Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

I ran.

I ran from the guards, I ran from de Vayre, I ran from the new voice that screamed in my head. Every time I blinked, I saw a vital image of the poor boy I had just reaped floating in the dark. I felt sick.

The streets of the Crown-in-Between slept as I stumbled my way through the warren, the pitch and fuel lamps guttering out in the last few moments of night. Few people were out and about. All I had to deal with was the guards’ dogged pursuit, the slippery cobbles and muddy dirty tracks, and the stinking mire I slipped in and out of as I passed from the main streets to the alleys and back again.

The boy's screams pursued me. He battered at my mind, his soul trying to break free from the prison I had trapped him in. I heard him whimpering and pleading, just looking for a reason, an explanation. Why has this happened to me? What has happened to me? Who has done this to me?  I wished I could give him an answer, but I had other things on my mind.

The sounds of pursuit were ever present, closing in around me like the jaws of a trap. I darted through the streets at random, hoping to throw the guards off the scent. I had no idea where I was going or what I was doing. They would have found the dead body – those guards would be out for blood. I know that I would have been if I were in their shoes. If they caught me, they would kill me and de Vayre be damned.

Darting into an alleyway, I took refuge beneath the arched entrance of a tenement building. The sounds of pursuit drew nearer, and I saw three guards run past the entrance to the alleyway, obviously convinced that I had continued on down the main street. I collapsed down to my haunches, allowing myself a few moments to catch my breath and try to work out what to do next.

The pain in my shoulder flared. Pulling my shirt away from the wound with a grimace, I checked it. The bullet had grazed me, thank the Goddess. It was bleeding profusely, but it didn’t appear life threatening. It should hold out until I got to somewhere safer. Where, of course, was another problem entirely.

I couldn't go home. I hadn’t paid my landlord in three weeks, and I was sure that de Vayre would have asked the Lord Justice for as much information as he could give her. Considering how Gielding felt about me, I was sure he would have supplied her with everything she needed.

Tess was no longer an option, and I wondered whether she ever would be again. I had a small list of allies, and it was being rapidly shortened. There was still Kielley, but getting out into the Dregs would mean passing through a checkpoint or through a gate. I wracked my brains, but my thoughts were diffuse and scattered.

The bag. I seized on the thought. Casting a quick look out at the alleyway and the street beyond, I deposited it in front of me and pulled the ties open. A leather wallet sat right on top. Damn! Wincing, knowing what I would find, I dragged the wallet out, undid the tie and let it fall open.

I’m sure Faversham would have done a wonderful job creating a series of passe-portes and false papers that would have allowed me to pass through any part of the city without raising suspicions. They would have been perfect. Before I had dragged them underwater.

They were ruined beyond any hope of recovery. There was absolutely nothing I could do with them.

The only thing to have survived with some semblance of its former worth was the invitation to Pemberley’s ball. Folding it up and slipping it in my pocket, I tossed the others in the ditch with the rest of the shit.

I rummaged around in the bag. I discovered a pouch of coin, a knife and a replacement set of clothes. Hefting the pouch in my hands, I realised that Faversham had given me a small fortune. One piece of good news. I allowed myself a small smile. Good old Tess.

The sight of the money gave me a little ray of hope. I sat there for a moment, my back against the wall of the tenement building behind me, trying to think out my next move. After a few moments, I realised that I only really had one option.

Kit. He had offered to help me in the inn. He had always been there for me in the past. I could count on him.

Mind made up, I snuck a peek around the archway. The alleyway was empty. Hurrying out onto the main street, I took a moment to get my bearings, then turned left, heading back the way I had come. Eyes flickering from building to building and ears pricked for any sign of pursuit, I set off for the theatre district.

X

Getting into the Glory turned out to be easier than I had thought. When  I arrived, I found a wagon pulled up outside, with two men struggling to unload it with barrels and boxes. I offered my help and minutes later I was inside.

A small corridor led to the pit, a large open space where the great unwashed could watch the play for a single copper piece. All around me rose three levels of seating, protected by balconies.

One of the members of the Earl of Pemberley’s Men stood in the middle of the rush-strewn earthen floor. He looked up as I stumbled out into the Pit, then waved me towards the stage, where three men were practicing fencing under the eagle eye of an older actor.

“Take it through to the tiring house.”

I nodded as best I could, then continued on my laborious trek towards the stage.

Stepping carefully around the edge of the stage, avoiding everyones eyes just in case someone recognised me, I headed for the curtain that separated the Pit from the rear part of the theatre. Known as the tiring house, this was where the players prepared before the play began.

Bedlam reigned inside. I had been back here once before, not in the Glory but in another theatre, so I knew what to expect. Still, I was still taken aback by the sheer level of chaos that surrounded me. What had been an open area had been split into multiple rooms and chambers by stringing rope between the walls and hanging sheets. People ran in every direction, jumping in and out of costumes. I saw a young boy running after a barking dog, trying desperately to catch him. A woman wearing nothing but a pair of men's shorts over her nether regions darted out of a nearby cubicle, not even blushing as I took in her wonders. In fact she grinned at me, winked, then headed towards another chamber.

Setting down the barrel in one of the first storage rooms I found, I stepped into the shadows as Frowns appeared. He looked around for me, scowled, then turned and walked out muttering to himself. I waited for a few moments and then snuck out.

