by K. T. Davies
Time ceased to have meaning as I flowed through the darkness. I became aware of changes in flow, and shifts in the current when sluices were opened or closed, but I couldn’t explain how I felt them. Eventually, I became aware of a sliver of flickering amber light where before there had only been darkness. I moved towards it, reached up, poured myself through the fretwork of a rusted grate until I felt that all of me was out of the water. I wrapped my mind around the talisman that was somewhere about what passed for my watery person and concentrated on its sinuous shape, the magic within it, and my fervent desire to once again be me.
With a splash, I hit the cobbles like I’d been poured from a bucket. I was fiercely cold when I regained my mortal form and for a handful of minutes could do nothing but shiver like a penitent drunk. Eventually, I managed to slow my breathing and warmth returned. Footsteps approached, and I flung myself into a corner behind some barrels just before the door opened. I cringed away from the widening angle of light that spilled into wherever I was. The wavering silhouette of a portly cove with a lively tail crossed the floor. They were carrying a couple of firkins and were whistling tunelessly as they rolled the empties across the floor. My eyes began to work again, and I saw that I was in a vaulted undercroft rather than a dungeon.
Before leaving, the fellow paused and sniffed the air. For a moment it looked like he had caught my scent amongst the heady fug of aged wines, hops, and booze-soaked oak. I held my breath and listened to him sniff before he once again resumed his tuneless whistling and departed. This wasn’t what I’d expected to find. Consumed by a gnawing doubt, I approached the door and cracked it. A flight of worn steps led up to a corridor and I could smell roasting vittles, which caused my empty gut to grumble as it began to sink.
I’d seen and experienced some of the worst tortures conceived by any mortal or infernal being. I knew dungeons better than most. I knew the smell of them, the sounds, the tastes— what the floor I’d had my head smashed against felt like; all the stuff of which the best nightmares are made. In all my years of being in the wrong place at the worst time, I’d never know one where the tormentors used fresh bread, pickled onions, butter-mashed squash, and mushroom gravy to inflict pain. Certainly, withholding food was a torture, but I could smell a banquet, and hear voices raised in cheery discourse. There were no screams, no stench of blood or vomit or irons heating in the fire. I sank back against the wall. This wasn’t the prison; this was the palace.
23
It could be worse, I reasoned as I sampled a passable Pharrian ruby straight from the barrel.
I decided that I’d wait until the small hours, when all good and decent coves were abed before trying to find my way into the prison. Even with a bellyful of wine that sounded like a peculiar ambition. It was definitely one to add to the ever extending list of stupid fucking things I might not live to regret.
Before I could get well and truly soused, the sound of stone grinding against stone had me diving behind the barrel racks again. A cold draft riffled the light of a lamp which was being carried by a clank. His long shadow stretched from where he was standing in the entrance to a secret passage that I had completely failed to notice. I didn’t chide myself because nobody is perfect.
As was required of an imperial, the knight was tall, broad, and fully accoutered for battle despite being garrisoned in a palace. Wary as a thief, he crept into the cellar, and swung the door almost closed behind him.
Having sized him up, I was happy that his garb would fit me with some minor adjustments. I was about to sneak over and relieve him of his clothes, when I heard footsteps on the stairs, followed by the cellar door being unlatched. I stayed where I was as an equally furtive woman entered and closed the door behind her.
Given the element of surprise, I could have taken one or the other quietly. Together would be a tougher ask. With that complication in mind, I resolved to wait until they finished their business. I was grateful that they had inadvertently shown me a covert exit from the cellar.
The knight tore off his helm and unfastened his cloak with the same anticipatory urgency as the woman began hiking up her skirts and fumbling with the laces of her bodice.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” said the clank, his voice aquiver with barely bridled lust.
“It was never in doubt, my love.” The wench gasped as he fell upon her like a hungry dog on a bone.
