Foreign Devils (8 page)

‘Come, Mr Lomax,’ I said. Wasler stood and went to join Winfried. I remained behind, just in case.

Bert looked at me. ‘Shave him, and I could’ve sworn I fucked his sister last summer near Tapestry,’ he said, and the table erupted in laughter.

Bert tilted his chair back on the two hind legs, brought a shot to his mouth and drank it, hissing loudly. He hooked his thumbs in his belt and stared at me with a cruel smile on his face.

There was a long moment where I considered shooting him in the belly.

I didn’t.

As I retreated, my face burned with the sounds of their laughter.

I joined the Lomaxes at the bar. I ordered cacique, which the Aurelian had a bottle of, surprisingly.

‘Wasler,’ I said, blood still high. ‘Stick to merchant men, whores, and sweetboys for your portraits.’ I knocked back the cacique and ordered another. ‘Unless you got the stones to get yourself out of your own messes.’

Wasler looked both surprised and ashamed, all at once. Winfried, her face dark, nodded grimly, her arms crossed on her chest.

‘Mr Ilys,’ he said, hesitantly. ‘My apologies. I merely wished to—’

‘I know what you wished to do. You’re a good man, but godsdamned green as grass,’ I said.

He looked like he wanted to cry. Winfried took his arm and led him away, saying, ‘We’ll retire, now, Mr Ilys. Thank you for your assistance.’

‘Stay in your rooms and keep watch. This is the Hardscrabble,’ I said. ‘Don’t you understand that?’

Speechless, Wasler stumbled out, accompanied by his sisterwife.

I drank. Thinking of my time in Tapestry, when I was a young man and all the world was new. It was a
dvergar
village – a ‘tinkers’ village – renowned for producing, guess what? Tapestries. There’d been a girl who later became my wife. Illina – my black-haired beauty – bore me sons and a daughter, and worked by my side until the devourer’s disease ate her from the inside out.

It was late, then, when the bar cleared and the bartender bellowed ‘
Last call!’
and would serve me no more.

Bert and his three companions rose from their table and unsteadily made their way out into the night. Auxiliaries might bunk down in stables, in flop-houses or hostels, or even at the century garrison, but that crew wouldn’t be able to afford a hotel as expensive as the Aurelian. Once they left, I waited a bit, stood, tipped the bartender, and followed them out into the night.

I could hear them, laughing, their heavy treads making the plank-walks groan and creak. The sky was brilliant overhead and became more so as I moved away from the hotel’s
daemonlights
.

Dvergar
, when away from man- or
daemon-
made illumination, have exceptional darksight. I clearly saw the soldiers, ahead of me.

Time was, I was finicky about the use of Hellfire for fear of the taint done my immortal soul. I’m not so fastidious today, but some habits die hard. I withdrew my sling from a pouch at my waist and loaded an iron shot.

The first soldier fell face-first into the plank with a great thud and then rolled into the mud. This was greeted with catcalls and blustery suppositions regarding Marius’ ability to hold his alcohol.

‘Let him sleep it off in the street, boys!’ Bert bellowed. Somewhere in the darkness, a dog barked.

I pegged the second soldier behind the ear, twisting him about so that he fell silently off the plank-walk and the other two soldiers never noticed. Bert was gesturing wildly with his hands, saying, ‘’Ere’s the meat of it, Bots, the damned praefect’s a gorm cocksucker and don’t know which end of a horse to feed. ’Ows he ’erposed to give us orders when—’

I popped Bert’s last companion in the centre of his back, making him cry out and fall over and had another iron shot in the sling within seconds, striking him directly in the forehead, felling him.

Bert, realizing he was alone, and in jeopardy, whirled about. ‘Boys! Mithras’ balls, boys, yer all fallin’ out!’

I came forward. Bert stopped, peering at me in the dark.

‘The fucking
dwarf?
’Ere, little one,’ he said, withdrawing a longknife from its sheath. ‘I’ll prick thee like I pricked your kin, you cunt.’

I let the shot fly. It whistled through the air and made a dull
thock
when it impacted Bert’s cheek, crushing the bone there. He flopped backwards, making a garbled sound. When he rose again, I launched another shot, hitting his jaw, shattering it. He spluttered, sending loose teeth flying. Blood poured from his face, spilling through cupped hands. He moaned and stumbled away, desperate.

