Bloodfeud (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 3) (44 page)

The reply was fierce. ‘Not in the slightest and you know it, John Hobble.’

Lurker sniffed, unconvinced. Lil was just worried, and he told her so.

‘You just don’t like bein’ overridden.’

‘No, I don’t. Not when the stakes are as high as this.’

‘He ain’t no boy no more. You seen him last night.’ Lurker closed his eye again and readjusted himself in the chair. The boy had barely broken a sweat, even with bullets nipping at his heels.

‘I know,’ Lilain said, biting off the last tail of thread and throwing the hat onto Lurker’s chest. ‘And I won’t be able to convince neither of them, knowin’ how stubborn they both can be.’

‘True enough.’ Lurker examined the patch with his scarred fingers. It was fine work, thanks to Lilain’s surgeon-hands. He slipped it over his forehead and titled it to his chin.

‘Not a chance,’ said a small voice nearby.

‘That’s enough out of you, faerie. You should be asleep,’ ordered Lilain. Rhin made no reply. He knew what was good for him. Lurker chuckled under his hat.

Silence reigned as Lilain packed away her needle and thread. The prospector let himself drift along the edges of a whisky-infused sleep. It wasn’t that he was unperturbed: he cared a great deal for the mulish lordling. But Rhin’s words had rung true. Lurker had seen a new brand of fire in Merion’s eyes, from the day they’d first set foot in this noisy city. He trusted it now like the firm stock of a rifle.

‘What will we do after?’ said Lilain.

Lurker raised up the brim of his hat with a finger. ‘After this is all done and dusted?’

‘When Dizali’s hangin’ from a rope, as Merion likes to put it.’

There was a scratch of the nose as he thought. ‘This city ain’t for me, that’s for sure. Too darn loud, and I swear I ain’t seen no stars since we arrived. Just smog and cloud, choking all them busy businessmen rushing to and fro. The buildings are too tall and their lights are too bright. Ain’t a way for a soul to live.’

‘Back west, then,’ she said. ‘Back over the Iron Ocean.’

‘I ain’t known any other place, is all.’ Lilain’s curious mood was contagious. Lurker hadn’t indulged in this sort of thinking time since the night of the Bloodmoon. ‘It’s the only land I ‘spect that’ll have me.’

‘Maybe Lincoln’ll have use for us,’ said Lilain. ‘And now we know a reliable airship pilot. Higgis did tell us where to find her if we need her. I do believe she owes us a free flight.’

Lurker turned his mind to the sweltering reaches of the west, where the desert and prairie rolled on for boundless miles. A heart like his needed to escape this crush of cobbles and carriages. No mighty spires and their grinning gargoyles; just peace and space, raw and wild. Somewhere he didn’t have to worry about treading on a piece of history with every step. Somewhere he could make his own.

Lurker smiled. ‘Maybe we could join up with all them crazy homesteaders. Go find us a patch of prairie. Keep an ol’ buffalo for milk and cheese. I’ll get prospectin’ again. I’ll even build Mr Magpie here a house in a tree.’ He nudged Jake gently with his foot, drawing a muffled croak.

‘Us?’ Lilain looked at him sideways.

He nodded. ‘You could have another basement, jus’ like the last one. Put a Star up, so people know to come knockin’.’

‘You astound me sometimes, John Hobble.’

He frowned. ‘And what do you mean by that?’

‘The desert’s favourite wanderer, wantin’ to settle down on a patch of land. And with me, what’s more. What has all this danger reduced you to?’

‘Peace and quiet, that’s what I hope for. Like I once had.’

Lilain’s smile broke. ‘I ain’t your dead wife, John.’

‘No,’ he said, sitting forward and reaching for her hand. ‘You’re Lilain Hark, and that’ll do just fine for me. Just don’t get bored of me one day and pick up a hammer, like you did with your last man.’ He grinned.

Lilain’s stern look melted instantly. She may even have blushed, for the first time since they had met. She cleared her throat and tutted.

‘Quit distracting me, you old badger. Got important things to do, like figure what to do with that Serped girl. She’ll pounce as soon as this is over.’ It was just like her to change the subject.

‘That one’s easy.’

‘It is?’

Lurker leaned back, hat pulled low. ‘Put a bullet in her, soon as this is all done.’

