The God Tattoo: Untold Tales from the Twilight Reign (37 page)

After a frustrating day, Emin returned to the library just after sunset, to find a pair of men in heavy coats loitering outside the door, arguing quietly. In the dark he
didn’t recognise them immediately and when he called out it was with his hand on his sword handle.

‘Master Emin?’ one replied. It turned out to be Pirn, his father’s retainer, with Bewen the night watchman peering out from under his battered cap. ‘I’m glad
you’re here sir, perhaps you can help.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Mistress Gennay won’t let us in, she’s locked herself inside.’

Emin scowled and pushed past them to thump heavily on the door. ‘Gennay, it’s me – open the door!’

‘Emin, go away – leave me alone.’

‘Don’t be so bloody stupid, when have I ever done that?’

There was no response. ‘What brought this about?’ he asked Pirn.

‘I don’t know,’ Pirn said. ‘When we got here she said she was staying for the night and refused to open the door.’

‘She didn’t open the door at all?’

Both men shook their head. ‘Couldn’t hear anyone with her, sir,’ Pirn continued, ‘but something’s not right, this ain’t like her.’

‘No, no it isn’t.’ Emin thumped again on the door. ‘Gennay, open the door, I’m not going away.’

‘And I’m not leaving the library tonight,’ she called from behind it. ‘Whether it’s my own fears or something else, I’ve had enough of jumping at shadows and
dreaming of ghosts. I’ve barely slept in days and I’m going to stay here until I work this out.’

‘As you wish,’ Emin replied, ‘but to get rid of me you have to open the door and prove to me you’re alone in there.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Indulge me.’

‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ Gennay said. At last she turned the key in the lock, giving the door an exasperated kick as it stuck briefly, then opening up and stepping aside for
Emin to see in while still holding the door.

‘Satisfied yet?’

‘No.’ Emin walked into the library, pushing her arm out of the way without comment as he inspected the room. Pirn and Bewen took one look at Gennay’s expression and stayed
where they were, but short of grabbing Emin by the ear there was nothing she could do to stop him.

‘You’ve fetched yourself some supper,’ he noted aloud as he paused over a small parcel of wrapped cloth on one of the desks. The door to the reading room where they’d
discovered the altered book was propped open and a lamp burned steadily on the far wall within.

‘Are you facing your fears, or those of Sarras?’ Emin wondered as he stared into the room, but when he turned to Gennay for an answer she just stared determinedly back.

‘Finished your inspection?’ she said at last.

Realising his sister was indeed alone, Emin agreed that he was finished. His initial fear had been someone inside preventing her from unlocking the door, but since that was clearly not the case
he didn’t have much way to interfere without sparking another argument.

‘I’ve finished. Pirn, Bewen, you can both go home for the night. I’ll watch over my sister.’

‘You’ll get out is what you’ll do, little brother!’ Gennay pointed out the door. ‘Go on; leave me as you said you would.’

Emin inclined his head. ‘I did say that, but I’ll not go far. There’s a pleasant enough tavern just down the street. I’ll spend the evening there and keep one eye on this
place, I think.’

‘Well, I’ll be here until morning, by which time I suspect you’ll be dead-drunk and rolled into the street without your purse.’

‘I’m sure I’ll be able to take a room there, don’t you worry about me.’

‘Hah, so it’s a whorehouse too? What trials you endure, dear Emin, to see me safe through the night.’ She gestured again to the door. ‘Well, go on then, go and play with
your clap-raddled sluts and leave me to my work.’

Emin did as he was told, sending Bewen back with a message for their mother. Pirn refused to leave, claiming an obligation to their father for her safety. Emin didn’t even bother arguing
and instead invited the man to drink with him and share a few war stories at the nearest tavern – an upscale place where the occupant of the best table at the window was more than willing to
give his place up to a richer man.

By the time a second jug of wine had arrived and they’d ordered the day’s stew, Pirn started to relax in the company of his master’s heir. They’d known each other for
years, of course, but the strictures of society were a constant limitation.

‘What about the Bales campaign?’ Emin asked, pouring them both some more wine. It was weak stuff as they had a long night ahead of them, but slipping down very nicely in the warm
corner they’d found.

‘Aye, went on that one too. More’ve the same really; Baron Heshen never thought tactics were worth the effort.’