Oh, no. They were going to rut. I slumped behind the wine racks and tried not to pay attention to the various grunts and groans. Unsurprisingly, it was over almost before it had begun, but that’s humans for you.
“Will you come to me tonight, at Marcella’s?” the woman asked as the clank gathered his gear, which along with her petticoats had been flung around the cellar in the throes of passion.
“I can’t.” He buckled on his sword belt.
“Can’t, or won’t?”
I was overcome with joy that, not only had I been forced to listen to their ecstatic monkey- grunting, I would now have to bear witness to the jealousy-infused aftermath. I counted the bricks in the wall and considered that killing them both might have been the better option after all.
“Can’t. My Lord Corrector has a meeting tonight.”
“Ah. The Midnight Court?”
Mention of the court piqued my interest.
“Quiet, woman. Your tongue will send us both to the gallows. You know there are ears everywhere.”
Oh, how true.
“Oh, pish. Everyone and his dog knows he takes bribes from the thieves guild. It’s a perk, so what? No one cares. Here, let me do that.” She giggled, and there followed more fumbling and slobbering, leaving me in mortal dread that they might go at it again. “Can’t you change shifts with someone? It’s been an age since we spent the night together, and Daria will be back from patrol the day after tomorrow.”
“If only I could, my delicious, little love-dumpling.”
“You’re such an idiot. Such a big, brave, well-hung idiot…”
After more canoodling, followed by the swearing of oaths of eternal love and fealty, the illicit lovers parted. The wench headed up the stairs and the knight back into the hidden passage. I waited until the rats deemed it safe to creep from their holes before searching for the secret door.
Now that I knew it existed, it was easy enough to locate and opened with nothing more than a hard shove. A cool breeze caressed my nethers, reminding me that I really ought to find some clothes and a weapon. After checking that the coast was clear, I crept down the corridor, which was lit by flickering, old glowstones that barely illuminated the hidden passageways. I followed my nose and made my way along what appeared to be the main highway through the palace of intrigue until I came to a fork. One branch headed up, and the other continued on the level. I tasted the air. On this level, the air was dank and smelled of river water and sewage. I went up a few steps and tasted the air again. It was fresher. I should have headed to the sewers where drains would meet… and yet. I couldn’t stop thinking about what the knight had said about the Imperial Corrector and the Midnight Court. I took the higher path and followed the smell of blade oil and fuck sweat until the sound of voices up ahead caused me to pause. The sound grew distant as whoever they were moved away. I continued to the next landing where the passage split again. One branch continued straight, and the other turned sharply to the right. The walls up here had been recently whitewashed, and globes of bright luminescent fungus were set in niches every thirty or so paces.
I shan’t bore you with more details of my bare-arsed exploration of the secret passageways. I eventually came to a door, put my ear to it and heard the burr of conversation, a moment before the sure tread of armored feet approached. There’s probably something more ridiculous than the sight of a naked, half-thoasa running as quietly as they could down a dimly lit secret passageway. Right then, I couldn’t think what that might be. I managed to make it around a corner before the door opened. It was a group of clanks trying to be as quiet as those who lac
ked any skill in subtlety could manage.
I headed down. The clanks followed, but it didn’t sound like they’d seen me. When I came upon a door set in an alcove, I had a listen. I didn’t hear anything and tried the latch, the sound of heavy footsteps drawing ever closer. For a change, Fate took pity on me. The latch lifted, the door opened, and I bundled inside.
“Ah, shit.”
Now I knew where they were headed. Light from burnished sconces bounced from racks of gleaming weapons and armor. Footsteps and voices in the passage grew louder. There was nowhere to hide, but there were two other doors. I snatched a falchion from a rack and tried the one on my left. It wasn’t locked. I slipped through and closed it behind me with seconds to spare.
