The Night Parade (5 page)

He nodded swiftly. “How could I forget? Everyone remembers the storm. In a city like this, they are rare.”

“You were selling children then, just as you are now. You sold a child during the great storm. A baby girl—”

“Who are you people?” Kracauer asked, his panic causing him to inch away from Cardoc. The mage grabbed him by the collar of his waistcoat and slammed him against the window frame.

“Answer her question.”

“There were so many children,” he mewled. “How can I possibly remember that one?”

“He’s lying. Should I kill him?” Cardoc asked, then pulled his hand back and whispered a phrase. Suddenly a ball of flame appeared in his hand, the fire generating enough heat to cause Kracauer to break into an immediate sweat.

“You’re one of them!” he cried. “Please, I’ve told no one. Lord Zeal, please!”

Myrmeen felt her heart thunder in her chest at the name.

“One of who?” Cardoc asked, bringing the flame closer. His hand, amazingly, did not appear to be damaged by the flames. “And who is Lord Zeal?”

“This is a test” he said, shaking his head quickly. “I don’t know. I don’t know anyone named Zeal, I don’t know anything about you people.”

“What people?” Cardoc said, bringing the fire close enough to singe the man’s eyebrows.

“The Night Parade!” he shouted. “There! Satisfied?”

“Tell us about the girl,” Myrmeen said excitedly. “A man named Dak gave you the child to cover his gambling debts. You sold her-“

“There were two others,” Kracauer said, his fear overtaking him. “It wasn’t just me, you know.”

“What are their names?” she asked.

“Johannas and Nehlridge. They’re both still in the city. They might remember. They might know. I only remember bits and pieces of what happened that night. I know there were children, many, many children, and the nightmare people came. They wanted the children, and they paid handsomely for them, all the children born that night—”

With a short, choking cry, Kracauer fell silent, his eyes rolling back into his head, the tip of a blood-drenched knife jutting from his larynx. Cardoc grabbed Myrmeen and threw her to the hardwood floor, the flame in his hand vanishing. She heard the sound of a blade slicing though the air above their heads like the hiss of a snake breathing out in warning. It struck the wooden door she had locked when they had entered the room. The mage was already crouched beside the open window, reciting several spells, always leaving out the last few words so that he could trigger them at any time. He leaned against the wall as he eyed the window suspiciously and motioned for Myrmeen to crawl as close to the wall as possible. There was only one window in the room, one possible entrance point for other weapons.

Kracauer had fallen facedown onto his desk. The handle of the blade that had killed him was buried deep in his neck. The force that had been used to throw the weapon must have been considerable, Myrmeen wagered, as only the hilt could be seen. She glanced at the door, where the second dagger had struck. Its blade, too, had passed entirely through the hard wood, leaving only the glittering black hilt exposed.

Suddenly Cardoc jumped to his feet and turned to face the window, his hands curled in an arcane gesture, ready to propel the force of some powerful spell against the assassin who had been standing in the alley. His hands relaxed as he snatched a small mirror from the desk and thrust it outside the window. He checked the area on either side of the window, then above and below the frame.

“The killer is gone,” Cardoc said.

Myrmeen nodded and used the wall for leverage as she stood up and went to Kracauer’s body. She was about to touch the dagger’s hilt when Cardoc screamed for her to stop. She froze where she was, her fingers inches from the cold, sparkling metal. Something about the weapon’s design seemed familiar.

Suddenly, she saw a wreath of darkness separate from the weapon and hang just above the dead man like a deadly, nebulous cloud. It quickly descended into the dead man’s body, sinking deep into his flesh. Across the room, where the second blade had struck, a large, round band of darkness was eating into the wooden door. In moments, it vanished as well. The hilts of both weapons now shone gray, as if they had been covered in black tar that was now completely washed away. Their bizarre design reminded her of lightning bolts. They caught the light and reflected it back as if to reinforce that notion.

Cardoc nodded toward the window. “W; must leave.”

Myrmeen followed him through the open window, into the alley beyond. She took a final glance inside the office and suddenly knew why the knives had seemed so disturbingly familiar: She had seen them in a dream.

