Old Man's Ghosts Read online

  Narin’s shoulder’s sagged. Guess I deserved that.

  ‘You’re right, of course. I’m a Lawbringer and I serve wherever I can. So, where are we going?’

  The where for Narin and Rhe turned out to be an unimpressive tavern in the Harbour Warranty, tucked into an unlovely corner at the eastern end of the district. It was a run-down area of semi-derelict warehouses and slum houses where the cold of night still reigned. The shadow of Coldcliffs loomed large over this part of the city, a huge structure older than recorded history and made of the same unnatural white material as the Imperial Palace.

  Narin suppressed a shiver when they found themselves in the shadow of that cliff-born slum; less affected by the frost hidden from a pale morning sun than the memory of trying to shake off the pursuit of goshe assassins there. Staying back to buy others time to escape, he’d been captured and tortured by the goshe’s elite. Months later he still found the unearthly presence of that place reawakened old hurts.

  ‘The Lost Feathers,’ Rhe read as they turned into a side-street and saw the tavern at the far end.

  ‘Heard of it before?’

  Rhe shook his head as he paused and looked around before entering the street. The cobbles were poorly maintained, with furrows gouged in the ground and torn-up cobbles scattered down the street. The walls bore the marks of water damage and age, while directly opposite the side-street stood a broad soot-stain of some type of fire damage.

  A handful of people stood outside the tavern, half a dozen locals fresh from their beds, and a single Lawbringer called Olsir. She was a striking woman from the far south, long plaits of grey hair declaring her to be House Iron or some country within its hegemony. Narin felt a knot in his stomach as he recognised relief in her face at their approach.

  She’s not one to hand over a case gladly, he realised glumly. Don’t think I’m going to like what we find here.

  ‘Lawbringers,’ she called out, ‘either of you eaten yet?’

  The onlookers parted readily and retreated to a respectful distance as Narin and Rhe reached her. The tavern door was slightly open, the interior dark, but the stink of loosed bowels was enough to tell Narin what lay inside. To one side was a freshly-broken shutter, swinging loose with the wood around its latch burst and splintered.

  ‘Who reported it?’ Rhe asked.

  ‘The maid,’ Olsir said, pointing towards a young girl almost entirely hidden by a thick blanket draped around her. Her face was white with cold and terror, her hands jerking and twitching as they gripped the blanket. ‘She heard the commotion from her attic room. Claims there was something pacing beneath the hatch after it went quiet again, some demon sniffing after her, but the ladder was pulled up and it couldn’t get to her.’

  ‘Do we believe the story?’

  Olsir scowled. ‘She didn’t kill the landlord or his wife, that’s for sure. Yes, I believe her.’

  ‘A demon broke in through a window, making a neat job of it too, and killed two people, but only the maid heard?’ Rhe asked, pointing at the damaged shutter.

  ‘That was a neighbour. Once the sun came up the maid screamed for help and they broke the shutter to get in – both doors were still bolted from the inside and the maid wouldn’t go downstairs.’

  ‘That’s why you believe the demon part of her story?’ Narin asked, almost not wanting to know the answer.

  Olsir shook her head. ‘Gives it some credence, but …’ She pointed inside the tavern. ‘Go see for yourself and tell me if a maid did this.’

  Narin grimaced as Rhe did just that, pushing open the door and heading inside. He had two fingers perched on a pistol butt as he did so, but Narin had learned that was not nerves. The pose was something of an affectation by noblemen from House Eagle’s lands – an ingrained habit of readiness taught to young men and women trained for battle.

  Following Rhe in, Narin resisted the urge to slide his hands around the grip of his sword. The air had a greasy foetid feel to it that went beyond the stink of spilled guts. He couldn’t see much at first, his eyes adjusting slowly to the gloom, but the scattered tables and chairs told him there’d been a sizeable struggle.

  Rhe stopped short and looked down just three paces inside the door. Narin instinctively moved to the side and felt a chill of foreboding as he heard the squelch of something underfoot. Rhe didn’t look back; his attention was on the ground at his feet as he spoke.

