Bloodfeud (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 3) (21 page)

At last, a familiar crunch of gravel greeted them, along with a tap at the door from Captain Rolick. The man was still bruised and bandaged from his recent embarrassment. Dizali had been disappointed with his lack of ability to guard Karrigan’s vault. Had he not been the best lordsguard he had, the Crucible would have one more inmate to entertain.

‘Good evening, my Lord.’

‘Evening, Rolick,’ Dizali replied, flatly.

The captain turned to Calidae. ‘Milady.’

Lady Serped awoke with a cough. Dizali had to hand it to her; she was quick with her manners. Her father had taught her well.

‘Captain. Good evening.’

‘Lord Longweather has come calling, Milord.’

Dizali’s forehead wrinkled. ‘Has he now?’

‘Matters of the crown, he said. He is waiting in your study.’

‘Very well.’

‘I’ll have the butlers begin dinner, Milord.’

‘I am perfectly capable of delivering such an order,’ Dizali said, before knocking on the ceiling of the carriage. Rolick was left standing alone at the gates.

‘Supper, at once!’ barked Dizali, as he strode through the tall doors of Clovenhall. The butlers scurried like mice. A chorus of, ‘Yes, Lord Protector!’ echoed through the atrium.

‘I shall meet you in the main dining room shortly,’ he said to Calidae, raising a finger to point at the distant ceiling. ‘I have something to attend to.’

‘Of course, my Lord,’ Calidae replied, curtseying before striding for the stairs, head held high as usual.

Dizali strode across the patterned floor, heels clip-clopping smartly on the stone. His servants scattered like autumn leaves in his wake. He shooed them away with glares and waves of his hand.

He found Longweather half-swallowed by a leather chair in the corner of Dizali’s study. The man had helped himself to a glass of scarlet brandy. A red smear painted the bottom of his glass, cradled in a cage-like hand.

‘My Lord Protector,’ Longweather greeted as he rose, with some difficulty, from his chair. He was going the way of Darbish. Success can file some men to a point, while others it widens, letting them grow plump like proving dough. Dizali made him wait as he fetched a drop for himself.

‘Matters of the crown, I hear? I thought we spoke enough of them this very morning.’

‘Merely to keep up appearances, my Lord. I have come to discuss our next steps.’

‘I see. You are in need of a new script to learn.’

Longweather wrinkled a lip, but this was precisely the case. If Dizali was a magician, then Second Lord Longweather played the planted actor in the audience.

‘I merely wish to know your mind, my Lord. You seem to be striding forward at great lengths and I am having trouble keeping up.’ Dizali flicked a glance at his waistband. Longweather cleared his throat. ‘That is to say, if I am to tow the party line, it would be useful to know in which direction I should be moving.’

Dizali took a chair opposite him. ‘You have been doing a fine job until now. Why have you come to doubt yourself?’

It was no hollow compliment. The Second Lord was more than useful when collecting votes, intimidating party members, and swaying flows of conversation.

Longweather finished what was left of his brandy. Maybe he needed the courage. ‘You haven’t told me our next move. I cannot remember a time when you haven’t kept me informed.’

‘I was not aware it was my duty to keep you informed.’

Longweather was wise enough not to splutter. ‘Far from it, my Lord. I simply feel left behind.’

Dizali toyed with him. ‘And if that was exactly where I wanted you, Longweather, what then? Would you turn on me? Would you denounce me? Move the Order against me?’

‘No, my Lord! I would never do such a thing!’

The Lord Protector smiled. ‘I would hate to see you occupying a cell alongside our illustrious fallen majesty.’

‘I…’

Dizali watched, as Longweather’s mouth flapped. The man had clearly come for an amiable chat about world domination over a decanter of the finest scarlet. Like his belt-loops, he was becoming slack. It was high time he was reminded of his place in this grand, clanking machine of a plan; that anyone could be chewed up by its teeth and left mangled by the roadside. Dizali wondered if Longweather needed to be reminded of Lady Knutshire; of how a wagging mouth and delusions of importance can lead to a pair of broken legs and an impromptu swim in the Thames estuary.

