Bloodfeud (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 3) (40 page)

‘Onwards, before the shades run out!’ Merion ordered, before scuttling out into the open. Gunderton summoned the fog once more, wrapping them with its tendrils as they ran. Merion could hear him grunting and straining as he concentrated. Soon enough, he almost had the whole grounds cloaked in a thick haze. It brought a grin to the boy’s face.

Like clockwork
.

It took them almost ten minutes to reach Clovenhall’s northeastern corner. They could hear boots—muffled in the mist—tramping here and there. The mansion reminded Merion more of Fort Kenaday than it did his own ancestral home. His father had never been one for fluffing his feathers and showing off the strength of his guard. But Dizali knew Merion was here now, in London. These guards were for him; for whatever stunt he was aiming to pull. He smiled as he thought of the look on Dizali’s face when he found both Witchazel and Calidae gone come sunrise.

The boy craned his neck to gaze up at the towers above. They were just how Calidae had drawn them on her little map, hand-delivered by Jake. He started to move to the side, tracing the walls. The others followed; twisting their heads around like ducks, peering into the swirling fog. It was starting to fade. Gunderton’s shade was almost burnt out.

‘There!’ Merion whispered, pointing up to an open window. Something flapped on its sill.

Jake. Leading the way.

Lilain sighed, already drifting away with Lurker and Gunderton, heading for an entrance on the west side. ‘I’ll say it again. You trust that girl far too much.’

Merion nodded, cracking his knuckles, eyes fixated on the window. ‘And I shall continue to, until such time as Dizali is dead or due to be. Then I’ll stop trusting her. Be safe, Aunt. I’ll meet you at the wall.’

‘And you,’ she said. Then she was gone, swallowed by the mist.

Merion took a breath, dragging at the shade still flowing within him. He could feel it fading. His mastery of the reptile vein was still not as solid as he would have liked. He pressed his hands to the walls and begin to climb again, using the knobbly fascias and the proud, decorative bricks to quicken the ascent.

Dizali had given Calidae a room on the top floor for a good reason. Merion realised this about halfway up: he must have known the boy was a leech.

His thumb slipped from the wall on the next handhold. His stomach flipped as he glanced down at the bushes and gravel so very far below. He forced himself upwards, quicker now.

The magpie cawed above and he looked up to see a blonde head poking out of the window. A hand beckoned, but his shade was petering out, sputtering like a dying candle. As he reached for her windowsill, the young Hark’s left hand slipped completely. He held his breath, clinging on desperately with one arm. He could feel his fingers peeling away.

Merion dug for the last few scraps of magick, thrusting it all into his free hand as he hauled himself up and made a grab for the sill. He snatched it just as the shade failed him. Calidae seized his wrists and pulled him into the room. Jake fluttered off into the night, his job done.

‘Get off me!’ Calidae pushed Merion away from her. He scrabbled upright immediately.

She rose up, brushing herself down. She was wearing a slim yellow frock; hardly the attire for running and escaping. Her scars had faded slightly, and her hair had been cut and styled to cover her scalp. She had even painted her eyes. This was the Calidae from Fell Falls; not the one who had stood over him with a bloody spar in her hand. Merion tried a smile, as if it could have dragged them back to that day in the dusty street.

‘You’re late,’ she said. Merion wondered why he had expected any different. ‘Typical!’

‘I see you haven’t changed your tune.’ The oddness of their alliance—their teetering equilibrium—stung him once more. He felt a cramp just above the stomach; a too-hard bite of the inner lip at the thought of the final obstacle in his course.

Calidae flushed red. ‘I’ve had to endure this loathsome place for well over a week now!’

‘And I’ve had to endure worse. Trust me.’ Merion moved a hand to his healed arrow wound. ‘Stop your whining and let’s just get this done.’

She eyed him dangerously for a moment. ‘Fine. I apologise.’

Merion stopped halfway to the door. ‘You what?’

‘Oh, don’t make a thing of it, Hark,’ she spat, clearly regretting her brief offering of politeness. She shoved past him and opened the door a whisker, staring out into the dimly lit corridor. ‘We need to be careful. The house has been turned upside down today, floor by floor.’