I did not follow.

The other soldiers would wake with terrible headaches. Maybe even be dullards for the rest of their lives.

But Bert?

He’d spend the rest of his days eating soup.

I don’t know why I looked up as I returned to the hotel. Maybe it was to take in the glory of the night sky. Maybe it was to remember Illina. Maybe it was to place our room’s window on the second floor of the Aurelian. I don’t know. We should’ve been more watchful.

The hotel’s
daemonlights
had not obliterated my darksight, not then, and the small, ragged figure was clear in my sight, standing on the pitch-plank roofing, just outside our window.

For an instant, I thought the figure might be
vaettir
, it held itself with such tense fury. But even from where I watched, I could see that it was smaller than those giants. They aren’t called stretchers for nothing.

I ran forward, cursing all the cacique I drank earlier. It hadn’t affected my aim, but my breath came in great heaves as I dashed forward, pulling my six-gun from its holster.

I burst through the hotel doors to the surprise of the concierge and raced up the stairs to the second floor. The hotel was still and nearly quiet except for the muted sounds of coughing and the moans of people having sex in their rooms. The sound of something heavy falling pulled me forward. I leapt down the hall and nearly broke down the door to mine and Fisk’s room.

Fisk looked up from the desk where the Quotidian sat. The knife and bowl was out, but the parchment was clear. The bowl was full to almost overflowing with blood. A large stoppered bottle of ink stood next to it, ready to dilute and swell the amount of blood for the Quotidian.

I scanned the room in a flash.

‘What in Ia’s name, Shoe—’

From the next room there was a scream and something crashed. Fisk had his six-gun out in a flash, despite the cut to his hand, and I was already moving to the door that connected the Lomaxes to ours. A well-placed boot kicked it inward. Fisk right on my arse, I moved into the room.

Things slowed, like swimming in molasses, and I began taking in details of the room: Winfried huddled near the hallway door, her hands in front of her face, eyes wild and terrified. The clever devices of their jaunting-hearse arranged neatly in a corner. Wasler laid out on the floor, blood everywhere. On top of the dresser, a boy crouched, hands like claws, a gleeful expression animating his face. His eyes were huge, and black – blazing, smoking, yet totally black. His skin was pale yet his lips and mouth were blood-red and as he smiled, it displayed his many teeth. Sharpened teeth.

‘You,’ the boy said, stretching out a long, clawed finger at us. ‘The dwarf and his keeper.’ Its voice was cold and blood and spittle flew into the room with the plosives. ‘I was sent to find you.’ It cackled like a witch then leaped across the space as a cougar might. We tracked it with our pistols. It landed on the credenza near the door, sending a
daemon
lantern and crystal glasses flying.

Not a boy. No longer. Whatever animated it was a thing of hatred and glee.

Daemon
.

‘Beleth sends his regards,’ the thing said again, and leapt for us, hands outstretched.

The sound of the guns in the enclosed space was deafening. The smell of Hellfire and brimstone filled the space and I felt a wave of despair and sorrow. The boy’s body slammed into my chest, bowling me over backwards. It thrashed some, cracking my chin with a flailing arm, and then went still. I tasted blood and couldn’t be sure whose it was.

Fisk pulled me up and we went to check on Wasler.

Dead. His face half-eaten and his throat ripped away.

Poor soul, having ended like that. I pulled a blanket from the bed and draped it over the ruins of his face.

Heavy footfalls sounded in the hall and two vigiles burst in with the hotel manager close behind.

It was a while before we could make them understand the boy was the intruder. In death, his countenance returned to one of youth. Only his teeth remained sharp. I pulled back the thing’s lip to show them. The biggest vigile cursed and warded himself and immediately went to find the manager.

Winfried shook off her shock at Wasler’s death to corroborate our story. I fetched the whiskey from our room and poured her a healthy measure. She drank it with shaking hands.

‘Why don’t you come sit in our room?’ I said to her. She seemed lost now. Always before, she’d been forceful, straightforward. Now, everything was different. ‘We’ve got to examine the boy.’

‘Why?’

‘To be sure.’

She shuddered, but then straightened. ‘I will remain.’

