The Long War 02 - The Dark Blood (28 page)

Beyond a ratty-looking vegetable stand and opposite a shop that sold cheap steel was the Feather Bed, a building unremarkable except for the ruby-red lips that adorned its sign. Glenwood smiled, glad that the building was still there. He began to concoct a strategy whereby he and Mirabel could make some gold by turning in Rham Jas.

‘So, are you going to introduce me to your friend?’ asked the Kirin, as they came to a stop in front of the sign.

‘I wish I didn’t have to,’ replied the tired man of Leith, wanting nothing more than to fall into a drunken stupor and forget his life.

Rham Jas grinned at the forger and showed a few teeth, making it one of his wider grins. ‘I’m good with women,’ he said, smoothing back his greasy black hair and striding towards the entrance.

Glenwood raised his eyebrows and followed, trying to keep his anger in check as he caught the swinging door his companion had flung open. It did, however, occur to him that, if he was going to turn in the Kirin, it would be wiser to do it in Ro Leith, a city he knew well and where his involvement with Rham Jas would be unlikely to get him strung up alongside the assassin.

Inside the Feather Bed was a clean and well-tended bar area, overseen by a rugged doorman. Several attractive young women delivered drinks on silver trays to a mixed clientele. There were clerics, hiding under civilian clothing, and ordinary folk of Arnon, squandering whatever money they had on a night of flesh and sweat. Everyone within was Ro, and Glenwood hoped that the sight of the Kirin might elicit a shout for the watchmen and relieve him of the assassin’s company.

‘What is your pleasure?’ asked a nubile young lady, scantily clad in a see-through nightgown.

Rham Jas motioned for Glenwood to do the talking and made a token effort to hide his face. The lady was the worse for drink and not sufficiently observant to notice a man’s race.

‘Is Mirabel in tonight, my dear young thing?’ asked the man of Leith, with a disarming smile.

‘I believe she’s entertaining a client,’ replied the girl, ‘but I’m sure I can service your needs.’ She sidled up close to Glenwood and gazed into his eyes. ‘You’re a handsome devil, sir.’

‘Only in Arnon, my dear,’ he said with a wink. ‘In Tiris, I’m interesting-looking at best.’

Rham Jas subtly elbowed him in the ribs, but didn’t say anything for fear his accent might be recognized.

‘Perhaps later you can tell me how handsome I am, young lady. For now, I need to speak to Mirabel.’ He stroked the girl’s face playfully and winked again.

‘Kale Glenwood, as I live and breathe,’ said a husky voice from further inside the brothel.

Mirabel was a woman in her early forties, but still attractive and with a glint in her eye that marked her as canny and dangerous. She’d aged well, and the forger smiled as she strode across the entrance hall and flung her arms round his shoulders.

‘You’re carrying your sword, Kale,’ she said, noting the old longsword hanging at his side. ‘Pretending to be a noble again, are we?’

‘No pretence needed, sweet thing,’ he said with a smirk, holding himself upright. ‘Can we go and have a little chat?’

‘Anything for an old flame, honey,’ she said, firmly slapping him on the rear. ‘Follow me.’

Glenwood nodded for Rham Jas to follow and the two of them walked casually after Mirabel. The interior of the Feather Bed was garishly decorated with silks and brightly coloured fabrics, and great attention had been paid to making the establishment smell nice, with incense burning throughout.

The mark of a good brothel, in Glenwood’s eyes, was that the bedrooms had actual doors, rather than simple cotton hangings, and the sounds of sex were barely audible as they walked along a red-carpeted hallway to a staircase.

‘Who’s your friend, Kale?’ asked Mirabel, gathering the folds of her tightly cut dress in order to ascend the stairs.

‘Yes, Kale,’ chuckled Rham Jas, ‘who’s your friend?’

Mirabel half-turned and an interested smile appeared on her face.

‘He’s nobody,’ said the man of Leith, ‘a chain around my neck, a Gorlan on my back, a pain in my arse.’

‘Well, perhaps you and the pain in your arse would like a drink.’ Mirabel reached the top floor of the brothel and opened a heavy wooden door in front of her.

The floor they were on was not for the clientele and no muted sounds of sex could be heard beyond the door. Mirabel was as high-class a whore as Tor Funweir could offer and, like all good madams, she made sure that there was ample space to rest and recuperate within the Feather Bed.

The room they entered was comfortable and more conventionally decorated than the brothel below. It had expensive-looking leather armchairs and a wide window with an impressive view of the three spires of Arnon. Mirabel demurely took a seat and motioned to an ornate drinks cabinet by the bedroom door.

