Death's Angels

Chapter Twenty

“Your friend is still following us,” said Rena.

Rik looked around. Leon was still there on the other side of the street watching his back as he shadowed him, just like in the old days in Sorrow. Leon moved ahead now, giving Rik time to spot anyone who might be following him. It was a game they had played as kids, pretending that informers were after them. It was a game they had played as teenagers when there really had been watchers. It felt a little odd to be playing it again in the streets of a strange city, reassuring too in a weird way.

“I asked him to.” He did not say why and she seemed to sense from his manner that she was not supposed to ask.

The street was full of people, all of them busy. Many were buying paper Solace lanterns or papier mache masks of angels and demons and famous characters of fable. Some were sewing costumes. The smell of cinnamon spiced wine filled the air, attacking the odour of fish. Carp was a favourite Solace meal in this part of the world. Shoals of them swam in large wooden tubs in the street, ready for killing on the morrow. The city bustled with the air of subdued excitement and happiness that even he associated with Solace. It was one of the great public holidays, celebrated right across the Terrarch Realms. Just looking at the children all around he could see they were as excited as he would have been.

He shook his head. The kids were not old enough to know exactly what they were celebrating. The death of a world, he thought, or maybe two; the world the Terrarchs had come from, and the world of human empires they had destroyed and replaced.

“Why are you shaking your head?” Rena asked. He had found her back at the brothel when they had returned there. Weasel wanted to talk with some of his buddies and wait for some of his informants. Rik had seen no point in waiting around and gone with the original plan of eating out. She had actually seemed glad to see him, had even seemed a little scared that he might have left without saying goodbye. Maybe it was the war fever? The rumour seemed to be everywhere now. Maybe it gave him an air of doomed glamour. He had seen it happen before, as other campaigns started.

“I was remembering my childhood,” he lied. It was an old habit, learned early in the gutters of Sorrow. He rarely gave an honest answer to questions about what he was thinking.

“In Sorrow?” she asked. She seemed to have an obsession with the city. He was starting to suspect that it was the source of the attraction he seemed to hold for her.

“In Sorrow.”

“They say Solace in Sorrow rivals Solace in the Amber City itself.”

“They may be right. I would not know. I have never been to the capital.”

“But you serve in the Queen-Empress’s army. You have sworn fealty to her.”

Her statement made him laugh.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she said half-whining and half-wheedling.

“I am not laughing at you. I am laughing at the thought of the New Queen accepting my fealty. I swore the oath in front of a Terrarch captain and a Sergeant Major as ugly as sin, and I swore it in Sorrow, the day before we left to put down the Clockmaker’s rebellion.”

“You fought against the Clockmaker?” It was not something he particularly wanted to think about. Some of the rebels had been cruel and vicious men. Most of them had just been peasants sick of semi-slavery on Terrarch estates with heads filled full of the Clockmaker’s particular brand of religious nonsense. It seemed to be becoming more common these days.

“Yes.”

That made her thoughtful, which made her pretty too, Rik thought. He found he actually enjoyed her company though he wondered in his heart of hearts why she was still with him.

They sat down at a table in a grog-shop. He checked and found Leon loitering in front of a second hand clothes shop on the other side of the street. He ordered food and wine for them both. The wine tasted of cinnamon and it was warmed. It looked like the stall-keeper was making an early start, for Solace was still a day away.

“Cinnamon,” he said. “It always makes me think of Solace.”

“Me too. Makes me think of when Ma was alive and the others…” Her voice drifted away, and she forced a smile.

“They dead?”

“Last year — the lockjaw fever got them. The little ones would not stop crying. There was nothing I could do to help them either.”

Here it comes, he thought, the sob story, the touch for money. He had heard them a hundred times in the stews of Sorrow. He was even prepared to give her some, because he liked her and because it was expected, but she surprised him by shaking her head and changing the subject. “What was it was so urgent this morning when you were called away?”

“I told you. Somebody I know was killed in the Headsman’s Axe last night.”

“A soldier?”

“No. A hill-man.”

“How did you know him then?”

“He was a scout, went along on our last patrol.”

He looked at her hard this time. Was she a spy? Was she trying to get word of troop movements or dispositions out of him? Such information might be worth something to people on the other side of the border. He took in her face and hands and bearing, and knew it was ridiculous. She was exactly what she appeared to be, just curious. Spies were for the chapbooks and cheap novels. The truth was, you could find out more than he knew from any of the tavern keepers in Redtower. There was no need to go questioning private soldiers.

“You a spy?” he asked, just for fun. She looked at him very seriously.

“No. I would never do anything like that. I would never help enemies of the Queen.”

She sounded quite genuinely patriotic, but then most of the people of Talorea did. The Scarlet Queen was the guarantor of freedom, the defender of the people. She had led the progressive faction in the great schism that had brought down the First Empire of the Terrarchs. She had signed the Acts of Liberation, and gone to war with her own flesh and blood on behalf of suffering humanity, and her people loved her for it despite all the humiliations that had been heaped on them since.

