Herald of the Storm (57 page)

He looked down at that head, which stared up blankly from battered eyelids, then back at Rag. Without a word he lowered himself down from the crate, careful to avoid the head like it was a snarling dog, not taking his eyes off it as he walked past, then rushed from the warehouse.

Rag had no idea if he was coming back, but she thought it was probably best to wait. What else could she do?

She picked up Krupps and placed him gently on top of the crate, then sat down next to him, feeling the fatigue of the past few days begin to settle on her like a sack of turnips.

As she waited she thought about her roof at the Bull. About Chirpy and Migs and Tidge. Even Fender. And she thought about Markus – about how if he hadn’t ended up dead she probably wouldn’t have been here, sitting on a crate in a dark warehouse with a severed head, waiting for a crime lord to come and see her.

The thought made her snigger, all alone in the dark.

‘Who’d have thought it, eh?’ she asked.

Krupps didn’t answer. He was starting to whiff a bit, and was getting interest from a few flies, but it wasn’t the worst thing she’d had to put up with over the past few days, so she didn’t hold it against him none.

‘They say talking to yourself is the first sign of madness.’

Rag almost screamed, but managed to hold it in as the curly-haired man she knew as Friedrik entered the warehouse. He was flanked by two burly-looking thugs. The man she’d found dozing on the crate skulked behind them, as though he was scared of something.

Friedrik looked at her, then the head, then back at her again. ‘Apparently we had a deal? Remind me again?’

Rag eased herself off the crate. She knew this was an important moment – one of those times that shapes how the rest of your life’s gonna turn out – so she fixed him with her best stare.

‘You said if one of us brought you the heads of the others we could join the Guild.’

Friedrik gave her a sideways glance. ‘Is that what I said? Are you sure?’ He looked to the men at either side of him. One Rag recognised as the man who’d killed Coles with a cudgel.

They both just shrugged.

‘No, I don’t remember saying that,’ said Friedrik.

Rag felt panic grip her stomach. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been swindled before, hadn’t been treated like a prat, but this was just a piss-take too far.

‘Yes, you fucking did! You said it right here, not more than two days since.’ She instantly wondered if she’d gone too far.

When Friedrik smiled, she relaxed a bit, but then a smile from the bastard who ran the Guild could mean anything.

It might mean he was gonna cut her tongue out.

He strolled forward, looking at Krupps’ head. ‘Mmm, now you mention it, I do remember saying something like that. Don’t remember this fellow, though, but then he’s clearly not as handsome as he once was. What do you reckon, lads?’ His thugs laughed; a forced laugh at a shit joke. ‘Yes, I may have opened a vacancy, but obviously I wanted a new recruit who could work for me, hurt for me … kill for me. Is that you, little girl?’

Rag thought on it. A killer she weren’t, but then she’d had to do a lot these past few days she thought she weren’t suited to.

‘I’m a pincher,’ she said.

‘Ah, a pickpocket. I’ve got plenty of those. What would I need another for?’

‘Because I’m the best there is.’

Friedrik laughed at that. His men laughed at it too.

‘A bold claim, little girl. How are you going to prove it?’

She could feel herself getting angry now and did her best to swallow it back down. It weren’t the first time she’d been duped. It weren’t even the first time she’d been laughed at, but now this bastard was just taking liberties. Rag didn’t make claims lightly. She was the best – better than anyone this bastard had ever seen.

‘That bloke there,’ she said, gesturing over her shoulder at the one she’d found sleeping earlier. ‘Tell him to pull his knife.’

Friedrik frowned. ‘Tell him to what?’

‘Pull his knife. Tell him.’

Friedrik glanced towards the man and shrugged. ‘Go on then.’

Rag kept her eyes fixed on Friedrik but she could hear the man fumbling at his belt, could almost feel his panic and his embarrassment as he went for his knife, only to find it wasn’t there.

‘Ain’t got it, has he?’ she said, reaching round to the back of her britches. ‘’Cos I pinched it from him earlier, right in front of his fucking eyes!’

With that she darted forward, knife in hand. She’d never been any good with blades – they’d only got her in trouble before, but this wasn’t like any of those times. This was for a game with the big boys, and if it took pulling a blade, then a blade was what she’d pull.

