Honour Under Moonlight: A Tale of the God Fragments Read online

  ‘Knight of Blood?’

  ‘I am, Mistress. Might I say how beautiful you look tonight? That hair really makes you stand out from the crowd.’

  Sitain snorted beside him, apparently trying to look nonchalant as she leaned against Lynx for support and slurped her wine.

  ‘I have a message for you, I think.’

  Lynx tilted his head. She was older than he’d expected for some reason, a woman well into middle age with tiny lines at the edge of her mouth.

  ‘I’d hoped you might.’

  ‘I need to see your claws first.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Your claws. That’s what she told me. A woman paid me to come here and give a message to someone looking like you, said you could show me claws as proof.’

  Lynx frowned, instinctively looking down at the knives displayed on his chest. Before he could say anything more Sitain growled and slapped him round the head with the careless disregard of a drunk. ‘Bad kitty! Tattoo, ya dumb shit.’

  ‘You’re really fucking annoying when you’re drunk, woman.’

  ‘You’re really fat when I’m sober.’

  ‘Oh we’ll be having words about this when you’re sober,’ he promised darkly. Pushing his sleeve up as far as he could, Lynx showed the woman his forearm where, for reasons best known to beer, he had a tattoo of cat’s claws.

  The woman gave a sigh of relief and nodded. ‘Good. She said to tell you she’s in hiding, that the Suit of Dark is after her—’

  ‘The fuck’s that?’ Sitain interrupted.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said apologetically.

  ‘I do,’ Lynx said. ‘The assassins were in costume. I’m guessing it’s their calling card, some sort of bloody-handed crew trying to give themselves a reputation.’

  ‘Not anyone we know, then?’

  That took Lynx aback for a moment. Their mercenary company was called Anatin’s Mercenary Deck and organised into the five suits of a standard deck of cards. That there might be a secret cadre within that was alarming to say the least, but why go after Toil who was, in effect, their employer? Anatin was looking for other work, but Toil had them on a modest retainer over the winter so she had first refusal of their services come spring.

  ‘No, doesn’t make sense,’ he said at last. ‘I’d have recognised at least one of them. What was the rest of the message?’

  ‘To ask for the Red Lady at a tavern in eastdock. The Billhook.’

  ‘Sounds lovely,’ Sitain said. ‘Lots o’ friendly local charm, I’m guessin’.’

  ‘It’s not,’ the woman said gravely. ‘Even I’ve heard of the Billhook. It’s a good place to be robbed and killed. The whole city knows it as a haven for the harbour gangs.’

  Lynx nodded glumly. ‘Sure tonight it’ll be full of festivities, so I’ll blend right in.’

  ‘That’s where she said she would be. Be careful when you’re asking for the Red Lady, though, she’s been a myth in the city for decades. Some sort of patron spirit among the dock gangs, but real or not, people end up dead all the same.’

  The woman shivered and pulled her cloak closer around her body. ‘There. I’ve done as I was asked. Farewell.’

  ‘I’d stay here if I was you,’ Lynx advised. ‘Just in case I was followed.’

  He offered a silver Pebble from his rapidly depleting coin purse.

  ‘Enjoy a few more drinks, keep out in the open as long as your bladder allows and cover that hair. Don’t be brave if anyone comes to ask you what your message was— Ah, mebbe just ask if there’s a chance of getting paid before you tell them. You might as well earn something from this if you can.’

  She ducked her head. ‘I will, thank you.’

  The woman scampered back to where she’d been standing earlier, at the edge of those dancing to the music in plain view of the gate soldiers.

  ‘So we’re off to that pub?’ Sitain asked with a cheerful grin. ‘You’re still buyin’, right?’

  ‘Mebbe,’ Lynx said absentmindedly. ‘Let’s just hope we get the chance to find out if Toil’s good for it. The Red Lady,’ he mused, ‘what’s that all about?’

  ‘Seems like Toil’s a face within the gangs here,’ Sitain said. ‘No big surprise. Death follows the girl everywhere, don’t need some daft myth to tell you that. Come on, ya big ox, let’s go find out.’

  ‘You sober enough to walk that far?’

