Bloodfeud (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 3) (16 page)

‘Nothing’s changed since yesterday.’

Merion tried to keep the displeasure off his face. It had taken him days to find just one bloodletter. He wasn’t about to poison the well with bad manners. ‘I thought you said a shipment might be coming in—’

‘That I did, but things change. Ships sink. Airships crash. Nowt I can do.’

Merion frowned. ‘I don’t suppose you’d know if anybody else—’

The woman flashed him a stern look. ‘Now, you’re not about to ask me to recommend my competition, are you?’

‘No. I suppose not. In that case, Miss Ferrit, I shall leave you be.’

The woman held up a slip of paper, as she had the day before, and the day before that.

‘Fae. See? I’ve written it down. Rest assured I’ll put it aside for you if I get some. Now can I offer you anything else, or shall I bid you good day?’

‘A good day will be just fine.’ Merion made for the door.

His head lower than ever, the boy stepped back out into the sun. This was the third time he had asked for Fae blood, and the third time he had been denied. The doubt pawed at him again. He fought it off, refusing to think of how much rested on that one shade.

He made his way back to his abode; his loft, nay, his crawlspace. The prospect was not entirely appealing. It was barely large enough for him to stand up in. At least he’d managed to steal a blanket from a washing line and stuff a bag with hay, keeping his shades safe and making a pillow at the same time. If every cloud had a silver lining, then his was sharpened to an edge. Merion knew he had to persevere to blunt it. Blessings enjoy a pinch of drama before they arrive.

Along with a handful of purchases from Miss Ferrit, he’d also bled more animals himself after finding a butcher and a fishmonger who weren’t so eager to skin him alive. He now had quite the growing stockpile; not to mention his father’s lost vial, the kelpie shade. He had decided to keep that for a rainy day, pardoning the pun.

As he was pondering whether to keep wandering or simply sleep the day away in his crawlspace, a name cut through the crowds, in the way names can when familiar. They can slice through a roar of people and footsteps like a blade through an apple. It was a name that made Merion flinch.

‘John Hobble!’

Merion froze solid, foot paused in mid-air.
Surely not!
He whirled around, eyes boring into the crowds, scanning faces. His heart was already climbing up his throat.

‘This way, you darn slackjaw!’ came another shout. Merion could hear the New Kingdom twang in it. ‘Lets get a move on.’

It was Aunt Lilain, clear as a gunshot and bright as a summer dawn. She stood not fifty yards away from him, blonde hair flapping in the breeze and hands on hips. Lurker was there, too, his leather-clad and hatted form instantly recognisable. There was another man with them, wearing a hood. For a sliver of a moment, he narrowed his eyes, hoping to see a glimmer on a shoulder, or a telltale bulge under a hat; but in his heart Merion knew that Rhin would not be with them.

The young Hark let his mouth hang loose as his legs dragged him aside, into an alcove. He felt a sweat sprout on his brow. For all his and Calidae’s plotting, he hadn’t planned for this. He had dismissed it as fantasy and put faith in their disappointment at his abandonment. They should have been halfway around the world, not here, treading the cobbles of his city. It was inconceivable, and yet here they were, in the flesh and leather, clearly hunting for him. Their arrival showed a connection of a kind he had never felt before. After the disappointment of his morning, he wanted to grin, but he kept his face plain. Instead, he gawped at this love and loyalty, and the strange and powerful and inconvenient things that they were.
Almighty damn it!

At first, he moved to walk away, to put his back to them and save them from involvement. But with every pace, the tighter his fists clenched and the more his teeth sucked at the inside of his lips. They were loose ends, flapping in the breeze and threatening to catch on everything and anything. In a city ruled by Dizali, that could not be tolerated. They had to be kept clear of the storm he and the girl were trying to build, as storms are indiscriminate when it comes to their victims. With a sharp tut, Merion turned around.

The boy followed them street by street as they worked their way slowly down to the riverbank and east, past his crawlspace and towards Westminster. Perhaps they assumed he would be spying on Dizali. He had been, earlier that morning of course; but there had been no satisfaction. Dizali had been holed up in Clovenhall since his victory at the Palace of Ravens.
Plotting his next move
.

