The Grim Company (32 page)

Not for the first time that week, the world exploded.

‘Urgh.’

‘Easy, now. Your body has endured a great deal of abuse. Even a young man would be lucky to survive the wounds you have suffered.’

He didn’t recognize the voice. It sounded like it belonged to an old fellow. An
older
fellow, at any rate.

He tried to open his eyes. Couldn’t. ‘Where am I?’ he asked, battling a rising sense of panic.

‘The village of Farrowgate. You’re inside my home. Your friends are with me. The combustion temporarily blinded you – or it may have been the ichor in your eyes. In any case, I am confident your vision will return.’

‘I’m here, Kayne.’ It was Jerek’s voice – gruff, unfriendly and, at that moment, the most comforting sound in the world.

‘What happened?’ he managed.

‘I had some of Vicard’s powder,’ said a woman. It was Sasha, he realized. ‘I took it from his backpack just after the Rift. Isaac hollowed out a bolt head for me a while back and I filled it with the stuff. I didn’t really think it would work.’

‘It was purely theoretical,’ droned Isaac. ‘You might just have revolutionized warfare. Imagine – a mere girl blowing apart a magical abomination!’

‘A mere girl?’ Sasha’s voice had turned frosty.

‘Uh, no offence,’ Isaac said quickly. ‘I was trying to pay you a compliment.’

‘Don’t.’

Silence.

‘First useful thing the bitch has done, shutting you up,’ said Jerek. More silence. ‘The second,’ he amended grudgingly. ‘Though I reckon we’d have taken the fucker ourselves if it came to it. Right, Kayne?’

Kayne sighed. Somehow they’d all survived. With any luck, the remainder of the journey back to Dorminia would be uneventful and they would collect their gold and be on their way. Assuming his sight returned and he didn’t die of his wounds between now and then.

Well, a man could hope.

The Chosen One

 

 

 

‘Why do bad things happen to good people?’

Three-Finger didn’t answer. He hadn’t moved for hours, or uttered so much as a word in response to any of Cole’s numerous questions. The convict was curled up on the shiny black marble that formed the circular roof of the Tower of Stars, his back to the young Shard and his battered cloak pulled tight around him, though it wasn’t a particularly cold night.

‘We’ve been stuck up here for three days now. How much longer before the White Lady decides what to do with us?’

There was no reply.

‘It’s enough to drive you mad. No wonder they call it the Tower of Stars.’ He stared glumly at the marble beneath his feet. The polished surface was a perfect reflection of the clear night sky above. ‘I think I’m losing my mind.’

He walked over to the edge of the tower and risked a glance down at the city. From this height the various buildings looked like models from the hand-crafted diorama Garrett had given him on his twelfth naming day. He had thought it a silly toy, until he learned its true purpose had been to help him understand the layout of a certain section of the Noble Quarter he would later rob – in particular the quickest escape route in the event of an emergency.

He suppressed a shudder. The Tower of Stars was the tallest structure in Thelassa, or so he had been told. It was completely open to the elements, with no barrier around its circumference. According to the captain of
The Lady’s Luck
, who had brought them both to the tower, the Magelord of the city encouraged the accused to take matters into their own hands. Suicide was viewed as a welcome admission of guilt that saved everyone a lot of time and bother.

Except, Cole supposed, for the unfortunate souls tasked with keeping the streets of Thelassa clean. He imagined a jumper would make quite a mess when they finally splattered onto the streets hundreds of feet below. He had no intention of ending his own life, but the boredom was starting to get to him.

‘I just don’t understand it,’ he said, deciding that if Three-Finger wasn’t going to participate in this discussion then he might as well talk for both of them. ‘All I’ve ever wanted is to make the world a better place. I risked my life trying to save an old man from the Black Lottery, did you know that? A waste of time
that
was.’

Three-Finger said nothing.

‘Even among the Shards I never seem to receive the recognition I deserve.’ He sighed and stretched out his muscles. It was another mild evening, at least.