  ‘I’m drunk enough to be willing to find out,’ she declared. ‘Hey look, there’s someone walking alone. Let’s go birch the bastard!’

  Lynx followed her finger and saw a dark shape step into the shadows of an alley. ‘Oh shit,’ he muttered, catching Sitain’s arm as she lurched forward to make good on her suggestion.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Could be nothing.’

  ‘Heard that one already, just before a pack o’ bloody maspids attacked us!’

  ‘Deepest black, woman, you’re too drunk for this.’

  ‘So’s your face,’ she retorted. ‘Not so drunk I can’t put ’em down.’ She waved her hands in front of her face and Lynx realised with a jolt that she was trying to summon her unschooled magic.

  ‘Shattered gods, stop that!’ he grabbed Sitain by the shoulders and manoeuvred her around until he was looking her in the face. ‘Can you remember what costume Llaith was wearing?’

  ‘Eh? Who?’

  ‘Llaith!’

  ‘Oh. Yeah. Some sort o’ fairy prince. Man was bloody sparkly, twinkled his way right down the street.’

  ‘Right – go make friends with our redhead there, ask her to look out for him with you, safety in numbers and all. He’ll not have arrived here yet. When he appears, you grab him and stick close, okay? If he’s pissed at having his plans ruined, tell him we’ll make it up to him.’

  ‘I ain’t fuckin’ that bony old—’

  ‘Oh for … you don’t need to fuck him.’

  ‘Pretty sure that’ll be part o’ his plans for tonight.’

  ‘Okay, tell him Toil will be extremely grateful, let his imagination make what he wants of that.’

  ‘Aye, that’ll get the randy old sod’s attention, sure enough.’ She blinked at him. ‘Where are you going again?’

  ‘To find Toil,’ he said exasperated.

  ‘Ah yeah, that one.’ Sitain prodded him in the chest. ‘Gettin’ old fast, that story. The woman’s got you wrapped round her lil finger, won’t turn out good fer you.’

  ‘Story o’ my life,’ Lynx muttered as he turned away and headed off down the nearest alley, away from where he’d seen the dark figure. ‘One problem at a time, though.’

  5

  The Billhook was a charming example of Su Dregir’s classical period of tavern building and sported many of the particular features associated with the style. Tall, narrow windows flanked the doorway, blazing with lamplight, while a wrought-iron railing ran the length of a packed terrace above it, illuminated by a few score lanterns of varying sizes and colours. Four men pissed in a line down the bowing left-hand wall, a pair of brawling women were being half-heartedly pulled apart by a catcalling knot of their friends, and a dog scratched through a heap of rubbish nearby.

  Lynx stood in the courtyard and contemplated his approach. The stone water-trough had, rather foolishly he suspected, been appropriated for use as a fire-pit. Various chunks of meat were being blackened over one half while strange tentacled creatures hissed on a griddle over the other half. Sweet smoky scents rose up in the air, along with the earthy warmth of spices and the tang of lemon – all combining to make Lynx’s mouth water, despite his mission.

  He turned abruptly, half-expecting to see a flash of red hair as a trace of wild jasmine carried past him on the slight breeze. The jolt in his stomach subsided as he scanned the figures on the far side of the courtyard and realised Toil was not among them. The skeletal fronds of creepers beckoned mockingly from the high wall behind them, outlined in the moonlight.

  Shattered gods, you’re chasing after ghosts, Lynx said to himself, irri
tated by how eagerly he’d reacted. Get a grip, man.

  A bonfire had been lit on the far side where the wall deflected the wind off the Parthain Sea, while in the centre a dozen people of all ages were engaged in a frenetic jig to a fiddler’s tune. Lynx worked his way through those taking a breath from dancing and passed the fire-pit, securing a half-dozen blackened tentacles inside a fold of bread as he went. Licking up the oil that ran off the bread, he paused at the door and started work on the food as he watched for dark figures following him.

  It didn’t take him long to devour the whole fold of bread, but in that time no one had pursued him into the courtyard. He wiped his fingers on a dark part of his costume and licked his tingling lips he headed inside to the packed barroom. The hubbub faltered a moment as he entered, long enough for Lynx to remember he was the only one dressed for a high-society costumed ball.