‘Any Darkwald red?’ asked Rham Jas, plonking himself into another leather armchair and throwing back his hood.

Mirabel smiled with narrow eyes and the Kirin grinned shrewdly. ‘I have Darkwald Reserve, maybe some vintage stuff from Hunter’s Cross, my dear Rham Jas Rami.’

Glenwood snorted in amusement, glad that his companion’s reputation had spread to the church city. Mirabel was clever and would likely keep abreast of the Wanted posters. He had not seen any depictions of the Kirin’s ugly face since he arrived in Arnon, but he could well imagine that the reward would have gone up significantly since Katja was killed in Ro Tiris.

‘You specialize in killing those generally considered unkillable,’ said Mirabel, drumming her fingernails on the arm of her chair. ‘And you have come to Ro Arnon.’

‘I need your help, my good lady,’ replied Rham Jas, taking a goblet of wine from Glenwood and drinking deeply. ‘Young Kale here is by no means an expert on your fair city and he advises me to seek... an additional pair of eyes.’

‘And why should I wish to assist you?’ she replied. ‘Our beloved allies do not affect my business one way or the other.’

The Kirin assassin baulked at the euphemism for the Seven Sisters. ‘They are not beloved by me,’ he said, looking at Mirabel over the top of his goblet. ‘I doubt they are truly beloved by many of their new... subjects.’

‘Enough,’ said Mirabel, sipping demurely from a fluted crystal glass. ‘I won’t endanger my station or fortune by assisting a known assassin.’

Glenwood, who had not taken a seat, coughed. ‘There you go, she won’t help.’ He threw back his drink and smiled. ‘Sorry to bother you, Mirabel. We’ll be off, then.’

Rham Jas didn’t look as if he was about to be off, and Glenwood’s glib attempt to get out of the brothel caused Mirabel to raise her eyebrows. ‘Sit down, Kale,’ she said gently.

‘Yes, Kale, sit down,’ echoed Rham Jas, with a maddening grin. ‘We’ve had a long walk and your poor legs must need a rest.’

‘Fuck you, Rham Jas,’ spat Glenwood.

‘Do you mind?’ said Mirabel, showing mock offence. ‘Please watch your language in my establishment.’

‘Her name is Lillian the Lady of Death,’ said the assassin. ‘Where can she be found?’ Rham Jas had adopted a businesslike expression and leant forward, allowing his curved katana to show at the side of the leather chair.

‘Killing an enchantress is considered impossible. Attempting it with a sword is considered insane.’ Mirabel’s right hand had fallen casually down to the side of her chair and, from where he stood, Glenwood could see a small crossbow attached to the leather. ‘And your capture could be rather financially rewarding.’

Rham Jas showed no sign that he was aware of the weapon as he drained his glass. ‘I would think very carefully about using that crossbow, my lady,’ he said casually. ‘The first bolt wouldn’t kill me and I’d get to you before you could reload.’

She frowned and glanced up at Glenwood.

‘And he won’t help you, he’s too scared of me,’ said Rham Jas.

‘It’s true,’ replied Glenwood, with a resigned nod of his head.

‘Though I am not unsympathetic to your need for money,’ said the assassin, his grin returning. ‘You will be compensated.’

‘By whom?’ she asked sharply. ‘You? I don’t think so... from what I’ve heard, you’re a lucky amateur at best.’

Rham Jas said nothing for a moment, letting his eyes do their work. Mirabel blinked and turned away, feeling, as people always did, uncomfortable under the Kirin’s gaze.

‘What else have you heard?’ asked the assassin when the madam had stopped trying to stare him down.

‘The Mistress of Pain... I assume you’ve heard of her,’ began Mirabel, ‘has made it known that you are a danger to Tor Funweir and that any Ro of good conscience has an obligation to do you harm.’

Glenwood smiled at this. ‘Since when have you had a good conscience?’ he asked, attempting to lighten the mood.

‘Since every single churchman in my city started doing whatever these bloody enchantresses say. General Frith has left, on Lillian’s orders. He’s taken any Red knight that can swing a sword to the Freelands to reinforce the king, while Animustus lets the bitch dip in and out of the Gold Bank as if she were a cardinal herself. I am no naive girl, but I know that it pays to be on the winning side.’

Glenwood locked eyes with his Kirin companion, attempting to detect whether Mirabel had caused real offence and whether violence was imminent. He could see no reaction, but the obtuse assassin rarely displayed his intentions.

The Kirin slowly stood up and took a few small steps towards Mirabel. His face was calm, but guarded. Though his grin was gone, he didn’t look as if he would draw his katana.

