Wintercraft: Blackwatch (10 page)
6
Allegiance
When the Blackwatch had gone Silas tried to free himself from his chair, but his body had other ideas. Going for Bandermain’s throat had hurt him more than he wanted to admit. His muscles screamed out whenever he tried to move them and his broken bones grated together, forcing him to stay still. He should have been able to loosen his ropes and break his way out of that place easily. Instead he was stuck to the chair like an animal caught in a trap.
The room he was in was an ordinary cellar. The floor was thick with decades’ worth of coal dust and dirt but there were clear spaces round the edge of the floor where boxes or old pieces of furniture had been sitting until recently. Bandermain’s men must have emptied it in a hurry, and it was clearly not meant for holding someone securely.
For years, the worst fate for any soldier of the Albion army was thought to be finding themselves in the hands of the Blackwatch. He had heard stories about the mistreatment of prisoners under Blackwatch guard during past campaigns into Continental territory, and had known dozens of men who had been taken by their agents. Only two of them ever found their way back, carrying gruesome stories that helped to make the Blackwatch legendary among those who were sent out to face them.
Silas was not worried for himself – the Blackwatch were no threat to him – but he was concerned about what they planned to do with Kate. If the Continental leaders finally got their hands on a powerful member of the Skilled it could turn the tide of the war spectacularly against Albion. They knew Kate’s name. They wanted mastery of the veil and now they knew exactly whom to hunt to get it. What greater prize could Bandermain present to his masters than a girl able to demonstrate the power of the veil and a traitor to Albion who could not die? The Blackwatch would not stop until they had what they set out to collect. Trouble was heading into the heart of Albion, and Kate was going to be right in the middle of it.
Silas tried to reach out for the veil, but again he felt nothing. Kate was a weapon just waiting to be found and he could not do anything to help Albion so long as he was tied up in someone’s worthless cellar.
Blackwatch voices filtered down from the room above. A door slammed shut and Silas could hear harsh coughs and a conversation unfolding through the floorboards overhead. Bandermain and his men were close by. He stayed still and listened.
‘Send in more men,’ said Bandermain. ‘Call them back from border patrols. Use the ship and tell them not to return until they have the girl in custody. We are close enough to the attack to risk a few lives. Concentrate our efforts upon the capital, but do not neglect the northern cities. Send men everywhere we have the manpower to reach and make sure all agents are aware of their responsibilities well ahead of time.’
‘They have already been informed,’ said another voice.
‘Have they found their way into Fume’s understreets?’
‘All entrances to the City Below are being monitored, sir. Runners have been sent down into the tunnels, but our agents are holding back until the posters are distributed, as ordered. If our intelligence is correct, we should have control of the main gathering points by dusk tomorrow.’
‘ “Should” is not good enough,’ said Bandermain. ‘Those people live underground like ants. They will put up no significant resistance. I want to know the moment we have those gathering points.’
‘Yes, sir. There are birds in flight as we speak. We are expecting fresh reports very soon.’
‘Good work,’ said Bandermain. ‘Keep me informed.’
The situation was worse than Silas had realised. The Blackwatch were not just interested in acquiring Kate. Her capture was simply the first stage of a much larger plan. An invasion. He had to act. If he could do nothing else, he could at least try to slow them down.
‘You. Outside,’ he said loudly.
The cellar door opened and two Blackwatch officers who had been standing guard came in.
‘Bring Bandermain in here,’ he said. ‘Tell him I am ready to talk.’
Bandermain took his time answering the summons and when he finally returned he came alone. ‘I am here,’ he said. ‘So talk.’
‘How does it feel?’ asked Silas. ‘To be the one who captured me? Think of the glory that will be yours when you present me to your leaders.’
A flicker of pride crossed Bandermain’s face. There it was, thought Silas. There was the adversary he knew so well.
‘You and I both know that our leaders are more concerned with outdoing one another than with bringing an end to this war,’ said Bandermain. ‘I have no interest in earning the praise of fools any longer. There are greater battles to fight, and you are far more valuable to me than you could ever be to them. They would parade you through our towns in an iron cage and invite children to spit at you through the bars. You would be the freak of Albion, captured and weak. I have more respect for you than that.’
‘I can see that,’ said Silas. ‘Not many people have enough respect to crush me with a bridge. Perhaps I will return that “respect” to you one day.’
Bandermain smiled. ‘In normal circumstances, I doubt even a bridge would have been enough to stop you,’ he said. ‘I have learned that you are unusually weakened here. The veil does not favour my country as powerfully as it does your own. While you are here, you are disconnected from it, and whatever abilities you have acquired clearly rely upon the veil for their strength. You have left your home at a dangerous time, Silas. Albion’s connection to the veil is not what it once was. The veil is falling. The link your country has enjoyed for so long is decaying as we speak. You may not be able to hear your little spirit voices here, on my land, but imagine what will happen when the whole of Albion is plunged into the half-life. Your people will no longer be able to tell the difference between the living and the dead. Spirits will walk the land for every living soul to see. There will be chaos. Your people will fall into madness and turn upon each other. Albion will die, and the Blackwatch will be there watching while your country’s arrogance brings about its destruction.’
‘You know nothing about the half-life,’ said Silas.
‘You would be surprised,’ said Bandermain. ‘It is interesting what you learn when you have the right friends. If you have knowledge that can be of use to me, I suggest you share it with me now, while my patience lasts.’