No, she corrected herself, not a dream. A nightmare.

Four

Lucius Cardoc escorted Myrmeen back to the inn, then told her that he would spend the night trying to discover the location of the two men Kracauer had mentioned.

“You need sleep, too,” she had protested. “And it may not be safe for you on your own.”

“I do my best work when I am alone,” he said, giving her no choice in the matter as he became invisible. She reached out to where he had been standing, but he already had moved away. With a sigh of defeat, she turned and went upstairs to join the others.

Ord had fallen into a deep sleep with Burke silently watching over the boy. Myrmeen told the group all that had occurred and relayed Lucius’s promise to return with information by morningsun.

“The best thing for us to do is wait,” Varina said. Myrmeen agreed. Reisz went back to the room he had planned to share with Ord. Myrmeen retired to her private chamber. She slept fitfully, waking every thirty minutes to an hour. The last time she wrested herself from her sleep, she awoke frightened and felt as if she were being pulled away on a tide that had overpowered her senses.

Slivers of her last nightmare remained as she got up and paced. She did not feel like going back to sleep and so she performed an exhausting series of exercises and practiced with her heavy sword, hoping to tire herself. Finally, when she had given up on a decent night’s sleep, Myrmeen sat before the small window, looking out at the city of her birth. A single image from her dream refused to fade:

She had seen a man standing on the muddy earth in the middle of a terrible storm, a dark man who raised his arms to the sky. Two ragged bolts of lightning shattered the night with their blinding intensity, their jagged paths cutting across the horizon from opposite directions. Suddenly they met where the man stood, each of his out-thrust hands receiving a single blast of lightning. He became transparent for a moment as the searing white light coursed through him, and Myrmeen could see that his anatomy was not that of a man, but of something considerably older and more threatening.

Was this Talos, god of the storms? She was not a worshiper of any particular god, but if she had been, Talos would have been her last choice. Storms terrified her.

Myrmeen felt an odd scratching sensation on her left arm and held the arm out to the soft blue-white illumination from the window. She was shocked to see three sets of black eyes open on her forearm.

Suddenly she was aware of a knocking at her door. Myrmeen yawned and felt a strange warmth on her arms. She looked up and saw sunlight pouring through the open window. The raw heat of the day caressed her. Examining her left arm several times, she found no trace of the curious eyes that had materialized within her flesh. She did not remember falling asleep after she shook herself from her nightmares and sat before the window, but the eyes must have been part of them. Worried that the line between her dreams and her waking reality was beginning to blur, Myrmeen became anxious to fill her mind with other thoughts. She checked her dress to ensure that her gown would not offend her visitor’s sensibilities and said, “Come!”

The door opened and Lucius Cardoc stepped inside. She was not surprised. From the tentative nature of the knock, she had guessed that it would be him.

“Myrmeen,” he said as he entered and lowered his gaze in a form of respectful greeting. The mage looked exactly as he had the night before. If he had missed out on a night’s sleep, the effects had not manifested.

She stepped away from the chair that she had been straddling and turned to face him. Her neck and back ached. She had fallen asleep in an awkward position, her head resting in the crook of her arms. Unconsciously, she raised her arms over her head and reached back to link her fingers behind her neck, stretching like a cat. Then she suddenly became aware of the sensuous image she was providing for the mage. Her thin shift had hardly been shocking, but it was not modest either. She was aware that the light from outside was serving to reveal her body’s perfect lines.

Cardoc did not seem embarrassed in the least, and she found that she liked his reaction. He came to her from behind, raised the back of her shift, and said, “Sit on the side of the bed.”

With a tentative smile, she did as he commanded. He delivered a powerful and soothing massage to the tense, knotted muscles in her back. His hands were stronger than she had anticipated. She resisted the urge to let him know exactly how pleasurable his touch was becoming as she bunched her hair in her hands and lifted it to give him clear access to her neck. He somehow knew exactly where to touch her and with how much pressure.

She appreciated that he said nothing of the scars lining her bare back.

