Bloodfeud (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 3) (51 page)

From the corner of his eye, Lurker spied another man working his way through the crowded tables. Fights were apparently ignored here. Only a few had turned to watch the commotion, slyly swapping coins on who might win. Lurker saw something shiny in the man’s hand. Without a moment’s hesitation, he rose from the table and moved to head him off.

The knife was flashing through the air when Lurker barged its owner to the floor. A swift kick saw his wrist broken, and a pistol in his face kept the whimpering to a minimum.

Higgis had whirled around, fists ready, eyes wild. She saw the knife on the floor, next to the scrunched-up face of her attacker. ‘You, John Hobble, are a good man to have around,’ she said, clapping him heartily on the back. She wore a big brass knuckle-duster, and he felt it thump against his shoulder-blade. ‘Where’d you spring from?’

Lurker shrugged. ‘I was lookin’ for you, actually.’

She cocked her head. ‘You do know there’s a magpie on your shoulder?’

‘I do.’

‘Good.’ Higgis nodded. She stood aside as a few burly men in red waistcoats came forwards to drag the fighters outside. Lurker wondered briefly if they’d find themselves taking a shortcut back to solid ground. He listened for screams, but nothing came.

‘Don’t worry. We ain’t killing them,’ said Higgis, as Lurker led them back to his corner. ‘They’ll make us a good pot of coin. They’re the three sons of the Duke of Donager. He’ll want them back in one piece.’ Lurker sat back down, and Higgis and Smythe took a seat opposite.

‘Fancy themselves as aviators, do they?’ said Lurker.

‘Amateur sky pirates, more like,’ said Smythe, twirling his moustache.

‘So, come to catch up on old times?’ Higgis said. Straight to business. Lurker liked that.

‘I’m calling in that favour you owe me.’

She winced and sat back in her seat. She chewed her lip, then whacked Smythe on the arm. ‘I should really stop sayin’ I owe people, shouldn’t I?’

‘Prob’ly,’ Smythe said, looking around for a forgotten drink to pilfer. Lurker sipped his whisky and waited for an answer. When none came, he decided to hurry it along.

‘I did save your airship, don’t forget.’

‘Oh, I haven’t,’ said Higgis, drumming her nails on the table. ‘So what is it?’

‘You’ll help?’

‘Depends on what it is.’

‘That ain’t how favours work.’

‘Equal in measure, that’s how they work,’ lectured Smythe.

‘So you got to save my life, in that case?’

There was another moment of silence. Higgis winced some more. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘Good,’ said Lurker. ‘ ‘cause that’s exactly what I got in mind.’

He slid his glass aside and set his elbows on the table, leather creaking. Jake kept his eye on the airship captain.

‘Now here’s what I need.’

OF CONFESSIONS

12th August, 1867

C
alidae was enjoying the plush comforts of a velvet bed when the carriage lurched her from her dream. The puckered cloth of the carriage walls were nowhere near as comfortable, and she set a deep furrow in her forehead.

She was travelling with four others: Gunderton, Lilain, Rhin and Hanister, who was rushing something strong; Calidae could see the glimmer of magick in his mismatched eyes. He watched them all like a starving pickpocket, gaze switching to each in turn. She swore he had not blinked since they had set out from Clovenhall.

Cheapside rolled past their window, or at least as much of it as she could see through the gauze of the blind. Skewed buildings all wrapped up in peeling plaster, betraying warped grey oak beneath. Carts and people jostled for space on cobble and grubby gutter. A few of the more curious loiterers—the still-drunk or the just-getting-started—hooted as the carriage rolled by, calling to the driver to name his passengers. Though the coat of arms had been painted over, it was still an impressive beast of a vehicle, drawn by four piebald stallions. Her father had always loved piebalds.

‘Are we close?’ she asked, when the Brother turned his eyes on her once more.

‘Almost,’ he replied before resuming his vigil.

Two more streets and they heard the sound of boots climbing from the carriage. Calidae rolled her eyes and tensed once more against the thin ropes around her wrist. They had been expertly knotted; Hanister must have been a sailor in a previous life.

She took a breath and considered her options. She could make a run for it as soon her feet hit the pavement; or she could wait it out and see what this Fever had to offer, see how he fit into her web of intentions. She chose the latter. She was a Serped, and Serpeds don’t run.
Even from fires
.