I made my way through the insanity slowly, trying to find Kit. He would be in the middle of all of this somewhere, making final preparations for the beginning of the play. His job as fixer also included producing the play, making sure the lines were said at the right time and everyone was where they needed to be when they needed to be. Sounded like fun, actually.

I heard him before I saw him. Hiding behind one of the cloth walls, I peered into a room at the rear of the theatre. He held the same brown dog I had seen earlier in his arms and was berating the young boy who had been running after him.

"...And make sure that you keep a hold of him this time," he shouted after the boy who was already running back towards the stage, the dog struggling to get away.

As soon as the boy had gone, I stepped inside. Kit turned; his mouth open to ask me what the hell I was doing there, then he saw me. His eyes widened, his mouth dropping open.

"Oh Goddess."

"Hi Kit. Listen, I- -"

"What the hell are you doing here?" He looked around nervously, as if afraid of something. "You shouldn't have come."

"Kit, you have to help me. Something has happened and..."

"No! You have to go." He strode towards me, grabbing me by the arm. "I'll get you out of here. We should be able to before..."

"Before what, exactly, Kit?"

Kit froze, stopping dead. I turned my head to see two burly men dressed as pirates stood at the back of the room. They held cudgles in their hands and they were glaring. At me.

"What's going on here, Kit?" one of them asked. "What exactly do you think you're doing with him?"

"Listen, Andrew, both of you, this isn't what it looks like."

"You're not trying to help this murderer?"

Murderer?! I looked at Kit. "What's going on, Kit?"

Kit opened his mouth to say something, then obviously thought better of it. Closing his eyes, he shook his head, then took a deep breath before opening them again.

“Take him.”

“What?” I spun around to see both men rushing me. I backed up, tripped over my own feet and went down, landing hard on my arse. Not the most effective escape in the annals, I’ll grant you.

Both men were on me before I could even attempt to get back up, reaching down and hauling me to my feet. One of them, the one Kit had called Andrew, held me with one hand on my arm and the other around my neck, squeezing and pinching my skin as hard as he could. I could only look from one to the other, trying to make sense of what the hell was going on.

“What do we do with him?” the other man, his face narrow like a rat’s, asked.

“Nothing. Not here anyway. We’ll take him out back and get everyone together."

Both men nodded. Holding me tight, they dragged me out into the corridor, Kit not far behind.

The dress rehearsal seemed to have started – there was no one around to watch me half-dragged, half-carried further into the depths of the tiring house. After mere moments we stpped in front of a heavy-looking wooden door.

Kit stepped out in front of us, avoiding my eyes, and pulled out a set of keys. I noticed that his hands were shaking as he fumbled through the keys. What the hell did he have to be nervous about? I was the one with these two bruisers clutching at my arms. After more fumbling, he found the right key and used it to unlock the door.

A huge meaty hand slapped me on the back, thrusting me forward. I lost my footing. Everything slid past me in a blur. I barely had time to glimpse a large table surrounded by a disparate set of chairs before I barrelled into them, sending chairs tumbling to the floor around me. One of them poked me in the stomach, my breath bursting out in a belch. Pain erupted from the wound in my shoulder and I bit back a gasp.

Before I had time to recover, I felt myself grabbed from behind and pulled to my feet. I stared into the maddened eyes of the one Kit had called Andrew. He grinned at me, his breath coming in quick hitched breaths. I tried to recoil, more from the smell of his breath than anything else. He didn’t seem to care, lifting me off my  feet and throwing me across the room at the near wall. Hard.

I hit the wall and rebounded, falling over in a mess of arms and legs. By the time I was able to make out up from down, Andrew was coming for me again. I wobbled to my feet, tried to raise my fists against him, but failed miserably to protect myself. His fist struck my cheek and I flailed backwards, hitting my head against the wall.

This time, I didn't bother to try and get up. I sprawled there, my back against the wall, as Andrew reached down and grabbed me again, hauling me to my feet. Before he could throw me again, though, I heard Kit's voice.

“Andrew, stop.”

He did, though he kept his fist wrapped around the front of my shirt, and turned to glare at Kit.

“Why are you protecting this murderer?”

“Stop calling him that! We don’t know what happened yet. And even if what they said is true, this isn’t the way to deal with it. We’re a family, we make these kind of decisions together.”

Andrew hesitated for a moment, then grunted in agreement.

I had followed this whole conversation as if from a distance, the ringing in my ears making it difficult to concentrate. Andrew lifted me and hauled me in one swift motion across the room, depositing me in one of the chairs that hadn't been thrown over by my entrance.

Getting behind me, Andrew gripped my wrists, pulling my arms behind me, and sending pain lancing down my spine. From behind me, he spoke to the other actor who had accompanied us.

"Get some rope."

The man bobbed his head, then turned and ran out. Coward.

Andrew leant forward, whispering in my ear.

“You’re going to regret ever coming back here, murderer. I promise you that.”

Normally I would have some kind of quick witted reply for him, but at this point I was just happy not to be throwing up.

The door opened again, revealing the other man with a rope in his hand. Two others followed him in, a tall man with greying hair, rouge on his cheeks and a beard twisted up in a net beneath his chin, and a woman dressed in tight-fitting breeches and a shirt open enough to reveal hills and wonders – the same woman who had winked at me earlier on.

As the rat-faced man brought the rope over to Andrew – who wasted no time in wrapping it around and around my hands – the newcomers looked at me and frowned. The man turned to Kit.

“What is going on here?”

