Moon's Artifice (36 page)

He crossed just as a barge reached the bridge, the bargeman following tradition and whacking the apex of the Poor Man as the boat reached it. It was the lowest of the four bridges spanning the Fett Canal and the local folklore varied on the reasons for the dangerous tradition. Some claimed the bargemen disliked having to duck their heads and were hoping their combined efforts would one day make it fall. Others thought that striking it brought luck, but Enchei was fairly sure the men just found it entertaining to cause those on the bridge to jump.

Either way, the bridge didn’t fall and no assassins pursued Enchei into the alleys of Cas Tere, so he soon found himself back on the public thoroughfare, heading towards the cellar market that was his best bet. Most likely the demon had various emissaries out in the city waiting for him – a tendency towards the cryptic was one thing, but losing a day because your contact was too stupid to understand a subtle reference wasted everyone’s time.

The cellar market had the advantage of an underground stream running along its north wall from a tunnel as old as the massive, ancient cellar. Given it really was an old, albeit disused and fouled, well that Enchei had found in his inn, the forgotten waterways under the city would make the market an easy place for any demon to reach.

Before long he was standing across the street from the open steps that led down into the market. The ground above was clear of buildings, unusually for this part of the city, and only a quartet of fat chimney stacks rose up from the ground there to ventilate the chambers below. Business seemed to be continuing as usual, a regular stream of people heading in and out with goods in hand. Enchei spent a while watching those in the streets around the entrance, habit forcing him to be circumspect before heading down into somewhere with only one exit.

After twenty minutes and two full circuits of the area, Enchei was satisfied and walked down into the market. His eyes wavered momentarily between his natural and unnatural vision before settling on a strange, dimmed version of normal sight – the colours washed out, the detail picked out in faint threads of white. The temperature dropped immediately, the wide stone rooms seeming to feed off the heat of his skin and going from chilly to cold as he headed further into the warren of chambers.

He passed stalls of fresh produce, then rows of crusted baths where fresh seafood lurked, tentacles and eyestalks wavering uncertainly in the permanent gloom. Furtive figures lurked on the fringes of pools of light from oil lamps that lined the walkway, some appearing as misshapen and bizarre as the creatures on sale there. A burst of chatter came from a side room and Enchei paused at the doorway to glimpse wide-eyed monkeys in cages, darting polecats and the sharp click-click of bats further back. He walked through it all, bag slung across his front to dissuade the thieves who haunted the underground chambers.

He reached a fork and paused, glancing left before remembering the drug dens lay that way. He turned right down a narrow path towards two vaulted chambers of butchers – the two trades occasionally intersecting, if local gossip was to be believed. Whatever the truth, it was the butchers who made most use of the underground river that passed briefly through the cellars, and there he headed.

The stink was palpable, despite the cold that prickled his skin and the pails of water used to sluice down the floor. Children scrubbed at the pitted stone slabs and Enchei realised the day was done for the butchers, but no one challenged him as he passed through the tangle of bloodstained tables of wood and stone. It didn’t pay to be overly curious in a place such as this, where figures keen to avoid the light went about their work. The butchers themselves were clustered about an oval archway, laughing and drinking while peering down at something Enchei couldn’t see. From the sounds, he guessed something was being made to fight for them to bet their wages on.

The river itself was little more than a stream, but swift as it made its way to the Crescent and the bloodied remnants of the underground trade was carried off to the sea. It emerged from an opening a few feet high and Enchei couldn’t help glancing down into the blackness of that oval tunnel. Even he could see little there, just a faint curve of stone above the water too regular to be natural. It appeared to be empty so Enchei returned his attention to the rest of the room. As he did so, an unnaturally slim figure seemed to fold itself around one of the counterforts that projected into the room and curved up to the peak of the roof.

Enchei’s senses seemed to blossom into life. Discordant sounds danced out across the room like the clicking calls of a bat – a dozen different sounds that no one else there could hear. At the same time he saw darting, flickering movement within the figure’s cloak and it drifted towards him as though supported merely by air.

He couldn’t make out the figure’s face, but he didn’t expect to see anything there as he approached it. His own body reacted to the figure’s presence – arms and hands tightening inside his armour, ready to fight, knees bending slightly as he readied to attack or flee.

A pattern of light traced through the air before the figure’s cowled face, illuminating nothing of the blackness within. Shapes and movements evolved so quickly no normal man would have been able to make any sense of the images, but Enchei had been expecting it. He blinked once as the pattern seemed to etch itself onto his eyes and twisted into the semblance of sense to his mind.

And all without truly understanding how it is done,
he reflected, as he had so many times before.
The explanations were always perfunctory – they wanted me as a tool, a weapon to be wielded, not a scholar. For the enlightened masters of the nation, they always were jealous in guarding their knowledge.

–
You are the one
, came the demon’s silent words. –
You are the mortal blessed by our lord’s favour.

