Dark Secrets (7 page)

Korene looked at it. I didn’t need any magic to know she was confused. It was written in the arch of her eyebrow. We’d worked together for too long to truly hide anything. But I tried to avoid her question anyway.

“I’ve sent for a healer.”

“Arcane?” She was watching and listening to me very carefully.

I nodded. An FAA healer would be cheaper, but the Union would be watching. I had to be smart and safe. “My cost.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, but her gaze slid to the ribbon. “Or was it?”

I let out a breath. Better I tell her now than let it fester between us, which it would. A truth-seeker wouldn’t let a lie go unchallenged, not once he or she could taste it. “I saw Anisa at the markets.”

“You went to see her,” Korene corrected. She rested her elbows on the table, keeping the cloth of her dress away from the burn.

“Not consciously.” I took the bottle back and had another drink. The wine was sweet, cloying, too expensive for wallowing in and dulling my magic. Today I didn’t care about saving the good stuff for paying guests. I didn’t care if I never worked again. “Once I’d seen her I couldn’t walk away. I needed to know she was all right. That she no longer thought of me the way I thought of her.”

Korene sighed, as if knowing what came next.

“I gave her the ribbon. It was a dumb thing to do.”

“It’s her blood on the ribbon.”

I nodded. There was no point in denying it.

“I don’t want to know.” She ran her fingers through her hair, flinching as her damaged skin pulled. “What are you going to do, Haidyn?”

“We both know if I stay I’ll swing.” I pressed my hands to my temples like I could stop the swelling of my thoughts in my head. There were too many people in there. “I won’t shut up the house and leave you stranded.”

Korene laughed, a deep chuckle. She’d saved my ass once down Brewer’s Lane, then realized having a man nearby kept the troublemakers at bay. I’d never asked how she ended up down Brewer’s. Most times it was easier not to know.

“We were all tossed aside long before you opened the doors.” Her eyes unfocused for a moment. “Here we were safe. You were always fair when you could’ve been a bastard.”

“Thanks.” Her kindness chaffed.

“I mean it. You know what it was like on the street.”

“I’ll work something out.” I couldn’t let them go back to the street. I looked at her, the way fine lines had formed at the corners of her eyes. We’d both gotten older. She’d gotten smarter. “We share another problem.”

“I know. I might retire and just keep your books. That way no one will see. Maybe in a few years…” She shrugged. None of us had made plans that went beyond the next few months.

I wasn’t sure I could think past the next few days.

“Sir, an Arcane healer is here. I hope you got gold to rub together.” The boy looked at me from the doorway. I’d left the kitchen entrance open. No Union Arcane member would walk through the front door in his black.

I hadn’t put on a shirt and I’m sure I looked as bad as I felt. I got up and pulled out a silver from the cook’s stash. Every step echoed in the raw skin. I hadn’t even cleaned it—the idea of touching the wound with anything still made my stomach turn. The nausea was as bad as the throbbing pain. I could only deal with one at the time, so pain won. The boy’s eyes widened and I knew I’d be moving the coins. A silver was too much for a simple errand, but if I was going to bleed coin today it wasn’t all going to the accursed Arcane Union.

The boy snatched the coin then nodded. He might prove a useful messenger, and loyalty always cost. I knew he’d be back later to see if there were more jobs.

I readied myself to greet the healer by having another drink. I needed to dull my pain and my magic before I faced him. Once I would’ve envied him his papers. But he was no different to me—sold to the highest bidder.

The Arcane healer stood in the doorway, looking at me with something close to pity. “You didn’t start your day well.” He was dressed in black from hat to boot and carried no equipment, like an herbalist or cutter might. But then, he didn’t need any tools. He used magic to heal, and only the rich could afford his services.

I shrugged and tried to act nonchalant, even though I’d rather be nursing the bottle and forgetting everything. “It could’ve been worse.”

The healer nodded, his gaze flicking over the fresh burn. For a moment I wondered how much he knew about me. That the Arcane Master had known of me, and had remembered me, had filled me with more than a little dread.

I needed to get out of Reseda, sooner rather than later, before the Union decided they wanted me after all. With trouble simmering, both sides were recruiting, by which I meant snatching up anyone they could. The only point in my favor was that the FAA didn’t know about me trying out for the Union. At least I hoped they didn’t.

