Shadow's Son Part 6

"Now we can go," the killer said.

Josey twisted her head around. Was he talking to her? She wasn't about to go anywhere with him! Yet the room was empty except for the two of them and her poor, departed father. The horrified expression on Father's face bludgeoned her from across the room. Every time she tried to comprehend what he had suffered, she shivered with fury.

A loud crash from downstairs shook Josey from her misery. Heavy boots pounded on the stairs. Someone was coming! Fenrik must have awakened and called for help. Elation surged through her. Now you'll face justice! Now you'll face justice!

The a.s.sa.s.sin didn't wait to be caught. He darted to the window and climbed out. Josey struggled against her bonds. If she could get free, she could tell her rescuers which way the killer had gone. However, the bindings refused to cooperate. Every wriggle she made only seemed to twist them tighter.

The bedchamber door slammed open and four men in the uniforms of the Sacred Brotherhood burst into the room. They fanned out with naked blades in their hands and lanterns raised high to pierce the shadows. Josey shouted as best she could through the gag, but the soldiers paid her no mind as they searched the chamber. She tried to nod toward the window and could have sighed with relief as one guardsman went to the aperture, but he was satisfied after a cursory look and turned back to face the murder scene. She kicked and screamed.

One man came over to peer down at her. He held his light up to her face. "What's she doing here?"

A young guardsman with a chubby face said, "Maybe she heard a noise and came to check it out."

"She ain't supposed to be breathing anymore," the first said. "This is all screwed up."

"What's screwed up?" a voice asked from the doorway.

Josey was perplexed by this bizarre behavior, but calmed as Markus entered the room. He looked so gallant in his prefect's uniform that for an instant she felt the tiniest bit jealous he was betrothed to Anastasia, but the feeling pa.s.sed as she focused on the here and now. She grunted through the gag and shook her bound hands.

The first man pointed at her with the point of his sword. "He didn't kill her. He just left her trussed up."

"So I see." Markus came over to the bed. "Where's the a.s.sa.s.sin?"

"He wasn't here," the guardsman with the lantern replied.

Markus smacked his hands together. "d.a.m.n! Epps and Lauk, go search the yard. Whistle if you see anything."

As the two soldiers dashed out, the lantern-holder said to Markus, "We could make this one look the same as the other."

Markus nodded to the first man. "Take care of it, but make it fast."

Josey tried to wriggle free once more, but the soldier straddled her hips and yanked back hard on her hair. She screamed as a blade's edge pressed against her exposed neck.

"No!

Josey shook with relief as the blade stopped. A large tear ran down the length of her nose.

"Not here," Markus said. "Take her back to her own room."

What were they doing? Josey tried to shout, but the air whooshed from her lungs as the guardsman hefted her onto his shoulder. The room spun; the tableau of her dead father flashed before her eyes. She sobbed as her captor headed toward the door.

Then, the room exploded into violence.

From Josey's vantage point it appeared that the shadows along the wall came alive and attacked the man standing by the window. He fell to his knees, his face as pale as a bedsheet. A ribbon of blood spilled from his open mouth. Markus drew his sword. A silvery blur flashed. Markus fell to the carpet, bleeding from a gaping cut across his throat. Josey's bearer dropped her without warning. She landed hard on her hip. A moment later, the man gasped before joining her on the floor with a ghastly wound where his nose had been.

Josey curled into a tight ball and squeezed her eyes shut. This can't be happening! This can't be happening! But it was. She rocked and prayed for the nightmare to end. But it was. She rocked and prayed for the nightmare to end.

It was over as quickly as it began. Silence fell over the chamber, except for the crackle of the hearth embers. Josey yelped as powerful hands lifted her into the air. She imagined a knife blade sinking toward her bosom, its red tip eager to end her life. The room spun between the cracked slits of her eyelids, and a cool breeze rustled the hem of her nightgown.

The window! The beast was abducting her. She squirmed to get away. She clawed with both hands. One of her kicks landed squarely and the killer paused. Fingers grasped her hair. Then, a terrible pain shot through her skull and her sight dimmed. The beast was abducting her. She squirmed to get away. She clawed with both hands. One of her kicks landed squarely and the killer paused. Fingers grasped her hair. Then, a terrible pain shot through her skull and her sight dimmed.