Fisk, turning the boy’s body, pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the side.

‘Here, now,’ one of the vigiles said. ‘You think you should be doing that?’

Fisk withdrew his legate’s eagle pin from his pocket and showed it to the man.

‘Right, then,’ he said. ‘Carry on.’

They stood, silent and dumb, as Fisk squatted on his hams and searched the boy. There was blood everywhere. When he turned him over, I saw the mark.

‘There. Shoulder,’ I said.

A small circular burn mark, strangely familiar. Beleth once drew it on a napkin. A ward for binding
daemons
into a human ‘vestment’.

‘He left a little present for us,’ Fisk said, sucking his teeth. ‘Who knows how many more of these devils are out there?’

I looked at the vigiles. ‘You have any children or citizens go missing?’

One of them – a man with a beard and deep, sunken eyes – shrugged and said, ‘Always got missing persons. We’re in the arse-crack of nowhere, out here. There’s always whores and thieves, gamblers and outlaws, come sniffing around for silver.’

‘All right,’ Fisk stood. ‘You can remove him to the undertaker.’

‘What about the other fella?’

I looked to Winfried, who stood staring at the sheet covering Wasler, now spotting with crimson. After a moment, she said, ‘Yes. Please take him as well. I will make all the arrangements at dawn.’

Once the bodies were removed – and the hotel manager had sent round a slave to dump sawdust on the bloodstains – I said to Winfried, ‘We can stay here, with you, if you want.’

‘You are very kind, Mr Ilys.’ Her voice was strong, but part of her was very far away from all of this. The thousand-mile stare of the bereaved. ‘I will remain here.’ She moved over to the writing table and sat down, slowly. She placed a single hand lightly on the ink-blotter. She looked at the sawdust.

I pulled one of my pistols and placed it on the desk. ‘Just in case,’ I said. ‘I’ll shut your window, ma’am.’

‘Thank you.’

I shuttered the windows and Fisk and I returned to our room, leaving the door between them slightly ajar. There wouldn’t be much sleep tonight.

‘Ia damn, Shoe. A boy,’ Fisk said, once everything was quiet. I poured us both whiskeys while he rolled cigarettes.

‘Always knew he was an amoral, avaricious son of a bitch, pard,’ I said.

‘That man wants a killing.’

Not much to say to that. For the second time that day I pulled off my boots. I lay down on the bed with the whiskey glass perched on my belly and a cigarette in my lips.

‘Hell of a thing. We’re going to have to be on watch, now, everywhere we go.’

‘Should’ve been doing that to begin with. A boy? We saw him earlier, and I thought he was only a set of eyes for a larger master.’ He unslung his gunbelt, tossed it on the bed. ‘What I can’t figure is why Beleth didn’t pick the biggest bastard he could find and stuff a devil in him.’

‘He’s on the run. Doesn’t have all his doodads and nice equipment. A big fella might draw attention. A boy or child can go unnoticed,’ I said.

‘And the man’s natural inclination is toward cowardice,’ Fisk said. ‘He’d have to overcome a man and that wouldn’t be as easy as a child.’

I expelled a cloud of blue smoke toward the ceiling. ‘Andrae said he murdered a junior engineer here. Probably took his stuff. Used it to set the boy as a trap. You think we should ask around about the engineer, tomorrow?’

‘No. We know where Beleth is now. And the name he’s using. We ride for Passasuego in the morning.’

‘Don’t intend to stay for the funeral?’

He was silent for a long time. ‘Ia dammit, Shoe. You and your strays. We don’t have time to waste.’

‘He was a good companion, Fisk.’

‘No.’

‘We stay. Won’t leave Winfried like this.’

‘No.’

‘Go on, then. I will join you later.’

‘Ia-dammit, Shoe.’

‘That’s settled then,’ I said.

I lay thinking for a while.

‘That boy. His face and eyes. His whole damned demeanour. You know what he reminded me of?’

Fisk didn’t answer at once. ‘What’s that?’ he said after a while.

‘Stretchers,’ I said.

It was then that the Quotidian began to move, hissing and scratching, on the parchment.

