Quicksilver Rising

by Stan Nicholls

  His whining self-justification suddenly evaporated. Genuine wrath took hold of his features. It crossed her mind that he might be ramped; she knew some used it for heightening sexual pleasure. He came nearer, still nervous but his gaze intense.

  ‘Listen, slut,’ he snarled, ‘I’ve got contacts. I can make things really difficult for you. I’m talking about big trouble.’

  ‘You’re the one in trouble,’ she promised.

  ‘And you think the authorities would take the word of a Qalochian whore over that of a man of stature?’

  ‘I have a witness.’

  Tanalvah’s ageing client, hovering at the door and radiating ineffectiveness, looked startled.

  The murderer shot him an artful glance. ‘Not unless he wants to be dragged into a public scandal.’

  That made the old man’s eyes widen. ‘No, I couldn’t possibly be involved,’ he gabbled. ‘Absolutely not. I mean, I have to think of my position, my responsibilities. My family.’ He was backing away. ‘But I’ll summon help. Just as soon as I’m away from here. I promise.’

  ‘No!’ Tanalvah cried. ‘Don’t go!’

  He turned and ran down the stairs, moving with remarkable speed for a man his age. There was no way he was going to risk himself for a prostitute, and certainly not for a Qalochian. She’d seen it in his face, had seen it many times before.

  Mahba’s killer didn’t believe the old man was going for help any more than Tanalvah did. He smiled like a snake. ‘Now are you going to see sense?’ he said.

  ‘All I see is my best friend dead.’

  Far below, the front door slammed with a dreadful finality. She knew there were few, if any, other people in the house.

  ‘You stupid bitch,’ he snarled. ‘Do you really think I’m going to let myself be ruined over a harlot’s worthless life?’

  He moved towards her, fury in his eyes. She remembered the knife, lying on the bed. He followed her gaze.

  Lunging for it simultaneously, they collided. A struggle ensued as they fought for the blade. Then he backhanded her hard across the face, sending her sprawling to the floor. He had the knife, and came at her with it shouting, his words garbled by rage.

  With no time to get to her feet, Tanalvah kicked out at him. More by chance than design she connected solidly with his shin. He lost his balance, almost landing on her. The tussle for the knife resumed, Tanalvah’s hands around his wrist, straining to check it. He was more powerful. The blade made steady progress towards her face.

  From the corner of her eye Tanalvah saw Mahba’s arm hanging limply over the side of the bed. Terror at the thought of suffering her friend’s fate gave her the strength of desperation. She fortified her grip and stayed the knife, but couldn’t force it back.

  Lowering her head, she sank her teeth into the back of his hand and bit deeply. He yelped and dropped the weapon. Tanalvah grabbed it.

  ‘Stay back!’ she yelled, scrambling away from him, pointing the knife.

  He either didn’t see or didn’t care about the blade, and flung himself at her.

  She felt the impact, and the knife slipping into his flesh.

  An outrush of breath emptied his lungs. He made a sound like a sigh. The expression on his face seemed one of amazement rather than pain. As she watched, his eyes glazed.

  She was on her knees, supporting his slumped body. Horrified, she pushed him off. He fell weightily. The hilt of the knife stuck out from his chest, a widening patch of crimson where she supposed his heart to be. There was no question that he was dead.

  The crossing of that insubstantial line between life and death had happened so quickly she couldn’t take it in. Tanalvah wanted to scream, to vomit, to run headlong from this place and hide. For a moment she hung on the edge of hysteria, then gradually fought down the urge for blind flight.

  She got to her feet, shakily, and realised she had blood on her dress.

  What she was supposed to do was summon the authorities, throw herself on their mercy. She almost smiled. If anybody was going to get the blame for this, she knew, it was her. But she couldn’t think of another way.

  She looked at the violated, lifeless body of her friend. Then her eye was caught by a particular object in the debris on the floor. The sight of it sent icy fingers caressing her spine.

  Stooping, she picked it up. It was an expensive glamour, resembling a thin, red leather-bound book. Mahba had charmed one of her moneyed clients into buying it for her, and it was probably her most precious possession.

