The Demon King (22 page)

“I don’t know,” she said irritably. “You’re the one in the Guard.”

“Don’t forget,” he said, “he sent you in to rescue his friends. How would it be if you’d escaped from a streetlord only to be killed by your own Guard?”

“I didn’t escape. He let me go. And he didn’t send me. I went on my own.”

“But you can’t take chances like this,” Amon exploded. “Things are unstable enough as it is. We can’t risk a change of succession.”

“The succession, the bloody succession. Well, if you ask me, the lineage of queens is like a chain around my neck,” Raisa muttered. “I’m no good to anybody if these kinds of things are being done in my name. And I expect you to help me stop it.”

With that she strode on in silence, hands fisted at her sides.

DEMONS IN THE STREET

Han didn’t know whether to hope his mother was home or not. It might be a long time before he saw her again, but he just didn’t think he could deal with more drama.

He wrinkled his nose as he mounted the stairs, catching a whiff of cabbage cooking, a scent that always meant hard times.

When he pushed open the door, Mam and Mari looked up from the book they were reading.

A book?

“Han!” Mari squealed, scrambling to her feet. She charged across the room and fastened herself to his leg like the lamprey eels from faraway oceans he’d read about in one of Jemson’s books. “I’ve got a book all my own! Speaker Jemson handed them out. He said the Princess Raisa bought them for us. He says I can keep it.”

“That’s great, Mari,” Han said, distracted, looking over Mari’s blond head at Mam, hoping for a clue. His mother’s expression mingled relief and apprehension.

“Thank the Maker,” she said. She crossed the room and pulled him into her arms, awkwardly patting his back. “The Guard’s looking for you,” she said, smoothing down his hair. “They been all over Ragmarket, asking after you. Sergeant Gillen, he’s in a fury. They said you busted some Raggers out of gaol.”

How come he always got the blame? “Not exactly,” he said, thinking Mam must have been really worried to skip the lecture. “Have they been here?”

She shook her head. “But you can’t stay here, you know,” she said. “He’ll catch you sooner or later.”

“I know. I’m going back to Marisa Pines. I’ll stay up there until things calm down.” He hesitated. “What are you doing home? I thought you’d be at work.”

“I’m not working up at the castle close anymore,” Mam said, releasing him and stirring the cabbage on the hearth. “But it’s good, because it makes it easier for me to take Mari to school.”

That had been his job. To convey his sister safely to Jemson’s care.

“You’re not working for the queen anymore?” Han gently detached Mari from his leg and led her over to the hearth, sat, and pulled her onto his knee. “Why? What happened?”

“I ruint one of the queen’s gowns.” Mam shrugged. “The seed pearls were made of paste, that was the problem. Didn’t like it there anyway. Fellsmarch Castle, I mean. People were snooty. At least in Ragmarket they treat you like you’re human.”

“But what are you going to live on?” Han said. “It’s going to be hard for me to come into town, to carry for Lucius, or sell what I glean up mountain.”

“We’ll get by,” Mam said. “There’s always rags and laundry. And now they’re giving away food at Southbridge Temple two or three times a week. It’s part of that Briar Rose Ministry Princess Raisa started.”

“Princess Raisa?” Han repeated, surprised. Was she slumming in Southbridge or what? “Huh. I wonder how long that will last.”

“She’s doing good work,” Mam said. “Everyone says it’s a blessing. And it helps until I can find something steady again.”

Han thought of the girl Rebecca Morley. She knew people in the castle close. Maybe she could pull some strings, help Mam get her job back, or get another job, just as good.

Or maybe it was just an excuse to see her again.

But no. He couldn’t risk giving away his connection to Mam and Mari. He liked to think of them as safe, separate from his life in the gangs, hidden away in the room above the stable.

“Hanson,” Mam said, in the manner of a person launching a prepared speech.

Han sighed. He should have known there’d be a lecture, by and by.

“You can’t just hide in the mountains all the time,” Mam said. “And you can’t seem to be here athout getting into trouble. You’re sixteen now, and you’ve got to find a vocation. You could go to Oden’s Ford, enter the warrior school, and become a officer. That don’t take no connections, and there’s lots of call for soldiers these days, so they don’t ask a lot of questions.”

Officer? Most of the soldiers he knew were in the Guard, and they’d never take him. Plus he couldn’t see himself smashing heads on the street. But what if he could be an officer in the regular army? He’d have armor and a sword, and his enemies would be out in front of him. He wouldn’t always have to be looking over his shoulder.