‘Don’t know about that,’ Enchei muttered as he formed a reply. He raised his hand and skeins of light danced briefly across the surface of his palm.

–
I am the one.

– We are the emissary. Kneel before us.

‘Like buggery I will
.
’

–
No. Give me the message your master sends.

– You will show us greater respect, mortal.

–
The message, now.

The demon’s reply was jagged edged and intensely bright.

–
We will tear out your soul !

Tendrils of light unfolded from within the drifting dark cloak that hid the demon. Enchei just snorted and slapped his light-traced hand towards the nearest. As it passed through, the tendril seemed to burst. The demon recoiled hurriedly, tendrils writhing around its slim form until they were withdrawn again.

–
Try that again and I’ll cut your balls off
, he signalled.

The demon kept very still, uncomprehending his threat, but now aware of the danger he could pose it.

–
Your master gets to speak to me like that
, Enchei continued after a pause. –
You just get to leave without being killed if you give me the message now.

There was a long moment where only blackness was visible within the cowl, but at last tiny threads of light appeared again.

–
The being of the night sky you call Shield accedes to your request. It has traced the steps of your friend, but he is now beyond Shield’s sight
.

‘
I expected as much,’
Enchei said. –
Where does the path end ?

–
Here
.

The light traced an image suddenly, a plan of the city as seen by a being of the night sky. Enchei watched as the image rushed towards him ; the scale dropping as quick as a striking falcon as the districts, then streets, became visible. Lastly the shape of a building came into view, the outline of a door-lintel and the smoky trail of Narin that led inside.

Enchei nodded. The image had imprinted itself on his memory ; he could see exactly where in the city they had disappeared from Shield’s sight – most likely the building was warded against demons and avatars of the Gods alike.

–
Thank your master for me
.

The cloak merely collapsed in front of him and fluttered untidily to the floor. Enchei found himself standing alone, staring at a wall a few yards behind. He coughed and turned, realising one of the boys cleaning the room had stopped to watch him and wonder what was going on.

‘You can fuck off an’ all,’ he said, half-drawing a knife at his waist as a threat – choosing to look like just some local thug rather than anything more gossip-worthy.

The boy glanced over at the gaggle of butchers, still intent on their sport then returned Enchei a level look. With a shrug he went back to his mopping.

Narin stands and watches her from a darkened corner, cocooned from the songs and laughter that ring out across the great hall. Tapestries of snarling wyverns adorn every wall. Birds sing from gilt cages on each of the two dozen round tables. Most of the hall’s occupants are at the tables ; warriors kneeling while the nobles and religious caste sit on fat velvet cushions of purple and blue.

The hall is in fact five rooms ; arranged in the shape of a primrose, Narin remembers her telling him. Curved stone archways separate the rooms, normally blocked off by painted wooden screens, but for the feast it is all one room.

For the first hour the feast proceeded across strictly formal lines – host lord and his honoured guests in the central room below a great glass dome through which the night sky is visible. The noble, religious and warrior castes each in a room of their own, with the honoured merchants in the last and furthest. It is there Narin has remained, even after the formalities are done and the segregation relaxed, offered only the cheapest wine they have. He takes a sip from his cup and is reminded that its quality remains better than he can afford himself. Only a merchant’s wife has bothered to speak to him all evening – as with all formal events, the arms of every person present are bare. There is no hiding his caste-mark from his betters.

He glances to his right and sees the merchant’s wife immersed in conversation with an aging warrior – the Wyvern’s long braided hair now white against his dark skin. He realises he was terse in his replies, his discomfort at being the lowest-born person in the room a burr against his skin. His resentment at her assumed condescension turns to embarrassment at his rudeness. He wants to go and apologise, but does not know how and in the next moment Kine rises from across the room.

He feels his breath catch as for a moment she looks him straight in the eye. The babble of the feast fades to nothing and he is lost in the white flash of her eyes, the brief glimpse of teeth before she covers her smile. She wheels away from the tall priest she had been talking to, a butterfly darting from his raven’s clutches. Her arms are in constant movement, each gesture precise and intended as she navigates the press of revellers, greets friends and deflects well-wishers, all without a word spoken.

Narin follows her through the hall, circling in the opposite direction. The palazzo hall is packed with people, but one end is opened up to the enclosed gardens. Lord Vanden is from the inland reaches of Wyvern’s domain – not for him the arid, desert-like gardens that echo the home of real wyverns ; he prefers the towering, humid jungle.

It is a garden to get lost in and as soon as Kine slips through the hanging fronds of an unknown tree, she has disappeared from sight. The garden is small by noble standards – vast by Narin’s reckoning. Yellow-tinted jars placed amongst the undergrowth shine a soft light, but to Narin it is a confusing thicket he blunders blindly through.