Why not, Rik thought cynically? He had seen many a whipped dog that still loved its master. He tried pushing the thought from his head. By the Light, he was in a foul mood this morning. Then again, anyone would be after what he had seen. He was surprised that he could move without screaming. It seemed impossible that all of these people could be going about their normal Solace business while Vosh lay bloating in Shugh’s cellar. Rik was with the Barbarian about one thing. He doubted he would ever eat at the Axe again.

He watched the street closely, seeing only the usual mass of peddlers, beggars, singers and kids. There was nothing sinister going on, and he doubted anything would happen to him while he was in a busy street, at least in daylight anyway. At night it would be different. At night, dark deeds got done, and the minions of Shadow came out to play.

He told himself not to be so sure. He had seen murder committed in broad daylight in the alleys of Sorrow, had heard men scream for help and no help come when the sun was at highest noon.

On the other hand, it would take a particularly confident group of killers to attack in broad daylight, and that did not seem to be this bunch’s method. They had taken Vosh drunk and off-guard in a tavern. Sensible men, he thought. It was what he would have done himself.

“And the man was killed for helping the Queen’s soldiers root out the Queen’s enemies,” said Rena. “That’s a scandal.”

“I don’t think the hill-men feel the same loyalty to the Amber Throne that you do,” he said. “And really we don’t know why he was killed. Maybe he owed somebody money or slept with the wrong woman. Men’ve been killed for jealousy before.”

A thought struck him. “You know a girl called Marla?”

“It’s a common enough name, and a lot of girls here don’t use their proper ones anyway.”

“She’s a hill-girl.”

“Few of those here. Got pregnant, chucked by their lovers, disowned by their families. Come down here to get away.”

“Most of them probably don’t. Get away I mean. Most of them are probably thrown off a cliff for dishonouring their clan’s honour. Well, it was a long shot anyway.”

“When we finish here let’s take a walk.”

“Whatever you say, lover.”

Their route took Rik and Rena out of the outskirts of the Pit and into the more respectable part of town. It was not exactly easy to spot where the change began. The houses just looked a little less run down, the people a little more respectable. There were watchmen on the street, garbed in black tabards and carrying heavy clubs. Even here they moved in groups of four, and they did not swagger, but at least they were not scared to show their faces.

He stood at the top of the slope leading down to the river and watched a massive bridgeback cross the river. The howdah on its back bore the banners of some Exalted house but it was the beast itself that held his interest. Even from up here he could sense its primal hungers, its sloth, the tiny flickers of rage that could, with enough provocation, become a bonfire. It was just his imagination, he told himself, but unease filled his heart just the same. They ducked down another street.

The shops here were of a higher quality. Although some had a burly bruiser standing by the door, at least they were respectful of passing customers. At the end of one street was a small temple, the usual statue of a dragon-winged angel standing guard over the doorway, a small dragonspire rising from its roof. The smell of incense wafted through the air. Rik caught sight of some familiar faces, emerging from inside the building.

There was Sergeant Hef in his temple best, and Marcie and all seven kids following them like ducklings following their mother to the pond. All of the kids had faces freshly scrubbed and the happy, anticipatory air of children on the morning before Solace.

Gunther was there as well, smiling for once and slipping a coin into the collection salver. He, too, was dressed in his temple best, hair washed and combed and slicked back. He seemed to have recovered fully from his encounter with the Ultari. He talked to the children with every appearance of friendliness, like a jovial uncle. It was a side of the fanatic that Rik had never seen before. Maybe going to temple brought it out in him, maybe he was just a nicer man than Rik had ever been prepared to give him credit for being.

Rik was tempted to avoid them. He doubted they would be happy to encounter him after a heavy night with a street girl in tow, but he thought about what had happened to Vosh and who might be looking for anyone who had been on the expedition to the mine, and he decided that he had better pass the happy news along, temple day or not. He was surprised to see quite a few other members of the regiment emerge into the daylight, blinking as their eyes adjusted from the dimness within.

“I need to speak to those men,” he told Rena. “Just wait here and I will be back in a moment.”

“You won’t start any trouble, will you?”

“They are friends of mine.”

He strode forward towards the Sergeant and his wife. The kids looked pleased to see him. “Here’s Halfbreed!” they shouted. He swept Karla, the littlest one up in his arms. She clung to his neck. Marcie gave him a smile. Gunther looked at him as if he had just crawled out of the sewer and was about to piss in the collection plate.

“You’re a little late for the morning service,” said the Sergeant, his monkey-face screwed up in a sardonic smile.

“It’s the last day of Mourning, too. It would have done your soul good to attend.” Gunther added. Rik was less worried about his soul than his life.

“I need to speak to you,” he said to the Sergeant, and recalling that Gunther had been in the mine, added. “To you, too. It’s important.”

