Symphony of the Wind

by Steven McKinnon

  A breeze sang in the air, whistling through the vast cloisters in the Church of Feria, the traveller’s God. It had to be one of the largest monuments to the Fayth in the whole city; stone pillars shouldered the ribbed celling, man-made stalactites and stalagmites separating yawning, cavernous archways. From outside, the structure resembled a crown with six tines. Or perhaps they’re talons?

  The church itself remained ungated as it possessed no real interior, no priest reciting sermons, for the space itself was the God’s altar. Worship Feria by moving, journeying and exploring, Father Talbot used to say, not by sitting with your nose stuffed in the Codex!

  This did mean, however, that the cloisters were home to the largest congregation of homeless outside Dustwynd.

  Veronica took her time passing through, wishing she could get lost among the pillars.

  She could remember visiting Terros’ Crown as a child, remembered the grassy mounds rolling towards it, trees towering above the city streets and how the wind would whistle and make the leaves dance. Skeletal trunks and branches were all that remained now. She could almost feel what it was like to be free, but for Zoven’s guard dog Pierro following her around.

  It took her another twenty minutes to cut through the main arteries of The Sands, Coppertan Road posing a particular challenge due to a carriage collision. But, at last, she reached her destination. Terros’ Crown loomed ahead. Odd patches of dried, straw grass still peppered its surface, and what was once an apple tree stood at its peak. Just bleached and dead now, but if Aurien tal Varaldo is to be believed, then it practically rained fruit not so long ago.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ she told Pierro. His mouth gaped at her, a black void save for a smattering of yellowed teeth. It would have made him seem baby-like, if he didn’t stand seven feet tall and sport a broken nose. A mess of brown hair crowned his head and his fists were as big as boulders. But for all that, the man was a kitten around her.

  She climbed the steps hewn into the side of the hill, passing couples sitting on the hillside. She told herself they were lovers reciting poetry, but more likely they were scuzzers, blitzed out of their minds.

  She approached the solitary, humble wooden bench placed near the ruins of an old bandstand. Veronica recognised the man sitting on it from the back of his sun-kissed brown hair.

  ‘Mister Gallows.’ He smelled of leather and sweat, but not unpleasant.

  ‘V,’ he said as she collapsed the parasol and took a seat next to him. He looked down toward Pierro, who waved up at him. ‘I think he likes me.’

  ‘Careful,’ cautioned Veronica, ‘he’s not as slack-witted as he seems.’

  The pair sat in silence, savouring the view. The orphanage wasn’t far from here, and when Veronica looked closely, she could see the top of the ring surrounding Old Town Square. The new monument being built to honour the dead peeked up behind the houses and unfinished tower blocks, sheathed as it was behind cloth and scaffolding. The castle was visible too, just about, a hazy smudge perched at the end of Kingsway.

  She decided to speak first. ‘Are you well?’

  ‘Always.’

  ‘You say that every time.’

  ‘You’re always the first to speak.’

  ‘I’m on the clock. Mustn’t dilly-dally.’

  ‘Heavens above, I thought we were simply enjoying one another’s company.’ Gallows rubbed the back of his head. ‘I had a strange conversation today. A friend told me I should open up, talk about my troubles. What do you make of that? Probably makes a lot of sense.’

  ‘Tyson Gallows unburdening himself. What do the Gods have in store next?’

  ‘Well, what can I say, V, I trust you.’

  ‘Aren’t I lucky? What’s on your mind?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘Oh good, that’s the end of that, then. And how is the thief-taking business?’

  ‘Fruitful.’ Tyson turned here, brow creasing. He looked older than his twenty-seven years. ‘And you?’ he asked. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I am. For now, at any rate.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Her mouth squirmed as she chose her words. ‘He’s getting worse, Ty. Zoven. He grows more capricious and paranoid every day. His lieutenants try and hide it, but they’re as scared of him as the rest of us. He killed one of them because he woke up in the middle of the night and thought he was stealing pearls from under his pillow. Stabbed him straight through the heart and went back to sleep as though nothing had happened. Farro Zoven has never possessed a single pearl in his life. Everyone is scared.’