‘The problem is envy,’ he said quietly. ‘Sometimes I wish I wasn’t the son of a legendary hero. If I was just a common sort – like you, Three-Finger – no one would begrudge me respect. I’ve worked so damned
hard
to become the man I am. That’s what people don’t appreciate.’

Three-Finger grunted and shifted slightly. He took that as an encouraging sign.

‘I’ve faced prejudice throughout my life. I suppose others might have become bitter long ago. Me, I’ve always seen it as a challenge. Just one more obstacle to overcome. Like when I became the youngest Shard in our history.’ That wasn’t strictly true – Sasha had been seventeen when she was inducted into the group, a good few months younger than him – but she was a girl and therefore didn’t
really
count.

Three-Finger fidgeted again and made a growling noise that sounded suspiciously like a fart.

‘Did I ever tell you about Sasha? She has eyes you could lose yourself in. I knew from the moment we met that she was the one.’

He stared out across the city. Torchlight flickered far below like fireflies, illuminating very little from this height. Other towers loomed in the darkness here and there, like ghostly fingers in the starlight. For a moment Cole thought he could hear distant screams. He cocked his head and listened intently, but this time he heard only silence.

He sighed. Being stuck on top of this tower was making him paranoid. ‘When I finally make it back to Dorminia, I’m going to tell Sasha how I really feel about her,’ he ventured. ‘She isn’t like other girls. I think something bad happened to her when she was young. She’s hard work, but I’m slowly winning her around.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘It would take a girl like Sasha to keep a man like me in check.’

Three-Finger finally rolled over to face him. His head was hidden underneath his cloak, but he sounded exasperated. ‘I can’t take much more of you talking bollocks, kid. Give it a rest.’

Cole frowned. ‘I’m just trying to stave off the boredom,’ he replied. ‘Maybe you should have a walk around and stretch your legs. You’ve been huddled up like that for hours.’

‘What’s the point? It’s not like there’s anything to see.’

Something had been bothering Cole. He decided now was the time to bring it up. ‘You know what the White Lady said – about you being a rapist. It’s not true is it? The Watch just made up those charges against you, didn’t they?’

Three-Finger looked up at him. The corner of the convict’s mouth twitched slightly. ‘Of course it ain’t true. Do I seem like that kind of man to you?’

Cole frowned thoughtfully. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You don’t.’

‘Well then. There you are.’ Three-Finger stuck one of the fingers of his maimed hand inside his ear, wriggled it about, and then withdrew it to examine the contents. ‘Get some sleep, kid.’

That night the weather took a turn for the worse. The gusting wind set Cole’s teeth to chattering, and he warmed himself with thoughts of Sasha and their eventual reunion. He would have some tales to share with her and Garrett and the rest when he returned to Dorminia. Whenever that might be.

The following night his captors came for him.

The metal grate in the roof shifted slightly. Cole watched it glumly, expecting two meagre platefuls of bland food and a jug of water to be shoved up through the bars. Instead, he was shocked to see the steel hatch spring open and two of the White Lady’s pale servants climb out onto the roof. They were followed by a third figure, this one wearing a cowl that completely hid its face.

The taller of the two women clutched a dark metal collar. It was connected to a chain of interwoven links. ‘You will come with us,’ she said simply. She gave the collar a shake.

Cole’s excitement drained away like piss down a latrine as he stared at the contraption. ‘I want to know where you’re taking me.’

The shorter woman stared at him. As he had come to expect from the White Lady’s servants, her eyes were ghostly orbs that revealed no shred of emotion. ‘You will not ask questions,’ she said.

‘Do not be afraid,’ said the hooded figure. The voice was that of a man, but it had a whispering, velvety quality only the truly sinister could successfully cultivate. ‘The White Lady has plans for you. You will not be harmed.’

He heard Three-Finger shift around to face their visitors. ‘What about me?’