  Tanalvah opened it, revealing a shiny black inner surface and activating the spell. Tiny glittering specks began to swirl in the core of its darkness. They quickly multiplied and coalesced, forming a vivid three-dimensional portrait, recently cast. The likenesses of two smiling children – a boy of five with tousled ginger hair and freckled cheeks, and a girl of eight sporting long flaxen locks and a slightly serious expression.

  What was there for them now? Tanalvah wondered. A state orphanage? Adoption by favoured officials who couldn’t have children of their own?

  More likely training for farm labour or domestic service. She looked closely at the girl. Or a life like hers, in a brothel.

  She had to do something, however slim the chances.

  Gently, she laid the glamour on Mahba’s chest and folded her already cool hands over it. She lightly kissed her brow. Blinking back tears, she lifted one side of the embroidered bed sheet and covered her body.

  There were clothes-hooks on the wall, holding a jacket and a cloak. She searched them and found a key, which she pocketed. Tanalvah took a last look at her friend, and no more than a fleeting glance at her murderer’s corpse as she stepped over it. She closed the door quietly behind her.

  Back in her own room she splashed cold water on her face, then swiftly changed into fresh clothes. She collected a few of her meagre belongings and stuffed them into a cloth shoulder bag. Lifting a floorboard, she found the purse containing what little money she’d been able to save. She put on a cape, then wound a cotton scarf around her neck so that her lower face was veiled. It was absurdly inadequate in terms of a disguise, but all she could think of.

  She left her room and crept down the stairs, avoiding the creaking boards, frightened someone else was there and about to discover her.

  Normally, opening the front door would be a time consuming task with its numerous bolts and chains. But they were all undone, presumably from when her client had fled. The old dolt had been of some use after all. She inhaled deeply a couple of times and stepped outside.

  On the street she felt more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. Every passer-by was a potential accuser, every look she drew, an indictment.

  She expected the People’s Militia to appear and arrest her at any minute. Eyes downcast, she tried to look like an ordinary person going about her business.

  She hoped the bodies wouldn’t be found until the busy evening period. That might give her just enough time.

  Walking seemed the best option. She could have taken one of the public horse-drawn wagons, or spent out on a private hire carriage, even if that ran the risk of her right to do so being challenged. But either would make her feel too restricted, too trapped.

  It was an anxious journey, full of dark fancies and false scares. But finally she arrived in a residential quarter and found herself facing the housing block where Mahba had a unit. She knew the inside of the two-storey wooden structure wasn’t that different to the rooms in the brothel. Except for what went on in them, of course.

  Mahba had been allocated housing outside her workplace partly because she had children, mostly because at least one of them had been fathered by somebody of influence. She had been good at twisting clients around her little finger. Tanalvah had no such connections and lived in the bordello.

  She got out the key and entered the building, hoping she looked as though she had every right. Fortunately, Mahba’s apartment was on the ground floor. It consisted of just two rooms, one given over to sleep
ing, the other used for everything else. They were austere, but spotless and tidy. Tanalvah felt like an intruder.

  Going to the single window, she pulled back the shutters, then dragged over a chair and sat down to watch the street.

  The hour that followed seemed endless.

  Eventually a large wagon appeared, drawn by a team of four horses. It contained benches lined with chattering children, back from kindergarten. The wagon stopped on the opposite side of the road and two tiny figures got off, holding hands.

  She dashed to the door and out to the street.

  They saw her and ran her way, surprised and delighted. ‘Auntie Tanalvah!’ they chorused, rushing into her arms. She embraced them, fighting back the tears.

  Then came the words she dreaded. ‘Where’s Mummy?’

  ‘Teg, Lirrin,’ she said, ‘I’ve something to tell you. About Mummy.’

  14

  There had been a deluge of tears, naturally.

  Without the children really being able to take in the news, let alone understand it or grieve, they were on the move again. If there was to be a chance of getting away, they didn’t have the luxury of time.