“This is him,” Andrew cut in before Kit could respond, pulling the rope tight and then beginning to tie the loose ends to the rear legs of the chair.

“Him? Him who?”

“The man who killed Oaksgrave.”

Both of them gasped. The man’s frown deepened, while the woman looked at me as though she wanted to cut my throat. I was starting to get a vague inkling of what was going on here, and it was making me feel sick.

“Kit, what is going on here? What is he doing here?"

“He came to see me,” Kit replied before Andrew could.

“What? Why?”

Kit rolled his eyes. “Don’t act all surprised, Lawrence. You all knew that Daniel was a friend of mine, you all saw us talking that night.”

“And were you planning on telling us about him or just letting him escape?” Andrew asked.

“What are you accusing me of?”

Before Kit could answer, the door opened again, revealing another woman, tendrils of red hair escaping from a cap, followed by two dwarves dressed in bright yellow and green clown costumes. When they saw me, though, neither of them made a joke. Lips drawn back in feral growls, they reached for the knives they had hitten in their wide bottomed trousers.

Not that I was afraid of two little men, of course. Still, I was grateful when Kit stepped between them and me

“Calm down,” he snapped. “Both of you.”

They did not look at him, glaring at me, but at least their hands moved away from their knives.

“I could have taken them,” I whispered, though not low enough apparently. Andrew grunted, cuffed me on the back of the head, then walked past me to join the other members of the troop.

“What is he doing here?” one of the dwarves demanded.

“He came to see me,” Kit repeated. “I don’t know why.” He turned to look at me. “Now, we… We need to decide what to do with him.”

One of the dwarf’s hands strayed back towards his knife. “I know what we can do to  him.”

Andrew nodded and grinned at me. I was really starting to hate him.

“No,” Kit said.

“But he killed Oaks,” Andrew burst out. He looked back at me with murder in his eyes. “The bastard murdered our illusionist, I say we kill him.”

I felt my stomach drop. Shit! My suspicions had been right, then. The illusionist. The stupid bugger trapped in my head had been their illusionist. And every single man and woman in this room – apart perhaps for Kit – believed that I had killed him. At best, they would kill me themselves. At worse, they would decide to hand me over to de Vayre… and the questionners in the Tower.

My chances for escape were even grimmer. Even if I somehow managed to get free of the ropes, overcome the nine people in the room, get out of the theatre without one of the other actors seeing and recognising me, every guard, runners, thieftaker, bounty hunter and ratcatcher in all three Crowns would be looking for me.

In a word: I was right and royally buggered.

Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

This time, I dreamt myself back to Naevcastel, where I walked the corridors of Tess’ house in the darkness. I could feel the eyes watching me, her fae servants following me as I passed, muttering and giggling to themselves.

We’re going to eat you, they whispered to me. You’re never going to leave this place alive. Run, little boy. Run away. A candle lit my way, the flame flickering as my hand shook. I walked on down the corridor anyway, trying to ignore the darkness that closed around me like a shroud. I needed to reach the door. I could see it, always just out of reach. If I didn’t reach it before the candle died, they’d have me. They’d eat me. I wanted to call out, to beg for Tess’ help… She won’t hear me. Even if she does, she’ll leave me to them. She doesn’t love me, not really… The candle began to sputter and die. I fell to my knees, waiting for the creatures to take me…

A chair, hard beneath me. I shivered, the cold touching me even beneath the thick woolen blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I blinked once, twice, trying to make sense of what I could see. Flames. Flames, roaring in a fire place. A fire place set into a white washed wall. Two chairs before the fire place. Tess. Sat in one of the chairs. Staring at me. Smiling. Holding a glass of golden light. Mercury.

Dressed in a long simple robe the colour of summer corn, the fur of some unknown animal lining the collar, Tess didn’t look any different to the last time I had seen her. For an instant, the fire light refracted through the glass in a broken caleidoscope of light, playing across the reflective surface of her mask and twining in her raven hair streaked with white. My first conscious thought was how old she looked. And what happens when she’s gone?

“Good evening.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Good evening. You’ve slept all day.”

I tried to make sense of that and then the memory of that morning came rushing back.

Without even realising it, I shoved aside the blanket and rose to my feet. Fury dulled the pain in my chest, filling me with added adrenaline. I took a step towards her, raising a hand as if to strike her. She just sat there, swirling the mercury in her glass and smiling at me. Anger flared again, wave after wave leaving me trembling.

“You… You…”

“Bitch? Monster? Witch? Sorceress? Whore?” She snorted. “Please, Daniel. You know the names people give me. I’ve earned every single one of them, with blood. So go on. Slap me. Punch me. Call me names. Let it out so that we can get on with what is important.”

Important?! Irsys’ nails, she really didn’t care. She had as much as raped me, forcing her magic on me so that I would be at her beck and call whenever she wanted. She had almost killed me with that spell, dragging me back to her against my will.

Part of my anger, I admitted to myself, was directed at myself. I had always answered those summons without question. And if you had known? That question surprised me. I forced myself to think about it. If I had known? If she had asked me before putting those chains around my chest? I knew the answer. You would have said yes. You would have said yes to anything back then.

That hurt more than the betrayal. If she had only asked me instead of forcing it on me, I would have agreed to let her wrap her hand around my heart and squeeze. I had loved her, back then. As a mistress. As a mother. As a lover.

