Nevernight (33 page)

She pawed her way through the maze of back streets, but she didn’t know Shield Arm as well as Little Liis. Even with Mister Kindly roaming ahead, it’d take hours to find her way back to the Porkery at this rate. So finally, she threw aside her shadows and made for the nearest thoroughfare. Out onto the main drag, crossing three bridges to the Heart, then down to the Nethers, dodging any Luminatii who came within a block. Running into the puppy-choker had unnerved her. Filled her mind with memories. Her mother in chains. Her baby brother crying. The turn her whole world came apart. She needed to get back to the Mountain, away from these bastard sun-botherers.

A moment to think.

A moment to breathe.

If she weren’t so intent on spotting large groups of men in gleaming white armor waving burning swords, she might have noticed a slender figure dressed all in mortar gray, picking up her trail as she entered the harbor district. She might have noticed the gang of young bucks trudging down the boardwalk toward her, nodding to the figure shadowing behind. She might’ve noticed they wore soldiers’ boots. That they had rather suspicious truncheon-shaped lumps beneath their cloaks.

She might have noticed all this before it was too late.

But then it was too late.

1. Spiderkiller tried to poison her class twice more in the intervening weeks—the first, with a contact toxin known as “shiver,” which she dumped in the bathhouse water early one morn, and the second, where in concert with Mouser, every lock on every acolyte’s bedchamber was replaced with a Liisian needletrap tipped with enough allbane to kill a horse.

Two acolytes died from the allbane traps; an Itreyan boy named Angio, whom Mia hardly knew, and a mild-mannered girl named Larissa, who’d been one of the better students in Mouser’s class. A quiet mass was said for them in the Hall of Eulogies, attended by the novices and Ministry. The bodies were interred with the other servants of the Mother, each placed within a tomb on the walls, no names to mark their stones. Mia watched Spiderkiller through the service, looking for some hint of remorse. The woman met her eyes only once, just as the requiem was sung.

And then she shrugged.

2. The material that comprises the Ribs and Spine in Godsgrave is referred to as “gravebone,” though in truth, its tensile strength is stronger than steel. The secrets of working it were lost in time, though two high arkemists of the Iron Collegium are rumored to still possess them.

Though hollowed during the building of Godsgrave, the Ribs and Spine are now considered Itreyan treasures, and to deface them in any way is a crime punishable by crucifixion. Much of the gravebone acquired at the city’s dawn has been lost over centuries, and the material is considered a near priceless commodity. That said, the elite cohorts of the Luminatii legion wear gravebone armor, and most wealthy and powerful familia are in possession of a few gravebone relics, usually blades and, in rare cases, jewelry. The kings of Itreya wore a gravebone crown, though it is now kept on a marble plinth in the senate house, engraved with the words
Nonquis Itarem
.

“Never again.”

If you look closely, gentlefriend, you can see it is still stained with the blood of the last man to wear it.

3. I must specify, there are actually very few of these. The Luminatii are, for the most part, intent only upon crimes that upset the people who pay their wages—the Senate of Godsgrave. So long as the criminal elements of the city keep to killing themselves and staying below the Hips, the Senate could give less than a tinker’s cuss about the murder of an inkfiend who crossed the wrong people, or a pimp who bet the wrong gladiator in the arena. The Luminatii aren’t a tool of law and order in the Itreyan capital, gentlefriend. They are a tool of the status quo.

Still, accidents happen. And in those cases, you want to know someone who works at the Porkery.

4. Though you’ve no doubt heard stories about pigs eating wagon wheels or wooden legs and the owners they were attached to, tales about the legendary appetites of hogs are, for the most part, gross exaggerations. However, pigs shipped to the Porkery from the mainland are often starved for more than a week by the time they’re offloaded, and after seven turns with naught but air to eat, the sight of a chopped-up Vaanian who owed a little too much money to the Wrong Sort of Chaps would look like a five-course meal to you too, gentlefriend.

There’s a famous yarn among Itreyan sailors about the
Beatrice
—a pork ship bound for Godsgrave—blown off course during a storm-washed truedark, and wrecked on an isle in the Sea of Silence. Twelve sailors survived the ruin, and yet, over the course of the next few weeks, the sailors mysteriously disappeared, one by one. Only a single mariner was rescued when the suns eventually rose. He was a cabin boy named Benio, who, when recovered by a passing Dweymeri trawler, swore that the rest of his fellows had been eaten by another of the wreck’s survivors—a ferocious sow who stalked the nights, devouring the hapless sailors one by one.