Lilain was pausing to gaze up at the Bellspire, still a mile or two away, but no less impressive. No doubt her mind was full of old memories. Merion had missed this city for months; she had decades to gaze back at. Her silence told him it was overwhelming.

Lurker had his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, probably wondering why men sought to build such things to scrape the sky. Their new friend—a middle-aged man from what Merion could glean from the shadows of his hood and fringes of his beard—just eyed the crowds, twitchy. Once, he turned in Merion’s direction, but the boy nipped quickly backwards and tucked himself in a doorway.

They were conferring now; head, hood, and hat bowed together in quiet discussion. Through the muted rumble of people between them and him, he couldn’t hear a thing. He could barely see their lips moving.

When they were done, they took a left and headed away from the riverbank, into the confused jumble of alleys and knitted streets. Clearly they had decided against the Emerald House.

Merion shadowed them at every corner, and they led him a merry dance. After an hour, he was practically lost. He kept them just on the edge of view; a sliver of a muddy cloak or jacket here or there, always disappearing around a corner.

He lost them at a junction; a small square with a forlorn and mossy statue at its centre. Merion caught no sight of cloak or coat in any direction. The boy spun around several times before hugging a nearby wall.

‘Damn it!’

He quickly retraced his steps to see if he’d missed something; and he had. There was a tiny cut-through between the buildings that led to an adjacent street. He clung to the grubby bricks all the way to its end, peeking out with one eye. It was then that he saw a flash of Hark blonde, twenty yards ahead and disappearing fast. He was just about to leap into a sprint when a heavy hand caught him by the shoulder. The young Hark whirled away, fists raised and eyes narrow, the memory of his first night in London still fresh in his mind.

Lurker looked down and shook his head.

‘Ain’t you all twitchy?’

Merion half-expected his craggy face to break into a smile, but it didn’t. His dark lips stayed flat, perhaps an ounce on the sour side.

‘It’s a dangerous city.’ Merion lowered his hands and stood upright. ‘What are you doing here?’

Lurker sniffed, but before he could answer, Lilain came striding up. The hooded man held back, keeping his face out of sight. She regarded him impassively. Sweeter than Lurker but far from joyous at the reunion. Lurker broke the moment.

‘Wants to know why we’re here, Lil.’

‘Lookin’ for you, Nephew,’ said Lilain, with edge. ‘Come to make sure you’re not intent on gettin’ yourself killed. We ain’t here on a holiday.’

Merion folded his arms, trying to disguise his guilt and relief with a front of confidence. He knew it must have felt as though he’d spurned them; cast them aside and graded them useless.

‘You didn’t need to come.’ He was not prepared for this conversation, not yet at least. ‘I mean, you shouldn’t have. It’s too dangerous here for you.’

‘There’s gratitude for you,’ Lurker huffed, moving away.

Lilain raised her chin. Merion could see a tirade building. She swallowed several times. He wanted to scowl at the heat he felt in his cheeks.

‘I think it’s time for lunch,’ she said. ‘I could eat a dead horse. Lurker?’

‘Mmf,’ was Lurker’s reply.

‘Merion?’

‘Er…’ Merion hadn’t quite expected this. ‘Alright.’

His aunt waved her hands. ‘Lead the way then, Nephew.’

The young Hark held up a finger. ‘One question, before we do anything, say anything, or go anywhere. Who on earth is that?’ The finger levelled at the hooded man.

‘This,’ Lilain gestured casually, ‘is a Mr Dower Gunderton. And apparently, Merion, you may just know him?’ She folded her arms and stepped aside. Merion felt a strange tension, made worse by Lurker’s hand slipping to his pistol.

He blinked, memories slowly breaking through the emotional mire of his mind. ‘Gunderton? My father’s under-butler?’ he asked, confused.

The man stepped forwards and tipped back his hood. Merion barely recognised him. Half of his weight had been drained away, and most of his face was hidden behind a dark beard, curled and wiry at the edges. The rest of his features were weathered and used. There was a scar on his cheek, and his eyes were squinting slits, quick and sharp. His dark hair was shaved short, military style.