Cast adrift by my own thoughts, I stumbled backwards and fell back in the chair. I felt as if I had been struck by a piece of driftwood. My chest ached, though whether from the physical scars of the summoning spell or from the revelation of her betrayal, I couldn’t tell. I would need time to make sense of it all. Now wasn’t that time, though. I hated doing it, but I nodded.

“What do you want?”

“That’s better,” Tess said, her voice soft. “I do need your help, Daniel. And if it can make you feel any better, I have removed the spell. I’ll use some more Justinian’s seeds to show you, if you don’t trust my word anymore. You’re free.”

I almost asked her to do it, just to spite her. Instead, I shook my head. I was tired of games.

“No. I trust you… for now. Just tell me what you want.”

Instead of answering me, she stood and walked over to a small table on top of which sat a glass decanter and two glasses. She looked at me, quirking an eyebrow. I hesitated. Did she want to confuse me? Dull my wits with alcohol? I decided that if she wanted to, she could just use her magic to do that. Besides, I hadn’t had a drink since the tavern where this had all started, and my body screamed for a taste. I nodded. She took her time pouring a glass of gold mercury, then brought it back to me. I forced myself to take a just a sip, as she returned to her own seat and sat down.

“I need you to reap a soul for me.”

I swallowed, and shook my head even before it had finished burning its way down my throat. I took another moment to enjoy the familiar sensation before speaking. “I told you five years ago, Tess. I’m done being your assassin. I reaped enough souls to last a lifetime on your say so. No more. You want someone dead, you’re going to have to use a knife.”

“I don’t want you to kill a man,” she said. “He’s already dead. I want you to find out how he died.”

I settled back in my chair, cradling my glass in my palm to warm the potent alchemycal brew. Then I just looked at her, eyebrow raised. I didn’t expect her to laugh.

“You’ll never change, my Daniel.” She sounded almost fond. “Still looking for reasons, after all these years? After all you saw? Even as a child, you always asked why.”

“Not reasons,” I said quietly. “Just truths.”

“You should know better than most, those are dangerous things. They rarely match what we were hoping for. In this case, though, I think that this should interest you.”

She reached into her robe, rummaging around in those innumerable pockets and finally drew out an object wrapped in a white linen cloth. She tossed it to me, then steepled her fingers, looking over them at me as I unwrapped it. I folded the fabric back to reveal a silver cross, the crossbar curved into a crescent moon. A stab of fear pierced my chest at the sight. I drew in a deep breath and looked up at her.

“A Purifier’s cross.”

"Have you been following their sect since…?" She trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence.

I allowed my thoughts to wander for a moment. The Purifiers were a fanatical sect of the Panthionist cult. They blamed King Harold’s breaking with the “true” faith for the unleashing of the Great Change that had covered the Breton Isles in the Wyrding Wood. As far as they were concerned, our very survival angered the Many-Gods. An affront that could and must only be remedied by fire. And those were some of the least colourful claims. Such as the rumour that the Queen is the whore of Saeth, that she consorts with the fae King and goes to wild orgies in the Wyrding Wood.

I nodded.

“I have.”

"I've been hearing whispers for the past few weeks about a group of them entering the city by sea. Sent by the Lord High Inquisitor himself all the way from Roma. Benjamin has been keeping his little spies busy, looking for some sign of them. I’ve used a few of my more ingenuous disguises to infiltrate the courts, when I have been able.” Tess could be a very free prisoner when she needed to be. “But I’ve found nothing beyond the mad ravings of the last few priests left in the Dregs. Until now.”

She stood up, putting the glass down on the table. I watched her move across the room to a bookcase next to the fire. After studying the books for a moment, she selected one seemingly at random and pulled. I heard a click, followed by the dry rumble of alchemycal machinery behind. Coming to my feet, I followed her over, stopping a few feet away. The bookcase swung open, revealing a dark passageway redolent with the smell of musty dust.

Tess paused before passing through the door, lifting a silver candle holder from the mantel piece. I hesitated a moment as she stepped into the darkness beyond. Tess would not kill a man in dark passageways. If she wanted you dead enough to do it by her own hand, she would look in your eyes as she did it.

Now there’s a comforting thought. I hesitated a moment longer, then followed her into the darkness.

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

As I had expected, the journey through the Crown-in-Between lasted for less than a bell, not including the time it took to see us through the Watergate, past the Inner Wall and back out onto the Groan. Once past the gate, the river changed around us - the magical cleansing of the water as it passed beneath the Inner Wall held back not only the last vestiges of the fae magic that poisoned the earth outside, but also the more mundane human waste - excrement, sewerage and dead animals. 

By the time we passed through the Queen’s Gate, I was switching between hot and cold every few moments and my shivers were becoming noticeable. My eyes began to scan the river bank to my right for a first glimpse of the Tower. I needed to get to Tess. 

Located on the very edge of Cordeliers, the Tower squatted over the river like a massive frog, casting deep shadows over the surface of the river. All of the privates palaces and houses we passed paled in comparison. Eighteen towers formed the complex, each one connected or separated from the others by two curtain walls. And every tower housed prisoners of the state, incarcerated there by the Lord Justice. 

As we drew closer, de Vayre’s man climbed into the back, settling next to the rudder. He began to guide the barge towards one tower in particular, and when I saw which one, I felt a surge of relief. Godling’s Tower. The Traitor’s Gate. Only one person had entered through that gate and lived. And luckily for me, she still resided within the Tower’s walls. 

