The first through the door was a gangly, pale-faced cove. Our eyes met, and in that instant I saw
his mask slip and he knew it.

  He hurled the tray. “Rico!” The door to the main bar burst open, and a broad-shouldered cove carrying a pair of cleavers burst in and kicked the door closed behind him before putting his back against it.

  Soused, Raiber and Tarby were slow to act when the soup started to fly. Nix was already out of her seat, sword in hand. The other three weren’t far behind her. As the food flew, handcannons were drawn, and knives snaked from sheathes. There was a lot of cutlery on show. As this wasn’t my fight I hit the floor.

  “I told you I’d find you, Fen you fucking traitor.” The servant who’d shouted snarled at the cove with the top knot as he drew a knife and a handcannon. The other patrons scattered like roaches. The air blazed. I covered my head. Calthracite smoke billowed, and splinters flew from shots gone awry. Someone yelled, and a body hit the floor. I did not escape entirely unscathed and was doused with hot noodle broth before I could crawl under the table.

  One of the shots blew a hole in the wall behind the table and set a tapestry on fire. Top Knot hurled his spent cannon at the shouter. They sidestepped and drew another knife. This weapon had a blackened blade that stank like it had been sheathed in a month old corpse.

  “You should have run, Yensun.” Fen came from behind the table, his voice thick with the blood-heat of battle. Soup was running down his face. “You’ll never get out of here.”

  “If I was worried about getting out, dog, I wouldn’t have spent so much time and effort getting in. Now shut up while I kill you; your whining offends me.”

  I crawled under the table where I met Raiber and Tarby. As a cautionary tale on the dangers of letting your guard down, the most inebriated member of the Pearl was lying against the wall. He had a hole the size of my fist in his chest, something which I knew from personal experience was a shit way to die.

  “We need to get the fuck out of here. These fucking Pearl don’t half take things personally,” Rai whispered.