A cold wind caressed Josey's face as she floated through a gray-black world of shadows lit by a smiling, silver moon.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

-aim's insides trembled as he stole across the midnight lawn. It was all he could do to keep his hands from shaking. Five members of the Sacred-f.u.c.king-Brotherhood lay in a High Town mansion, dead by his hand, and a plethora of questions raced through his head. Most of them concerned the limp, sweet-smelling form slung over his shoulder.

He regretted dashing the girl's head against the wall, but she had been wriggling so hard he thought she might pitch them both out the window. Anyway, it gave him some much-needed silence to think. He climbed over the gate and dropped into the alley behind the house with a grunt. The girl stirred, but did not waken. He couldn't help noticing her long legs under the flimsy nightgown and the soft b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed against his shoulder. With a sigh, Caim shifted her weight and started hiking.

As he crept down the dark alley, he considered the carnage he'd left behind. He had run into his share of crooked lawmen in his time, but he had never seen any operate as boldly as the soldiers inside. They had been downright c.o.c.ky. How had they gotten there so quickly? Had they been tipped off? That was a possibility. Even the men of the Brotherhood weren't above the graft and corruption that flowed through Othir like a foul air. The old man's death hadn't concerned them in the least, but finding the girl still alive had caught them off guard. Why? What was her place in this mystery? He needed answers, and he'd wager tonight's earnings she knew something.

At least one thing had gone right tonight. He had resisted the urge to call upon his powers, but it hadn't been easy. He'd wanted that edge, felt it calling him. Just a sliver; that's all he would need. But the memory of what had happened at the Blue Vine and the monstrous presence that had answered his summons were enough to deter him. Caim shook his head in the dark. What was happening to him?

Kit hovered over him. "How did the tinmen get here so fast?"

"Good question." He kept his voice low. Sounds carried a long way on these quiet streets. "I wish I knew."

Kit floated closer to the girl. "Why did you take her? Not having enough fun as a cutthroat, you've sunk to kidnapping now?"

The question was bothering Caim as well. Why had he gone back? The job was a bust. He could have left the girl and fled the house, content that his part in the events would remain unknown. But overhearing the soldiers' conversation, it became apparent that they meant to eliminate her, and something in him couldn't let that happen. So he had risked everything he had built-his livelihood, his freedom-to save her. What the h.e.l.l was he thinking? The girl's bosom expanded and contracted against Calm's cheek. She smelled faintly of lavender.

"You'd be better off just killing her and dumping the body," Kit said. "She'll scream for help as soon as she comes to."

"Kit, go scout-"

"Maybe you should hit her on the head again, just to make sure."

"Kit!" He clenched his jaws shut as his voice echoed off the stone facades on either side.

She put her hands on her tiny hips. "I looked already, all right? There's no one around, which is weird. I mean, High Town is always crawling with the law. But tonight it's like they all have something better to do. There's no one out except for a couple youngsters over on d.u.c.h.ess Street."

"Then check them out. I don't want to be caught by surprise again tonight."

"They're harmless. Just a couple kids out for a ride on their daddies' ponies. Not like this one." She swatted at the girl's drooping head, her hand pa.s.sing through the wavy locks. "She's going to be nothing but trouble. Mark my words."

Caim ground his teeth together until he thought he might shatter a tooth. Nothing about tonight made sense, especially his reaction to this strange girl. He didn't like snags in his routine. With Kit staring at him, he felt something give.

"I couldn't leave her there. All right? I can't explain it. I just felt, I don't know, like it was wrong. The whole thing stinks. Anyway, she might know something about what happened up there."

"And I'm sure she'll be eager to tell you everything, what with you looking all guilty standing over her father's corpse."

"He was already dead when I got there."

She wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. "I'm sure she'll believe that. So what really happened up there?"

Caim glanced back at the manor falling into the background of the cityscape. The sensation of being watched itched between his shoulder blades. More imagination. No one could track him in the dark. "I don't know, but I intend to find out. Now go scout a path home, the long way around. I don't want any tails."

"So you're really taking her home with us?" She exhaled a loud huff. "Sometimes, love, you're dumber than you look."

Caim batted a hand at her ethereal backside. "Scoot."

"I hear and obey."

She darted away on the wind, leaving Caim alone with his thoughts and the girl. He studied her while he walked. She was young, maybe eighteen or nineteen, with a proud aquiline nose. Her mouth had fallen open, which made her appear even more innocent and fragile. Caim shook his head. What was he doing? He didn't pretend to know. But it was too late for subtlety. He increased his pace to a quick jog and wished he could leave this night behind.