  ‘Even the gorilla following you around?’

  ‘Pierro? I’m not sure he can feel fear. But Farro, he’s been having… Episodes. He flies into a rage one moment, and the next… as placid as a kitten. He beat a girl half to death last week. She’s still in the clinic. Might never awaken.’

  Gallows shook his head. ‘The man’s unhinged, Veronica.’

  ‘I’m aware of what he is, Tyson. I live under his bloody thumb every day.’

  ‘You need to escape. Get out. Leave this place.’

  ‘Hah. Are you talking to me, or yourself? You know I can’t. Not yet. If I leave…’

  ‘He’ll kill your daughter. Yeah. I’d say the Guild could help but-’

  ‘But you’d only end up getting her killed, me too, and likely yourself. No, I made my decision a long time ago. One more year and she’ll be seventeen. That was the deal.’

  ‘And he’ll keep it?’

  ‘Oh yes. He’s beholden to his contracts. That’s how he rose through the ranks. Before him, it was men with fists. Their reign lasted only as long as it took for someone bigger to come along. Farro is different. If he didn’t deliver, then no-one would deal with him, and if no-one dealt with him, he’d have no power to exert. I suppose it’s easier to think of yourself as a saviour rather than a jailer. Yes, he’ll release her. Assuming he still has control of his senses by then.’

  ‘And assuming she’s still alive,’ said Gallows. He winced. ‘Sorry. What I meant was, how do you know he still has her?’

  ‘He affords me the right to see pictures of her, once a month.’

  ‘How generous. Does she look like you?’

  Knots tightened in her stomach, and her fingers fidgeted with the pendant around her neck. ‘No. No, she looks like her father, who was a beautiful man. He had a sweet spirit.’ The locket twirled between her fingers. ‘My little Marrin,’ she said. ‘I almost got to her once. Before the war. One of my regulars heard one of Zoven’s ghouls speak of me, mentioned Marrin’s name. He promised me he’d rescue her. Told me he loved me. I felt nothing for him, of course, but he promised he’d find her and bring her to me. It made me terrified.’ She let the locket go, the metal burning in her fingers. ‘Odd, isn’t it? To be terrified of hope.’

  The Hunter didn’t respond, but she knew he agreed with her. Just looking at him told her that.

  ‘Farro told me he gave her to a military officer and his wife,’ she continued. ‘They couldn’t have children of their own. Told me they could offer her more than I could, being the street whore that I am. He was right.’

  ‘He’d say anything. And you were never a street whore.’

  ‘Father would disagree. But no, I… I believed Farro when he said she was with a good family. In his interests, you see, in case he needed leverage later on. Blackmail a doting, loving military officer with his torrid secret. I dream of her every night.’

  ‘So what happened with her would-be saviour?’

  ‘He disappeared. Didn’t hear from him again. Then the war broke out. Farro grew more powerful and… that was that. Hope disappeared along with him.’

  ‘Well, if you change your mind about getting help, I’d happily introduce Zoven to my sword.’

  ‘I will not allow you to use me as an excuse to fulfil your death wish, Ty. Anyway, he has people everywhere. The guilds, the Watch. Even someone in the Council, if the whispers are true. You’d never get clos
e.’

  ‘Damn. Didn’t think the Council could get any worse.’

  ‘Chartering more guilds was supposed to relieve things after the war, but in Farro’s case, it turned him into a pimp with a licence.’

  A gull wheeled above, screeching somewhere in the purple sky. ‘I could talk to someone I know,’ offered Gallows. ‘Remove him. Unseen.’

  She shifted on the bench. A life without Farro Zoven would be better for everyone—but how many people had tried and failed? And Gallows… He looked worse each time she saw him. The war had robbed most of the men and women sent overseas of their spirit. Most wore their anger like a coat—Ty tried to hide it, like he was ashamed. Something had happened to him, something he’d never confided in her, and it gnawed at his soul. One day soon, I’ll climb these steps to meet him, and the bench will be empty.