Wyverns are a hot-blooded breed – he knows that much at least, and keeps close to the candlelight. Soft moans come from the darker corners, followed by an abrupt cry of pleasure that breaks like a startled bird. Narin turns to follow the sound on instinct then looks away again with his cheeks warm.

From nowhere Kine stands before him, a gentle smile half-hidden by her slender fingers.

‘My Lady,’ Narin blurts out, ducking his head in some semblance of formality.

‘Investigator,’ she acknowledges, performing a playful, almost girlish curtsey. She holds out her hand. ‘This way, there are benches away from the darkened corners.’

She leads him along a tangle of tiny paths, winding past canopied seats and cloth-decked pergolas until they are in the furthest corner where a curved stone bench sits – exposed to the light but hidden by expansive trees.

‘I am glad you came,’ Kine says, releasing his hand briefly as they sit. ‘Are you enjoying the feast ?’

Narin’s words falter. ‘I … not much,’ he admits, hanging his head. ‘I have no polite conversation, no refined interests to offer for discussion.’

She acknowledges his words with a squeeze of his hand. ‘I thank you for coming then. My heart is lighter just for seeing you across the room.’

‘Any discomfort is worthwhile,’ he declares with as much gallantry as he can muster, ‘just to sit here with you. To be alone with you.’

He sees her eyelids flutter up, instinctively checking for anyone who might be watching them, but at the same time she cannot help but smile. Even turned slightly away from him and lips instinctively covered by her fingers, the sight warms Narin’s heart.

She turns towards him just as he leans forward. There is surprise in her eyes, but she reaches to him all the same and they brush lips delicately. The taste of her lips and scent of her skin are intoxicating.

The smile on her face afterwards awakens a hunger for that taste again ; a desire more powerful than he has ever imagined he could feel. He kisses her again and this time it lasts much longer ; his hand pressed gently against her back, hers bunched into fists around his tunic as she pulls him close.

Reluctantly, she breaks away and again checks for witnesses. ‘Not here,’ she whispers breathlessly. Even in the faint light he can see a flush in her dark cheeks. ‘If we are seen, we would be killed.’

‘Where then ?’

‘There is a teahouse, near the Harbour Warrant,’ she says after a moment, straightening her dress, composing herself. ‘The Feathered Serpent, do you know it ?’ He nods. ‘I go there with friends to play cards the first day of every ascendancy. Wyvern and Longtooth noblemen gamble on Firstdays ; my husband never misses that, be it cards or bloodsport.’

Narin nods and she stands, checking once more before cupping his head in her hands and kissing him hard on the mouth.

‘The others will leave at nightfall. Come find me after dark, I will have a few hours.’

Cold water slapped across his flesh, sluicing the warmth of his dreams away. Narin gasped and shuddered under its impact, then howled as the movement drove iron rods of pain down through his arms and shoulders. Hung from manacled hands, toes scraping feebly across the stone floor, his body was alive with pain and his head fogged and dizzy.

He tried to look up, to focus on the face ahead of him, but he could make out nothing. The scene swam in front of his eyes and the pain from his arms and back nearly overwhelmed him again. There came an abrupt jerk on the chain holding him up. Narin moaned, but after the initial movement he found himself being eased down to the floor. It was cold and hard but Narin could not tell if the tears spilling down his face were caused by pain or relief, however short-lived they might be.

‘Better ?’ came a voice above him.

Narin squinted up. Still unable to see properly, he was at least able to work out it wasn’t the Dragon who’d tortured him. This one wasn’t nearly so dark-skinned or broad, with long slate-grey hair.

‘Water,’ Narin croaked and was rewarded by a cup being brought to his lips, his head supported as he drank. A voice at the back of his head – Enchei’s, he thought distantly – told him that this was the time to try to escape, but he could barely move. Lifting his head was beyond him, let along overpowering some magic-enhanced goshe assassin and fighting his way free. Instead he just found himself pathetically grateful for the trickle of water that made it down his throat.

‘Got some questions for you now,’ the new gaoler stated once Narin was finished with the cup.

‘Fine,’ Narin gasped as he sank back on the floor. ‘Doesn’t matter now.’

‘Because Irato’s already bolted from wherever you were going to meet him,’ the man stated. ‘Aye, thought as much, but there’s still a lot you can tell us.’

‘And you’ll just believe me ?’ Narin said, confused.

‘You want Kodeh to come back here and start cutting bits off you ?’

Just the memory of the Dragon’s lightning-wrapped hand pressed against his bare skin was enough to make Narin whimper and try to curl protectively up.

The man laughed. ‘Didn’t think so.’

‘Still don’t see why,’ Narin coughed after a while, desperate again to be talking rather than anything else. The room was lit just by a lamp ; nothing to indicate the time of day or how long he’d been passed out.

‘Should still be some of the drug in your body,’ the man replied conversationally, ‘that’ll keep you chatty.’

