Shadow's Son (17 page)

There was no sign of the girl at the intersection of Winder and Silverpike
Row.

A night fog had rolled in from the bay to blanket the cobblestones. Two
shapes slouched in the alley across the way. He couldn't tell if they were
drunk or dead, but both were decidedly male and not his girl. He'd heard
footsteps running in this direction, but the fog caused weird echoes, making
noises difficult to pinpoint. He wished Kit would return with some good
news. He was a blind man searching for a hare in a field of willowtails.

His foot burned where he'd been bitten. His toes squished with every
step as his boot filled with blood. Was it envenomed? Probably not. A
snake that big would pump out enough poison to kill a herd of warhorses.
He tried not to think about it.

A glowing shape appeared from a nearby alley.

"Did you find her?" he asked.

Kit shook out her silver hair. "She's not in Buckwald Den or Dyer's
Lane. I doubt she could have gotten farther than that before me."

Caim shifted his weight to his good leg. The pain was moving up his
calf.

"Is it bad?" Kit glanced down.

"Not bad enough to stop me. We have to get her back. We can't have
her wandering into the wrong hands."

Kit rested her fists on her slim hips. "She's probably already facedown
in some alleyway. The ragpickers will find her body tomorrow. You need
to forget about her and get back inside so I can take a look at that foot."

Caim squinted down each street and tried to pierce the darkness for
any clue that might lead him in the right direction. The events of the past
twenty-four hours had ripped him from his comfortable life and sent him
veering into unknown territory. He didn't like the feelings of unease and
doubt knocking around in his gut.

"Kit, what was that thing back at the apartment? Did it come from
me? My gift ... powers ... whatever they are, they've been acting
strange lately."

Kit floated a few inches off the ground, her outline blurring with the
fog. Her eyes turned dark and unfathomable, the way they did when she
didn't want to pursue a subject. She could be downright obstinate when
she chose to be. He stared back until she finally relented.

"It's called a
queticoux
," she said. "And no, it didn't come from you. At
least, I don't think so. They're rare. I'd never actually seen one up close
before. They live Beyond."

"Beyond?"

"Beyond the barrier separating this world from the Shadowlands."

Caim gripped his knives tighter. She was talking faerie realm nonsense again-ghouls and goblins, bogeymen who abducted children and
left changelings in their place. Ridiculous.
But you've seen the shadows yourself, haven't you?
He ground his teeth together. His thoughts were scattered in a hundred different directions tonight. Shadows. Mathias. Spoiled
rich girls out alone in the dark. He had to focus.

"Okay. So how could such a thing cross over?"

"It couldn't." She twirled a finger through her hair. "Not on its own.
It would need help to cross the Veil."

He pretended to know what she was talking about. "You mean like
sorcery?"

"I suppose."

"How could a High Town lord's daughter do that? She didn't strike
me as a witch. Hell, if she knew magic, why didn't she use it to escape?"

Kit shrugged. At the same instant, a keening whistle cut through the
night like a siren's wail. It sounded like it came from Three Corners. Caim
started running. Kit didn't need to be told; she skittered ahead of him
like a shiny pebble across a smooth, black pond. A filament of concern
threaded its way into Calm's chest, winding tighter around his insides
with every painful stride as the whistle led him farther away from the Processional and High Town.

Josey shivered.

Her feet felt like blocks of ice on the freezing cobblestones. The four
watchmen stood tall around her. Their hobnailed boots rang loud upon
the street, a comforting sound in the late hours of the night. She was protected. Safe. Her father's killer couldn't touch her now. By morning she
would back at home, wrapped in familiar surroundings. A new sense of
courage settled over her. She had survived kidnapping at the hands of a
vicious lunatic, navigated the treacherous streets of Low Town, and found
succor. After she settled her father's affairs, she was determined to put her
life back in order. Perhaps she would obey his dying wish and leave Othir,
go to Navarre or Highavon. Maybe even find a suitable husband. After
this night's events, the idea of remaining in this city had lost its allure.

Ensconced in her thoughts, Josey didn't realize the direction they
were taking until a muted roar caught her ears. It sounded like a forest of
leaves rustling in a windstorm. The streets had become even more fogclogged, the cobbles shrouded under a wispy mantle, but she could tell
they were heading away from High Town, away from her home.

She spoke up. "Where are we going? I live on the Esquiline."

The lead watchman removed his helmet. Tall and sturdy, he cut a fine figure in his uniform. He possessed a rugged face, but kind in its own way.
His bright hazel eyes gleamed in the lantern light, and Josey found herself wishing he was noble born. With regret, she pushed her thoughts
away from that direction. Any man she married would come from a
proper family to suit her station.

"Orders, m'lady. We're required to report to our station commander."

He said this with natural aplomb, but tossed a wink to one of his
comrades. Josey's throat tightened painfully. Could it have been a twitch
or a trick of the light? No, she had seen it. Something whispered in the
back of her mind. Caim had said the soldiers at the manor had been after
her, but she hadn't believed him. How could she? Who would believe the
words of an admitted killer over the honor of the Church's duly appointed
officers? Her father had been a great champion of the law. Yet as she
walked among her guardians, she took notice of their silence. Shouldn't
they be trying to reassure her? Why hadn't they asked for the identity of
her kidnapper? They hadn't even made a cursory search for Caim. Her
stomach flipped in sickening loops.