  Tanalvah Lahn had stayed in Mahba’s home only long enough to throw together a few clothes and gather a little food. Now she carried the boy, Teg, and Lirrin walked alongside. They were red-eyed and dumb with shock.

  With each hour that passed the risk increased, and it was about to multiply greatly. Because Tanalvah’s plan required going back to the docks area, where the bordello was. She couldn’t see another way.

  Given the heightened tension between Rintarah and Gath Tampoor, and the activities of a resistance movement the state said didn’t exist, there were even more uniforms on Jecellam’s streets than usual. That made Tanalvah, Teg and Lirrin’s journey doubly perilous. They saw many members of the People’s Militia, paladins and disparate other law enforcers. Tanalvah accounted it a small miracle every time they passed one unmolested.

  The children sank deeper into wretchedness. Only once did they forget themselves for a few moments and their spirits rise. Taking a circuitous route in case they were followed, they entered the fringes of a prosperous neighbourhood. In an avenue of well-maintained dwellings and neatly clipped trees they noticed a small group of youngsters who were being chaperoned by two glamour companions, magical playmates that also acted as child minders.

  One took the form of a man-sized monkey, but it differed from a real simian in having pink fur. Playing a flute and rolling its eyes, it performed a droll, ungainly dance.

  The other glamour was a bear. But where the monkey’s fur stayed pink, the bear’s changed colour, shimmering through orange, purple and green. The quasi-beast stood on its hind legs and a bell on a leather collar around its neck tinkled as it shuffled to the monkey’s tune.

  The glamours’ charges laughed and cavorted and laid down memories.

  Tanalvah had to move on, fearful of being seen loitering. Teg and Lirrin’s mood soon dipped again.

  They entered a much less salubrious district. The houses were mean, and downcast people trudged the streets. There were no expensive glamours here. The quarter lacked the effulgence of quality magic to lighten its gloom.

  On a street corner, charity workers were engaged in a magic run. A lengthy queue of the insolvent snaked to the back of their wagon. Each was handed a modest charm – spells that might conjure a transient flock of humming birds or a baby’s singing rattle; glamours that produced snatches of transcendent music or sublime visions, to ease the grind of poverty. And for more needy cases, the old and infirm principally, there might be a glamour familiar to relieve an evening’s loneliness.

  Tanalvah pulled the children away.

  Ten minutes later they skirted the block where the bordello stood. There were no signs of unusual activity in the area. That didn’t reassure Tanalvah; she knew law enforcers could be sly.

  What came next would be difficult. She had to conduct some business, and she needed to do it alone. Teg and Lirrin had to be left somewhere. As their mother had gone to lengths to shelter them from the realities of her profession, Tanalvah hoped they wouldn’t be too shocked by what she had in mind.

  ‘Are we going to meet Mummy?’ Teg asked.

  ‘No, darling,’ she replied softly.

  They came to the backwaters and a winding, dismal lane of low repute. A place where street prostitutes could be found, real bottom-of-the-trade working girls. The ones the authorities also said didn’t exist.

  There was danger here from the militia’s regular raids and a clientele that could mete out violence and occasionally murder. The street walkers vied for business furtively, always ready to step back into the shadows. As Tanalvah walked slowly by them, scanning their faces, they returned her stare, wondering how a woman could bring children here.

  By luck, or perhaps providence as Tanalvah saw it, she came across the person she wanted almost immediately. At first she didn’t recognise her, despite having last seen her only months before. She’d aged before her time. She was woefully thin and had an unwholesome pallor.

  ‘Freyal,’ Tanalvah said, approaching her.

  ‘Tanalvah? What are you doing here?’ She was guarded but seemed pleased to see her.

  ‘How are you, Freyal?’

  ‘Oh … all right. You know.’ Her hollow eyes darted to the children. ‘But you didn’t come here to ask me that.’

  No. I … we need a favour.’ She glanced up and down the lane nervously. Other women were taking an interest. ‘Can we talk?’

  ‘All right.’ Then dryly, ‘Step into my boudoir.’ She backed into a doorway.