Narin blinked up at his captor. Through the fog in his mind he realised the man’s voice was young ; he hardly sounded older than a novice, despite his grey hair.
House Iron
, he realised slowly, the room briefly spinning as he tried to shift position on the floor.

‘Drug ?’ he said slowly. Narin blinked and saw bright bursts of light behind his eyelids as he did so, the room coming only reluctantly back into focus. ‘I can’t lie ?’

His captor laughed again. ‘Try one.’

‘I …’ It took Narin a long time to think of anything at all, but at last something did come to mind. ‘I’m Lawbringer Rhe.’

‘There you go then, you can lie.’

‘How would you believe anything I said, then ?’

The man crouched at his side, close enough that Narin could smell the leather of his boots and strange, pungent sweat.

‘Did they tell you at Lawbringer school that you can’t beat a true confession out of a man ? Well, that ain’t exactly right. You can make an innocent man confess to anything, damn right – but some bastard you know’s guilty ? Someone you know has something to tell you ? He’s got to be tough before he’s gonna lie convincingly when you’re burning the skin off his body. Tougher’n you, I reckon.’

Despite himself, Narin shuddered, imagining the pain all too easily.

‘Yup, there you go – and I ain’t even touched you yet.’

The goshe bent lower, his face so close to Narin’s he only had to whisper, as soft as a lover. ‘But the other reason you’re gonna tell me everything ? You want to know that ?’

Narin stared up at the suddenly-malevolent smirk on the young man’s face and felt a cold shard in his belly. He didn’t say anything, terrified of what might come next, but the man continued anyway.

‘Aye, I reckon you do. See – the drug I gave you, I gave you too much. No bloody use to me o’ course, what with you babbling like a madman and not hearing any questions I had for you, but that didn’t stop you talking.

‘So answer me this, brave lawman – who’s Kine ? Fancy gambling that with all the power of the goshe at our disposal, we wouldn’t be able to find
her
?’

The map in his mind took Enchei to a corner of the city he’d rarely visited, far enough from Coldcliffs that he had to wonder how they’d managed to get a subdued Narin so far across the city without attracting attention. The Kayme Warrant was a small, mostly residential district on the northern edge of the larger Eagle District. Many of the servants and labourers working in Eagle lived in Kayme and its buildings were some of the oldest in the city ; cramped, narrow streets with little logic to their layout. As a result it was the poorest of the northern districts and rife with crime.

A good place to get lost in,
Enchei realised as he entered the district,
and the locals are unlikely to be helpful to anyone pursuing Narin’s kidnappers.

He stopped before a small well at a crossroads of five streets and watched the locals go about their day. The fever had taken hold here too, he saw, with hastily-daubed symbols on walls and fear in the eyes of those fetching water. They all eyed him with suspicion, but were almost as wary of their neighbours as they went about their afternoon chores. Very little talking took place between any of them and Enchei was careful to move on quickly, resisting the urge to stop and question the locals.

He passed a long passage between houses that had an aging lead roof covering it, but at the far end he could see daylight and a street beyond.
A good place to get lost in,
he repeated to himself.
Hidden from the Gods, even.

It was only mid-afternoon, but it seemed like evening was drawing in early. Grey clouds massed overhead, the sun banished behind a gloomy, unseasonal curtain.

Hoping the rain would intensify and keep locals off the streets, Enchei pulled on his long leather coat and headed into the heart of Kayme. Before long, he found himself surrounded by half-derelict tenement blocks and warehouses. A broad, forbidding building rose from the heart of them and instinctively he knew that was where he was headed, despite the map telling him his destination was an abandoned shop-front nearby. That backed onto a crumbling tenement full of noise, children and babies creating a clamour that hung over the building like a cloud. Any cellar would be small and cramped, any strangers or screams quickly noticed.

In a part of the city this old, Enchei knew there would be disused sewers and tunnels dating back to the Greater Empire. Criminals and vagrants inhabited most of those, but he had no doubt the secret soldiers of the goshe would have cleared out a patch for themselves and sealed it off. The large, four-storey building hidden within the tenements was significantly older than its neighbours and had once been grander. That meant thicker walls and proper foundations, perhaps even several levels of cellars – perfect for keeping prisoners.

He walked a long lap around the building. There were no signs of life. The upper floors showed signs of fire damage, while the lower windows were barred where there weren’t shutters blocking any view of within. There were two exits beyond the principal one, which was half-hidden by a blockish portico that looked dangerously unstable should anyone try the door. He lingered near each of them for as long as he dared – one a tall street door, the other a smaller alley exit.

Realising he couldn’t waste as much time watching as he’d like, Enchei chose the alley door as the more likely to give him safe access. He stepped into the recess of the doorway and surveyed the obstacle. It was sturdy and fitted comfortably into the frame, with little yield when he gently pushed on it.