‘You will remain here.’

‘Fuck that. I’m not staying here a second longer, you
pale-faced
piece of shit—’

The convict’s words became a grunt. With incredible speed, the shorter of the women dashed across to him and wrapped her hands around his throat. Three-Finger must have outweighed her by eighty pounds, but he might as well have tried to shake off a bear. Within seconds he ceased struggling and went limp. The woman lowered his unconscious body to the floor. Angry red marks encircled his neck where her hands had gripped him.

‘Now,’ said the woman with the collar. ‘Will you come willingly or must you also be subdued?’

‘I’m coming,’ Cole said hurriedly. ‘Let me help you with that.’ He presented his neck and the woman lowered the collar over his head. For a second he contemplated ducking away as it descended and trying to make good an escape – but one look at the comatose Three-Finger convinced him that, for now, he was better off doing as he was told.

‘Lead on,’ he said. The collar snapped shut.

He wandered through a monochrome cityscape. Dark shadows flickered ahead of him, blinking into and then out of existence. Tendrils of fog twisted and curled around the ground, obscuring the bottoms of his legs. A thick wall of mist hung in the air all around him so that he could barely see twenty feet in front of his face. From beyond that impenetrable blanket came a cacophony of weeping, a thousand souls voicing their sorrow.

Something brushed against his boots. He looked down, peering through the unnatural fog.

It was a hand, impossibly small. It twitched a few times, and then tiny fingers reached out towards him. He stared in increasing horror as a doll-like arm emerged from the white haze, and then another, dragging the creature along the ground. Finally the head emerged, hairless, a pale, fetal mass of flesh that stared up at him with white eyes and a mouth opened wide in anguish…

The collar came off and suddenly the real world flooded back. Cole staggered and almost fell. He stared in confusion at the woman before him, who was clutching the collar.

‘What just happened? How long has it been since we left the tower?’ He glanced around. They appeared to be standing in what looked like underground catacombs.

‘Less than an hour,’ replied the taller of the pale women who had led him to this place. She finished wrapping the chain around the collar and hid the contraption beneath her robes. ‘As for your other question, the secrets of Thelassa are not yours to know at this time. We leave you in the hands of the Darkson. Do exactly as he tells you. Fail him, and you will answer to us.’

The servants of the White Lady turned and seemed to drift away, resembling nothing so much as a pair of spectres in their spotless white robes.

‘The sense of unease never goes away,’ whispered a voice behind him. Cole almost jumped out of his skin. He spun around to face the speaker. It was the hooded man.

‘You’re the Darkson?’

‘Yes,’ replied the figure in his sibilant manner of speech. ‘I am… not the same as them. I am human.’ He reached up with his gloved hands and pulled back his cowl.

Cole half expected to be met with some loathsome visage. As it happened, the face staring back at him was sharp-featured – some might even say handsome, though Cole was no judge in such matters. The man looked to be in his late thirties, with cropped black hair and skin as dark as ebony. Like Cole, he wore a short beard beneath his chin. It was flecked with a few hints of grey.

‘You’re Sumnian?’

‘Shamaathan.’

Cole tried to recall what he knew of Shamaath. The small country was further south even than Sumnia, bordering the immense jungles that formed the absolute boundary of civilization where the Sun Lands ended and the unknown began. A nation infamous for its intrigues, political turmoil and extensive use of poison in times of both war and peace, Shamaath was also commonly known by another name: the Kingdom of Snakes.

‘You’re a long way from home,’ he observed. At that moment he felt like he, too, was a long way from home – though compared to Shamaath, Dorminia was barely a stone’s throw away.

‘The more distance between my homeland and I, the better,’ the Darkson replied. ‘You ask a great many questions. My time is precious, so allow me to curtail further interrogation and fill you in on the basics. This,’ he said, sweeping a gloved hand around to take in the dank, crumbling walls surrounding them, ‘is your home for the next fortnight.’