  ‘I believe you’ve just trodden on the evidence, Lawbringer.’

  Narin blinked as the room came into focus, recoiling with disgust as he saw the dark smear of insides under his feet.

  ‘Jester’s folly! It’s—’ he exclaimed before bile rose in his throat and he had to swallow hard. ‘It’s everywhere,’ Narin continued in a subdued voice.

  ‘He,’ Rhe corrected, pointing to the centre of the room. ‘He’s everywhere. Lady Pity, comfort his soul.’

  It took an immense effort for Narin not to spew his guts up as he followed Rhe’s finger. Amid a pile of torn flesh and dark stains of blood, there was most of a head – almost untouched except for a torn cheek, and damage to the eyes. The unreal distortion of brutal death meant Narin didn’t quite recognise it for what it was at first, but then he saw stubble on one fleshy cheek and short hair matted with blood.

  ‘Stars in heaven,’ Narin breathed as he composed himself and looked past the head.

  There were pieces of flesh scattered across the bar, dark sprays of blood on the ceiling and fireplace, more down the corridor leading away from the barroom. Most of the gruesome remains were unidentifiable, just shapeless lumps of meat sheathed in tattered scraps of clothing, but at Rhe’s feet was a four-fingered hand. A boot with gristle trailing from the top rested at a tilt against the bar.

  Rhe looked back at Narin, his expression as unreadable as ever, then the Lawbringer picked his way across the room to the nearest unbroken window and opened the latch. Narin did the same with a second and the weak morning light of winter spread over the horrific scene. It only worsened with the addition of colour and detail, but Narin forced himself to focus on the details rather than think about the brutality of the landlord’s death. A small voice at the back of his mind howled at the horror, but the Lawbringer in him overruled it.

  ‘He was dragged from the corridor?’ Narin asked in a choked voice, pointing towards the blood-sprayed corridor on the far side.

  Rhe shook his head and pointed to the fireplace. ‘This is the spray of a killing blow,’ he said, indicating the path of blood up the brickwork, ‘as is that in the corridor.’

  ‘So he was killed here, his wife came to investigate the noise,’ Narin concluded, moving to the boot at the bar and crouching to look at it. ‘But this was no cut,’ he said, looking at the ruin of flesh from which a jagged stump of bone protruded like some awful maggot.

  ‘No, no sword did this. Look at the floor.’

  Narin did so, for a moment seeing nothing but half-dry patches of blood and gristle. ‘Grooves in the floorboards,’ he said at last, ‘fresh ones mostly, but there’s blood in some.’

  ‘Claw marks, perhaps a meat hook or some monstrous weapon,’ Rhe said, ‘but then there is the hearth stone.’

  Across the front of the open fireplace were four large flagstones, worn and soot-stained through years of use. At one end however there was another mark – a blackened smear that Narin could all too easily imagine was a footprint of some hound, except it looked as big as his own hand with fingers splayed. With a sense of dread he checked it to confirm that and realised his estimate had been very close.

  He licked a finger and glanced up at Rhe who nodded to him. Rubbing his finger down one side, Narin confirmed it was not just a random soot-stain but something more permanent on the stone.

  ‘Claw-marks, stones scorched underfoot, no obvious point of entry.’

  Rhe straightened. ‘I will go and confirm it is the same with the wife. You tell Olsir to let no one in and then question the neighbours, find out what sort of man the landlord
was.’

  ‘You think this was deliberate? Hard to imagine a landlord would have the sort of enemies that might be able to set, ah … to set hellhounds on him.’ Narin hesitated. ‘That is what you’re thinking, right?’

  Rhe nodded, his expression stony. ‘It may be this was random, but from what little I know of such folklore, hellhounds come as supernatural punishment or are bound to service by some mage. Neither seems likely, but perhaps a line of investigation will suggest itself. More likely, this was staged in some way and he was involved in something else entirely.’

  ‘So where do you want me?’

  ‘We have to allow for the possibility this is exactly what it seems – or it has been staged by persons with the means to enter locked rooms.’ Rhe gave him a cold smile, made more chilling by the rarity of such an expression on the man’s face. ‘In either case, you must go and see a man about a hound.’