Silas considered his options. Bandermain had always been sceptical of the veil. He had called those who believed in it ‘fools’ and ‘witches’, but now he was talking about the veil’s falling as some kind of inevitable event rather than an irrational fear or a fantasy. He had to know more. He had to earn Bandermain’s trust, and to do that he had to give him what he wanted. He had to make a sacrifice. ‘I know where Kate Winters is,’ he said.
‘Where?’
‘Somewhere your men will never find her. At least not on their own. If you want her, you will tell me exactly what is going on here. No lies.’ Silas sat back in his chair, sending a stab of pain needling along his spine. ‘Now, are we going to talk?’
‘You are in no position to make demands.’
‘I think I am in an excellent position,’ said Silas. ‘I have information you need. Tell me why you want her, and she is yours.’
Silas’s face was unreadable, and as his demeanour changed so did the atmosphere in the room. He did not need the veil to affect the environment he was in, and the threat from his words spread around the room like smoke, making it feel small and airless, as cold as a place cut deep underground. Bandermain reacted to the change at once. His eyes narrowed briefly. Fear, Silas knew, was a powerful weapon. ‘I did not need the veil to incapacitate your men,’ he said. ‘I did not need it to lead them across Grale on a chase through the night, and I will not need it to put an end to your life when the time comes.’
‘You cannot even stand up on your own,’ said Bandermain. ‘And even if you could, killing me would not help the girl.’
‘I do not doubt that,’ said Silas. ‘You are not that important, Celador. Your men are sworn to obey the orders of the Continental leaders, but I doubt even they would waste so many of you scouting along the coast just in case one enemy were to swim ashore. You have already admitted that your goals are no longer the same as theirs, and you are not known for your ability to think for yourself. You are the sword, not the hand that wields it. You are a man who takes orders, which means that someone else sent you here. Who was it?’
‘Where is the girl?’
‘I think I am not the only traitor in this room,’ said Silas. ‘Your men will see it too before long.’
‘My men know exactly why we are here,’ said Bandermain. ‘They are loyal men. Loyal to me, and to our country. We know what we must do, even if our leaders do not.’
‘Kidnapping a young girl,’ said Silas. ‘Since when have the Blackwatch begun hunting the innocent?’
‘She is not innocent. The Skilled are no more than a valuable resource to be found and exploited. They are secretive and underhand and she is the only one left alive who has dared to show her face in public long enough to let her identity become known. She is wanted by your High Council yet she has no interest in helping them. She is affiliated to no one, and that makes her useful.’
‘Useful to whom, exactly?’
Bandermain clenched his fists, and when he opened them again Silas caught a glimpse of his open palms. His left hand had a deep cut sliced across it, one that could only have been made by the slow cut of a sharp blade. The skin was healing slowly and someone had stitched it together neatly with thin black thread.
‘What happened to your hand?’
‘War is bloody. Or have you hidden away from it for so long you have forgotten?’
‘That is not a war wound.’ Silas opened his own hand, revealing an old white scar that matched Bandermain’s cut exactly. ‘Who gave you that cut? Who are you working for, Celador?’
‘Someone who hates Albion as much as I do,’ said Bandermain. ‘Someone who has a deep interest in you and your life, pitiful as it has become. You may enjoy living in the gutter like vermin while your country falls apart, but I still have a hand in influencing the direction of this war. Albion will die much sooner than you think, and my men and I shall be the ones to strike the final blow. I serve my country in my own way.
That
is honour. Perhaps you will recognise that before the end.’
That
is honour. Perhaps you will recognise that before the end.’
Bandermain walked to the door and faltered in the doorway. One of his knees gave way and an officer stepped forward to support him, but he leaned against the doorframe and waved the man away.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ asked Silas as a bone in his own neck snapped back into place. ‘Old wounds giving you trouble?’
Bandermain ignored him and gave an order to his men. ‘Have the carriage prepared,’ he said. ‘We are leaving now.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I have been told that your injuries are likely to heal within a matter of hours,’ he said, turning to Silas. ‘You will tell me what I need to know long before then.’
‘You still have not told me why you want the girl,’ said Silas. ‘It is a simple enough question.’
‘You will find out once we have her,’ said Bandermain. ‘In the meantime, there is someone who is very interested in meeting you. Where we are going, you will be made to talk. You are going to help us win this battle, Silas. Your time is over. Albion will fall and you will watch it burn. You can be sure of that.’
Bandermain left the room, and the moment the lock clicked into place Silas fought against his bonds and studied his surroundings again, determined to find a way out. Three of the walls were plain slabs of solid brick, but the fourth had a patch halfway between the floor and ceiling that was partly boarded with wooden slats. Now the sun was rising higher he could see tiny flecks of light seeping from the other side, cutting through the dark. He cursed out loud as his broken ankle realigned with a sickening crack. He tested it carefully. The bone was still knitting together, but it was strong enough to stand on. One of his arms was still useless, and his right leg was still heavily bruised, not nearly ready to mount an escape. One arm and one leg would have to be enough to get him over to those boards.
Silas twisted his wrist out of its bonds and freed his left hand, delicately sliding the useless arm between the buttons of his coat to keep it still. He wrenched the ropes round his ankles loose and pushed himself up, forcing his crushed thigh muscles to work. There were times when he had cursed the veil and hated it for healing his body and prolonging his life; now it was all but gone he found himself willing it back. The last thing he wanted was for his knees to give way and to have Bandermain find him crawling around on the floor.
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