NINE

Ides of Quintilius, Fifth Hour, 2638 Annum ex
Rume Immortalis, A Thousand Miles west of
Latinum in the Occidens Ocean

My Love,

First, let me allay any misgivings you might have regarding the health of your unborn child. He is well, if his daily gyrations and warlike exercises are any indications. A strong boy, I believe, judging by the kicks; though I fear when he is grown he will be a terror in the saddle, prone to a love of the spur.

I have thought for a long while upon this missive: I have so much to tell you. The Quotidian itself seems the perfect vessel for this endeavour. With the sacrificial knife, I freshen that wound that joined our blood as our blood is joined within me.

I understand now why the Quotidian is called thus. Daily I think of it; daily I consider writing to you, despite the blood-cost. I have even gone so far as to question Valerus if the messages will be … I know no other word than
delivered
… if more frequent messages will be delivered to you and he assures me (after a careful examination of the warding on the Quotidian device) that all messages will be received but that, if there is a backlog of missives, the blood-cost to you could be quite high and so it is common practice to have surrogates. Secundus and Carnelia have generously offered to provide our sanguine ink, and while surely an imposition on his friendship, possibly Mister Illys would let red on your behalf? How strange to think that with each word of love I send to you, it will cost you a part of yourself. In this, our nuptial correspondence mirrors the wedding wound itself. Yet I love you and wish to share my thoughts, the events of this journey, and hope, when you have a moment’s respite searching for Beleth, you could respond, though I realize being on the trail makes it difficult. Should you ever find yourself in a situation that allows you to utilize the Quotidian, Valerus informs me that you can mix five parts ink to one part blood and still be assured that the device will function as designed.

Leaving you was near ruinous to me. My mind kept returning to you, your mission, your well-being. Never before have I felt such a connection, neither between family nor silly juvenile loves when I was but a teenager, before my father had arranged my doomed first marriage. I feel the connexion between us like an invisible filament of gold, beaten to airy thinness.

I have let the blood. I have mixed it with the ebon stain from the Indus river valley. So much blood, my love, and ink to swell its amount. I have naught but ship, sea, swells and time to commune with you through blood and thought and pen.

I will begin.

Five days confined in the luxuriously appointed cabin of the
Valdrossos
, bypassing Fort Brust and any other hamlet or town along the way, stopping only long enough to take on water for the
daemon-
fired engine of the locomotive. We passed through landscapes day and night, moving beneath skies of empyrean; stupendously pure, but small and always framed in an ever-moving window. Always moving, always swaying and vibrating as the great mechanized beast of a baggage train hurled itself forward, the sound of it reverberating across the endless fields and forests of Occidentalia. With nothing to do but watch the rocks, then mountains, then trees pass in stately procession, away.

My father, Secundus, Sissy, and I all withdrew into ourselves, as any person is wont to do on long, ceaseless journeys. I don’t know if you’ve ever had the experience, my love, of a confined journey, but it is an exercise in indolence. As the train moves through the world, so too do the passengers begin to explore the landscapes and countries of their own minds in private, internal reveries. Conversations still and die on lips. Books and poetry remain unread. All endeavour becomes still as one is arrested in perpetual forward movement. It’s a curious sensation and one I am ill-suited to over long periods.

So it was to my great relief that Father called us to him from our various berths and explained his vision for Ia Terminalia and our audience with Tamberlaine.

‘Secundus and Livia, you two will, of course, attend him and bear our presents, as it would be unseemly if I bore them myself. Yet it would be an insult to him if I had a slave or some servant present them to him. Sadly, you’ll have to debase yourselves some so that I might save face.’

‘What will we give him, Tata?’ Carnelia asked.

‘I have not yet decided. But,’ he paused as my father likes to do when making proclamations, ‘You shall be in charge of presents, of course, my dear, as of all of us, you are most suited to such activities.’

This, of course, pleased Carnelia very much as it does every year. She is, among other things, very particular when it comes to presents and she and Father are of the same mind when it comes to the Ruman pastime of snark. While Father is a practitioner, Carnelia is a master.