  CHAPTER 5

  Kesh edged around the door jamb and peered into the dim dining room. Cold winter light slipped through the window shutters, cutting white through the shadows. The man faced away from her in front of the empty fire. She crept forward, sliding her body gently through the half-open doorway, and assessed the room between them. Her path was partly blocked by the heavy oak table, but its surface was clear, its chairs tucked neatly under.

  I’ve got you now.

  Kesh tightened her grip on the long knife and burst forward, two steps taking her to the table. She vaulted it with ease, right foot leading the way to kick the man into the fire mantel. Just as she reached him, the man twisted with improbable speed. One arm deflected her kick as he turned away from the blade that followed it.

  The air was driven from her lungs by the punch that followed, a blow that sent her sprawling back and sliding back down the length of the table.

  ‘That’s how you want it?’ the man growled, drawing his own knives. ‘Fine with me.’

  He stalked forward as Kesh scrambled over the far edge of the table, somehow managing to land on her feet and keep her grip on the weapon. She staggered back a step before catching her balance again and setting her feet. Shoulders hunched, knife held out before her, she slipped her free hand under her jacket and withdrew a wickedly curved hatchet.

  The man hesitated. ‘Just happened to have that on you?’ he asked, not waiting for a reply before lurching forward on the attack.

  His blows fell short and Kesh gave a step of ground, well clear of the slashing blades. Seeing an opportunity she darted forward, knife-tip surging towards the man’s arm. He turned and deflected it, then dodged the hatchet swing that followed. Before she could strike again the man pivoted and drove a heavy boot into her midriff.

  The impact lifted her off her feet, throwing Kesh several yards back to slam into a sideboard. Stars burst before her eyes, her back screaming with pain, as her weapons were jerked from her hands. She forced herself to roll sideways in a bid to get away, but felt a hand close around her ankle. As she was hauled along the ground she twisted and kicked into the side of his knee with her free foot, slipping his grip and eliciting a grunt from her attacker.

  Instead of fleeing she swung up on the offensive, using his arm to haul herself upright and slam her left hand into his face. A flash of light exploded from her palm and the man reeled, cursing, with hands to his face. Kesh scooped up her fallen knife and threw herself on him, driving the man back against a wall and putting the blade to his throat.

  ‘Yield?’ she snarled into his face.

  Still pawing at his eyes and grimacing, the man nodded. ‘Ah, fuck – aye, I yield! Bastard spirits o’ the deep, when did you start carrying that around with you?’

  Kesh released him and stepped back, sheathing her knife before fetching the hatchet.

  ‘These past few weeks now,’ she said, flexing her fingers. ‘Ever since it was clear one of my damn fool friends was likely to get me into a fight soon. That’s why we’re training, remember?’

  There were leather loops around her middle and index fingers, a small pad laced with slippery grey threads hanging from them. Enchei had made it for her once the goshe scandal had died down, having cut the threads from the flesh of a goshe elite he’d killed. What they were made of she couldn’t tell, certainly not sinew but not metal either. Enchei had said the goshe’s mages had inserted a piece into the man’s hand and caused it to grow like a parasite under the flesh.

  ‘Call that training?’ he growled, ‘I can barely see now, but I can smell burned flesh. That spark-pad ain’t a fucking toy.’

  ‘You were hardly holding back, Irato,’ she snapped in response, her anger close to the surface, as it always was when they sparred. ‘What about the bloody kick? You do remember you’re stronger than natural men, right?’

  ‘I held back,’ he said casually. ‘Your ribs ain’t broken, are they?’

  ‘Cripple’s teeth,’ Kesh hissed, pressing a hand to her side. ‘You came damn close, just be more careful next time. You might be a soulless bastard, but you’re not careless. I was the one Enchei told to give it everything, remember?’

  ‘Merciful light of the divine!’ cried a third voice. Kesh turned to see the outraged face of her mother, Teike, at the doorway, a pair of empty baskets in her hands. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  Kesh’s heart sank as she realised another argument was brewing. ‘Training,’ she said with a wince. ‘We can’t be far off trouble coming our way and I mean to be better prepared this time.’