Longweather saw the fragility of his footing. ‘I apologise, Lord Protector. If you have no need of me, then I shall wait until you do.’

Dizali watched the lord push himself from his chair once more and aim for the door. He let him take three steps before raising a hand.

‘Sit, Longweather. I am merely testing your resolve.’

‘Of course, my Lord.’ Longweather bobbed his head gratefully. There was a serious glint in his eyes. Dizali fetched him another brandy, and did all but pat him on the head before sitting back down. Pets need a reward when they have learnt a new trick, and humility is never the easiest to master. ‘I would hate for you to doubt my loyalty.’

‘And that is why I keep you around, Longweather. You have stayed true to the Cobalts and the Order.’

Dizali raised his glass, and their talk turned to business.

*

Calidae had already eaten her supper; a fine medley of smoked fish and buttered potatoes. She had grown bored of waiting for the Lord Protector to extricate himself from whatever he was doing. More to the pity, there had been no wine nor brandy. There was a vexing shiver in her gut that refused to go away. It was a perfect compliment to the resentment of the day.

Now she was running her nails along the table, drumming out an irritable tune. Before long her legs began to grow restless and she took to pacing up and down behind her chair. Pacing often leads to wandering, and soon enough she found herself roaming the atrium. The sun was now embedded in the horizon. It was that time of day when the dusk light plays tricks with the eyes, turning everything one shade of shadow before lamps define the darkness. The butlers and maids had yet to go to work.

Her legs took her down the hallway, treading on the softer carpet rather than the marble. Her feet fell more quietly with every step. This was no longer wandering, this was creeping, and Calidae did like to creep.

Muffled voices came floating down a dark hallway with two tall oak doors at its end. She headed in their direction, sticking to the shadows.

Calidae hid herself by the hinges of one of the doors, and pressed her ear against the wood. The voices were distorted, but she could just about make them out.

This was business after all, and you never mumble when conducting business
.

Another Castorism for the pile.

Two men could be heard speaking in turn. One was undoubtedly Dizali; it was his office, and even a thick oak door couldn’t strip the oily confidence from his voice. The other sounded Empire high-born. She caught the clink of rings on crystal glasses and her stomach flinched.

The high-born was having trouble swallowing Dizali’s words, it seemed.

‘Spit it out, man!’ said the Lord Protector.

‘I can’t see them agreeing to that.’

‘They will have little choice in the matter.’

‘But they will have a vote—’

‘The strikes continue to worsen. The Royalists spend their nights camped at the Crucible’s gates. European support grows weak. What choice is there to be had? It is a step we must take.’

Footsteps now, up and circling, like a wolf to a fat hog.

‘We shall impress upon them the shock and awe of the matter.’

Fingers clicked.

‘Sell them the glory of a such a bold step.’

‘If you think it’s the right—’

‘You are lucky I do not take that as evidence of further doubt, Longweather. It is the
only
path. The only option. The only way we can claim our Empire.’

A clink of glasses.

‘How’s the hunt going?’

‘Slow. These Brothers are far from what I’m accustomed to.’

‘Even with three?’

‘Even with three. Not helped of course by the rarity of their prey.’

‘Mmm. I hear leeches are hard to find these days.’

‘Do you think it will work—’

‘Good gracious, Milady!’ hissed a voice behind Calidae. A butler, lingering in the shadows, candle taper poised in his hand, its light painting the horrified edges of his face orange.

‘Shh!’

Calidae drew herself up to her full height. Still keeping to the carpet, she strode towards the man, playing calm even though her mind screeched and her heart pounded.
Capture was not an option
.

‘That is the Lord Protector’s private study!’

The butler had raised his voice a fraction, and it made Calidae wince. She prodded him sharply in the stomach and led with the first thing she could come up with. Lies can wither if told without speed.