Only there was one big barrier to all of this. “It costs money to go to Oden’s Ford,” he said. “And we don’t have any.”

And then he had a thought. He scraped back his sleeves, exposing the silver cuffs. “We could sell these,” he said. “They ought to bring enough money to live on for a year or more.”

Mam shook her head, looking from the cuffs up into his eyes, her face pale and strained. “I think you’d best leave well enough alone. They ain’t meant to come off. Not ever.”

Han stared at Mam. There was some knowledge in her eyes, and fear as well.

He wanted to grip her by the shoulders and shake her. He wanted to yell, What do you want from me? It’s that or thieving! I got nothing else. But he couldn’t, not with Mari in the room.

“I’ll ask Willo about it again,” he said, tugging his sleeves back into place. “There must be a way.”

There was a way. One good taking, one good mark with a heavy purse, and Mam and Mari would be set for a while. A few more takings and he might have the swag to go to Oden’s Ford.

He thrust the idea from his mind.

Fetching his rucksack from the corner, he stuffed his spare breeches and shirts into it. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled his Ragger neck scarf from under the mattress. He thought about the amulet buried out in the yard. His fingers itched, longing to touch it again. But no. It was safer where it was. If anything happened to him, it would rest there forever, out of reach of the Bayars. It gave him some small satisfaction.

Mam handed him a cloth bag. “Here’s some bread and an end of cheese for the road,” she said. “Tell Willo thanks for your keep,” she said roughly. “Tell her…tell her I’m sorry I can’t provide for my own son.” Her lower lip trembled, and tears stood in her eyes.

“It’s all right, Mam,” Han said. “Willo doesn’t mind. And it’s my own fault I have to leave.”

Mari was crying too, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You can’t go away again,” she said. “You only just came back.”

Han attempted a smile and ruffled her hair. “I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll expect you to read to me when I come back.”

“I can read to you now,” Mari said, grabbing up her book and extending it toward him. “Stay and I’ll show you.”

He shook his head. “I’ve got to go.”

And there was nothing else to be said, so he left.

By now it was dead dark, so he wound his way through backstreets, alert for Guard patrols and other inquisitive folk. Once or twice he thought he saw movement in the spaces between buildings, or heard soft footfalls behind him. But each time he turned around, there was nobody there.

It had begun to rain, a cold constant drizzle that sucked up the light and added to his misery. Two blocks over from home he stopped in at Burnet’s Meats. Out in back of the butcher shop, a long trough carried blood and offal into the gutters. Han soaked his spare breeches and shirt and neck scarf in the blood.

He came at the river a mile east of the bridge, where there’d be less traffic. Scrambling down the bank, he arranged his bloody clothes at the edge of the river, finishing with his gang scarf. He wrote “CUFFS—DUBL CROSSR” in the mud with a stick. It was crude, but it might fool the Guard anyway.

The bells in Southbridge Temple tower were sounding two as he trotted across the bridge, keeping close to the wall. Over the temple’s side entrance hung a new banner, proclaiming, THE BRIAR ROSE MINISTRY. And, in smaller letters, BY THE GRACE OF HER HIGHNESS, PRINCESS RAISA ANA’MARIANNA.

Huh, Han thought. Seems like Her Worship is everywhere.

He kept in the shadow of the temple for two long blocks, thinking of Jemson, somewhere within its walls, probably sleeping.

“Sorry, Jemson,” Han whispered. “Sorry I let you down. Don’t let it keep you from believing in somebody else.”

Tears came to his eyes, and he scrubbed them away, feeling sorry for himself.

The streets were deserted, unusually quiet, save for the Guard. They were thick. Twice he ducked into a doorway as a triple of guardsmen passed. Fortunately, they were loud as barroom brawlers and easy to avoid. So he turned east, away from the temple, meaning to travel through Southbridge on backstreets. He’d cut back to the Way as it exited the Vale and hope patrols were less frequent up that way. Once or twice he thought he heard footsteps behind him, but when he swung around, no one was there.

You’re jumpy as a fellsdeer, he thought. Good thing you’re leaving town.

He was just crossing a small cobblestone courtyard, when they materialized from the darkness, three tall cloaked figures who came at him from three directions, seeming to drift soundlessly over the pavement.

“Blood of the demon,” Han muttered, backing away, his mouth going dry and metallic with fear.