As the barge pulled up to the gate, I began to hear the thrumming of machines, vast alchemycal devices designed by the Royal Society. Like most of the other machines installed throughout the Inner Crown, they drew their power from vast iron steam engines buried beneath the surface and surrounded by iron plating to protect them from magic’s effects. These machine pumped water from the Groan up to the top of the White Tower, providing running water for the noble prisoners. 

The gate creaked open as we drew closer and I glimpsed two guards waiting on the edge of the pool inside. Glowglobes reflected off the skull and moon clasps that kept their cloaks closed, and the drawn swords they held in their hands. 

Within a few feet of the gate, the current caught us up and began to draw us in. The oarsmen lifted their oars, stowing them in the brackets at their side in a single fluid motion. I closed my eyes as the gate drew nearer, preparing myself for what I feared came next. With a roar of running water, we burst through the gate and onto the small pool. 

I opened my eyes to see de Vayre’s man toss a rope to one of the two guards, who caught it out of the air and began to draw us in. De Vayre stood as we reached the edge of the pool, her gun trained on me. 

“Get up.” 

“I’d rather not.” I curled up in a ball, my back aching and my every muscle tense. “It’s really quite comfortable in here.” 

She cocked back the hammer. “Please. Just give me an excuse to use this.” 

Sighing, I stumbled awkwardly to my feet, swaying as the boat bumped against the steps. De Vayre waved her gun. “You first.” 

I walked past her and stepped off onto dry land. I felt light headed, and everything appeared througha  haze. Climbing a few steps, I reached a wide stone landing surrounded by a wall separating us from a courtyard and Godling’s Tower itself. I stood there, waiting for de Vayre and her man to join me, staring into space. 

The soldiers stood at attention as de Vayre and I filed past them and up. We passed through the door and out into the wide cobbled courtyard. The door banged behind us, carrying a sombre tone. 

“Come on,” de Vayre said, pushing the barrel of her gun in between my shoulder blades. 

I turned and scowled at her, then took a few faltering steps, barely needing to exaggerate my lack of balance. Off to one side stood the winged form of a godling. I pretended to stumble, my feet slipping on the cobbles. Reaching out as if to catch myself, I pressed my hands to the cold stone face of the godling and prayed that Tess’ magic still worked. 

De Vayre’s man reached down and grabbed me, lifting me back to my feet. He turned me around to face him, then smacked me across the face. “Don’t do that again.” 

Thrusting me out in front of him, he pointed his gun at my face. “Now walk.” 

I turned and started to walk across the courtyard towards a doorway cut into the tower stone. Had I actually seen the light flare in the godling’s eyes or had I had imagined it? I prayed the light had flared; if so, I might actually get out of this. If it hadn’t… 

Once through the door, we marched down a series of steps that spiralled into the underground heart of Godlings’. De Vayre and her man herded me down, flight after flight passing us by. Finally we arrived in a small circular chamber with a heavy wooden door on the other side. 

A gaoler sat at a broken table, eating nuts and spitting the shells at three mice who sood on their hindlegs in the shadows, peering at him with tiny pink eyes. He looked up at us as we arrived and farted. 

“What do you want?” 

“Prisoner for the cells.” 

“No more room.” 

De Vayre’s man sighed and pulled out a coin that he flicked through the air. The gaoler caught it in one fat hand, squeezing it between his fingers, then pocketed it. Dragging a leather bound log book across the table, he picked up a pencil and dabbed it on his tongue. 

“Name?” he asked, looking at me. 

By now I could hardly make a coherent sentence in my head, let alone out loud. De Vayre nodded to her man, who darted forward, pushing me back against the wall,. I banged my head against the stone, almost blacking out again. He leered at me as his hand reached into my coat, seizing on my leather wallet. Pulling it out, he glanced at my papers, then snorted. 

“Damn it all to hell! He’s a bloody thieftaker!” 

“Let me see that!” 

De Vayre stepped forward, accepting my papers from the tattooed man. She rifled through them, then looked at me. “You work for the Lord Justice?” 

I bowed my head, dropping my knee and almost collapsing on the floor “Daniel Therwood, at your service.” I slurred the words ; my tongue felt three times too thick. 

The gaoler noted the information down on his ledger while de Vayre stared at me. Finally, she sneered. “I always knew you thieftakers were bad news. At least now I’ll have some proof for the Lord Justice.” 

Her tattooed man dragged me back to the middle of the room, while with a heavy sigh, the gaoler picked up his lamp and struggled to his feet. 

“Come on then.” 

Limping slightly, he led us over to the door, pulling a set of keys from one dirty pocket. Sniffing, he turned one of the keys in the lock and herded us through, holding the lantern up to light the way. The mice watched us go. 

The wet stone beneath my feet smelled of piss. Every so often, huge metal doors appeared in the circle of light, each one leading to a different cell. With de Vayre’s man in front of me and de Vayre herself behind, I had no choice but to follow them to the door at the furthest corner. 

The gaoler stopped in front of the door and looked at de Vayre’s man, who nodded. Grinning, the gaoler pulled out a second set of keys, selecting one and turning it in the lock. Pulling the door open, he sniffed the air, then grinned at me. 

“Go on then. Put him in.” 

De Vayre had come up behind me and she stuck me in the kidneys with her pistol. I grunted, stepping forward until I stood in front of the cell. The overwhelming smell of shit and overpowering heat put me in mind of a chamber pot someone had left simmering on a fire. I took a step back, but the gaoler pushed me forward with one meaty hand. I tripped over my own feet, tumbling to the floor. My face hit the wooden boards, pain erupting along my sinuses. 