  He felt the eyes of the room on him, but it was well into the night and the drink had been flowing since midday throughout the city. On another night he’d have been at risk of his purse and life, in whichever order seemed convenient at the time, but the Skyriver Festival was taken seriously throughout the city. There were young and old alike here, extended families and neighbours all clustered around the tables. No one would want to interrupt the convivial air and there were days when being exactly what he looked like was a help to Lynx.

  Life as a big Hanese mercenary wasn’t always a bunch of roses, and few faces lit up when a man like him walked into the room, but at the same time it marked you as not the easiest target for your average thief. Nor as one with the sunniest disposition, which, when coupled with prominently-displayed weapons, ensured most faces soon looked away and resumed their conversations.

  Lynx made his way over to a space at the bar, inclining his head with all the courtesy he could muster to a tall old woman who surveyed the room with a proprietary eye.

  ‘Beer, please,’ he said as he caught the eye of a rotund man behind the bar.

  ‘Think you’ve got the wrong tavern, friend,’ the man said, politely enough. ‘Bit over dressed for these parts.’

  ‘That much I worked out myself. Still want a beer, though.’

  ‘Why?’

  Lynx leaned forward and the man edged back. ‘Because it’s the fucking Skyriver Festival and I’ve walked a long way to get here, so first things first. I want a drink.’

  The man ducked his head and swept up a tankard. ‘First?’ he said in a rather less bold voice.

  ‘Yeah. After that I’ll be looking for the Red Lady.’

  ‘Who’s doing the looking?’ asked the old woman.

  Lynx looked down at the costume he was wearing. ‘The Jester o’ Stars, who do you bloody think?’

  ‘Some foreigner in a daft costume,’ she replied coolly. ‘One who don’t know this city and don’t know the tavern he’s walked into.’

  ‘This is where I was sent.’

  ‘By who? Someone with a grudge? Told you to dress up like a damned fool and waltz into a Coldcutter bar asking stupid questions?’

  Lynx paused as his beer was handed to him and he took a long drink. ‘Probably something along those lines – just replace grudge with messed-up sense of humour.’

  ‘One that could get you killed?’

  ‘Sounds like we’re talking about the same woman, yeah.’

  The woman looked at him in silence for a while. ‘Guess it’s your lucky day,’ she said eventually.

  ‘Doesn’t fucking feel like it,’ Lynx growled. ‘I’d got most o’ the way to being arrested when a lunatic in costume tried to kill me, now I just walked halfway around the city following breadcrumbs.’ He paused and took a breath before his anger continued to get the better of him, eventually going on in a rather more restrained tone. ‘Do you know where this Red Lady is, or you just pissing me around?’

  ‘Might be I do. You know who I am?’

  A sense of foreboding began to whisper urgently in Lynx’s ear.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Didn’t think so. Still, it’s Festival time – as good a reason as any for not having my nephews peel the skin off yer face.’

  ‘Always appreciated that,’ Lynx said stiffly. ‘So what should I call you, then?’

  ‘Name’s Ysalin.’ She eyed his lack of reaction. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘I’m Lynx,’ he said, trying to ignore his trepidation and get to the business at hand. ‘I take it you do know where I can find the Red Lady? Did she leave a message here for me?’

  ‘I got word from someone using that name, aye. Not the usual way I hear from her, mind, but I recognise her handwriting and she described you well enough.’

  ‘Probably don’t need to hear that bit.’

  Ysalin cracked a smile. ‘Best not, aye. Still, anyone who’s been so, heh, specific, has mebbe paid more than just casual attention, if that’s any consolation.’

  ‘Sure, loads. So – our Red Lady. She give you any message?’

  ‘I’m more interested in why she’s dealing with you. Our spirit o’ retribution is a mystery to all but a select few. Safer all round if that’s the case, but you’re not a player in this city.’

  ‘Retribution?’ Lynx echoed, feeling increasingly out of his depth. ‘I don’t know nothing about that.’

  ‘So I see, but if you were just some man caught up in her spiderweb, you’d not be here – for all that you’re dressed like you’re escorting her to a ball. She don’t mix business and pleasure.’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘You’ll forgive me for noting that behind the daft costume, you look more like a man o’ business than pleasure.’