‘Why? What have you done?’

Calidae whirled on him. ‘Why would you assume it’s down to me?’

‘A certain incident with a stool?’

She sniffed. ‘They started at the top, and they worked their way down. Lordsguards and servants in force. They’re currently in the basements.’

He wondered why she hadn’t mentioned this in the messages. His confidence took on a sour taste.

‘And that’s bad?’

‘For me, not for you.’

‘Tell me you haven’t jeopardised the plan.’

Calidae stabbed a finger at him. ‘I did it to
serve
our plan, Merion Hark, so don’t you dare judge me. I might have just discovered Dizali’s greatest secret.’

‘In that case, I’m sorry. I won’t say another word.’ At least they could both be civil, until this was over. ‘What is it?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure yet. Leverage, possibly. In any case, the way is clear. With all the commotion below us, this should be easier.’

‘Wait one moment,’ Merion said, reaching for another vial. Time to test out Spirn’s shade blend. Carp to sense rushers; anglerfish for seeing in the dark.

Calidae wrinkled her lip as he gulped it down. It had a strange taste, burning his throat and sending sharp pains dashing across his stomach. He held on, squeezing tightly, and reined it in. He assured himself that he was just out of practice. It was a fish shade, after all; stronger than others for him.

‘Let’s go!’

He moved into the corridor, still fighting every twist and thrash of the magick as it rose to his skull. Soon enough, he had trained the shade; releasing the magick in increments until it flooded his body.

Every one of his senses prickled with a new intensity. He heard a deep throbbing and instantly ducked into a doorway, pushing Calidae against the wall. He had assumed pounding boots; but it was Calidae’s heart, thudding as fast as his. He could hear it as clearly as a drum being bashed in an adjoining room. He looked at her and felt her surrounded by an aura. Not a colour, not a glow, but a
presence
. As if she stood at angles to reality, vibrating unseen strings.

‘Never rushed this shade before,’ he explained as she glared at him.

‘Your eyes are glowing.’

‘Happens. Onwards!’

Corridor by corridor they crept, working their way into the cavernous halls. The gaslights were either dead or perilously low, but his eyes lit the shadows a faint orange. Two lordsguards wandered past, but Merion had felt them coming, and motioned for Calidae to hide. Their vibrations were softer and less angular than Calidae’s. Perhaps that was the difference between lampreys and humans.

‘Which way?’ he asked.

‘Next left and in the alcove.’

Merion nodded and crept forward, rushing hard. He could feel all sorts of movement below them: heartbeats thrumming and people moving. It was almost intoxicating. Several pinpricks of sensation stood out in the multitude, sharp to his carp senses. Rushers, probably.
Or leeches
. He was about to smile when he felt two more heartbeats, worryingly close. He peered around the corner and winced. A candle shone alone on a dresser.

‘Is his room always guarded?’

‘No,’ she breathed. ‘Never!’

Merion was growing a knack for improvisation. ‘Fine. Distract them for me, would you? Get rid of that candle.’

Calidae crept forward and pinched the candle. No sooner had darkness fallen than he was moving past her, taking the heavy candlestick with him and sliding to the mouth of the hallway, shadows ablaze and clear.

‘Who’s there?’ Two lordsguards came tramping forward, blinking hard.

‘I swear, if that’s you, Jollins…’

‘Isn’t Jollins. He’s on the main gate.’

‘ ‘E’s always playing pranks though, isn’t he?’

‘Hello? Is there anybody that can help me?’ Calidae called out, as the guards stepped into the main hallway.

Clang!
The candlestick smashed into the base of the first man’s skull, dropping him like a squashed fly. As the other lordsguard turned, Merion swung the candlestick around to collide with his forehead, knocking him out cold.

‘Nicely done,’ said Calidae. She led him forward to the door and rapped three times, quietly and gently.

‘Is it time?’ said a voice; muffled by the ornate wood.

‘It is,’ whispered Calidae.