The moon hid behind a curtain of clouds. That, and the lateness of the hour, allowed him to leave High Town unseen. Once across the Processional and back on the streets of Low Town, he felt better. He paused at the corner of Clesia and Julian streets, caught at the intersection of two thoughts. He could still dump the girl somewhere and forget this entire night. There was an abandoned house on Clesia used by drunks to sleep off their rotgut dreams. Certainly, that would make Kit happy. But something gnawed at Calm's insides. Someone had tried to set him up. The Brotherhood's arrival had been too well timed. Had they taken him, no magistrate in the city would believe he found the man already dead, nor care. His story would have ended with a speedy trial and a brisk walk to the gallows. It all stank like last week's garbage.

Caim turned onto Julian Street. An hour later found him at the door to his apartment. Once inside, he laid the girl on the cot in his bedroom. After checking to make sure the window shutter was latched, he went out to the kitchen. He grabbed a half-filled jar of wine from the cupboard and drowned his thirst with a long swallow.

Kit perched on the edge of the table, her pretty legs crossed. Her dress had changed to a fierce shade of indigo. The color accentuated her pale skin and brought out the purple in her eyes.

"You know what I'm going to say," she said.

He set down the wine jar. "You've said it half a dozen times already. Let it go, Kit. It's too late to change what happened."

"Then let's leave town. Tonight. That High Town b.i.t.c.h is only going to bring you more headaches. Steal a horse and ride. We could be in Michaia in a fortnight."

"There's a price on my head in Michaia."

She jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her touch tickled his chest. "Go east, then, to Arnos. We could see the City of Jewels or hide in some tiny village by the coast, lounge by the ocean in luxury."

"I'm not leaving. I won't be chased away."

"Why not? We could make a fresh start. Othir is a stinking sewer. You could be a powerful man somewhere else, with servants and a big house."

"That old man had a big house and servants. What did it gain him? He's dead this morning, just the same as any drunk knifed in the Gutters."

"Exactly. Life is short, so enjoy it while you can."

Caim walked over to a wooden shelf beside the coldbox and took down a small stone vial sealed in brown wax. He peeled it open and measured a spoonful of mealy yellow powder into an earthenware cup, then poured some wine into the cup and swirled it around.

"I'm just saying you could do better," Kit said as she followed him to the bedroom.

The girl was still sleeping soundly, but buffets to the head were difficult to judge. She could awake any minute, or not for hours. He dribbled the cup's contents into her mouth and got most of it to go down. He stood over her for a minute, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. Her full lips glistened from the wine. He untied her bonds and arranged her limbs more comfortably.

He left the room, closing the bedroom door behind him as he went back out to the kitchen.

Kit trailed behind him. "Caim, your mother wouldn't-"

He held up the cup, one finger pointed at her nose. "Don't, Kit. Just let it go."

"You know she wouldn't want to see you like this."

"Give it a rest! This is my life. Either help me or leave me be."

She puffed out her cheeks and bit her bottom lip, but she didn't go. "Fine. What do you want me to do?"

He grabbed his cloak. "Watch over the girl. She should sleep till daybreak, but just in case. She might be important."

"I'm not a nursemaid! Where are you going?"

He opened the door and peered down the hallway. "To get some answers."

"What if she wakes up?"

"You'll think of something."

He closed the door and padded down the hall, leaving two of his problems behind. It was past midnight and he had a host of questions with no answers. But he had an idea where to start looking.

- The Luccian Palace perched atop Celestial Hill like a harpy poised to swoop down on the city. Built during the old empire, and added to extensively in the decades since, the palace was as much a symbol of Othir's prominence as the True Church itself. Though the prelate abided at Castle DiVecci, most of the Church's administrative and bureaucratic activities were performed here.

The wing where Ral was met by a young manservant was decorated in an antique style oozing with old money and power. Gold leaf dripped from every conceivable surface. Huge silk tapestries covered the high walls. The atrium's ceiling was painted with scenes from scripture displaying the majesty of the Church Fathers. There was hardly any evidence of their fabled mercy. One painting showed the current prelate, Benevolence II, with a golden orb in one hand and a b.l.o.o.d.y sword in the other, an impressive pile of dead sinners at his feet.

Ral reached down to clutch the hilt of his sword while he paced across the black marble tiles, but his hand came away empty; the guards had confiscated his weapons, the ones they could find. He hadn't volunteered the few they missed.