The mariners had apparently dubbed this pitiless porcine “Pinky.”

Upon his return to civilization, poor Benio lost his mind over a mornmeal of bacon and fried pork rolls, and spent the rest of his turns in Godsgrave Asylum. It’s said Pinky still roams the island, feasting on stranded sailors and baying at the sky when truedark falls.

Whether any of this is true, of course, remains a matter of drunken speculation on the decks of various pig ships. What
is
true, is that after learning from Mercurio what exactly went on at the Porkery at age thirteen, a young Mia Corvere swore off eating ham for the rest of her life.

5. Apothecaries theorize the imbalance of light and dark in Itreya is the cause of many public health issues, such as the increasing numbers of “dreamsick” sufferers cramming Godsgrave Asylum, and rising addiction levels to sedatives such as Swoon. Azurite spectacles are one of the few accepted remedies. The lenses are glass, tinted blue or green by arkemical processes, offsetting the glow of the dominant sun in the sky and sparing well-to-do citizens the worst of Aa’s fury.

There have been several state-sponsored commissions into broader-reaching health initiatives, but since it is almighty Aa’s
will
that his wife be banned from his sky for years at a stretch, even acknowledging the issue of light-related maladies can be construed as heresy. Thus, efforts to combat the issue are continually stymied by church loyalists in the Senate, not to mention lobbyists in the employ of the extraordinarily powerful Guild of Itreyan Curtainmakers.

Ah, democracy.

6. The tallest bridge in Godsgrave, originally known as the Bridge of Towers. Its new name and popularity as a suicide spot arose in 39PR, when the mistress of Grand Cardinal Bartolemew Albari—Francesca Delphi—leapt to her death from it during truedark Carnivalé. She was clad in full Carnivalé regalia, including a jewel-encrusted golden
domino
worth more than a small estate in upper Valentia.

Once news of her suicide spread, the search for her body, and more important, the mask she was wearing, led to several drownings, at least four stabbings and a minor riot. The rumor mill whispered that Albari had promised to abandon his position within the church and wed his paramour before the truedark of 39 fell. When Albari failed to live up to his promise, the girl had dressed in the jewels he’d given her, written a note to her parents explaining the sordid affair, then leapt to her death.

Unfortunately for Cardinal Albari, Francesca’s father, Marcinus Delphi, was at that time a consul of the Republic. The scandal led to Albari being defrocked and publically scourged, and the former cardinal ended up leaping from the very same bridge his mistress had died beneath. Over time, the story evolved into a tale of tragedy—two lovers, torn apart by society and consumed by their forbidden passions. Lovesick teenagers have been flinging themselves off the bridge ever since, and control of the riverbanks around the Bridge of Broken Promises (and thus, first right to loot their lovesick corpses) has been the cause of more than one gang war between local braavi.

Incidentally, Francesca’s mask and body were never found.

Not by anyone human, at any rate.

7. One of the oldest tavernas in Godsgrave, the Queen’s Bed was built and named by a particularly daring publican, Darius Cicerii, during the reign of Francisco XIII. Francisco’s queen, Donnatella, was known to be a woman of … appetites, and plebs took great delight in the ensuing innuendo. The conversation, inevitably, went something like this:

“Let us gather for liquid refreshment on the morrow, gentlefriend.”

“A splendid notion. But where shall we meet?”

“The Queen’s Bed?”

“I hear it is quite popular of late.”

(uproarious laughter goes here)

The taverna did a roaring trade as a result. When Francisco XIII was informed about the pub’s name at a royal banquet by his outraged bride, he was … less upset than Queen Donnatella had hoped. Indeed, the king was said to have raised his glass in toast to the publican, and commented to his guests, “Perhaps I shall visit the Queen’s Bed myself? Daughters know I have not seen the real thing for quite some time.”

(uncomfortable silence goes here)

CHAPTER 17

S
TEEL

A hard slap.

Water dashed in her face.

A sputtering gasp.

“Wake up, my lovely love.”