I found myself in a palatial audience chamber. Sconces and chandeliers blazed but the room was empty. A black, marble table stood in the center of the hall. A golden throne stood at one end beneath a velvet canopy. I ran across the chamber, my footsteps deadened by thick carpets and reached for the handle of the middle of three doors where upon I froze. Someone was coming. I had it seemed become the first guest at a party I did not wish to attend.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” I legged it over to the throne and squeezed between the canopy and the wall. Bare arse pressed against the plaster, I swore that if I got out of this, I would forsake my evil ways and only do good for the rest of my life. While I attempted to barter with the gods of good luck, the clanks entered from the armory. Much to my dismay, they did not leave. Moments later, the other door opened and the indistinct sounds I’d heard resolved into clear speech.
“…Make sure that it does, and have them taken straight to the Chamber of Correction.” Whoever he was, he spoke with the authority of someone who was never contradicted.
“My lord, the… delegation has arrived.” This second fellow sounded like someone who was weary of life.
“Let them wait.” The speaker clicked his fingers. There was a flurry of stiff silk and quick, light steps hastened across the room. Wine was poured into a glass and the smell of ripe blackberries and oak burst upon the air. I edged my way along the wall to where a tiny splash of light at knee height marked a hole in the drape. I crouched and saw that I was a few feet to the left of the throne, a position which afforded a decent view of the whole chamber. I recognized the Corrector by his robes. His mask of office was laying on the table before him, shining gold against the inky black.
The most feared cove in the court looked and smelled human. He was soft in the middle and what might have once been the hard line of his jaw now sagged beneath grey-stubbled jowls. His close-cropped hair was grey, his eyes small and dark. His mouth fell into the habit of a pensive smile; fitting for a cove who knew all the secrets. He raised a crystal goblet, throwing rainbow light across the room and took a moment to savor the smell before knocking it back in a single gulp. “The Stephanus seventy-five is an excellent vintage.”
The fellow beside him inclined his head. He was wearing a top knot drawn so tight that despite his evident age, his forehead was as smooth as an egg. He bowed deferentially before gliding to the edge of the carpet, leaving the Corrector alone at the center of his stage.
The door to the armory opened again, and the knights stationed around the room snapped to attention. The harried-looking clank who entered was older than the others, and his armor and cloak distinguished by gold braid. He slapped his breastplate with his fist. The Corrector inclined his head. The aroma of wine met that of pel. I knew I knew this man; I just couldn’t recall meeting an officer of the Imperial Guard in this lifetime.
“My Lord,” he said, and put a leather scroll case on the table. The preposterous plumes in his helm bobbed. His voice was maddeningly familiar.
“Commander Rubus, is our guest still our guest?”
Rubus. Of course. Lucky for me, the sound of my heart sinking was inaudible. This was potentially a very bad thing.
“Aye, my lord, it would seem so.”
The Corrector sighed and cast his gaze to the ceiling, let it linger there amongst the golden curlicues and rampant beasts. “Never rely on amateurs, eh, Commander?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll give the half-breed until tomorrow eve before changing the plan. Knowing my luck, it probably drowned in the fucking moat.”
“I assure you, Corrector, had there been anything bigger than a turd in the moat my people would have seen it. My guess is that the cur has fled.”
The Corrector gave him a look, which was the definition of skeptical. “If it had half a brain it would.”
I was hurt.
“And that would be unfortunate… for us.” The Corrector knuckled the table. “At this rate we’ll have to accidentally leave Vulsone’s cell unlocked. Oh, have we released Mater Vulsones?”
“An hour ago.”
“Good, good. Inform me as soon as the old goat contacts Domina Murcatoria. Was she well-primed?”
“Aye, my lord. I told her that I’d found out that the Empirifex was going to levy an extra tax on tert businesses, and that all tert traitors— including her beloved son, were to be burned at the stake on the order of the Empirifex.” A fleeting expression of concern crossed his face. “She was suitably terrified, and I am sure will go directly to our friends in the Third Dawn.”
“I’m particularly proud of that name. Of all the cults I’ve engineered, I think I like it best. Having said that, The Sons of the Raven is also a favorite.”