Shouts rose and fell in the distance as they passed down an avenue of
boarded-up storefronts. Noisome odors mingled with the fog. A stream of
brown water trickled across their path, dammed at the center by a large
lump. Josey put a hand to her mouth and swallowed as she made out the
body of a dead dog, its fur matted and crawling with maggots. Pottery
crashed on the street behind them. Throaty laughter cackled in the dark.
The watchmen brandished their weapons as they hurried her along.

She clutched the leader's arm. "I am not feeling well. Might we head
to High Town at once?"

None of them answered. They turned onto a new street, and a gust of
fresh salt air met Josey's nose. She drew in a deep breath to clear the
miasma of the streets from her lungs as cobblestones gave way to coarse
wooden slats. A boardwalk wended between a row of long whitewashed
buildings to her right and the black void of the open sea. The briny air
sang with the slap of waves against worn pilings and stone quays. Tall
masts of ships secured in their moorings swayed to the roll of the breakers,
empty as beggars' bowls.

Josey slowed as the watchmen started down the boardwalk. Their
leader tightened his grip on her arm.

"Sir, unhand me!" she shouted aloud in the hope that some sympathetic ear might overhear.

The watchmen laughed, all chivalry dropped from their demeanors.
Josey bit down on her tongue as the leader leered at her. How could she
have imagined kindness in his brutish eyes? He dragged her along with
alarming ease.

At first glance, the harbor was empty of people. Then, a point of yellow
light appeared over the spit of an ancient wharf. As she was drawn closer,
Josey made out a gang of men gathered under the light. Their coarse laughter
echoed through the night air. Josey's legs shook as she spied the symbol
emblazoned on their tunic. She would have fallen if she wasn't held up.

Every man wore the golden sunburst of the Sacred Brotherhood.

The lead watchman thrust Josey into the circle of light. Tears ran
freely down her face as cruel gazes raked her body. Why was this happening to her? Wasn't it enough that she had lost her father? Must she
also be molested by these brigands? She knew what these men lusted after,
and knew she was powerless to fight so many of them. She looked around,
hoping to spot some passerby, someone who would hear her screams, but
they were alone. Her stomach twisted into knots as she realized she should
have listened to her father's killer.

A tall man shouldered his way through the crowd. Josey sobbed as a
familiar face appeared.

"Markus!"

She tried to go to him, but rough hands threw her down on the pier's
hard boards. Josey stared up at Markus, her lips parted in a silent appeal.
Spots of blood showed on the bandage wrapped around his neck. One look
into his eyes told her that she would find no succor with him. Suddenly,
she was terrified for Anastasia.

Markus ignored her. "Where did you find her?" His voice was low and
coarse, like grinding millstones.

"Three Corners." The westerner grinned at Josey in a way that made
her insides tremble. "She ran right into our arms."

"Anyone follow you?"

"Nah. The streets were empty. What'll we do with her?"

Markus pulled a sloshing green bottle from inside his coat and thrust
it at the watchman. "Go take a walk and forget you saw her."

"Wait!" Josey wailed, but the watchmen marched off without giving
her a second glance.

Once they were gone from sight, Markus signaled to the others. "Get
rid of her. No mistakes."

Josey bit her lip. A scream fluttered in her throat, but her mouth
refused to work. Her fingernails scrabbled across the wooden spars.

A broad-chested Brother with a shaggy red beard stepped forward.
"Hell, we can't waste a cunny like that! I'll have a crack at that before we
finish her off."

A raucous chorus of chuckles greeted the pronouncement. Josey
backed away as Red Beard reached for the ties to his baggy breeches. A
wall of sturdy legs halted her retreat. She shut her eyes and prayed harder
than she'd ever prayed before, for deliverance from this horrible night, for
the sweet embrace of unconsciousness, even for death before she must succumb to this nightmare.

Markus produced a coil of rope and tossed it on the ground. "No
messing around. Just kill her and get it done with. She'll wash out with
the tide."

The men grumbled, especially Red Beard, but they grabbed Josey and
set to binding her arms and legs. A rusty iron weight was produced and
secured to her ankle. The men carried her down the short dock. One of
her bearers took the opportunity to knead her buttocks. Josey's sobs had
grown to near convulsions, but the waves crashing against the pilings
drowned out her mews. She tried to kick and only succeeded in making
them laugh.

"Be quick about it," Markus rasped. "And slit her throat before you
dump her off the end."

"Let me do it," a skinny Brother said. His ropy lips turned up in a
grin as he pulled a long dirk from his belt.

They put her down on the weather-worn boards, and someone yanked
back her head. Josey lifted her eyes. Stars sparkled overhead, blurred by
her tears. She panted in terror.
This can't be happening.!
But it was. She was
going to die.

Josey braced herself for the touch of the steel. The waiting seemed to
last for ages. Then, something warm spattered the side of her face. The
hands holding her let go. Boots pounded on the pier. She lifted her bound hands to wipe away the wetness. Three Sacred Brothers sprawled on the
slats, bleeding out their wretched lives. The rest watched the night with
their swords out.

Caim!

She knew right away it was him. Her suspicion was proved correct
when Red Beard fell at her feet with his throat sliced open. A sliver of
bloody steel flashed in the dark and was gone, only to reappear on the
other side of the melee to drink again.