  They crowded in with her. Up close, even in the poor light, Tanalvah could see the lines on Freyal’s face. Wrinkles that weren’t there when they worked together in the brothel, before Freyal had one lapse too many and was cast out, and the other women were forbidden to mention her name.

  ‘Who’re these two?’

  ‘This is Teg.’ Tanalvah hoisted him. He rammed a thumb into his mouth and gawked, blushing. ‘And Lirrin.’ The girl, brow furrowed solemnly, gave a small, apprehensive nod.

  Gauntly, but with genuine warmth, Freyal smiled.

  ‘I want you to look after them,’ Tanalvah said. ‘Just for a while.’

  Freyal looked doubtful. A strand of greasy hair dangled over her eye. She flicked it aside. ‘I don’t know, Tanalvah …’

  ‘It’s for one of our own. Please, I’ve nobody else to turn to.’

  ‘I’m not sure I –’

  ‘Just for two hours. I’ll give you what you’d make during that time.’ She peeked out at the lane, empty of all but working girls. ‘A damn sight more than you’re likely to make, in fact.’

  ‘What’s wrong, Tanalvah? What kind of trouble are you in?’

  ‘I can’t explain now, and maybe it’s best you don’t know. But believe me, you’d be doing good by taking care of these two for me. Here.’ She fished out some coins. ‘Take it. You’ll have the other half when I get back.’

  ‘Well … all right. But no longer than two hours.’

  ‘Good. Just a minute.’ She put Teg down. Lirrin immediately grasped his hand. ‘I’ve got to talk to Freyal for a second. All right? You stay there, both of you.’

  She took her friend aside, out of their earshot, and whispered, ‘If I’m not back in two hours, take the kids and leave them at the door of the Endeavour Street orphanage.’

  ‘You’re in big trouble, aren’t you?’

  ‘It won’t happen. I’ll be back. It’s just in case I’m … delayed.’

  The lie was poor and neither believed it.

  ‘I know I’m asking a lot of you,’ Tanalvah added, ‘but I need somebody I can trust.’

  ‘I reckon you must be in a real pickle to ask for my help. And you were always good to me, Tanalvah. So don’t worry, I’ll take care of them. Just hurry back.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Tanalvah went to the children. ‘I have to go somewh
ere, just for a little while. Freyal’s our friend and she’ll look after you.’ She gathered and hugged them.

  ‘Must you go?’ Lirrin asked, near tears.

  ‘Yes, dear, it’s important. But I’ll see you soon, I promise.’

  ‘You get off,’ Freyal said, lifting Teg. ‘I’ll take them to my place. It’s not far and it’s safe. We’ll be back here in two hours, no later.’

  Tanalvah took one last look and turned away.

  She moved faster now. Dodging the open arms of leering drunks, ignoring idlers’ catcalls, she headed for the docks, fearing that two hours wouldn’t be enough.

  Again, through providence or chance, she had the advantage. In a tavern no respectable citizen would dare enter, at the table where she hoped and expected he would be, she found the man she sought. He was the captain of a fishing ship, and one of her clients. With persuasion and most of her money, he agreed to take her and the children out of Rintarah. Had the money not been enough she would have paid him another way. And his crew as well, if need be.

  She started back by a different route. It wasn’t a conscious decision to go by way of the temple, but Tanalvah was drawn to it, as she had been many times before.

  Although she had never really known much about her birthright gods, she had no intention of disdaining them. But temples devoted to the Qalochian gods didn’t exist in the city. Nor was there anywhere she could go to learn about her heritage; what little she knew came from rare meetings with her own kind. So Tanalvah had heeded that old saying about when in Jecellam do as the Jecellamites do, and given her devotion to a local deity.

  In the pantheon of Rintarahian immortals, the goddess Iparrater did not rank high. There were many in the hierarchy more powerful, dashing, courageous or wrathful. But none as compassionate. Iparrater’s lack of eminence in the eyes of the state religion was the very reason she was loved by the poor and disenfranchised. For she was said to favour the hopeless, the destitute, the weak. She was the patron and protector of the dregs, and Tanalvah wasn’t alone in her profession in choosing to see that as extending to whores.