I rolled over and saw de Vayre stood in the doorway. 

“I’ll come back to see you tomorrow, Therwood. We’ll see how much you really know about the Ghost,” she spat. 

I opened my mouth to make some witty rejoinder, but she stepped back. The gaoler slammed the door. I heard the sound of the lock and the darkness closed in. 

I was trapped.

--> Chapter 9

Chapter 7

Author's note:

Well, it has been almost two weeks now that I have been posting this story here and I can see from the stats (and the comment) that there are people reading.  So this is a Hiya to all of you. Thanks for joining this little adventure, I hope you are enjoying this. If you are, please don't hesitate to leave a comment, I promise I will respond promptly. 

Chapter 7 is our first real introduction to the city of Caerlyons, the main city in this story. Most of the rest of Daniel's misadventures will occur in or very close to the city. That's why I have him explain a little about what Caerlyons is and why it is known as the City of Three Crowns. 

Thanks again for reading, 

James

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Chapter Seven

The first thing I heard when I came to were the echoing sounds of water lapping against wood and the snake-like sound of a chain rubbing against metal. 

I opened my eyes. In the dim light of a dozen hanging storm lantern, I saw was what appeared to be the curved rib cage of some strange animal rising above me. Why are there storm lanterns hanging from a set of ribs? I frowned at the sight, trying to remember how I had gotten here. Just as I recognised the ribs as being the inner beams of a ship, my memory returned. The fake maid in the inn and the pistol butt to the back of my head. I grunted. I must be in the Dregs. Perfect. 

Lifting my head, I caught a glimpse of the red-haired bitch who had shot me, eyes fixed on my face, gun aimed squarely at my crotch, before a wave of nausea made me vomit over the side. I watched the rest of my supper float away in a mess of chunks and bits and bile. My whole body was shaking. Dammit all to hell! The damned summoning spell was starting to have an effect. With a groan, I managed  to drag my head back. 

"Feel better?" 

"Not really,” I croaked. The inside of my throat felt as if someone had rubbed it with a handful of sand. 

"Good,” the woman snapped.

 I smiled wanly. What wit. "Where are we?” 

"Gobblers’." 

I managed to lift my head again, without throwing up this time, and turned it slightly to look out across the water. My captor’s boat lay at anchor in the middle of a hollow created by an upside down frigate. A handful of other small ships - boats, barges and pinnaces – dotted the water around us. 

The frigate’s corpse narrowed to a point a few metres in front of me, the end sawn off to reveal a wall. A strange ethereal light flickered from within the blood red stone. My eyes fixed on a large gateway, the arch and its two copper doors filigreed with blood-silver faces, gargoyles with their mouths wide open to 'gobble' any fae that tried to enter the city. 

Great, I thought at the sight of Gobblers’ Gate. The Tower lay less than a bell’s boat ride further down river. Fantastic. 

I looked back at the woman. She scowled at me. For the first time I noticed that five men sat in the boat behind her – four laborers manning the oars, and the huge tattooed man in a cloak, still holding his pistol. The bastard who had clocked me. Despite an impending sense of doom, I forced a smile just to piss her off. 

"You do realise you're making a huge mistake?" 

"Please!” She rolled her eyes. “Don't bore me with your threats. The Ghost's men have been trying to scare me off for months." She leaned in towards me and suddenly a knife appeared in her hand. "I don't scare easy." 

I glanced down at the knife, which she just happened to be holding right in front of her ample breasts, placed on beautiful display by her plunging neck line. My smile widened. "I can see that." 

She saw where I was looking and gritted her teeth. She lifted her hand to slap me, but before she followed through, one of the men manning the oars spoke up. 

"There’s our opening, Ms de Vayre." 

Finally, a name to go with the face. I wracked my brains and tried to remember if I had ever heard the name before, but I came up blank. De Vayre obviously saw me trying, though. Scowling, she turned and cuffed the man. 

"What did I tell you? No names!" 

Though the man mumbled a vague apology, he glared at the back of her head the moment she turned away. De Vayre seemed to have a way with people. 

Despite her anger, she waved the barge forward. While one of the men lifted the anchor, the others dipped their oars into the water and began to propel us forward. Slipping between two larger boats carrying large piles of foreign wood for the Arsenal, we approached Gobblers’ Gate. 

Two rafts floated on either side of the gate, carrying three or four men decked out in the Wall Guard's orange and white uniform. Waving us to a stop between both floating platforms, one of them stepped closer, almost overturning his raft. His companions scrambled to correct the change in balance, glaring at him. 

"Name and business," the guard asked, his tone of voice bordering on the depressive. 

De Vayre’s tattooed man spoke up. 

"Runner’s business. You don't need our names." 

A Runner? I glanced at de Vayre again. I had heard of the Runners - the Lord Justice’s latest pet project. Former thieftakers for the most part, they had received special training and judicial powers, able to investigate any crime and bring anyone in for questioning. Even a nobleman. If de Vayre was a Runner, I was in more trouble that I had thought. 

The guard perked up a bit at the news. He peered more closely at the barge, taking in de Vayre, the oarsmen and me. 

"What you doin' with him?" 

"Taking him in for questioning. To the Tower." 

That seemed to give the man pause. He glanced behind at his companions for support, but they all looked elsewhere. He turned back to face de Vayre's man, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. 

