‘Nothing,’ Lashan replied hurriedly. ‘I’ve never even met him. All I know is he pays me to turn a blind eye to vessels entering and leaving the harbour. I don’t know who they carry on board and I don’t care.’
‘How long has this been going on?’
‘I don’t… Three, maybe four years.’
Three or four years. How is this possible? He felt his jaw clench in anger. ‘Who told you to look for Isaac here?’
‘His middleman,’ Lashan replied. ‘Calls himself the Crow. Apparently they had a falling out.’
‘Where might I find this Crow?’
‘You won’t,’ Lashan replied. ‘He told me where to find Isaac and then said he was leaving the city. He was packing his things when I found him.’
‘He can’t leave. The city is under lockdown and the army is encamped outside the walls.’
‘The Crow does what he pleases. That’s all I know, I swear.’
Eremul released the magic binding Lashan’s limbs. ‘Isaac isn’t here. Whoever it is you’re trying to bribe, he won’t be signing your exemption papers. And one more thing,’ he added as the balding fellow rubbed the life back into his arms and legs. ‘Say nothing of this. Very few know I’m a mage. I’d like to keep it that way. Understand?’
Lashan nodded. He hovered uncertainly for a moment. The Halfmage sighed again. ‘Taking bribes is practically a job requirement for those with any authority in this city. I have no interest in reporting you. Get out of my sight.’ He watched the portly figure scamper away.
He felt as if he had been kicked in the balls. He had trusted Isaac. Could his manservant have been spying for Salazar? No, that was impossible. Isaac had known for months now that he was working against the Magelord. There was no conceivable way Salazar would have permitted the destruction of the mine at the Wailing Rift, so vital to the city’s magic supplies.
His head throbbed. Why had he involved Isaac in his schemes in the first place? The man was clearly more adept than any servant had a right to be.
Why did I send Isaac to the Rift? The question bothered him like a scratch he couldn’t quite itch. The more he thought about it, the more his head hurt. He was about to go back inside the depository and bundle the useless sack of flesh that was his body into bed for a much-needed rest when he saw the urchin approach.
‘Are you normal?’ the boy asked uncertainly.
Eremul stared at the lad, with his requisite grubby face and tattered clothes. ‘On balance,’ he said carefully, ‘I would have to say no.’
‘Oh.’ The urchin looked momentarily crestfallen. ‘What happened to your legs?’
‘My legs? You mean to say they’re not there?’ He looked down in mock astonishment. ‘Why, I do believe they’ve walked away of their own accord. Perhaps out of frustration at having to listen to the same question every single day.’
The boy looked confused. Eremul couldn’t help but feel a shred of pity for him. ‘I’m Eremul,’ he said. ‘Is that who you’re looking for?’
The young waif scratched his head and repeated his name a few times before nodding. ‘That’s it! Eremul. I was told to give you this.’ He reached down inside a filthy pocket and withdrew a rolled note. ‘The lady who asked me to deliver it gave me six coppers.’
He took the note. ‘Was this lady strangely pale and distinctly unmemorable?’
The boy nodded. ‘She scared me. But Bran delivered the note last time and he returned with a whole silver! He bought us sugar cakes and so much cider we were both sick everywhere. It was real funny.’ There was a hint of sadness in the urchin’s voice. Eremul felt something cold worm its way inside his chest.
‘How is Bran?’
‘He’s dead, mister. The coughing sickness killed him just last week.’
Eremul sat in silence for a time. Then he reached inside his robes and withdrew two silver sceptres. ‘One of these coins is for you,’ he said. ‘The other is to bury your friend. You know the whereabouts of Bran’s body?’
‘Yes. I hid him under some leaves in an alley near the Warrens.’
‘Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.’ He wheeled himself inside the depository. A quick incantation later and the magically concealed words on the note were floating in the air before him. He read them once, gasped softly, and then read them again just to be sure.
He burned the note and fetched his quill and ink to pen his own brief note to the Collectors, instructing them to bring a young boy’s body to the cemetery near Crook Street for burial.
Survivors
Sasha wanted to scream.
It had been a week since they’d fled Farrowgate and taken refuge aboard The Caress. She had spent almost every waking hour of the last seven days alternating between seasickness and an insatiable, terrifying craving for more of that blessed silvery powder to shove up her nose. She would have killed anyone on board the small caravel for even a single line of the stuff. In fact, she would have killed at least one of them just for being so unaware of how close he was to pushing her over the edge.
Right on cue, Cole swaggered up to her. He had a big grin on his face. ‘We’ve just received a message from the White Lady,’ he said. ‘This is it, Sash. No more waiting. The army is on its way.’
Sasha sighed with relief. First they had needed to await a response from Thelassa after Brianna had sent a message indicating Magebane had been recovered. Then another message had been sent to a contact in Dorminia and they had needed to wait for his response. Finally, they had required confirmation that the army was on the move. At last, it seemed, things were in place — and not before time. She felt as though she was going crazy.
‘Friends and allies,’ said Brianna loudly, drawing the attention of everyone aboard the vessel. ‘The time has come to push ahead with our plans.’
The two Highlanders rose from where they had been lounging against the central mast. Jerek shot Sasha an angry look. She scowled back. The man hated her, she knew, and the feeling was mutual. The dark-skinned Shamaathan joined them from where he had been talking with the equally strange pale-skinned woman at the helm. The two of them made an extreme contrast.
Still, neither unsettled her quite as much as the scabrous, leering face of Cole’s new friend. She had caught the convict looking at her more than once. The hunger in his glittering stare had reminded her of things long buried in the past. The girl in her wanted to run away from him.
She wouldn’t run. Men like Three-Finger and Jerek the Wolf thrived on signs of weakness. It had come as no surprise that the two seemed to get on well. What was more disappointing was that Brodar Kayne also shared in the apparent camaraderie the three had struck up. Despite herself, she was growing fond of the battered old warrior and his kindly blue eyes.
Brianna squinted at the assembled group. The noon sun was hot and growing hotter by the day. Spring had finally given way to summer. ‘We will wait until night falls,’ said the White Lady’s adviser. ‘Then we shall sail west along Deadman’s Channel under the cover of darkness. If necessary, I will blanket the ship in magic to disguise our passing. Davarus Cole will disembark near Dorminia. The rest of us will continue on and join up with our forces at the specified point.’
Brodar Kayne scratched at his jaw. He had finally got around to shaving, and he looked a good deal better for it. ‘Who’s in charge of this army, if you don’t mind me asking?’
Brianna frowned. She was a plain-looking woman, tall and thin and dressed in unremarkable blue robes. Still, Sasha had seen what she could do when she had chased off the Watchmen on the other side of the channel. No one had died in the spectacular magical assault — and she suspected that had been Brianna’s intent. It had been a display of restraint that was a complete contrast to the brutal Tyrant of Dorminia. As the days passed, Sasha had found herself starting to admire the woman.