She leapt straight at Friedrik, that knife shooting forward, and she saw his face light up with panic. He tried backing off but he wasn’t quick enough and she was on him like a tomcat on a rat. He staggered back under her weight as she pressed the knife to his throat.

Behind she could hear his minders rushing forward, but they wouldn’t be quick enough.

‘Tell ’em to fuck off, or I’ll cut you open!’

In a panic Friedrik held up his arms. ‘Fuck off!’ he yelped at his men.

And there they were: her with a knife to his throat, and his men just looking on, not a clue what to do.

‘So,’ Rag said, suddenly feeling like the deck was stacked in her favour. ‘About that vacancy you were gonna open in your club.’

‘Yes, that vacancy. I think I remember now. A slot’s just opened right up.’ He was trying his best to smile, but the knife at his throat made it that much harder.

‘So we’ve got a deal?’

‘Yes. Shit yes, we’ve got a deal.’

Slowly she let him go. He was the ace in her deck, and removing that knife from his throat would be giving it away. It was a big chance she was taking, but sooner or later she was gonna have to trust him to keep his word.

When he was loose she could tell his men wanted to move forward, wanted to do her harm for laying a hand on him, but Friedrik just shook his head.

‘Well, little girl. Looks like you’ve earned yourself a seat at the grown up table.’

She nodded, but didn’t allow herself a smile. At least not yet.

‘My name’s Rag,’ she said.

Friedrik looked at her and smiled. Then held out his hand.

‘Welcome to the Guild, Rag.’

T
here was something different about his reflection. Was it the lines under his eyes? The cuts and bruises that marred his face and head? Did he look older somehow?

Waylian couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but whatever external changes had been wrought by his experience it was nothing to the feeling inside. He’d thrown up a stream of black bile for almost a whole night and his guts felt like someone was twisting them in a mangle. Add to that the vile taste in his mouth, along with the throbbing in his jaw, and it seemed this magick business was clearly more trouble than it was worth.

He leaned in closer to the mirror, pulling the bruise-darkened flesh down below his right eye. The bloodshot veins that had stood out red and livid the day before were receding slightly. That was some small comfort at least.

Whether the mess of his face was down to that stone platform almost collapsing on him or something more sinister he couldn’t tell. He knew there were consequences to tapping the Veil; all magickers had to suffer the consequences of their power, but he hadn’t been expecting anything like this.

The throbbing in his jaw began to intensify, and Waylian probed with his tongue, feeling one of his back teeth. It moved as his tongue touched it, loosening the tooth in the gum, and he suddenly tasted blood.

As he stared at his reflection in the mirror he reached into his mouth, gripping the tooth tight in finger and thumb.

It came away far too easily.

There was no pain, but he felt a dull ache of loss as he dropped it into the bowl of water in front of him. He watched as the tooth sank to the bottom of the bowl and came to rest with a clink, a crimson trail effervescing in its wake.

At this rate, by the time he graduated to the Caste he’d be all gums, like some old crone.

The door to his chamber opened and in she walked. He was clearly getting used to it: he didn’t jump or squeal and she hadn’t even caught him playing with himself this time.

‘Waylian. I need you.’

Of course she did. Obviously there was some menial work to do.

‘Yes, Magistra. Be with you at once.’

He expected her to go at that point, and later to find her waiting impatiently for him at the end of some corridor, but instead she entered his room and closed the door behind her.

Suddenly he felt naked and vulnerable. He was stripped to the waist, but it was more than that. This was intimacy he hadn’t bargained on.

‘How are you?’

What? She’d never asked him that before. How in the hells was he supposed to answer that kind of question?

‘I’m fine, Magistra.’

She glanced into the bowl where his tooth lay in the pale red water.

‘Clearly you’re not.’

‘It’s nothing. Just a …’
Just my bloody tooth fallen out of my head, that’s all.

‘I can give you a poultice for that. The sick feeling will recede in time too. You’ve done very well, Waylian. You should be proud; you’ve shown great promise. I knew I was right about you.’

He just nodded. He’d never been good at handling praise, and coming from Gelredida it was a strange thing indeed.

