Deadhouse Gates

'Walk a straight line, lass,' Beneth grumbled, taking her arm. 'And stop dragging your feet. It's what you like, isn't it? Always wanting more.'

An undercurrent of disgust had come to his tone when he spoke to her. He'd stopped making promises. I'll make you my own, girl. Move in with me. We won't need anyone else. Those gruff, whispered assurances had vanished. The realization did not bother Felisin. She'd never really believed Beneth anyway.

Directly ahead, Sawark's Keep rose squat from the centre of Rathole Round, its huge, rough-cut blocks of stone stained from the greasy smoke that never really left Skullcup. A lone guard stood outside the entrance, a pike held loosely in one hand. 'Hard luck,' he said once they were near.

'What is?' Beneth demanded.

The soldier shrugged. 'This morning's cave-in, what else?'

'We might've saved some,' Beneth said, 'if Sawark had sent us some help.'

'Saved some? What's the point? Sawark's not in the mood if you've come here to complain.' The man's flat eyes flicked to Felisin. 'If you're here with a gift, that would be another matter.' The guard opened the heavy door. 'He's in the office.'

Beneth grunted. Tugging at Felisin's arm, he dragged her through the portal. The ground floor was an armoury, weapons lining the walls in locked racks. A table and three chairs were off to one side, the leavings of the guards' breakfast crowding the small tabletop. Up from the room's centre rose an iron staircase.

They ascended a single flight to Sawark's office. The captain sat behind a desk that seemed cobbled together from driftwood. His chair was plushly padded with a high back. A large, leather-bound tally book was opened before him. Sawark set down his quill and leaned back.

Felisin could not recall ever having seen the captain before. He made a point of remaining aloof, isolated here within his tower. The man was thin, devoid of fat, the muscles on his bared forearms like twisted cables under pale skin. Against the present fashion, he was bearded, the wiry black ringlets oiled and scented. The hair on his head was cut short. Watery green eyes glittered from a permanent squint above high cheekbones. His wide mouth was bracketed in deep downturned lines. He stared steadily at Beneth, ignoring Felisin as if she was not there.

Beneth pushed her down in a chair close to one wall, on Sawark's left, then sat himself down in the lone chair directly facing the captain. 'Ugly rumours, Sawark. Want to hear them?'

The captain's voice was soft. 'What will that cost me?'

'Nothing. These are free.'

'Go on, then.'

'The Dosii are talking loud at Bula's. Promising the Whirlwind.'

Sawark scowled. 'More of that nonsense. No wonder you give me this news free, Beneth, it's worthless.'

'So I too thought at the beginning, but-'

'What else have you to tell me?'

Beneth's eyes dropped to the ledger on the desk. 'You've tallied this morning's dead? Did you find the name you sought?'

'I sought no particular name, Beneth. You think you've guessed something, but there's nothing there. I'm losing patience.'

'There were four mages among the victims-'

'Enough! Why are you here?'

Beneth shrugged, as if tossing away whatever suspicions he held. 'A gift,' he said, gesturing to Felisin. 'Very young. Docile, but ever eager. No spirit to resist — do whatever you want, Sawark.'

The captain's scowl darkened.

'In exchange,' Beneth continued, 'I wish the answer to a single question. The slave Baudin was arrested this morning — why?'

Felisin blinked. Baudin? She shook her head, trying to clear it of the fog that marked her waking hours. Was this important?

'Arrested in Whipcord Lane after curfew. He got away but one of my men recognized him and so the arrest was effected this morning.' Sawark's watery gaze finally swung to Felisin. 'Very young, you said? Eighteen, nineteen? You're getting old, Beneth, if you call that very young.'

She felt his eyes exploring her like ghost hands. This time, the sensation was anything but pleasing. She fought back a shiver.

'She's fifteen, Sawark. But experienced. Arrived but two transports ago.'

The captain's eyes sharpened on her, and she watched, wondering, as all the blood drained from his face.

Beneth surged to his feet. 'I'll send another. Two young girls from the last shipment.' He stepped close to Felisin and pulled her upright. 'I guarantee your satisfaction, Captain. They'll be here within the hour-'

'Beneth.' Sawark's voice was soft. 'Baudin works for you, does he not?'

'An acquaintance, Sawark. Not one of my trusted ones. I asked because he's on my reach crew. One less strong man will slow us if you're still holding him tomorrow.'

'Live with it, Beneth.'

Neither one believes the other. The thought was like a glimmer of long-lost awareness in Felisin. She drew a deep breath. Something's happening. I need to think about it. I need to be listening. Listening, right now.

In answer to Sawark's suggestion, Beneth sighed heavily. 'I shall have to do just that, then. Until later, Captain.'

Felisin did not resist as Beneth propelled her towards the stairs. Once outside he pulled her across the Round, not answering the Keep guard as the man said something in a sneering tone. Breathing hard, Beneth dragged her into the shadows of an alley, then swung her around.

His voice was a harsh rasp. 'Who are you, girl, his long-lost daughter? Hood's breath! Clear your wits! Tell me what happened just now in that office! Baudin? What's Baudin to you? Answer me!'

'He's — he's nothing-'

The back of his hand when it struck her face was like a sack of rocks. Light exploded behind Felisin's eyes as she sprawled sideways. Blood streamed from her nose as she lay unmoving in the alley's rotting refuse. Staring dumbly at the ground six inches away, she watched the red pool spread in the dust.

Beneth dragged her upright and threw her up against a wood-slatted wall. 'Your full name, lass. Tell me!'

'Felisin,' she mumbled. 'Just that-'

Snarling, he raised his hand again.

She stared at the marks her teeth had left just above the knuckles. 'No! I swear it! I was a foundling-'

Disbelief crazed his eyes. 'A what?'

'Found outside the Fener Monastery on Malaz Island — the Empress made accusations — followers of Fener. Heboric-'

'Your ship came from Unta, lass. What do you take me for? You're noble-born-'

'No! Only well cared for. Please, Beneth, I'm not lying. I don't understand Sawark. Maybe Baudin spun a tale, a lie to save his own skin-'

'Your ship sailed from Unta. You've never even been to Malaz Island. This monastery, near which city?'

'Jakata. There's only two cities on the island. The other's Malaz City, I was sent there for a summer. Schooling. I was in training to be a priestess. Ask Heboric, Beneth. Please.'

'Name me the poorest quarter of Malaz City.'

'Poorest?'

'Name it!'

'I don't know! The Fener Temple is in Dockfront! Is it the poorest? There were slums outside the city, lining the Jakata Road. I was there for but a season, Beneth! And I hardly saw Jakata — we weren't allowed! Please, Beneth, I don't understand any of this! Why are you hurting me? I've done everything you wanted me to do — I slept with your friends, I let you trade me, I made myself valuable-'

He struck her again, no longer seeking answers or a way through her frantic lies — a new reason had appeared in his eyes, birthing a bright rage. He beat her systematically, in silent, cold fury. After the first few blows, Felisin curled herself tight around the pain, the shadow-cooled alley dust feeling like a balm where her flesh lay upon it. She struggled to concentrate on her breathing, closing in on that one task, drawing the air in, fighting the waves of agony that came with the effort, then releasing it slowly, a steady stream that carried the pain away.