A few words on Carnelia, love, if I may. I fear she did not impress herself well on you and I can understand why that might be, for she is a creature ruled by desires and a need for attention. Somehow, the assurance and poise of Cornelian blood did not manifest itself in her with any measure of strength. I fear she will always be a cunning woman, prone to outrageous histrionics and half-imagined slights. She is pretty; she is bright. But she is not abundantly pretty or remarkably bright and often unwise. And so she is often snagged by the hidden thorns of her own blooms. I pity her. And love her. And detest how she acts sometimes.

But the news that Father placed her in charge of the Ia Terminalia gifts lifted from her the travel-malaise and made her companionship spritely and gay. Secundus – taking himself far too seriously – scorned it.

Sitting with a wax tablet and stylus, Carnelia made notes.

‘To Metellus,’ she said, glancing at me, ‘We shall send a cask of garum, namely because that is all he deserves and also because the wife he’s replaced you with, while immensely wealthy, has a face like a fishwife. ‘“To Quintus”,’ she wrote on the tablet, ‘“A fine fish-pickle for you on Ia Terminalia. It is sour! But you should be accustomed to that!”’

Secundus stood from the cushioned chair he’d been lounging in, making his own notes – most likely for his own coming suit against Metellus – and said, ‘These are but frivolities. Give our valued servants and slaves gifts befitting their station, and give our friends and allies gifts to cement bonds of friendship and loyalty. Do not waste time with spite and petty cruelty.’ He looked at her crossly. ‘This negativity is unbecoming a Cornelian.’

‘Are you not, brother,’ Carnelia said, raising an eyebrow archly, ‘intending to besmirch Metellus in the courts of law?’

‘Besmirch him? No,’ Secundus said, shaking his head. ‘I’m intending to have the man recant his accusations against our sister and restore the Cornelian name. I am removing a taint.’

‘I am doing the same work, Secundus,’ Carnelia said, smiling at him. ‘In my own way.’

‘It seems to me that you are only being childish and spiteful. That does nothing to satisfy our honour.’

‘Yes, but it does pass the time,’ Carnelia said.

He did not respond, but went down cabin to join my father at his cups.

Carnelia, fazed not in the least, went on. ‘To Marcus Claudius we shall give sardonyx from the Indus Valley and a crate of oysters.’ She smiled at me, for I was looking bemused. ‘For him to keep up his … strength.’ She made a notation on her tablet. ‘To Mincus Drusus, the foal of a wild ass, if available. If not, a
small
ass.’

‘To what end?’

‘His hawing on the senate floor. Word has it he voted to remove Tata from his Governorship after the … after what happened to Isabelle.’

Carnelia was quiet for a moment. Of all of us, she was closest to Isabelle. My sister is uncomfortable with her own emotion, like most of those who live on impulse. Life is simply falling into one situation after another amidst a storm of desires. After a short bit of silence, Carnelia went on. Clouds passing across the face of the sun on a summer’s day.

‘To Sabella Maximus, sweet onions from Covenant – his wife was known for her chastity at school so this might loosen her legs. To Senator Gillesus, some lovely murex shells to set off his eyes!’

‘Carnelia! That might be going a little too far,’ I said, frowning. ‘It’s one thing to joke with our friends, our family, and poke fun at our rivals, but Gillesus is one of Father’s staunch supporters.’

‘He minces a bit, though, doesn’t he?’

‘Not that gift.’

‘Very well,’ Carnelia said, scratching at the board. ‘A Gallish mirror for Gillesus.’

‘You’re still doing it, sissy,’ I said.

‘So I am. I just can’t help myself,’ she said, and then giggled. ‘Our household, then. For Lupina, some nice whiskey – don’t think I haven’t noticed her knocking back the dregs of our cups! For Rubus, pornographic etchings, either from Aegypt or Accre, to facilitate his epic masturbation sessions. For Cilas, sow’s womb stuffed with figs and Lucanian sausages – the man truly is grotesque at the table.’

‘Isn’t that a little cruel?’

‘None of them are bright enough to be offended,’ she said, bringing the stylus to her lips. ‘Even if they are, the gifts are what they’d want for themselves, anyway.’

‘And for Father?’

‘I’ve spoken with Valerus. While he doesn’t have the artistic bent of Beleth, he’s confident he can create the
logos
of a single legged-bear on a silver phalerae.’

‘Ah, that will please Father greatly.’