"Uh... You got papers?" 

Rolling his eyes, de Vayre's man pulled a leather wallet from his jacket, handing it over to the guard. I clearly heard the clink of coins rolling around inside. The guard did as well, because his eyes lit up and he hugged the wallet to his chest. 

After emptying the coins into a pocket, he glanced briefly at the papers, then handed the wallet back. "These seem in order. You're free to go." 

Turning, the guard banged on the copper gates. Moments later, a series of clicks echoed through the enclosed space, followed by a deep metallic groan. The gates swung inwards and the current carried us through and into the city. 

XXX 

A century before, de Vayre and her men could have carried me into Caerlyons in a carriage, over land down the old King's Road. That all ended the day Jon Marwood drowned the city to save it. 

Now the only way in lay over sea through the Outer Crown, also known as the Dregs, a hodge-podge of boats and frigates, rafts and jetties tied to the Outer Wall. Roping anything that could float to the things around it, they had created a constantly shifting shanty town. The Dregs had their roots in the bilges and cargo bays beneath the planking, and their branches in the ropewalks that stretched between mast and rigging. 

Once through the Seawall, for those few lucky enough to cross that threshhold, lay the Crown-in-Between. Freetown. A city of contrasts, where mud tracks meet cobbled streets amidst a confusing jumble of theatres and churches, market places and whorehouses, taverns and cemetaries. 

In the very centre of the city, secure behind the Inner Wall, the Inner Crown spread out across three islands split by two artificial rivers, the Groan and the Miradore. To the west lay the slopes of Caerlot, the Old City, overlooked by the golden towers of the Gyldencrest Magisterium. In the centre sprawled the labyrinth of Cordeliers, gold and silver streets paved with marble and smelling of spices. And to the east sat  the palatial wonders of Arvinhal, home to the blood and the nobility, nestled in the crook of the Inner Wall and the river Miradore. 

Caerlyons. The City of Three Crowns. My home for the past thirteen years, the place I had returned to a thousand times. 

Never as a prisoner, though.

--> Chapter 8

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

I jerked my hand away as if I had been burned, then froze, hardly even daring to breath.

The knocking came again. Ss’blood! Why now? I hesitated, wondering whether to just ignore it. When the knocking came again, louder this time, I realised that I would have to answer or risk whoever it was waking the whole inn.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled the door ajar and peered out. One of Langwin's maids – the same one who had served me the drink downstairs – stood there, red hair tumbling over her plunging neckline, her hands twisting her apron into a ball as she bit at her bottom lip.

"What?" I snarled.

The girl simpered and shrank away. She dropped her eyes to the floor. "I... I need to check your room, milord." She curtsied.

"I'm sleeping. Go away."

I went to close the door, but her hand darted out and stopped me, palm slapping against the wood. I looked at it, then at her, in surprise. I caught a glimpse of something hidden in the back of her eyes, then she smiled, revealing two dark gaps between her yellowing teeth.

"Please sir,” she whined. “It’s just we've had a vanishing and Master Langwin will have my ear if I don't do what I'm told."

A vanishing? Dammit. It couldn’t be a coincidence – someone knew about the dead man. I needed to find some way of stalling the search until I could get out. Putting on my sternest expression, I snarled. “I don’t care about Master Langwin. You tell him I’m sleeping.”

She shook her head. “Oh no, sir, he won’t allow that. Master Oaksgrave is one of his good friends and he wants us to check every room until we find him. I have to look in your room.” She started to push, her arm surprisingly strong as she tried to force me back and get the door open.

Oaksgrave. At least I had a name to go with the scream. Still, this little snippet was getting on my wick. Since I obviously wasn’t going to get rid of her, I did the only thing I could. Wrenching the door open with one hand, throwing her off balance, I reached forward with my other hand and grabbed her by the shoulder, dragging her inside.

Once she was in, I spun her around and pulled her back against me, one arm wrapping around her waist while my free hand clutched at her mouth. I felt her take a breath to scream and tightened my grip.

When her eyes fell on the old man's body, a soft sob escaped her lips.

"I'm not going to hurt you, you hear me?” I whispered in her ear. “This isn't what it looks like. If you promise not to scream, I'll let you go."

I felt her head bob against my chest as she nodded. I was taking a huge risk, but I knew that I couldn’t carry her out of the inn and make my escape, not without bringing half of the town down on me. Slowly, my whole body tense in case she decided to test my resolve, I pulled my hand away from her mouth.

She didn't scream. Instead, a low moan escaped her lips and her body started to go limp. At first I thought the fool girl had fainted, but as I gently allowed her to drop, she fell to her knees. I saw her shoulders begin to shake and heard her murmuring. Her hands fell into her lap and she started to play with her apron again. When I heard what she was saying, I rolled my eyes. She was praying to the Goddess for protection.

I left her where she was and went to the door, peering out into the corridor to make sure no one had been attracted by the noise. To my relief, it was empty. Closing the door as softly as I could, I turned back to find the girl on her feet. There was no sign of tears in her eyes. Instead, she held a pistol in her hand, pointed at my head.

I have to admit, my reactions weren’t what they used to be. I was so surprised that I froze, frowning. "What do you think you’re…"

"Shut up." Gone were the simpering tones of the maid, replaced by something altogether colder and harder and brimming over with anger.

