Bloodfeud (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 3) (36 page)

‘All’s been organised, Milord. As much as it pains a professional such as myself to open my doors, it will be a fine event. The afternoon of the twelfth, as you commanded.’

‘Excellent.’

‘My Lord.’ Boller bowed again as the carriage swung around and made for the gates. The crowd were still pressed up against them. The ravens still loitered.

Dizali did not even blink as the moans and shouts rose and fell again; as the fingers tapped at the windows and bothered the horses. He simply stared at the dark red velvet of the opposite wall and lost himself in its folds. He did not feel the carriage come to a stop, nor did he hear Calidae’s words. It was only when she dared to touch his elbow that he snapped out of the introspection.

‘What?’ he barked, making her jump.

‘We’ve arrived at Clovenhall, Lord Protector.’

‘Very well!’ he snapped.

*

‘You had better have some good news for me, Brothers,’ said Dizali, as the three hybrids filed into his study. He stood at the grand windows, staring out at the spires of London, wrapped in wisps of cloud.

‘We do indeed,’ Hanister answered. ‘We have news of Tonmerion Hark.’

Dizali turned, busy twirling his sharp goatee. He sat at his desk, fingers templed and eyebrows raised.

‘Well?’

‘Just over a week ago, an American ironclad arrived in the western docks,’ said Hanister. ‘An eyewitness says it looked like the
Black Rosa
, Lincoln’s own ship.’

‘She stayed just long enough to let two passengers disembark,’ said Heck.

‘A boy, possibly twelve, and an older woman with wrinkles,’ added Honorford.

‘Well, well, gentlemen. I’m impressed.’ Dizali truly was; he had expected yet another failure. Perhaps there was hope in the Eighth after all. ‘And you believe this to be Hark?’

Hanister bobbed his head. ‘The boy fits his description, my Lord.’

‘We believe the older woman is his aunt. Lilian?’ said Heck.

‘Lilain,’ corrected Dizali. Heck looked at him as though he couldn’t hear the difference.

Dizali clapped his hands. ‘Foolish as ever. The final two heirs of Hark’s estate, delivered to my doorstep. Fine work, Brothers. Where are they now?’

Hanister opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Dizali felt his smile fading. ‘Anybody else like to hazard a guess?’

Heck held up a hand. ‘In London, my Lord.’

‘London,’ Dizali whispered, as his hands clenched into fists. ‘OF COURSE THEY ARE IN BLOODY LONDON!’ he roared, making the Brothers wince. ‘All you have come to tell me is that Tonmerion and his aunt are somewhere in London?’

‘We understood you wanted your suspicion confirmed, my Lord,’ said Honorford.

‘What I want,’ said Dizali, ‘is to drag a knife down that boy’s wrist and bleed him over the damned Orange Seed! Now unless you can dig him out of whatever hole he’s hiding in and dump him on my desk, alive, then I do not want to see you, let alone hear from you, unless I say otherwise! This will be your one and only purpose. Now, have your acolytes spread across the city, hunting him and his friends down. And by the Star, take a bath. You all reek of alcohol and bilge!’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ the Brothers chorused, before making their exit. They left Dizali to rub his temples with finger and thumb and deplore the existence of leeches. There were many reasons to do so, but for now, it was the theft of Arrid Gavisham. The Eighth reminded him of his loss; and there were few things a rich and powerful man hated more. Gavisham would have made short work of this debacle. Tonmerion would have been hanging from a noose by now.

Dizali winced, showing nobody but himself that he knew this wasn’t true; he had come to terms with it over the past week. Tonmerion had beaten his best man to death with a stool. Gavisham’s failure was a fouler poison than the incompetence of his replacements.
He had failed
. Gavisham had broken the backs of ships with his bare hands, hunted the most elusive of prey, shown a knife to half the Empire; and yet he had lost to an untrained boy.

It is an awful, cold, stab of a moment, when you realise you might fear your enemy
, he thought,
even if it is just a shadow of worry or tiredness clouding the mind
.

He sought solace at his grand window and the spires of the city. They looked greyer now. Fouler.

Dizali pressed his knuckles into his palm. Try as he might, he could not shake off the Queen’s words. They had bothered him since escaping the Crucible. Did he even believe in curses? The knot in his stomach suggested he might. When a life is spent in the presence of magick, it is hard to deny all its forms. Her words about vengeance also perturbed him, and twisted the knot a little tighter.

He went back to watching the sugar-spun clouds, as if the gathering weather could wash some sense into the situation. His thoughts tumbled with them, until, out of their tangle they produced a suspicion.

It was a simple one: to a half-blind old sailor, what was the difference between a weathered woman and a scarred young girl? The two were far too close for his liking.

*

Calidae had taken her chance to escape the watchful eyes of Dizali and his morons. She tramped up the stairs to her room, citing the need to lie down after so much excitement at the Crucible. Nobody had said a word; not even the Lord Protector, who simply strode off in the direction of his study.

Her room was cool, thanks to the window being constantly open now she was playing host to the visits of magpies. Calidae placed her hot face against the cold glass, looking for any flapping shapes. The sky was streaked with cloud, and growing dim now that afternoon was slipping to evening. No magpies in sight. Just a few ravens, circling a pine tree in the garden.

She swept from the window and resorted to pacing, walking out her angst. She found it worked wonders. Every day spent in Dizali’s presence made it harder to restrain her emotions, and his increasing suspicion tightened her nerves. She had caught the sideways glances, the slitted eyes when he thought she was asleep in the carriage. She found solace in the counting of the days, of which there were fewer and fewer. Her victory was close, and that was armour enough.
What was the point in wallowing, when you can be winning
? Another of her father’s adages.