  ‘I remember people admiring you when we were young,’ she said. ‘I was fond of you for a time myself—though you weren’t much to look at. You probably don’t remember, but you bought me bread after my father kicked me out.’

  Ty ran a hand through his hair. ‘Stole it, actually. From my own home. Mum clipped me around the ear for that.’

  ‘Well, on behalf of a scared and lonely pregnant girl, thank you. You could have passed for one of the king’s Sentinels that day. And didn’t you once save Buzz-’

  ‘Buzz Fitangus’s ass when we were kids, yeah, yeah. He likes to remind me every time I arrest him.’

  ‘Hmm. Calling you a knight isn’t stretching the truth far, I think.’ Her lips curled at the sentiment.

  ‘That was a lifetime ago. Didn’t reckon you had much room for nostalgia.’

  ‘Indeed. I doubt we’ll regard present days with the same fondness.’ Her smile faded. ‘What happened to you in the Sanctecano Islands?’ she asked without thinking.

  Tyson’s eyes furrowed, before he straightened his back and looked to the sky. A rictus smile forced its way onto his face. ‘You ever wonder why the seagulls come over here? What does this place offer ’em?’

  Veronica took her gaze from him. ‘Perhaps they simply have nowhere else to go. Is that why you’ve remained? You used to travel quite a bit. I was envious of your adventures. You should get out into the world again.’

  ‘The fresh air keeps me here. And the kringla swirls.’

  ‘You want fresh air and kringla swirls, I suggest flying to Ryndara.’

  Gallows arched an eyebrow. ‘Not a bad idea. Have the place to myself.’

  Veronica’s lips crinkled. ‘Ah, the Remembrance. Hard to imagine Ryndara were our sworn enemies just a few decades ago. Now we’re all best friends. Nothing like a tragedy to bring people together—and flock their wares.’

  Gallows thought back to the fire-breathers and acrobatics plying their trade on the streets. How much money in loose change would they make over the next few days? Then he said, ‘I imagine that goes double for the Courtesans’ Guild.’

  ‘Closer to triple. Men don’t mind paying extra when they’re away from home. The security of their wives being a thousand miles away makes them generous, I think.’

  ‘Well there we go. At least someone’s happy. I guess the reminder of all the death and tragedy makes people want to feel alive—and what’s more life-affirming than sex?’

  ‘Says the man who only ever wants to talk.’

  ‘I’m full of the zest for life as it is, thanks.’

  ‘Clearly.’

  Minutes ticked by. Veronica pinned her gaze onto the horizon, listening as the melody of a breeze played in her ears.

  ‘Reckon I should have died over there, V.’ Tyson’s voice sounded faint, like the whine of a music box in need of winding. ‘I hate this damn city, but…’

  ‘It’s her.’

  Gallows’ face softened. ‘Yeah. I’d feel like I was betraying Sera.’

  Veronica didn’t say anything further—Tyson didn’t speak openly often so she didn’t want to interrupt.

  When it was clear he wouldn’t continue, she said, ‘“We are all of us slaves to the ones we love.”’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Aurien tal Varaldo. They say he sat here and painted every day of his life.’

  ‘Yeah, well, they say people in Ryndara cosy up to their cousins in the winter.’

  Veronica raised an eyebrow. ‘Not the strangest predilection I’ve encountered.’

  ‘Please don’t elaborate.’

  ‘I once saw a man who booked five women and insisted they all act like goats.’

  ‘Well,’ said Gallows, stretching his arms, ‘whatever floats your goat.’

  Veronica laughed and stood. ‘But I can’t say I have ever met someone as complicated as you.’

  Gallows shielded his eyes from the dying glare of the sun and looked up at her. ‘Time up already, Madam V? I didn’t even get to tell you about the giant snake.’

  ‘Don’t call me “Madam”, it makes me sound as old as I feel. And you can keep your euphemisms to yourself.’

  Gallows fished around in his pocket and counted eighty aerons. ‘Thank you for your time. Fortune find you.’

  Veronica flicked open a compartment concealed in the bottom of her parasol and stuffed the money inside. ‘Why thank you, Mister Gallows. Your company was as enlightening as ever. See you next month.’