Mia opened her eyes, immediately regretting it. Blinding pain arced across her brow, all the way to the base of her skull. Fragmented memories. A group of men. Cudgels. Repeated blows. Cursing. Her knife flashing. Blood in her mouth.

Then blackness.

Wincing, she looked about her. Stone walls. A metal door with a barred window. She was sat in a heavy, iron chair. Hands manacled behind her back. Mister Kindly lurked in her shadow, drinking down her fear. Not alone.

Never alone.

“Wake up.”

Another slap landed on her face, whipping her head sideways. Lank and dripping hair stuck to her skin. She tried to lash out with her feet, found they were manacled too.

“I’m awake, you fucking whoreson!”

Mia looked up at the man who’d slapped her. A hulk of pure muscle, six feet tall and almost as wide. More scar on his face than there was face. Another fellow stood behind him, clean cut and well built with dead, empty eyes. Both were wearing white robes. Copies of Aa’s gospels strung on heavy iron chains about their necks. Tiny flecks of blood at their cuffs.

“O, shit,” Mia breathed.

Confessors …
1

“Indeed,” said the man with dead eyes. “And you are bound by book and chain to answer our questions true.”

The scarred man walked slowly around the room until he stood behind Mia. Craning her neck, the girl saw a long table, lined with tools. Pliers. Snips. Thumbscrews. A brazier full of burning coal. At least five different flavors of hammer.

No fear in her belly. No quaver in her voice. Looking the second man in his dead eyes.

“What would you like to know, good Brother?”

“You are Mia Corvere.”

How do they know my name?

“… Aye.”

“Daughter of Darius Corvere. Hung by order of the Senate six years past.”

That centurion … Alberius … surely he couldn’t have got word out to Scaeva already?

“… Aye.”

Heavy hands landed on both her shoulders, squeezing tight.

“The Kingmaker’s sprog,” came the scarred man’s voice behind her. “Bounce my bollocks on the boardwalk, is that not a treat, Brother Micheletto?”

The dead-eyed man smiled, his eyes never leaving Mia’s.

“O, a rare treat, Brother Santino. My belly’s all a-flutter, it is.”

“I’ve committed no crime,” Mia said. “I am a god-fearing daughter of Aa, Brother.”

The one called Micheletto stopped smiling. His slap brought the stars out from the dark inside Mia’s skull. Her head hung loose on her shoulders, Micheletto’s growl cutting through the ringing in her ears.

“Speak His name again, girl, and I shall hack out your godsless tongue with a fucking butter knife and cook it with my tea.”

Mia breathed deep. Waited for the pain to subside. Mind racing. Bound. Outnumbered. No idea where she was. No help coming. Not the worst scrape she’d been in, true. But, Daughters, it was racing hard for second …

She tossed her hair from her eyes, looked at the confessor looming above her.

“Tell us where you were earlier this eve,” he said. “Before you arrived in Godsgrave.”

“Arrived?” The girl shook her head. “Brother, I’ve lived here my whole—”

Mia hissed in pain as Santino grabbed her by the scruff and squeezed. She felt his lips brushing her ear as he spoke, stale wine and tobacco on his breath.

“Brother Micheletto asked you a question, my lovely love. And before you wrap that tongue around another lie, I’d best tell you I can still smell blood in your hair…”

Mia’s heart skipped a beat at that. She felt her shadow shiver, Mister Kindly chewing hard at her fear. Could they possibly know she was from the Red Church? Had they some inkling of how disciples moved from the Mountain and back? Justicus Remus had long vowed to destroy the assassins, even before the Truedark Massacre. It made sense he’d recruit the Confessionate to route them out. But could they—

“Tell us where you were earlier this eve. Before you arrived in Godsgrave.”

“I’ve not left Godsgrave since I was eight ye—”

Crack.
A bright red handprint etched on her face.

“Tell us where you were earlier this eve. Before you arrived in Godsgrave.”

“Nowhere, Brother, I—”

Her chair was dragged backward, the awful sound of iron grating on stone ringing in her ears. Mia saw a barrel filled with dark, tepid water in a corner of the room. Rough hands seized a fistful of her hair, dunked her head and held her down. She thrashed, bucked, but the manacles had her pinned, the hand holding her tight. She roared, bubbles bursting from her mouth into the brackish dark. Harbor water, she realized. Probably fished straight from the Bay of Butchers. Blood, bilge and shit.