‘I’m amazed you managed to survive any battle,’ Emin laughed, ‘with incompetents in charge at every step.’

Pirn nodded and scratched his whiskery cheeks reflectively. ‘Guess you tried not to think too hard about that, you take their coin, you do what they say. Anyone who suggests a nobleman
couldn’t find his arse with both hands . . . well, most ain’t like yourself, Master Emin. We’d have been strung up quick as you like, so no one dared say such a thing.’

‘What a fucking waste – Heshen only cared about having his way with every virgin he could find, so I’ve heard. His father before him liked to fight and liked to conquer, but
didn’t care much for much that didn’t involve killing, and our present lord . . .’ At Pirn’s expression Emin tailed off, but was unable to stop himself from grinning.

‘Now Master Emin, I know you like a joke but I’m a loyal man o’ Narkang.’

‘Calm yourself, Pirn, I’ve no complaints about the duke – indeed, the way he manages his court is masterly, you’ll see no defter a touch or tease in the best-reputed
houses throughout the Land.’

Pirn frowned, but knew he couldn’t say any more. A soldier of Narkang and firm in his view of the Land, Pirn’s mood had soured at Emin’s description – even more so for
the strains of truth it contained. The Duke of Narkang was a man adept at flirting between factions and keeping them all breathlessly guessing which way he’d go. With powerful neighbours on
three sides, political acumen was a requirement for any ruler of the Freeport of Narkang. For more than one reason was Narkang described as a whore of a city.

‘No, what I find saddening is the lack of ambition from most rulers,’ Emin continued after a pause. ‘The years of gathering wealth and power, but not bothering to do something
with it. I can’t see how I’d be quite so attached to an heir to devote my life to consolidating his position.’

‘You’re young – and unmarried – Master Emin. Things look different on the other side of a marriage bed.’

Emin shrugged. ‘I suppose, but why not leave something rather more lasting? I could name you a dozen rulers who fought for decades just to attain and keep power – but it’s not
as if you can take it with you. The priests of Death are rather specific on that detail.’

‘Power’s no small thing, sir, an’ just keeping hold o’ it’s no small task. There’s always someone hungry for more. If I might speak frankly?’ Pirn
said.

Emin nodded, one eye still on the dark environs of the library.

‘Well, it’s yer father’s household, but there’s not much restricted to his heir. If you’d grown dependent on the goodwill o’ others, you might see it
different.’

Without warning, Emin sat bolt upright, one hand reaching for his sword as he stared out the window.

‘What is it?’

The young nobleman didn’t respond immediately, frozen on the point of rushing for the door. ‘Someone loitering by the library gate,’ he said eventually. ‘Not doing much,
just waiting like a thief’s lookout.’

In the darkness it was hard to see any more than the fact there was someone there. That there was a man was all Emin could make out, one in a coat and hat as would be expected on a cold
winter’s night. There was precious little light in the street, but Emin had paid the gateman of the house opposite to keep a lamp burning at his door and it shone enough to pick out shapes
and movement across the street.

The man kept still, not pacing or swinging his arms to keep warm – he just lounged against the side of the gate with his back to the courtyard wall. Emin blinked and in the same moment
thought he caught sight of some small movement – some dark shape flitting around the corner to the shadowed gate itself – but whatever it was, the gate remained closed.

‘What happened?’ Pirn asked, seeing Emin blink hard, then frown and squint harder.

‘I don’t know,’ Emin said, ‘thought I saw movement, a second man but . . .’

Pirn eased himself around their table so he could look out too. The veteran’s face hardened and his hand went to the dagger on his belt. ‘Too close to be innocently standing out in
the street at night.’

‘Unless he’s a decoy,’ Emin pointed out, ‘looking to draw out anyone keeping watch over the library.’

‘Master Emin, this ain’t the duke’s treasury.’

Emin grinned briefly. ‘A little too devious for my own good perhaps.’ He rose and dropped a few coins on their table beside the half-drunk wine. ‘Let’s go have a talk
with our friend out there, see what he’s up to.’

The pair headed out into the chilly night and started down the opposite side of the street. Before they were out the door Emin was talking inconsequentially about some fictitious racehorse,
knowing any conversation or lack thereof would carry over the crisp night air. It served no purpose however. Almost as soon as they had turned in his direction, the stranger started off from his
post – not hurrying, but moving briskly away.