A lordsguard with a young and acne-ridden face opened the doors. He beckoned them out. Calidae was first, followed by Lilain and the others. Hanister brought up the rear, carrying Rhin in his cage.

They were shown to a thick door which swung outward to greet then, almost knocking the boyish lordsguard flat. Calidae snorted before looking up at her new hosts.
And up. And up.
The two men were huge. Their necks were as thick as some men’s thighs, their chests like barrels fit to burst, and their arms lumpy protrusions beneath straining shirtsleeves. They were blonde as a fresh haystack, and strikingly blue-eyed. Quintessentially Nordic.

‘Monstrous big,’ Lilain whispered behind her.

One of them took Calidae by the hands and wrenched her forward. It was like being manhandled by a bear. She was a scrap of paper in the grip of his strength.

Hanister tipped his bowler hat to the twins. ‘Don’t have too much fun, gentlemen. Except with this one.’ He shoved Gunderton in the small of his back, drawing a fierce growl. ‘Have all the fun you want with this turncoat.’

Gunderton hissed something Calidae couldn’t hear, but it sounded appropriately foul. With no more than a nod from the seemingly tongueless twins, the door slammed shut. They were practically carried up the stairwell.

The building stank of mildew. Patches of it seeped through the grey plaster. No pictures. No lamps or tables to break the monotony. Just flat walls and bowing stairs, all of which led to a cluster of doors spaced along a narrow corridor. The twin escorting Calidae rapped on the furthest door. A murmur from within was taken as a sign to enter.

Inside, the gaslight was so bright she was momentarily blinded. She squinted hard, trying to squeeze some sense into her eyes, feeling the others shoved in alongside her.

Like the rest of the building, the room was square and dull. It was a cell, to be precise. Its only features were a few caged gaslights, a table sporting a thick briefcase, and a chair, which was currently occupied by a man of small stature indeed. He had the look of a man in his thirties, but the body of a boy. He wore a smart suit and a casual smile, as though they had merely popped in to talk about their investments. Calidae hated him instantly.

‘Welcome, friends. I am Mr Rowanstone, but you may call me Fever.’

‘What a horrid name,’ Calidae spat.

‘I agree,’ said Lilain. They shared an awkward look. No so long ago they had been enemies.

Fever did not look the slightest bit impressed. He motioned to the Nord twins. They stepped forward, and punched Lilain and Calidae in the ribs. Gunderton received a fist from each, for good measure, and Rhin had his cage kicked across the floor.

‘As I was saying,’ Fever continued, still playing at hospitality but eyeing Calidae menacingly with his little rat eyes. ‘I bid you welcome. We shall be spending some time together over the next few days, and I wanted to introduce myself before we got to know each other. Inside and out,’ he said, with a sickening smile.

‘I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that,’ Lilain replied. ‘Here’s a suggestion. You let us go, and you won’t have to work for Dizali no more. How’s that sound?’

For the briefest of moments, a flash of surprise ran across Fever’s face, chased by intrigue. He straightened his bowtie and cleared his throat.

‘I am not the sort of businessman to spit in the hand of my employer, I’m afraid.’ His voice was oily.

‘What a shame,’ said Lilain.

Calidae exhaled. ‘Are we going to stand around all day, or should we get started with whatever twisted game you’d like to play, little man?’

Fever got to his feet—not much of an improvement—and glowered at her. ‘As you wish. Perhaps you should be first, seeing as you are so keen to entertain me.’

‘Just you wait. I’m a hoot,’ said Lilain.

‘So am I,’ threw in Gunderton.

‘And if they don’t rip your spine from your neck, I’ll finish the job,’ spat Rhin, from his cage.

Calidae had to admit, she was momentarily impressed by Hark’s ragtag family.

Fever sighed dramatically. He pointed to Lilain and Gunderton, then waved to his twins. ‘Sven, Sval, soften these two up for me, would you? Thank you kindly. You may take them to the other rooms. You, Master Creature, can remain in the hallway and dwell upon what’s waiting for you. I’ve never dissected a faerie before.’

‘We’ll be keeping it that way,’ Rhin told him, winking as Sven nudged the cage into the hall with his enormous boot. The door slammed behind him.

Calidae was left alone with Fever. He was smart, she gave him that. He never turned his back on her even when he moved to the briefcase to fetch a scalpel.

‘The chair, if you please,’ he gestured with the blade.