“So, how do you do this?”

“You pay first in case you pass out.” The healer didn’t smile.

I wished he had. Then I might have believed he’d spoken in jest. At least my clients passed out from pleasure, not pain. My day was going downhill like a buggy without brakes.

“It’s all of us.” If the cost was too great I’d go without.

“Master Cog thought as much. He named the price. One gold coin for each, plus one for my trouble and one for the Union.”

Eight gold coins. A good price. Almost cheap. But considering most folk hardly saw a gold coin in a month, much less saved it, it was too much for the average person to afford. Many relied on the FAA or herbalists if they got sick. As it was, paying the Union healer was going to swallow up my savings without stopping to chew.

I took a breath. Cog had given me a good price. What in the name of the Arcane Lord did Cog want with me?

I’d rather him strip my coffers than be in his debt, yet I couldn’t argue with the most powerful Union in the whole of Prasine. I’d have to pay a visit to Cog, eventually. Of all the people in Reseda, it was Cog I’d have to put my faith in to make sure my house didn’t crumble.

“Fine. I’ll get the coin. Korene can you take him to the front room?”

She nodded and eased up, the usual bounce in her step missing.

The healer turned to me. “Bring a belt. You’ll need something to bite on.” He was so matter of fact it chilled my blood. In that moment I was glad the Union had turned me away.

* * *

In the front room the healer stood like a carrion-bird, black against the multi-colored sofas and walls. There was no emotion on his face that would give away if he liked his job or hated it. Maybe he was like me and tried to turn off when he was working. Separate the people from the job and just get it done. I was really glad I’d knocked down the wine before the healer arrived, because I didn’t want to know what was going on in his mind.

Noromon and my girls perched on the edges of the sofas, looking pale and tense. Then they saw the belt in my hand and no one would even look at me. I didn’t blame them. I doubted I could face me in the mirror right now.

I swallowed twice before I found my tongue. “I’ve brought in the healer. Burns…brands—”
just
call
it
what
it
is
, “—take a long time to heal, and the risk of infection is high. I am paying. You will get healed.”

“Don’t want pus on your fancy sheets.” Noromon forced a grin. His shirt hung open, as if he couldn’t bear it touching his skin.

“Damn straight.”

No one laughed.

“Look, it’s going to hurt.” I glanced at the healer. “Tell them, so they know what to expect.”

“I can’t remove the scar. Well I could, but that would be against the law, but I will heal the wound. While the brand took only seconds to mark you, healing the damage will take longer and hurt just as bad. I’m sorry.” He almost looked contrite for half a heartbeat.

“So you can either spend the next ten months in the kitchen helping cook for three silvers a ten-night, or bite the belt, get it over with and get on with it.”

“It’ll stop hurting as soon as you’re done?” Mallo asked the healer.

“Yes.”

“Fine.” With her agreement, the others nodded.

I let out the sigh I’d been holding. I didn’t want to force them into healing, but I didn’t want to lose any of them either.

“Korene, can you bring the rest of the wine?”

She slipped out of the room.

I handed the healer his coin, which he counted and put away.

Then he looked around. “Who’s first?”

It had to be me to prove it wasn’t so bad. I kept the belt in my hand. I wish I’d swallowed my damn pride and bitten the leather, though. If it hadn’t been for Noromon and Korene at my side, I wouldn’t have stayed upright. Once the healer laid his hand on my chest, my blood boiled and my skin seemed to stretch and blister. After what felt like all ten hours of night and day, the healer removed his hand from my chest. The pain ended, and my body stopped shaking. I took a breath, eased my grip on the belt.

What had been a burned, weeping mess of flesh was now a smooth, pale pink scar in the shape of a hand. No matter what I did, as soon as someone saw that mark they’d know I traded in flesh.

Anisa would know.

* * *

As dusk bruised the sky I pulled on an old brown coat. Pale cream stitching encircled the cuffs and trailed up the sleeves like vines reaching for the sun. Brown was the color of my father’s Lord, the Carpenter.