Carnelia nodded. ‘We’ll add to that Pannonian birds and pomegranates, some nice Falernian amphorae, garlands of thrushes, mushrooms, and possibly some truffles. I shall visit the Lampurdae Market on our return to Rume.’

‘This is good.’

‘I have a terribly wonderful idea!’ Carnelia whispered, her hands covering her mouth. ‘To Tamberlaine, we will give the mount of the
vaettir
.’

‘He will be pleased,’ I replied. ‘Our father, quite the opposite.’

‘He is strong, Livia, and will endure it.’

‘Let us hope so,’ I said, letting some of my fears creep into my voice. ‘The alternative isn’t one I relish.’

Carnelia put down the tablet and stylus. ‘Are you scared?’ she asked, in the small voice she would use when we were children and she’d sneak into my bedroom.

‘For myself? No,’ I said. ‘But I worry about my son.’ I placed my hand on my stomach, testing for the life contained there. A strange feeling, my love, containing something within myself. In some ways, this must be the polar opposite of what you endured with the
daemon
hand around your neck. One suffused with love and growth, the other with hatred, madness, death. I love you, Hieronymous, for who you are. And what you bore.

‘I wish that I could come with you, sissy,’ Carnelia said, suddenly welling with tears. ‘I don’t want to be left behind while you and Secundus leave for Kithai.’

For a moment I thought of the issues that might arrive on a long sea voyage, captive, with Carnelia. But it was very likely that the baby would come while we were away in the far reaches of the known world. I would have more family with me than just Secundus.

‘I will speak with Father,’ said I, smiling. ‘I want you to be with me when the baby comes.’

‘We’ll need a midwife!’ She looked about. ‘Do you think Father could part with Lupina?’

‘Never. Who knows his drink better than her?’ I said. ‘And these years gone, I don’t know any of the slaves from the family villas. Any suitable ones?’

‘After Vaella died from wasting, I stopped learning their names.’ Vaella was our childhood nurse, a thick-chested and loving slave from somewhere beyond Aegypt.

‘I’ll want an accomplished midwife. Preferably not a slave, if we can help it.’

‘She’ll be expensive. And taking her to Tchinee!’

‘Yes. Will you help me find one?’

Carnelia squealed a little in excitement, and clasped my hands. ‘Oh, sissy. Do talk to Tata.’

I would wait, though, until a more opportune moment.

The
Valdrossos
took on water at Centre Spike, and then made the last stretch to Novorum without stopping. There was rain, and the world outside the windows grew clouded and full of fog; the fields and vast forests became shrouded and mysterious. The rain, pattering on the window, hypnotized me and I spent long hours in my seat, staring at the land passing, amazed at the fertility and wildness of Occidentalia.

But Nova Ruma, if you haven’t been there, is different. It’s a city made in the mould of Latinum townships – neat and orderly; wide streets with a place for everything and everything in its place. And it had grown since my last visit. As the train pulled into the station, we passed the fabulous new amphitheatre on the Anteninium Hills, beyond the Sub-Urba. The streets, as we passed, teemed with pedestrians and horsemen, surreys and carriages, wagons and teamsters and tradesmen – all heedless of the rain, pursuing their industrious commerce with vigour.

I love the Hardscrabble and its wild fierceness, but cobblestone streets are appreciated in travel. We disembarked and were met by one of Tamberlaine’s attachés stationed in Nova Ruma. He was clad in a black suit that was almost glossy, and he held himself with a great ease, even languor. Yet something about him broadcast danger. Of course, Carnelia was immediately smitten.

‘Senator,’ he said, waiting on the station platform holding a large umbrella in a big hand. ‘I am Marcus Tenebrae and I will be your escort to the
Malphas
, and further, back to Rume.’ He managed to perform a neat bow while keeping the umbrella stable. A bow that was the exact right amount of deference to Father’s gravitas (or lack of it, but that is a family matter). And that is a rare bird in the course of honour, an underling giving the right amount of deference without obsequiousness. He wore a longknife – like the ones you and Shoe seem to favour – and a small pistol on his left hip. Neither interfered with the slim cut of his suit. Perched atop his head was a sheened billycock, dewed with moisture.

‘Welcome to Novo Ruma. If you, and your family, will come with me, I will take you to the wharf, where our ship awaits.’