‘At your service, Tonmerion Hark,’ he said quietly, before bowing.

Merion’s face was a mask of confusion. Memories pounced, of hiding from this oafish man in the waxy rhododendrons the day he had found Rhin retching and bleeding in the shrubbery.

‘It is you. The butler.’

Gunderton shrugged. ‘Of sorts.’

‘Well… what…’ Merion flapped his mouth like a fish.

‘What am I doing here?’

‘He jumped us in Washingtown,’ Lurker rumbled.

‘He jumped you? But you’re just a butler. What were you doing in America?’

Gunderton smirked at that. ‘Same as why I’m here. Looking for you.’

Merion pinched his eyebrows. ‘But why?’

‘It’ll all become clear soon.’

‘Well isn’t that cryptic,’ sighed the boy. ‘Lunch. Please. Before I drag all three of you to the docks and put you on a ship back to the Endless Land.’

Merion waved them towards the main street, slowing until they traipsed ahead of him. All of them except his aunt, who hung back, staring at him, an odd look in her eye.

‘Where’s Rhin?’

Merion sucked his teeth. ‘He, er… He’s with Sift.’

She flinched. ‘What happened to him? We thought he was with you.’

‘He was taken. That’s all you need to know. That, and I am getting him back when this is done.’

‘You become more like Karrigan every day,’ she told him with a sigh, staring up at the guttering and distant spires. ‘Especially here, in this old city. Maker, how I don’t miss it.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

Lilain nodded as her eyes came back to rest on him.

‘You’ve got a large piece of him in you, that’s for sure. Stubborn like a mule, for one. But you got somethin’ else, too. Somethin’ fiercely righteous, like my father was. That’s why I understand why you left us. Lurker may not, but I do,’ she said. ‘How about we talk about this, before we think about any ships, hmm?’

Lilain stepped forward and gripped him in a rough hug. It only lasted a moment—the kind that the boy usually preferred—but this time it was she who pulled away first, trailing after Lurker and the strange butler. Merion took a deep breath, and followed them out into the street.

*

‘This weren’t quite what I had in mind, Merion,’ Lilain grunted, trying to find a place where the dried straw of the thatched roof didn’t prickle her neck. To make things worse, grease from her pasty was running over her knuckles, dripping onto the wood.

Hospitality is an art in the Empire. From the filthiest hovel to the grandest palace, receiving guests is an honour not to be frowned upon; a chance to put yourself and your abode to the test, making the visit as pleasurable as possible. But this was hard in a grubby loft, with barely three feet of space between the floor and the roof, and nothing but an equally grubby blanket and bag-pillow for furniture.

‘My, how the mighty have fallen,’ Lurker mumbled around a mouthful of meat and pastry. He seemed to be enjoying the food at least. Empire’s finest, or so the baker’s sign had proclaimed.

Merion now had cramp in his legs. He stretched them out as he picked crumbs from his trousers. He had wolfed down his pasty, now immune to the searing gravy. It was a cheap staple, and it kept him alive.

‘It’s necessary. I’m in hiding.’

Gunderton spoke up. He too had devoured his meal. Something about the way he crouched there, unflinching, said he was used to this sort of life. Merion just wished he could work him out. Something about him niggled the back of his mind, like a moth batting away at a gaslight.

‘There are plenty of better places to hide, trust me,’ he said.

Merion caught Gunderton’s eye. ‘Where, exactly? I’ve looked all over for hiding places.’

‘I know a few.’

‘A few? How so?’

Gunderton tossed his head from side to side. ‘You’ll just have to trust me on that, too.’

‘Right.’ Merion rolled his eyes. ‘Aunt, would you be so kind to translate this man’s infuriatingly mysterious words?’

Lilain sucked gravy from her lip. ‘He says he was a servant of Karrigan’s, though I think it was more than just bein’ a butler. He says he was huntin’ you down in order to protect you. Seeing as he ain’t tried anything yet, that would seem to be the case. I believe him, for now.’