‘Listen to me,’ said Rham Jas in a virtual whisper. ‘They cannot hide from me... they cannot reason with me... they cannot enchant me...’ His grin returned. ‘I am their nightmare, as they are yours.’

Glenwood raised his eyebrows and puffed out his cheeks. Try as he might, he couldn’t conjure any good reason to doubt the assassin’s words. Pragmatic as Mirabel was, she became rapt as the Kirin spoke and something in his demeanour made her simply nod her compliance.

* * *

Ro Arnon was a difficult city to walk around. Once they had left the pits, Glenwood had to make sure that he and Rham Jas kept off the wide boulevards used by the clerics. Luckily, the arrogance of the churchmen meant that the streets they used the most were raised off the ground, with the more common thoroughfares snaking their way beneath. It lent a strange, bi-level effect to the city, which encouraged those not of the One to stick to the narrow, dark and claustrophobic passageways. It was possible, if one wanted to avoid the church’s domain entirely, to travel from one side of the city to the other without actually coming face to face with a cleric.

Unfortunately, the location of Lillian the Lady of Death meant that this was not an option for the assassin and his companion. Mirabel had ceased being coy shortly after Rham Jas had stopped grinning. Glenwood was gratified that he wasn’t the only person the assassin could manipulate in this fashion. The madam had directed them to the far side of the Gold Bank and they now stood, well below boulevard level, next to a closed sewage pipe that serviced the opulent quarters of the senior Gold clerics. Merrin’s Cathedral itself was large enough, but with the numerous palaces that spread away from the central spire in a sprawling spider’s web pattern, the aspect of wealth dominated a good quarter of the city.

They had waited until after dark and now they were concealed in shadows beneath a drawbridge that led to the outer sanctum of the Gold cardinal’s jewel-encrusted residence. Lord Animustus Voy was not one to let his wealth go unnoticed. Even skulking in the darkness, Glenwood could see solid gold pillars that rose from a few feet above his head to tower over the boulevard, marking the outer wall of the cardinal’s apartments.

As he looked up at the towering church building, he could see no feasible way for them to sneak in. If they managed to clamber over the sewer and make their way up to the drawbridge, they’d somehow have to avoid the bound men guarding the entrance to the cardinal’s residence. If they chanced a jaunt through the unpleasant-looking sewage tunnels, they were just as likely to emerge in a pool of shit as a cleric’s toilet trench.

‘Right, my dear assassin,’ said Glenwood, surveying walls, sewer and drawbridge, ‘even you are going to struggle with this one.’

Rham Jas had been quiet up until this point and was casting a professional eye over the sheer walls that stretched away from them. ‘You see that window?’ he said quietly, pointing to a barely visible balcony about twenty storeys up from where they stood.

‘What, you mean the one that’s clearly impossible to get to? Yes, I see it.’ Glenwood was not greatly knowledgeable regarding the assassin’s tools of the trade, but he thought a sheer climb of such a height would be beyond even Rham Jas Rami.

‘I’m assuming that your longsword won’t get us into the cardinal’s living room, of course,’ said the Kirin with a smug grin – one of the more annoying of his arsenal of facial expressions.

‘I could be the duke of Leith and they wouldn’t let us in there,’ replied Glenwood. ‘But if you think you’re going to clamber up the outside of the cardinal’s... house, I suppose, then you’re mad.’

‘There is certainly some evidence to support that theory, Kale,’ said Rham Jas, securing his katana to his back and making sure his cloak was tied down.

‘You’re actually going up there, aren’t you?’ asked Glenwood incredulously. ‘They’re gold pillars... it’s not a fucking rock face, you won’t even get a handhold... there’s nothing to climb.’

‘That’s why you’re staying down here,’ replied Rham Jas, as he stepped out into the moonlight and looked intently upwards to the balcony high above. ‘You’d get in my way. It’s not just the climb, you see, Kale, it’s the keeping hidden.’

‘You’re an idiot... and you’re going to die.’ Glenwood stated this without a smile, attempting to convey as much seriousness as possible. It wasn’t that he cared whether the assassin fell to his death or not, but he thought it foolish to throw away his life in such a fashion – especially when he could be turned in for a fortune.

The forger looked up at the drawbridge and saw several Gold clerics standing there. They wore priceless gold breastplates and were some of the few men of the aspect who wore any armour. Most preferred to be carried around on litters so that their gluttonous bellies didn’t drag on the ground. Combat was far from the minds of most Gold clerics, but occasionally a violent sadist would ascend to the aspect of wealth and would generally be put to work guarding the cathedrals.