The Magistra leaned in close, almost conspiratorially as though she felt awkward saying the words. ‘She did not suffer, you know.’

That one came out of the blue.

Of course, he knew who she was referring to. Gerdy had died in the Chapel of Ghouls. Butchered like a piece of meat. Waylian had done his best to put it from his mind, but all he had done was lie awake at night, picturing that scene: Bram with the knife, the black wound spreading across her chest.

‘I know, Magistra. It’s just that … I don’t know. I wish we could have …’

‘Done something more? We did everything we could. You should feel no culpability. You acted with bravery. We did everything we could to save that girl. One man was responsible for her death and he has been punished, and a terrible disaster averted. For that you should be proud.’

‘Yes, Magistra.’

Though he heard her words and appreciated them, he couldn’t help but feel some of this had been his fault. Rembram had been his friend, and yet he hadn’t seen through his façade. He hadn’t spotted the signs. If he’d done that sooner, perhaps Gerdy would have lived.

‘I think it best if we do not mention the manifestation of your abilities just yet, either. I may need you beside me in the coming months, and if it is known you have shown some talent you might be … hobbled.’

What?

‘Hobbled, Magistra?’

‘Yes. So let’s keep this just between us.’

‘As you wish, Magistra.’ Though what she meant by ‘hobbled’ he had no idea, and wasn’t too sure he wanted to find out.

‘Very good. Meet me at the Crucible Chamber when you’re ready.’

With that Gelredida left and,
gods
, was that another smile she gave him as she went? No, it couldn’t have been. Who was he trying to fool?

He rinsed his mouth and spat out a gob of blood. Then donned his brown robe.

As Waylian made his way through the corridors, he found the sense of shame he’d felt in previous days was gone. The other students, whose gaze he had tried to avoid and whose whispered judgement he had feared, seemed to regard him in a different light. Respect, was it? Could there even be a degree of awe?

It was clear news travelled fast in the halls of the Tower.

Magistra Gelredida was waiting for him as promised in the antechamber to the Crucible Chamber. When he approached she gave him no scornful look, no silent rebuke. She merely strode towards the great brass doors, the iron bracelets already secured to her wrists, as the Raven Knights opened them to reveal the Archmasters waiting behind their pulpits.

As he and his mistress made their way to stand before the greatest magickers in the land, Waylian experienced little trepidation. When last he was here he had felt out of his depth, as though floundering in treacherous waters, but now he felt amongst his peers – his equals.

It was a shame they didn’t feel the same.

At first nobody spoke, but it was clear Drennan Folds was waiting to pounce, winding himself up to launch his attack. His eyes – one white, one ice blue – peered down with unconcealed fury.

‘Magick!’ he bellowed when he could contain himself no longer. ‘On the city streets! The gates to the Chapel of Ghouls left open! Our own Raven Knights murdered. You have much to answer for, Gelredida.’

She met his bluster with disdain. ‘It’s not like you weren’t warned, Folds. All of you were warned and no one helped. Well, almost no one. If it were not for the aid of Archmaster Laius the city would by now be infested with … I hate to think on it.’

‘You were party to this, Nero?’ Folds turned his anger on the man to his left. ‘You assisted in this madness?’

Laius could only shrug his assent.

‘Archmaster Laius saw the good sense of aiding me,’ said Gelredida. ‘And I left him little choice. If you must rail at someone, Drennan, rail at me.’

Drennan Folds turned back to her, his face red with rage. ‘
Rail
at you? We should punish you severely. Practising magick on the streets like a common hedge witch. You should be—’

‘Be careful, Drennan,’ she said. ‘Just be careful.’

Waylian expected that comment to enrage the Archmaster further, but Gelredida’s veiled threat served to take some of the wind from his sails.

Hoylen Crabbe leaned forward. ‘I think Archmaster Folds is merely showing his frustration. These are testing times for us all, Magistra. I’m sure we will need to take this matter no further. Despite the reckless manner in which it was done, a potential catastrophe has been averted, after all.’

Drennan Folds looked furious at that, but he held his tongue.

‘And what of the catastrophe to come?’ Gelredida asked. ‘What has the Crucible decided regarding Amon Tugha’s impending invasion?’