‘There you are!’ she snapped, voice still a whisper. It seemed to confuse the butler just enough to keep him quiet. ‘I have been examining the edges of these carpets, and I’m furious with what I’ve found!’

‘I hardly—’

Calidae grabbed his arm and led him to a section of carpet several yards back down the hallway.

‘Frayed! Every inch.’

‘Lord Dizali will not—’

‘And that’s not all!’ Calidae pushed the man ahead of her, bamboozling him with her haughty words and outraged face. She was a lady, after all.

‘My Lady, I must insist—’

‘That we rectify the problem immediately? I completely agree! What is your name, servant?’

‘Pontis, Milady. Eswald Pontis, but—’

‘Pontis, I’m glad I found you. The carpets are just the tip of the iceberg. The windowsills are dreadful. And have you seen the larders? They are filthy!’

Calidae didn’t pause her barrage until she had poked and prodded and hauled him down into the roots of Clovenhall, past the kitchens, now quiet after supper, and into a corridor lined with old cupboards and spare chairs. It was a nook she had found in her recent wanderings, as she had surreptitiously mapped the house for Merion, along with the names of those who came and went. Only the northeast wing had eluded her scrutiny so far.

‘Lady Serped, I really must insist!’

Pontis’ voice was getting louder by the minute. This was taking far too long, and was far too dangerous. He stopped in his paces and wrenched his arm away from her.

‘I will need to report this to his Lordship!’

‘How dare you shout at me, Butler Pontis! I say, move onwards,’ she ordered, hands on hips for good measure. ‘Or I shall report
you!’

Pontis turned slowly, eyes narrowed and clearly beginning to boil. Calidae had to act swiftly. As soon as his back was turned, she pounced.

Calidae jumped high, throwing herself up to his shoulders. As her knees collided with his back, making him lurch forward, she put her palms to the back of his skull and pushed him down with all her weight and might, aiming his forehead for the corner of a sturdy side table.

She missed her mark, but the result was still the same. Pontis’ temple met the sharp oak edge with a wet crack and he sagged to the ground, lashing out wildly with his arms. He was stronger than his pudgy frame suggested, and a thrash of his arm caught the side of her face. The pain only served to make her rage blossom, bringing out the monster she always felt lurking under the surface.

Calidae grabbed him by the roots of his hair and slammed his head repeatedly down onto the tabletop until his limbs grew sluggish. She hit him again—once, twice—until the bone caved inwards to reveal his insides. She slumped with him as crimson pooled on the floor, flooding her vision. The bloodlust, they called it; when a lamprey bares the side where the animal still resides. Lampreys are not called sons and daughters of Cain for no reason.

When Pontis’ lungs had rattled their final wheeze, Calidae rose to her feet. Between the thunderous beats of her heart, she listened for shouts or ringing bells. There was nothing. She let her head sag down onto her chest, wincing at the throbbing in her face. It was then that she saw the blood on her fingers. Slowly, she raised a hand, mouth already inching open. She dabbed the warm blood on her tongue and sucked it clean, savouring the tingle on her lips, the wriggle in her throat. She screwed her eyes shut and revelled in it.

Once the beast had receded, she began to drag Pontis away. Yanking at his arms, she inched him down the narrow hallway, leaving a smear of blood. She would have to be faster than this, she thought, and hauled harder, using the slope of the corridor to aid her. Soon enough, she reached a cupboard; a huge, heavy thing engraved with scenes of forests and mountains in the Prussian style. There was a key sticking out from one of its thick oak doors. With a great deal of difficulty, Calidae stuffed Mr Pontis inside. Her anger helped her along. When she finally managed to get his foot to stop falling out, she locked the doors tightly and slid the key into her pocket.

Within half an hour, and after the theft of a bucket and rag, she had the corridor clean of blood, and her hands the very same. With every wipe and scrub, she thanked all the deities she didn’t believe in for large houses and forgotten corridors.