“Indeed, Corrector. You have a flair for such things. But if the Empirifex is…if it is thought that a tert has done the deed, will the Third Estate be protected?”
The Corrector’s smile broadened. “There will be some… attrition, but we must all sacrifice something in service of the Empire. I see by your face you do not agree. Would you save the fleas and drown the dog? No, of course not. Don’t worry, Rubus, your family will be safe. Now, are you sure they still trust you?”
“My family?”
“No, you fucking idiot, the Third Dawn.”
Rubus straightened. “I would stake my life on it, Corrector.”
“Oh, more than that, Commander. Imagine if this goes wrong and that lovely tert wife of yours is left a friendless widow, all alone with those delightful children to fend for. Naturally, I would do my best for her, but it’s a cruel world, Rubus, a very cruel world.”
To give the warrior his due, he hid his hatred for the Corrector well, but I could smell the blood iron of it spike the air. “I’m concerned that we won’t be able to persuade the senator to take up the sword.”
The Corrector shrugged. “He’s not his father, is he? Just… tell him all that’s required is his presence at the ceremony, that he must strike the first blow, and the Imperial Guard will do the rest.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You’re a bright man, Rubus. I’m sure you’ll come up with a convincing story.”
“Yes, Corrector.”
“Now go home, man. Kiss your children goodnight, fuck your woman, and sleep soundly. Remember; all that we do, we do for the love of the Empire; the dog upon whose back we are all but fleas.”
Rubus dropped his gaze and cast his doubts upon the floor before mastering his composure. Jaw tight, he saluted, his clenched fist ringing hard against his breastplate. “For the Empire.”
When the door closed behind the soldier, the Corrector relaxed, released tension with a soft chuckle. “On with the motley, Eij.” He clicked his fingers, and the servant picked up the mask and lovingly wiped the featureless gold face with his sleeve before handing it to the Corrector. “I have so many guises, I sometimes forget who I am.” He fastened it in place before taking a seat at the table. “Bring in the Gutter Kings.” The servant bowed and left the room.
I got as comfortable as was possible in ten inches of space, because it looked like I was going to be here for a while. Long minutes passed before the servant returned. He was dwarfed by two clanks marching behind him. They were followed by three figures swathed in heavy cloaks. Another pair of knights brou
ght up the rear, but I had no interest in anything beyond the foremost of the three figures.
Ludo’s hood fell back, revealing a face his stolen sorcery had filched from the memory of who he had once been. The sight of his coldly angelic visage was like a knife in the gut. His pale brow was sheened with sweat, no doubt from the effort of maintaining the glamour he’d cast upon himself. His golden hair tumbled in waves down his back and framed the slender face of a man in the full bloom of youth. It was an artful deceit.
Something dripped on my foot. I looked down, saw a spot of blood. I was gripping the sword hilt so tightly that my claws were digging into my palm. It was most unprofessional to allow feelings to get the better of me, but then, he was my mother’s murderer. I was so damn close I could taste him. And all that stood between me and vengeance was the Empirifex’s enforcer, a squad of imperial knights, a couple of nobles of the Midnight Court, and Ludorius himself. In the face of such odds, I decided vengeance could wait a while longer. Ludo put a casket on the table and took a step back. His expression was one of high-born insolence, but he inclined his head almost respectfully to the Corrector.
The fellow at his shoulder was a tall, gaunt cove distinguished by a moonstone where his right eye should have been. The other representative of the court was a homely looking cull, with nothing particular to mark her out from the herd save for a scar that ran the length of her face. None of them were armed that I could see, but then sorcerers didn’t rely on steel. I was burning curious to see what game Ludo was playing for I couldn’t fathom it. One thing was certain, the vaunted wards of the palace had not revealed his true form, which was proof of just how powerful he was— unless their reputation had been exaggerated. If that was so, I would shortly be kicking two-hundred and fifty gold crowns’ worth of shit out of a certain talismancer.