  ‘Final broadcast: The time is midnight on the Tenth Day of Terros. Final broadcast: The time is midnight on the Tenth Day of Terros. Citizens are reminded that a state of curfew is in effect. Any subject found in the streets without correct papers will be detained by the City Watch. Repeat: Any subject found in the streets without correct papers will be detained by the City Watch. King Owain—blessed be his name and long may he reign—wishes you a good night.’

  Serena lay in her bed—it was worse than the pull-out cot she sometimes slept in on the Liberty Wind—and stared through the window. She held her breath, listening for sounds from the other three girls to make sure they were asleep… Nothing but light breathing—or, in Marrin’s case, snoring.

  The dorm smelled of light molasses and brass polish. Serena had spent all day in here after the Junior Councillor left, her mood switching from hot anger to acid guilt and back again. She pretended to be asleep when the other girls filtered through; they exchanged excited whispers about Serena’s outburst in the common room, which seemed to earn her some popularity points.

  It was late, but Raincatchers always held their services after midnight—something about one a.m. being Feria’s hour, or something.

  She leaned up, the springs in her mattress teasing a squeal. Her heart fluttered—she’d never been to one before. What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to act?

  …And would Culran be there?

  What would she do if she saw him? What would he do? Could she get a message to Fitz in time?

  She peeled the rough woollen sheet away and edged herself from the top bunk. The spring mattress groaned beneath her, and the screws that held the metal fixtures rattled with every movement. Clenching her teeth, she swung her legs over the bed and eased herself onto the cold floor, only making the slightest noise as she landed.

  ‘…and the water fairy’ll… honey dew…’

  Serena froze at the sound of Marrin’s voice. She inched her head around…

  Still asleep.

  She pulled her khaki flight trousers, shirt and overalls from the wardrobe and slipped into her boots. They were heavy, durable and comfortable. Her finger traced her coat but she thought better of it. Most likely it would get caught on the bars on the way down. Anyway, she wouldn’t be out for long, and most of the streets near the guild house were steeped in the warmth of street lamps.

  Her gloves though, she’d need them. They were old but the leather was tough and still in decent condition. She sheathed her hands inside—the smell of engines and ignium warmed her.

  The floorboards complained under her as she crept towards the window and inched the glass pane upwards. Come on!

  The wind
ow shot up, crashing into the frame.

  She snapped her head around.

  Nothing.

  Relieved, she let the breeze wash over her skin and fished the lock pick from her pocket. Serena remembered the day she stole it, maybe two months ago now. Fitz howled at Roarke in front of the whole crew for misplacing it—that alone was worth it.

  Catryn and the other sisters always ensured the windows were closed, suppressing any arguments with ‘what if this is the night Aerulus chooses to grace us with wind and rain?’ She inserted the pick into the lock on the bars and twisted it clockwise, felt around for the biting point and spun it anti-clockwise. A second later, a satisfying click.

  The barred gate swung open. She hoisted one leg out onto the window sill, reassuring and solid beneath her soles. The echoes of far-off voices murmured in the wind. She wasn’t a fan of the Remembrance, but tonight she welcomed it; crowds and games meant distractions.

  She reached behind and brought the window down with the balls of her hands. She side-stepped, pressing her back against the wall, and swung the barred gate back.

  She could never remember a time when she was afraid of heights. She allowed the wind to brush her face before moving. Almost like being on an airship.

  She inched her way to the pipe, digging her heels into the wide sandstone windowsill as she moved. Her hand felt its way along the rough brick and cement. After a few moments, her fingers were greeted by the cold metal of the pipe. Paint flaked as soon as she touched it and flittered away to the ground below.

  She hesitated. This part always made her stomach lurch; not the fear of the drop but the fear of not being in control, even for a split second.

  Grasping the pipe, she placed her other hand on it, then swivelled her body around.

  She half-climbed, half-slid down the pipe—the sandstone whooshed past her eyes before she dropped to the ground.

  Staying low, she darted across the courtyard, towards the old, crumbling wall surrounding the church. Its old bell tower scowled down at her.