  Lynx forced himself to smile at Ysalin, aware there were several large men on either side of them keeping a cautious eye on him. Their presence ensured that the conversation was relatively private, despite the press of bodies in the room, but given the sprawl of families there he guessed she could name each and every one in the room. Most likely, they were all also aware she and her pride of nephews knew where they all lived.

  ‘I’ve done some work for her,’ Lynx said, settling for something broadly true.

  Ysalin raised an eyebrow. ‘In Su Dregir?’

  ‘I doubt she’d want the particulars discussed.’

  ‘That she wouldn’t, just surprised she’s either bringin’ foreigners in for work or expanding her reach beyond the city.’

  ‘Retribution goes beyond a city wall.’

  ‘Retribution for what, though?’ She leaned forward. ‘Hard to credit that she’s acting about somethin’ I’ve not heard about. You do know what the Red Lady’s about, right?’

  ‘Not a bloody clue,’ Lynx admitted. ‘Seems she’s some sort o’ local legend hereabouts, but I don’t much care right now. I need to find her tonight and I was sent here.’

  ‘Doesn’t care,’ Ysalin echoed. ‘A man with focus like that’s either got a death wish or he’s in love. No, don’t bother, I ain’t your ma or hers. Doesn’t matter ’less we cross paths again and I doubt that’ll happen. You need to find the Red Lady; I think I know where you can.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Tomb.’

  Lynx paused. ‘That a joke or a threat?’

  ‘Bit o’ both, most likely, but it’s also a clue for me. Her note just said someone might be coming looking for her and that I might be in danger. “Tomb” is a clue just for me an’ confirms it was her doing the writing.’

  ‘You’re in danger?’

  ‘So she says, and she don’t often joke on matters o’ business.’

  ‘Why is your safety a matter of her business?’

  ‘’Cos that’s what she is, our Red Lady,’ Ysalin declared expansively. ‘Insurance for those of us who live in a cut-throat world. A life o’ crime is never safe, no such thing, but there’s a balance to it all the same. We’re a suspicious lot who don’t get the luxury to think too carefully about things – and anyways, thinking ain’t the strong suit for most o’ those who work for us. The scales wobble and such is life, they get overturned and
life gets short an’ nasty pretty damn quick for the whole city.’

  ‘So the Red Lady’s insurance against takeovers?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ Ysalin said, ‘but there’s a difference between healthy competition and war. If you kill me, my nephews, our families and all those who owe us, the spirit o’ vengeance will find you. If we decide to expand our territory, so be it, but if we wipe out a rival gang entirely and throw the balance of the city off … well, she knows where we live.’

  Lynx nodded. ‘I get it. For you to be in danger, that means she is too. Someone’s making a move in the city.’

  ‘Aye. You’d be mad to go after anyone like me ’less you got to her first, and that ain’t easy.’

  ‘Someone’s got halfway there. So what does “tomb” mean to you?’

  ‘A dead-drop,’ she said, ‘where I leave payment and messages. Always suspected it was a bolt-hole too and if you’re being sent there, reckon I was right.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘You know the city well?’

  ‘Fair.’

  ‘Go up-district – the south end of Brewers. There’s a cemetery cut into the rock, real old one. That’s where I leave messages for her, a tomb on the upper level near the back. Nice and quiet spot, far from prying eyes.’

  Lynx nodded. ‘I can find that. Which tomb?’

  ‘Reckon she’ll find you at that point. Best you don’t get all the details if anyone is looking for her.’

  He could understand the logic so he didn’t press her any further. Taking a last mouthful of beer he set the tankard down and inclined his head to Ysalin. ‘Looks like I’ve got a bit more of a walk ahead of me.’

  ‘Looks like it. I’d send someone with you to watch your back, but I’ve got to look to my own first and we’re small fry in this city, so I can’t spare the bodies. Probably why she sent you here, though. Least likely target among her, ah, portfolio.’

  ‘Your nephews should be on the lookout for black and white costumes and masks, and badges like a crumbling black moon,’ Lynx said.

  Ysalin nodded towards the door. ‘Be lucky, Lynx. Anyone chasing round after the Red Lady needs all the luck they can get.’