I did as I was told, snapping my mouth closed. I followed her with my eyes as she stepped back, her own eyes never leaving mine until she reached the bed. She glanced down, then her hand reached out blindly and she fumbled at the man's neck. When she found the place where his pulse should have been, she pressed her fingers against the cooling skin. After a moment, she cursed again.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she demanded as she took a step towards me, cocking the pistol. As if from a distance, I recognised it as a Two-shot Jack. Not that she would need more than two bullets considering how close we were to one another.

"How much is he paying you, you bastard?"

I shook my head, lifting my hands. "Listen lady, I don't know what you're..."

"Don’t lie to me! I know the Ghost sent you!” She scowled. “Ss'blood, you've ruined everything! Six months of work, gone. Do you have any idea how long it has taken me to get any kind of a lead on your boss? Not that you care."

She took a deep breath, glaring at me. "I’ll just have to make the best out of it, I guess. I’d been hoping to trap the Ghost himself, but you’ll have to do instead.” She smiled, looking like a cat who has a mouse trapped between her paws. “I'm sure a few days in the Tower will loosen your tongue."

The Tower! This was getting out of hand. I needed to do something and fast. I glanced at her gun again, then took a step towards her. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

"Stop right there."

Slowly, carefully, never taking my eyes off her finger, I raised my hands higher and moved one step closer. "Listen, we don’t have to do it this way. I’ll tell you everything I know." Another step.

"I said, don't move."

I ignored her, my eyes still fixed on her finger, stepping a little closer. Only a few steps remained. I was taking a hell of a risk, but I had no other choice. Keep her distracted. I forced myself to keep on talking, not really paying any attention to what I was saying. “Please, this isn’t what it looks like. If you’ll just listen…”

Her finger twitched a moment before she pressed the trigger. It wasn’t much of a warning, but it was just about enough. I acted on instinct, leaping towards her instead of away as she had obviously expected. Her aim was high, but I felt the bullet graze my forehead with a flash of red fire before I was on her.

Gravity did the rest. We tumbled to the floor. Acting more from instinct that anything else, I clocked her, my fist catching her on the cheek. There was no strength behind it and the blow did little more than stun her. I didn't waste any time checking exactly how dazed she was, though - scrambling to my feet, I darted for the door.

The corridor was quiet and empty. I wondered vaguely why – if Langwin had ordered a search for Oaksgrave, there should have been more people about. Still, I wasn’t one to refuse small mercies. As fast as I could, I ran to the stairs, heading down to the common room. My head throbbed from the alcohol and whatever else had been slipped into my drink. Someone must have drugged me in order to slip the old man’s body into my bed. Why, though? And more importantly, who?

Down in the common room, the fire had died out, leaving nothing more than embers. The place looked dark and deserted, like one of those homesteads you sometimes find out in the Woods, abandoned by the people who had once lived there during the Change, and yet strangely untouched by the forest itself.

I darted right, throwing my shoulder into the door between the common room and the kitchen. I heard a snap of wood as the lock gave way and then I was stumbling through. I passed tables and cupboards in a blur of shadows. By the time I reached the door outside, my breath was coming in great heaving gasps.

The door was locked, and much heavier than the one between the kitchen and the common room. I had as much chance of breaking it down as I did of swimming all the way back to the city from here. My eyes scanned the nearby tables, looking desperately for something that I could use to pick the lock. A wooden fork hung from a hook on the wall, so I snapped off one of the tines, my ears pricked for any sign of movement from upstairs. If that red-haired bitch called for help, I would be done for. Nothing but silence. So far.

- Hurry it up, Daniel.

I dropped to my haunches, ignoring Lucan’s reminder and inserting the pick in the lock. I could hardly see anything, the only illumination the moonlight filtering through two windows set into the wall high above me. Sight wouldn’t help me anyway. I forced myself to take a deep breath and then hold it, the only sound the hammering of my heart. I pressed my ears against the door, listening as I twisted my self-made lock pick. A click as it caught on the lock, then slipped away. Biting back a curse, I tried again. This time the pick held and I heard a louder clack. Letting my breath out in an explosion of air, I twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

A man stood in front of the door, legs spread, one hand on the hilt of a dagger while the other held a pistol pointed at my forehead. This was no Two-Shot Jack, it was a proper pistol, probably an officer’s weapon. I stalled, just staring at him.

“Evening.”

The man had a northern tang to his voice. His face was weathered and covered in tattoos, as was the little amount of skin I could see on his arms and chest. He smiled, his cold grey eyes glimmering silver in the moonlight.

I didn’t answer. The tattooed man waved the gun, indicating that I should step away from the door and place my back against the wall. I did as I was told. From behind me, I heard hurried footsteps and a moment later the red-haired bitch came barrelling out into the cool night air. When she saw me, held at gunpoint by the tattooed man, she stopped.

“You bastard,” she rasped. I tried not to smile at the bruise growing on her cheek.

“You lost him,” the tattooed man said.

“He took me by surprise,” the red-haired bitch replied, scowling at him.

He didn’t say anything, but the slightly raised eyebrow said enough. The red-haired bitch growled under her breath, then turned to me.

“That was a stupid thing you just did.”

I shrugged. “Not if I’d gotten away with it.”

She stepped closer. “But you didn’t, did you?” She looked up at me and smiled. “And I promise you, you’re going to regret it.”

I sensed the tattooed man stepping up behind me a moment before the butt of his pistol came crashing down on the back of my head. I just had time to see the red-haired bitch smile before I blacked out.

-> Chapter 7