“I have the information,” he said, a trace of amusement in his tone as he gently lowered her shift and backed away. “Would you like a few moments to dress? I could wait downstairs with the others.”

She almost asked him to stay, then thought better of it. Her heart was racing as she turned to see him exit the room.

An hour later, the Harpers were on the street. They had retrieved their mounts from the stable master, who had charged them an inflated fee, a common occurrence in Calimport, and rode through one of the designated routes set aside for intracity travel. They brought their supplies.

Reisz chose to ride beside Myrmeen, with Lucius taking point. A thought had weighed heavily on him for the last few weeks, since he had responded with the others to Myrmeen’s summons and listened to her story. During the long ride to Calimport and through the trials that followed, there had been no appropriate moment to bring up his observation. Now, he felt, was as good a time as any.

“Myrmeen, you said that your mother first told you of the Night Parade to explain what happened to your stillborn sister. Isn’t it possible that the monsters took her, too?”

She drew a deep breath, as if she had been stung by his words. “Anything is possible,” she said evenly, betraying the fact that the thought had occurred to her, too.

Lucius called for the company to halt, and he pointed at the sight that had arrested his attention. They were close to the shipping lanes, traveling between endless rows of buildings that had been converted into warehouses. Ahead they could see the bay’s sparkling, clear waters, along with nearly one hundred ships in the docks. Above one of the ships, like an angry black fist, rose a cloud of smoke. A small boat had been set on fire and was sinking into the waters.

The mage dismounted and led his sleek black horse to the others. Reisz took the animal’s reins as Lucius offered to go ahead and learn what had happened. Myrmeen and Burke agreed. As they waited for him to return, she thought of Kracauer, the baby merchant who had been slain by the strange weapon charged by a form of magic that had unnerved Cardoc. She considered the possibility that the assassin had been close enough to hear the names Kracauer had given them. Having mentally traced the trajectory of the second blade, the one, presumably, meant for her throat, Myrmeen knew that, without Lucius’s interference, the knife narrowly would have missed her.

The killing had been a warning.

Lucius came back and announced what Myrmeen had already guessed: The boat that had been sunk belonged to Ivan Nehlridge, the smuggler who frequently shuttled Kracauer’s stolen freight from the city. Witnesses had seen him engulfed in flames, screaming for his life, as the boat had gone down.

“Martyn Johannas is the only one left,” Lucius said. “What I learned about him was a bit more vague. That could work in our favor.”

“Perhaps,” Burke said as he ordered the company to follow the mage. They left the docks and cut across the dark heart of the city, the meaning of Cardoc’s words apparent: Their only possible advantage depended on the quality of the information received by the killers, who were attempting to seal off Myrmeen’s avenues of inquiry. If they had been given the same odd phrases as Cardoc to explain the whereabouts of Martyn Johannas, then the Harpers had a fair chance of getting to the man first.

The morning was a bitter memory by the time they arrived at the outskirts of the city’s financial district. Guardsmen ordered them away from the busy streets. The Harpers put up their mounts at the first stable they spotted, which had been filled nearly to capacity. Myrmeen was doleful at the idea of leaving the mounts in the oppressively hot stables. Fortunately, the stalls they rented were the responsibility of a young stable boy who seemed to genuinely love and respect the magnificent animals left to his care. She gave him an extra coin for his troubles.

Before they left, the boy took her to a private room, where she changed into an elegant gold-and-white dress from her travel bag. When she emerged from the room, her hair was piled up in a regal style and held in a beautiful headdress. She wore white gloves that covered her forearms and ended above her elbows. Her shoulderless gown plunged in the front, revealing the creamy tops of her breasts, which had been thrust upward by a wire corset that chafed against her skin. Her bearing and style of walk had changed, too.

The Harpers had decided that they would draw far less attention if they posed as servants and bodyguards to a finely dressed lady. For Myrmeen, her companions’ expressions at her emergence as a woman of wealth and privilege made it worth slipping out of her battle-worn leathers, mails, and thigh-high boots. Her only mistake in choosing this outfit had been her sandals, which revealed her calloused feet. Cardoc nodded at her approvingly, his gaze lingering perhaps a moment too long.