Emin gave Pirn a look. As one, they broke into a run and their quarry scampered around the corner of the adjoining building. In a heartbeat he was out of sight so Emin sprinted away from his
companion and ran with all speed to the corner. When he got there the side-street was empty so he pelted on down it, keeping to the centre of the street to avoid anyone looming suddenly from the
shadows.

At the next corner he checked around, but saw no one and he realised the futility of pursuit. There were a dozen hiding places for a man in the dark, some already behind him. Off to his left was
the high rear wall of the library’s grounds, difficult to scale and precious little within, but as likely as any other possibility.

Behind him, Pirn’s heavy footfalls heralded the retainer’s arrival, puffing hard at the unwelcome exercise. Pirn was fit and strong for his age, but anyone with that much white in
their hair knew their running days were behind them. His cheeks were flushed and chest heaving for breath as he also inspected the street.

‘He might have scaled the wall,’ Emin said, pointing.

‘Bloody acrobat if he did,’ Pirn replied after a pause. ‘I’m not getting over that.’

‘If he did, he’s not getting into the library easily,’ Emin decided, ‘so there’s little point in following on the off-chance. Better to be near the front, Gennay
will hear anyone breaking in – it’s not impossible but every window’s bolted so they won’t be doing it quietly.’

With one last look around the seemingly empty street, Emin and Pirn retraced their steps to the courtyard gate. As the echoes of their footsteps were swallowed by the night, Emin noticed just
how quiet it was, this far past nightfall. But for the few lights, he could have easily imagined them alone in a deserted city.

What sounds of life there were from other parts of the city were faint and unidentifiable. The strange sense of isolation made Emin feel unaccountably vulnerable in the patch of light he’d
arranged to cover that section of street, as though he could sense invisible, hostile eyes watching him from the darkness.

‘What was he doing here?’ he wondered, trying to shake off his nervous mood.

He scanned the stonework of the wall, for a moment expecting to see crosses and circles scratched somewhere there. Finding nothing he entered the courtyard and looked around, taking a while to
see into the lines of shadow along the far wall but eventually giving up his search.

‘If he was acting lookout, then lookout for whom?’

‘Probably just scouting; checking the coast’s clear.’

Emin wasn’t convinced. ‘This is no housebreaker,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing valuable enough to justify these efforts, so what’s the purpose in all
this?’

He stared up at the library as though expecting an answer from the building itself, but it remained quiet and dark aside from the trace of light from Gennay’s lamp that shone through the
library’s high windows. Then an answer came and startled him into movement – a woman’s scream tearing through the hush of night.

Emin ran for the door as Gennay cried out again, Pirn close on his shoulder. The door wouldn’t budge, it was stuck fast and all Emin could do was smash his shoulder uselessly into the
thick oak.

‘Gennay!’ he yelled at the top of his voice.

From within came a crash of something falling, then more screams. He redoubled his effort, battering at the solid wood while his sister shrieked in mortal terror within.

‘Mistress Gennay!’ Pirn bellowed in his ear, more than willing to lend his own shoulder to the work but still it had no effect. ‘There must be another way to get in!’

Emin stopped and frantically ran his hands over his clothing. ‘Metal, what metal do you have on you?’ He grabbed Pirn and shook the larger man like a rat. ‘Metal! A brooch,
anything!’

He ripped his cloak from his shoulders, bursting the brooch pin that fastened it and fumbling a moment with the remains. Pirn watched him with astonishment, but then Gennay screamed again and he
was searching his clothes too.

‘Ah damn,’ Emin shouted suddenly, drawing his sword and holding it up. It was a slim weapon, made for speed on a city street rather than the battlefield, with thin curved metal bars
forming the guard. Using a knife he scraped frantically at the leather grip until he’d stripped a piece away, then worked away at it until he could draw out a pin from the handle itself.

That done, he worked at the guard until it loosened and he could slide it over the blade, discarding everything but the guard. He dropped it on the ground and pushed it into the corner between
wall and flagstones, stamping at an angle until it was bent out of shape. With the damaged guard and the brooch pin Emin set to work on the lock, working at it frantically while sounds of breaking
glass came from within.