My brother was following in those footsteps. I’d always longed to do something else. Maybe that was why I’d rushed off to join the Arcane Union as soon as I could. Many joined younger, but my talent hadn’t shown up until my voice had broken and I changed from a boy to a man. I straightened my coat and wished I’d listened to my parents. Like most folk they didn’t trust the Arcane Union much. I think they’d have preferred me to keep quiet. I placed my hand over the healed brand burned on my chest. It was too late for some things.

Right now I’d rather be lying in bed feeling sorry for myself, but I figured I was on a short time line before the Lawman caused me more grief—no doubt he’d already taken out his rage at Cog on Anisa. I pushed the thought away before it made me do something unplanned and reckless…instead of my current planned recklessness. I couldn’t help her by rushing in blindly. Assuming she wanted my help, but that was a job for another day.

When I took the buggy out, the streets were emptying as decent folk went home for dinner and bed. The rest of us were just getting going. Drinkers, fighters, whores, gamblers and thieves. Not every coin was earned honestly and spent wisely. Tonight I didn’t go down the dark end of Brewer Road. I had no interest in liquor or flesh—not that kind of flesh, anyway. I needed something much more dangerous than a loose-skirt looking to up her status.

I needed the bare-knuckle fighters who marked out rings where Smith Road petered out into dust. The buggy whirred down the road lit by lightning boxes, their evil yellow light a constant reminder of what the Union did to Rogues like me and women like Korene. Some of the lights were broken, a reminder of the last time Union and FAA had clashed. I passed the fancy houses and business dedicated to the Smith. Kept going past the smaller houses and poorer shops that didn’t have the luxury of the Union’s magic lights out front, the noisy blacksmithy now quiet. It had been awhile since I’d ventured to the outer reaches of Reseda at night. I kept an ear out for trouble. My mind was free of liquor in case I had to use magic, but like most men I also carried a couple of primed revolvers. Mine had never seen much action but the weight was comforting. And these men would respect lead more than magic.

When I saw the kerosene lamps in the distance I knew I was in the right place. The yelling that drifted on the still night air confirmed it. I parked my buggy and walked the last hundred paces. The skin on my back prickled. I’d dressed down but I was still too well clothed. I hoped the dark would hide the quality of my boots.

There were two rings but their use alternated. Had to allow time for the unconscious body to be dragged out and the blood to be covered with sawdust. To one side a bookmaker wrote down bets and odds. I scanned the sheet that had been hung under a flickering lamp.

Steel Knuckles vs Iron Mallet.

Lock Jaw vs Knockout.

This was where men with a trade got by without crossing to the wrong side of the law. Or those without a trade got by. Some would die without papers and be damned in the afterlife; others would plead for deathbed compassion and call on the Lord of their father to take them. Sometimes the Union Master would grant provisional papers to be burned at the funeral and leave the rest to the Lord.

I doubted I’d get clemency. Not now. Not in Reseda. For all my fancy clothes, these men were more favored than I.

I placed a few small bets, lost more than I won, but I didn’t care. Compared to what I’d already spent today, a few tinnies were nothing. I walked around watching and listening. I placed a few more bets and won the coin back. I paid attention to the whispering of people’s minds. To the desperation, the rowdy bravado and the secrets they thought well hidden. Some were here just for the thrill of violence. I avoided them.

Usually I’d spend much longer assessing new staff and would’ve had Korene with me, but we needed security and we needed it yesterday. A man at the door might have stopped the militia from roughing up my staff, if not the branding. I’d grown complacent, and it had cost us all. Korene would need another man. Someone she could trust with her back when I was gone.

I made a few enquires about fighters looking for work without mentioning where, just that it was security. They assumed me to be acting on behalf of my master. Once they knew the truth, how many would be interested in standing guard on a lust house?

Whispers moved around the rings. A few fights broke out around the ring over spilled liquor and lost bets, but generally the crowd was well behaved and here for business. How many of these men had been outside the Decihall this morning?

There’d be some tired folk come daylight, me amongst them. While I was used to working the night, I wasn’t used to being up all day and was tired. I could feel the edge of my alertness dulling like an overused knife. My head was crowded with other people’s thoughts. How easy it must be to live with only your own concerns and hopes. I lingered near a lamp strung up on a post with more than a slight lean, arms crossed, trying to look like my own kind of trouble.