Something in his tone appeared to convince them of his seriousness. They waited for him to speak. Rik put Karla down and looked at the kids. “This is not something they should hear.”

Calming the clamouring children down with promises of a swift return and candy, the Sergeant strode into an alcove within the temple doorway. After a moment of hesitation Gunther joined them. In a whisper Rik told them about Vosh, and of Weasel’s suspicions about the hill-men.

“We should report this to the authorities,” Gunther said. “The Exalted will deal with any heathens who get rowdy in Redtower.”

“I wish I had your faith in them,” said Rik. “The watch here is as corrupt as in Sorrow. If the hill-men have money, they can do what they like unless they start a riot or kidnap an Exalted.”

“Maybe in the Pit,” said Gunther. “But they would not dare out here among decent god-fearing people.”

“You might be right,” said Rik. “But I don’t think the Exalted will give a toss about this unless it affects them directly. Throats are slit in the Pit all the time. If you are wrong, you may wake up with more than a nasty taste in your mouth.”

The Sergeant nodded his agreement. “We’ll be moving out in a few days, and I doubt they will try anything in the camp, but if anybody is in town for Solace, then they might be at risk. I’ll tell the lads to be careful and not to wander around on their own.”

“Might be useful if we had a few extra knives at hand as well.”

“I’ll be mentioning it around. There’s a few of the lads will most likely relish the thought of putting a bayonet in a hill-man’s belly if they get the chance.”

“Bloodletting during Mourning is a bad thing,” said Gunther.

“Tell that to the hill-men,” said Rik. “I don’t want trouble any more than you do.”

“Where can I find you if I need to, Halfbreed?” asked Hef. He sounded all business now.

“I’ll be around Mother Horne’s. Weasel will be there too most likely, if you need to get in touch with him.”

Rik raised his hat to Marcie and the kids, and headed back to Rena.

Sardec thought a lot about Asea as he rode through the city. She was lovely and she was one of the First but there was something intimidating and sinister about her as well as attractive.

The First were different. His father had always said that. They had walked the lands of the home world. They had fought in wars and worked sorceries beyond the comprehension of the Farborn. There were times when they seemed as different from them as the Farborn were from humans. He was not sure how these things could be so but they were.

And she was the most forthright Scarlet he had ever met. He knew that such were common in Amber and around the court, but his family belonged to the country estates, and most of the people he knew were far less democratic in their politics. For most Terrarchs being Scarlet had gone out of fashion, they lived in a newer and far more conservative age. Asea was a reminder that once things had been very different. In his secret heart he felt he had less in common with her than with the nobles of Sardea. They, at least, knew how to keep their humans in their places.

Asea genuinely seemed to believe all the Scarlet nonsense about human freedom. Sardec had always held with his father’s entirely sensible view that the Scarlet faction had merely used it as camouflage to support their bid for power. Like most Terrarchs, he believed that politics was about personalities and that what people said was far less important than who they were.

Five hundred years ago, Asea and her ilk had used the Scarlet banner as a rallying point and split the Empire. Sardec did not believe it was entirely coincidental that the split had left them in charge of large, wealthy chunks of it. They would never have had the estates they enjoyed now under the Old Queen’s order. Asea was forcing him to reconsider this. Perhaps, in her case, expediency and idealism had walked hand in hand. Or perhaps she simply wanted him to think that.

He rode a little further. Traffic was thicker now. Lots of carters that had borne produce into town for Solace appeared to be sticking around. Doubtless they were going to sign on with the army once the campaign started. His steed whinnied as it caught the scent of wyrm just a few minutes before Sardec sensed its presence. He backed his destrier away down the street as the bridgeback lumbered into view. Its columnar legs were still wet, and its paws covered in reddish mud. Doubtless it has just waded across the river.

Looking up, he could see a palanquin on its back. Inside was a spectacularly beautiful Terrarch woman and her bodyguards. A white monkey on a gold chain capered along the outside of the howdah. Sardec raised his hat to her. She responded with a languid wave of her fan. Annoyance surged through him.

There was no law against a Terrarch bringing their wyrms into the city. It was just usually not done when the streets were likely to be crowded. That could cause a panic among beasts, livestock and humans, and one did have a responsibility about such things, after all.

It was only after a few moments that he realised a pair of humans were staring at him, most uncouthly. He did not like being the object of their idle curiosity. These men looked particularly unsavoury, wearing the garb of one of the barbarian hill-tribes.

“Be off with you,” he shouted, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword for emphasis. They glared at him almost defiantly for a moment before scooting into the mouth of an alley. It was funny but he could have sworn there was something like hatred in their eyes. There was something about the pattern of the plaid cloaks and headscarves they wore that nagged at him. It took only a few moments for him to realise what it was. They were of the same colour and design as those worn by many of the hill-men he had fought against so recently.

What were they doing here in town now, he wondered?