Lilain thought on that for a moment. ‘Murder her?’

‘Ain’t murder. Mercy, is what it is. Mercy on our young lordlin’. Mercy on the world.’

‘That girl has the world in her eyes, alright. Saw it in her just like I saw it in her father. Maybe you’re right.’

‘Like I said. Don’t know the meanin’ of wrong.’

The door creaked as Gunderton, Merion and Witchazel entered. The Brother was carrying a ream of thick parchment. No bottles in sight, darn Lurker’s luck. He’d harboured a slim hope they would remember their old prospector.

Merion gave them a curious look, spying their closeness. Neither moved.

‘It appears we’ve interrupted something,’ said the boy as he wandered over, letting Gunderton and Witchazel get to work. They apparently had orders.

‘Nothing that concerns you, young Nephew.’ Lilain smiled slyly, getting up to put on the kettle. ‘You’ve more pressing matters to attend to, no doubt!’

‘Very cutting, Aunt, thank you,’ said Merion with an amused snort. ‘I have to go send a wiregram and see a paperboy about a favour. Then we have some letters to write. Quite a few, in fact.’

‘Putting all those names to good use at last?’ Lilain enquired. But Merion just tapped his nose. Lurker had wondered what all Merion’s excursions and those lords and ladies and titles from Calidae would add up to.

‘Swine,’ she said.

Merion relented. ‘You’re correct, of course. Time to see where the Emerald House really stands.’

Lurker poked his magpie into life. ‘In that case, I might as well come with you. My gizzard’s far too dry for my likin’.’ He followed in Merion’s wake as the boy headed to the door.

‘Be safe!’ Lilain called after them.

Lurker tapped the Mistress, slotted against his spine. ‘Always am.’

The day had brightened slightly, but the wind still pestered anyone who trod the streets, stealing hats and chasing mangy pigeons between the rooftops. Lurker was down to his last cigarette when they found a postal office, nestled into the side of a tall tower of stone and glass on the edge of London’s core. They’d walked mostly in silence, trading stupid jokes here and there. Lurker had left talk of plans back in the lair, not wishing to remind the boy of the obvious. He could practically see the weight perched on the boy’s shoulders, no matter how sharp and straight he held them.

‘There’s a shop just there.’ Merion pointed, one foot on the step of the postal office.

‘That there is,’ said Lurker with a nod. ‘You got any of your Queen’s coin? You Empire types don’t take too kindly to Lincoln’s face.’

‘Here.’ Merion tossed him a florin.

Lurker made his way into the shop. It was a warren of shelves and cases filled with odds and ends; from sausages to sewing needles. He spent a little time touring the shelves until he found the whisky and some of that Empire gin hidden in the dank nethers of the shop. He grinned when he spied a bottle he recognised: one labelled with a fat turkey wearing a monocle.
Sir Turkey
. He inwardly cheered. He wandered back to the counter and the tiny flame-haired man behind it. There was tobacco there, too; great jars of it sat on uneven shelves. He bought a double-sized pouch, just in case. Whatever the world threw at him in the next day or so, he would be ready. Even if this damp Empire stuff tasted like burnt coffee.

When he returned to the patchwork afternoon, he found Merion across the road from the postal office, hovering near a gaggle of paperboys that lingered on a corner. He sidled over slowly, feigning interest in the headlines. Merion was clearly up to something, and he knew to leave him to it.

‘Queen will hang on the morrow!’

‘Threpenny a paper, sir!’

‘Headlines we never thought could ever be printed! Victorious to be hanged at midday.’

‘The reign of terror is over! The crown takes its final bow!’

Lurker eyed the last boy to bellow his little lungs out, reading the name of his publication.
The Empire Watchful
. Sounded dubious.

‘Buying a paper?’ asked a voice. Merion, by his side. The paperboy he’d been talking to—a blonde sliver of a lad—had rejoined his ranks and gone back to waving papers in the faces of passers-by. Lurker didn’t catch his face.

‘Never been one for papers,’ he said. ‘If I don’t know who writes ‘em, why should I trust them? Just a stranger’s words written down in ink, is all.’