Waning rays of moonlight streamed through the tall windows lining the hallway. Oil-soaked flambeaux crackled in wrought-iron cressets on the walls. Two bodyguards in white surcoats over black mail stood at attention, poleaxes held rigid in their hands, on either side of an oaken door.

Ral wanted to laugh. They believe their guards and these stone walls make them invincible. They believe their guards and these stone walls make them invincible. But violence could reach anyone, at any time. That was a lesson he had taught to more than one aristocrat. But violence could reach anyone, at any time. That was a lesson he had taught to more than one aristocrat.

He ignored the costly objects d'art surrounding him, the jeweled diadems in their crystal display cases, even the rack of ancient weapons that might have interested him another time. He was not looking forward to this meeting. He had considered not coming at all. He was tired from his journey, which, although it had been successful, had taxed him more harshly than he antic.i.p.ated. He would have much preferred a hot bath and a fine meal followed promptly by several hours of undisturbed sleep, but he wasn't likely to see any of that anytime soon.

The summons had been waiting for him at home when he arrived, the archpriest's soldiers insisting in excruciatingly frank terms that he accompany them at once, regardless of the hour. So instead of procuring that hot bath and sweet slumber, he had ridden through the early morning streets of Othir and answered the call he could not afford to ignore. Not yet.

He knew why he was here. News had reached him on the road: the Esquiline Hill job had been botched. The archpriest must have his own informants close to the scene. Ral didn't like that. He had told Va.s.sili he would handle it personally and to h.e.l.l with the fallout, but the archpriest had insisted on doing things his way. Now matters were even more mucked up than before. Of course, Ral would be expected to make everything all right. And he would do it, with a smile if that's what was required. The rewards made it all worthwhile.

The manservant returned and ushered Ral into the archpriest's office. l.u.s.trous parquet replaced the marble floor tiles. Comfortable furniture was arranged about the room at precise angles. An immense stone hearth stretched along most of the west wall; a company of silver figurines crowded the mantelpiece in strict formation. As he entered the chamber, Ral got the fleeting impression someone had just left. Yet the parlor's frosted-gla.s.s windows were closed tight against the night air and there was nowhere else for a person to hide. A faint odor hung in the air. It reminded Ral of a spice, pepper perhaps, or cloves gone stale.

Archpriest Va.s.sili sat behind a heavy chalcedony desk. Draped in a wine-colored robe trimmed with mink, he was at least sixty, and in the stark candlelight he looked every year of it. A silk tonsure, the color of blood from a lung wound, capped his close-cropped white hair; matching rubies sparkled on stick-thin fingers. Around the loose folds of his neck, inscribed with sacerdotal icons, hung a bulky golden medallion on a thick chain of the same n.o.ble metal.

Va.s.sili was reading from a scroll when Ral entered. His desk was littered with long sheets of parchment. A platter of piscis galantine on a bed of black caviar sat at his elbow, hardly touched. The papers were architectural plans for the new cathedral under construction in the heart of the city. Ral had seen the building often in his comings and goings, and noted its stark white marble walls, the legions of frozen angels and saints frowning down at pa.s.sersby in stern disapproval.

The archpriest continued reading for an uncomfortably long interval before he acknowledged his visitor. When he did, his glare was cold and penetrating. "How could this happen?"

Ral started toward a cushioned chair, but stopped as his patron raised a snowy eyebrow. He settled for tossing his cloak over the back.

"How could what happen?" A moment later, he added, "Your Radiance. My mission was a complete success. The grand curate of Belastire has suffered an unfortunate mishap, as did his mistress, their three children, and a maidservant. Even better, one of his own underlings was fingered as the culprit. Seems the poor man has a drinking problem, woke up in the victim's cellar with a nasty hangover and covered in blood. They were preparing to hang him as I departed."

"Not that, idiot. How could an entire squad of the Sacred Brotherhood, handpicked by you, manage to get themselves killed doing a job you told me would be routine?"

Ral held his tongue as the servant reappeared with a silver tea service. He took a steaming cup out of courtesy, but didn't taste the contents. What he wanted was a tall draught of good wine.

"I did as you demanded," he said. "You wanted men who could be trusted to keep their mouths shut. Ambitious men, you said, who could be manipulated with ease. I found the best available. If they failed, it is no fault of mine. I wanted to handle the matter myself, but you commanded otherwise."