Their hoods were pulled forward, obscuring their faces (if they even had faces), and they wore black leather gloves so there was nothing about them to even suggest they were human. They seemed to glow through the misting rain, smears of light all around them that spoke of sorcery.

He’d heard of things like this, demons who walked the streets, seeking souls for the Breaker when business was poor.

“Don’t go so soon,” one of them said, his voice as sibilant as a snake’s. “We want to talk to you. We’re looking for someone.”

“I…I can’t help you,” Han said, his back coming up against a wall. “I…don’t know where anyone is.”

The monster’s laugh was bone chilling. “I think you do. I think you can help us. In fact, you’re going to be very, very eager to help us before we’re through.”

“If you help us, we’ll let you go,” the tallest demon said. “Such a pretty boy. A shame if anything happened to you.”

“Who are you?” Han asked, his voice squeaky with fear.

“We’ll ask the questions,” the snake-voiced demon said. “We’re looking for a boy named Shiv.”

And then Han knew. The dead Southies. These were the ones responsible. He thought of the burned and mutilated bodies, and his insides seemed to liquefy.

“I never heard of him,” Han said, sidling along the wall, trying to escape the circle they’d put around him; but the tallest demon stuck out his arm, preventing further progress.

“Oh, I think you have,” he said. “And I think you’ll tell. But first, we’ll take you somewhere more private.”

The three demons seemed edgy, looking over their shoulders, like they were worried about being interrupted. Which was odd. Why would demons be afraid of the Guard?

The third demon reached under his cloak, as if groping for a weapon, and Han knew it was now or never.

“Murder! Bloody murder on the streets!” he screamed. “Somebody call the Queen’s Guard!”

The demons flinched, and the one with his hand inside his cloak reached out and grabbed Han’s arm, but screeched and let go quickly like he was burnt, slapping his hand against his side.

Han kept screaming, and then he heard the pounding of feet and someone calling out, “Hold in the name of the queen!”

The demons hesitated for two long seconds, the dark holes of their hoods pointed toward Han, then, hissing, they melted into the nearby streets.

It was the second time in less than a month that he’d been happy to see the Guard arrive. Which said something about how his life was going.

Only now he had to avoid being taken himself. He pulled his sodden cap low on his head and pointed in a random direction, forcing his voice into a plaintive whine. “They went that way. Bloody street rats took my purse and threatened to cut my throat, they did! Hurry or they’ll get away.”

Han reasoned that if demons were mentioned, the bluejackets would be less likely to pursue.

The Guard charged off in the direction he pointed. “There’s a reward in it if you get my purse back!” he called after them, for good measure.

Han stumbled away on shaking legs in a completely different direction, not really watching where he was going, focusing only on putting distance between him and the place he’d encountered the demons.

As he ran, he noticed that his wrists were warm. When he yanked back his sleeves, he saw that the silver cuffs were glowing. What was that all about? Had the demons done something to him, done something to his cuffs? Could they use the cuffs to track him? Desperately, he tried to pry them off, mangling up his hands in the process, but with no more luck than any time before.

Thoughts spiraled through his mind. Who were the demons and why were they looking for Shiv? Had his sins been so great that the Breaker sent a special team of servants to claim him?

Or was it some kind of war among the Southies themselves? Or between the Southies and another gang? If so, he’d put his money on the side with the demons.

Finally, exhaustion made him slow his pace to a walk, and his pounding heart began to quiet. By then he was thoroughly lost. He looked up at the sky, but got a faceful of rain for his trouble. He sniffed the air. The stink of the river seemed to be behind him, so he should strike the town walls before long if he headed the other way.

A sudden flurry of sound behind him made him fling himself sideways. A body flew past him and hit the ground hard. At first Han thought it was the demons come back again. But no. This figure was much smaller than the demons had been—only a boy with a knife in his hand. Han released a long breath in relief, but then realized his troubles were far from over. The other boy was up like a cat and moving toward him, leading with the blade.

This can’t be happening, Han thought dispiritedly. Oh, go away, he felt like saying. I’m at my limit.

The boy came forward, passing under the streetlight, and Han started in surprise. It was Shiv Connor, looking gaunt and hollow-eyed, all of his manic confidence evaporated.

“What do you want?” Han demanded. “I don’t have anything worth stealing this time.” Unless you mean to chop off my hands again, he thought, but he wasn’t going to bring that up.

“Call them off,” Shiv whispered, glancing about as if they might be overheard.

“Call who off?” Han asked, bewildered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”