The boy looked through the keyhole and saw the dishevelled form of Mr Witchazel standing back from the door, nibbling nervously at his fingers. He had a slope to his posture, with only a threadbare jacket, shirt, and pair of trousers to his name. He was a figure far removed from the upright man he remembered sitting at Pagget’s desk, with his oleaginous hair and pristine suit.

‘How are you going to get the door open?’ Calidae asked, folding her arms. ‘They’ll hear it.’

Merion smiled. ‘We just have to wait for the distraction.’

‘What distraction?’

‘You’ll see.’

*

Lord Darbish was sweating: a cold, thin sweat that only showed when he was in Lord Dizali’s presence. It permeated his shirt and dripped down his forehead.

He realised he was staring at Dizali, and quickly lowered his head, back to his glass of crimson brandy. The tingle of the drink did nothing to quell the beating of his heart. Neither of them had spoken in quite some time. They lingered in the uncomfortable silence between pleasantries and business. It was a void that ached.

Darbish took another sip of his drink and cleared his throat of its fire.

‘So you see, Lord Protector. The reason I’m here is to discuss my time in Constantia.’

‘Ah yes, the long overdue report.’

Darbish smiled. The good Lord Protector had ignored every one of his letters until the last. Four, he had sent him, and in each he had asked for an audience to discuss the Ottoman Empire.
Overdue, indeed
.

‘Yes, my Lord,’ Darbish began, settling deeper into his armchair. He rearranged his suit jacket over his ample belly. Judging by Dizali’s furrowed brow, he disapproved of Darbish’s undeniable love of sweet treats. The Ottomans rather excelled at them.

Before Darbish could launch into his prepared report—many times rehearsed since stepping onto the ship to London—Dizali waved a hand.

‘That reminds me, Lord Darbish…’

Darbish was thrown. He wiped his hand across his brow. ‘Of what, Lord Protector?’

‘Of renumeration, for your services to our new government and to the Order.’

‘Well, it was one of the aspects I wished to discuss—’

‘There is no need.’ Dizali dismissed his words with another wave of his drink. ‘Over there, in the cabinet under the decanter. And while you are there, Darbish…’ He clinked a fingernail against his glass.

‘Of course, my Lord.’ Darbish thrust himself out of the comfortable chair. He collected Dizali’s glass, filled it first, and then on his return, sought out the key poking from the cabinet door. With a swift turn and pull, he discovered a small wooden box, trimmed with silver and inlaid with Dizali’s coat of arms: the tiger, the sun, and the eagle.

It was heavy. Darbish felt his cheeks blush as he hauled it from the cabinet and set it down on the table between them. It had irked him somewhat that Dizali hadn’t invited him to his private office. He had been shown to a smaller lounge instead; one with a great glass wall that looked out upon the misty darkness of the grounds. The heft of the box washed away some of that disgruntlement.

‘I believe it’s unlocked,’ Dizali said between sips.

Indeed it was. Darbish opened it eagerly with sweaty fingers. His relief quickly dissolved.

Coins
. Just stacks of coins, all lined up in rows and bound by paper. Darbish pulled one from the box and counted its rows.

‘One thousand florins,’ said Dizali. ‘In payment for your hard work.’

Darbish flapped his jowls. ‘I—’

‘Is there something wrong?’ Dizali raised his eyebrows.

Those jowls flapped for another few moments before Darbish could summon the courage to speak.

‘This is not what we agreed, Lord Protector.’

Dizali leaned forward in his chair and placed his brandy on the table. ‘Is it not?’

‘No, my Lord. We agreed on Lady Knutshire’s estate. Now that she has been ousted from the party and disgraced.’ The sweat was now coming in rivulets.

Dizali shook his head. ‘As ever, the paperwork is prohibitive, my good man—’

‘I was under the impression that I would receive much more in return for my work. Hard work, if I may say so, and time spent keeping the Ottomans on our side.’

‘Time, it would seem, well spent at dinners, sampling the delights of our ally’s fare, spending Empire coin as well. All signed for by your hand, I believe, as “necessary expenditure regarding the ongoing political effort”. Your very words.’