She did as she was told, luring him in. He wrapped another rope around her wrists and looped it through the chair, all the while holding a scalpel a hair’s breadth from her neck. The man had steady hands.

‘I used to be a renowned surgeon, you know,’ he announced, stepping away from her. ‘One thing leads to another, and all that.’

‘Doesn’t it just?’

Fever smiled his sickly smile. ‘You’re a fiery one, pardon the pun,’ he chuckled. ‘Do you know what Dizali recommended for your punishment? That I burn the other side of your face.’

Calidae seethed at that, ropes creaking as she tensed. But Fever held up a hand. ‘I am many things, but I am not that manner of man, dear girl. Fire is too quick, too messy. I prefer a more precise approach.’ He opened his briefcase to reveal his proof; a glittering array of sharp and needle-pointed things.

‘My tools!’ Fever announced.

‘Fascinating.’

Fever prattled on, gesturing to different implements. ‘And this is what I believe we will start with.’ He held out a squat tubular device with an evil spike sticking out of one end. ‘It cuts perfect circles from the skin with just a twist of the wrist.’

‘Do you know who I am, Mr Fever?’ said Calidae, still playing for time.

He wagged a finger. ‘Lady Calidae Serped, orphan and only heir to the Serped estate. Lord Protector Dizali was most informative.’

‘Then know that I can pay you just as much, if not more, than Dizali.’

‘Oh,’ Fever tittered. ‘My dear girl, I doubt that you could, even if I were taking payment for this little escapade. You see, Lady Serped, you are my bonus for the work with Mr Witchazel. It’s so very hard to find willing participants like yourselves these days.’

Calidae pulled at her bonds again. Fever came forward, reaching down to rip the cloth from the sleeve of her grubby dress. ‘Let’s begin here shall we?’ His small hands gripped the white flesh of her thigh.

She recoiled away from the cold touch of the device. Its spike pierced her skin before she knew it; the pain swelling like an afterthought. She could not deny the fear that abruptly swamped her.

The best ideas can come from the tiniest moments. Instinct, for example; or simply reaction to action. Torture is a wonderful way to trim the fat from thinking.

Calidae put all her effort into one lurch, hopping the chair to the side, stabbing one of its legs down onto Fever’s toe. He cried out as her full weight pinned him. As he flailed, trying to wrench free, she headbutted him hard in the temple. The torturer sagged to the floor, his evil implement falling with him.

As Fever fought to clear stars from his vision, Calidae rocked the chair until it teetered and toppled. As it fell, she twisted, causing it to land on its edge. She was rewarded with a splintered crackle of wood.

She had winded herself, but the back of the chair had been broken. The ropes slackened, and she managed to rip herself free. Rope trailing from her wrists, she brought her bound fists down on the back of Fever’s head. He whimpered and slumped again. She could see the panic in him now. Calidae guessed he was not used to his clients protesting so vociferously.

‘Let’s see how you like it!’ she shouted in his ear, before swiping a scalpel from the nearby table and raking it down his back, slicing the suit. Blood flowed, and Calidae bit her tongue at the sight of it. She felt the heat flare in her face; hunger and hatred. Bloodlust at its finest. Fever roared with pain, scrabbling for the door like a lame calf.

‘Sven! Sval!’ he shrieked, but Calidae brought the wreckage of the chair down on his back and sent him sprawling before cutting her bonds.

Breathing hard, she turned back to the table and took a moment to peruse the silver and copper blades, the intricate levers and mechanisms. There was even an array of pincers for Almighty knew what. ‘Speaking of Mr Witchazel…’ she began, treading a circle around him as he fought to get out from under the chair. His eyes were dizzy with fear. She doubted he had ever tasted his own medicine, and she was glad to be his teacher. ‘He asked me to do something for him, if I found myself in such a situation as this.’

‘And what is that?’ Fever whined, unable to get up. The cut along his back had sliced through some of his nerves.

‘“Shove something sharp into his eye” is how I believe he put it.’ Calidae’s fingers found a suitably vicious implement; a sort of corkscrew crossed with a knife. She held it up.

Fever turned a shade of grey. He was a coward, like all men of his ilk. They dole out what they themselves could never stomach.

‘Please!’ he gasped, holding up gloved hands as Calidae came at him. ‘I will do anything you want, anything! I’ll have Sven and Sval stop and I’ll turn you loose! Dizali will never know.’

He cowered, shielding his face. A child afraid of a hungry wolf.