  ‘Training be damned, my girl! You do that in your own time and in your own space – you don’t do your best to demolish the dining room in the process. What if a guest had come in?’

  ‘No ships will have finished docking yet,’ she argued, ‘and our two guests are still abed on the far side of the house.’ She pointed past her mother to where the rear section of the guesthouse was situated, connected to this part by a corridor only. ‘This isn’t our old house, remember?’

  She saw her mistake at once, the bristling anger she’d inherited from her mother once more appearing between them.

  ‘I hardly need reminding,’ Teike said, ‘given that man now lives here in your sister’s place – to say nothing of the fact he’s the reason our home burned down and your sister’s dead.’

  ‘Don’t start that again,’ Kesh replied hotly, ‘he pays his way and you know that.’ And this goshe training house might not have the views of our old one, but we’ve more rooms to earn off while our home’s being rebuilt. And you’ve got a labourer thrown in for free.

  Her mother sniffed. ‘Payment like that I’ll live without. I don’t know what it is between you, but I’ve seen your training sessions. Most of the time I’m surprised they don’t end with one of you being killed. Don’t pretend this one was any different; you two are a hair’s breadth from stabbing each other when your blood’s up.’

  Kesh took a long breath, knowing how close she was to getting into a screaming match. What made things worse was that Teike spoke only the truth. Half a year after Emari’s death, Irato could still kindle a rage inside her like little else. Pardoned by decree for his involvement in the Moon’s Artifice affair, they were all aware that neither woman would ever fully forgive him.

  ‘I’ll leave you two alone, Mistress Teike,’ Irato muttered, eyes downcast again now the violence was over. Brutal and thoughtless though he was with a knife in his hand, the effect of Moon’s Artifice on his mind was permanent and Irato remained subservient to both women the rest of the time. Only part of it was instinctive; Kesh knew he still felt guilt at crimes he couldn’t recall. Irato knew his part in their loss and his deference was some form of penance.

  ‘You stay there,’ Teike said, ‘I may not like it, but Kesh’s made it damn clear you’re some strange part of what family I’ve got left. Half my friends think the pair of you are sleeping together anyway,’ she added – Kesh’s widened eyes showed the barb had hit home – ‘but of course they haven’t seen the murder in Kesh’s eyes when she takes a knife t
o you. Sometimes I wonder if it isn’t true myself, but whatever’s going on – whether you play weapons-tutor or guard dog to Kesh – you’re here now. If there’s going to be an argument you’ll be part of it.’

  Kesh sighed, knowing the burly fighter wouldn’t take part in any such thing. With his past erased by Moon’s Artifice, he rarely had an opinion to express on any subject and was frequently lost without direction from her. Guard dog was a better description than perhaps her mother realised.

  ‘What goes on when we train is my choice, not yours,’ Kesh said. ‘Gods, I’m sounding like a whining child now! But no, we’re not sleeping together. It’s nothing like that, and yes sometimes maybe I don’t hold anything back, but he can take it and it’s his choice.’

  ‘Is it now?’ Teike cocked her head at Irato. ‘The way you and your friends described it, his goshe poison made some things not about choice. Enchei was the one who described him as your guard dog first. Now, I might not like having him around, but I don’t like the sight of my daughter owning a slave and sometimes you come perilously close.’

  ‘Mistress,’ Irato broke in hesitantly, ‘a slave would want to leave. I choose to stay.’

  ‘You don’t choose bloody anything,’ Teike snapped, ‘that’s the problem!’

  ‘Yet I would be lost without Kesh.’ He paused, frowning as he tried to frame his thoughts. ‘I trust her – maybe not to avoid giving me a few extra scars, but when it’s important I trust her as I can’t trust myself.’

  ‘What the buggery is that meant to mean?’

  ‘Thief’s sticky fingers!’ Kesh exclaimed. ‘How many times do I need to explain it? The man’s only got half a soul left. He forgets to care about things, about how people are more important than rocks. Without me telling him he forgets what right and wrong are, he just does what others tell him to.’