‘You’re right,’ said Merion, as they walked back the way they’d come. ‘But can you believe it?’ He was looking over his shoulder at the paperboys. The headlines still rang clear in their ears. ‘Queen Victorious to be hanged. It’s been days now and I still can’t quite grasp it.’

‘I never had a Queen, so I couldn’t tell you.’

‘My respect for her died long ago,’ said Merion. ‘But she is still another angle, another victim of Dizali’s plot. I can’t help but feel angered by it.’

‘Tell me you ain’t goin’ to try and swipe her from the rope at the last moment.’

The boy shook his head. ‘I won’t deny I’ve thought about it. But that would be nearly impossible.’

‘As impossible as shrinkin’ down to cat-size and invadin’ a Fae fort?’

‘More so. All of London will be there. Every lordsguard, every constable. Every Emerald Lord and Lady… But there is another way. If everything goes to plan, I doubt they’ll have the stomach to hang her any more.’

‘I’d be more comfortable if you’d use “when” instead of “if”. Don’t inspire much confidence.’

‘When everything goes to plan,’ said Merion, smirking. ‘And it will this time. No more desperate Merion, believing his own fairytales of charging in alone. I have you lot now. I trust in whatever will happen.’

‘And we trust you.’

‘On that note,’ Merion said, reaching under his shirt. ‘I want you to hold on to this.’ He showed Lurker a small vial the size of a thumb, filled with a brackish-coloured blood.

‘What’s that?’

‘The last thing I have of my father’s. It’s kelpie blood. Lets you breathe underwater, if I remember rightly. I want you to keep it while I go to Clovenhall. I’m bound to be searched. That’s one piece of my inheritance I intend to keep. Give it back to me after we win.’

Lurker rolled the vial around his gloved palm and felt the feather-weight of it. He rubbed its tarnished chain between his fingers.

‘I can understand wanting to keep it safe. Always thought that a person’s grave ain’t some patch of ground, but in memories and things they touched while they were alive. There’s power in such things. The Shohari taught me that. They stay with us, livin’ as long as we tell their stories and keep their relics hangin’ round our necks.’ Lurker slid the vial into his pocket.

There was a moment of silence before the young Hark snorted and shook his head. ‘One more night of action and we spend the whole day being emotional and serious. It’s almost like we were for the gallows tomorrow, and not her glorious Highness.’ He caught Lurker’s eye. Thank you, John.’

Lurker just tipped his hat.

*

The needle of the syringe glinted in the bright candlelight; as did the sweat on Rhin’s skin, and every other forehead present. They all held their breaths, standing around the crate and faerie in a half-circle. Rhin had his eyes shut, concentrating on his spells, running himself hot and fierce to fight the weakness. Water and sweet cake stood by: simple remedies that could keep him alive in a pinch. There was nothing else to be done.

‘May I?’ Merion broke the uneasy silence. His aunt turned to look at him, syringe poised in her hand, trying not to make it look like an assassin’s dagger. ‘It only feels right.’

‘Hold out your hands, Nephew.’

Merion was relieved to see his hands were as steady as an old oak. Lilain nodded and beckoned him forward. ‘We have to go deep to get the right sort of blood, but not too deep. And that’s tricky work with a creature so small. No offence, Rhin. Fae don’t have ribs like you or I. Their skeletons are more like a honeycomb.’

‘And our hearts are in the middle of our chests,’ Rhin whispered, between tight lips.

‘Right,’ Merion coughed, immediately regretting his decision to take hold of the syringe. But it was his request, and therefore this would be his duty.

Lilain used a spare needle to point out the spot and angle Merion should aim for. The boy brought his syringe level with his aunt’s. He found himself holding his breath as the tip of the needle dabbed at Rhin’s pale grey skin.

‘Gently,’ Lilain said, bringing her hand beneath Merion’s, pushing forward with utmost care.

Rhin winced as the needle pricked, sliding into his flesh and between his bones. Merion hoped he would be numb to pain after Sift’s treatment. The little growl told the boy there was no such blessing.

‘Careful!’ Lilain cautioned him. Rhin was baring his teeth now, wings writhing beneath his shoulders. ‘Neither of you move. Now draw back the syringe.’ Merion did so as quickly and as gently as he could. The glass cylinder sputtered with maroon-purple blood. After a few tense moments, they had withdrawn a thumb’s width of it. Rhin was ashen.