She recalled the Queen’s haunting face and wondered what the mad creature had meant by her words.

Vengeance… boiling her up… leaving her hollow
.

They had put a chill in her; that much was true. She wondered whether they referred to her thirst for more: more blood, more power, more secrets. A Queen would certainly know a thing or two about that.

Doubts were like knots in muscle. They had to be worked upon, manhandled, forced into submission. Calidae had become skilled at this after the past few weeks. Within an hour, her stubbornness had broken down Dizali’s suspicions and the Queen’s threats into objectives and obsoletes. She was enjoying this new habit of calculation. It made a fine difference to the impetuous girl who had hurtled her way across America.

A growl of her stomach sat her down at the dressing table to ready herself for dinner. Yet another quiet, uncomfortable meal with the Lord Protector, no doubt; and perhaps a select few of his minions, if she were lucky. One of the Order maybe, or one of the Eighth. At least there would be crimson wine. Perhaps if Dizali was in the drinking mood, she could at last slip away to the northeast wing. She sucked at her twisted lip.

As she combed her hair into place, she checked her skin for any sores that had been stubborn enough to hang around; a practice that had become habitual since stepping onto the
Black Rosa
. Caves and rocky desert tors hadn’t been the ideal place for maintenance.

Her face, scalp, and neck were practically healed, but there were a few small places were the fire still burned in some shape or form. The tenderness had also faded. Now Calidae’s fingers could roam freely, skipping over her hairline, or her ear, or the ripples in her neck. She smiled then, as she always did; staring at herself, admiring the new her, stamping out any doubt that was bold enough to poke its prickly head.

‘I am a Serped,’ she told herself. ‘And Serpeds always win.’

There came a timid knock at her door. A maid. ‘Supper, Milady.’

‘Yes, fine,’ Calidae called out, halfway through changing her dress. She had opted for something slightly grander than was strictly necessary. She didn’t care. Let it bother Dizali, make him squirm. Every time she did that, she learned something new about the way his tongue worked; how he bent his words, and those of others. The chance for a free lesson should never be snubbed.

She found Dizali at the head of the dining table. She took a different spot than usual, sitting to Dizali’s side instead of the far end. The Lord Protector didn’t deign to rise. ‘Lady Serped,’ was all he said, before continuing to eat. Tonight’s supper was salmon and delicate slices of potato roasted in cream and cheese. A carafe of crimson wine caused Calidae’s gut to murmur.

The butler appeared at once, sliding a plate under her nose and removing its silver lid with a flourish. Vegetables also found their way to the table. Silver cutlery rattled against silver trays.

Dizali saw to his own plate, glancing up at the girl every minute or so. Calidae ignored his looks.

‘I have been thinking, Lady Serped, about what the Queen said today,’ he announced, once his plate was clean and a stray bone had been removed from his goatee. Judging by the smudge of red at the corner of his mouth, he was certainly in a drinking mood tonight.

‘Her curse?’

‘About vengeance, actually.’

She busied herself with her fish. ‘What is on your mind, Lord Protector?’

Dizali poured more crimson wine into her glass, even though she had yet to take a sip.

‘The Brothers Eighth have heard word of an American ship docking in London, about a week ago.’

That was news indeed.

‘I see.’

‘An ironclad, no less.’

‘How curious.’

‘Curious indeed, Calidae. Far too curious for a coincidence.’

She calculated a response to change his focus. ‘You believe King Lincoln is seeking vengeance for Cirque Kadabra?’

The casual sip of his wine told her that no, he did not. In fact, it appeared as though he hadn’t even considered this. She pressed on. ‘I thought the consensus was that the Order’s involvement was anonymous. That Lincoln suspected nothing? This could spell tr—’

‘The Eighth say that Tonmerion Hark was spotted disembarking. Along with a wrinkled woman.’

‘A wrinkled woman?’
Thank the Almighty for short-sighted dock workers
.

‘And what is most strange is that the ironclad’s appearance coincides with the time you arrived, Lady Serped. In fact it was the very same day. Truth be told, it makes me wonder what vengeance the Queen was inferring.’

‘That is to be expected. I fled as soon as I could. No doubt Hark did the same, chasing me down. And rest assured, Lord Protector, I did not arrive in an American ship. And it certainly wasn’t an ironclad.’

‘What kind was it?’

Calidae raised an eyebrow. ‘Is this an interrogation or a supper, my Lord? You seem to distrust me all of a sudden. For reasons that aren’t known or understood.’

‘I seek only to understand every angle. What manner of ship?’

Calidae replied with all the confidence of rehearsal. Merion had insisted on testing every inch of her survival tale on the voyage. ‘A trading sloop. Barely sea-worthy. Grecian, I believe.’

Dizali leaned forward. ‘So the name
Black Rosa
means nothing to you?’

‘Not in the slightest, my Lord. You’ve no reason to doubt me. We share the same goal, after all. The only desire for revenge I have is reserved for Tonmerion Hark.’

Dizali thumbed his goatee. The keys around Calidae’s neck felt hot and heavy.

‘Well, I’m glad you are satisfied, Lord Dizali.’ She was holding her fork tightly, almost hurting her fingers.

‘Oh, I am not satisfied. Not yet.’

‘Will you insult me further?’ Calidae snapped. ‘I have been nothing but honest ever since my arrival, and have done everything as you say. Everything! As a member of the Order, I believed you trusted me implicitly. Is this not so, or will I have to prove myself further?’