Bloodmoon (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 2) (55 page)

Another match was struck, and this time it found a candle. Lilain, even though her heart was thudding with the shock, was not one for a back foot. She crossed her arms, drew herself up, and gave him her best glower. ‘You’ve got a lot of explainin’ to do, Sheen.’

‘I expected this of your friend, but not of you, Lil,’ he replied, shaking his head. In the glare of the candle, which he held like a dagger, Lilain was abruptly aware she could not see his other hand—or what it might have held. She loosened the weight of her arms, her right arm burrowing down, ready to pluck the Mistress from her belt. She just hoped Sheen had kept it loaded.

‘Don’t call me that,’ she hissed. ‘Not now. Not ever again.’

‘Come on, you know me …’

‘I truly thought I did.’

Sheen took a step forward. Lilain took one back. ‘Don’t be angry because you fell for me.’

‘You?’ she spluttered. ‘Ha. You just had what I wanted.’ Lilain looked around at the shelves and cupboards. ‘Blood, and lots of it.’

Sheen managed to look moderately offended. Lilain smirked, even though she boiled beneath it. ‘I think it’s time you come along with me. Yara will need to hear about this. Don’t you try anything stupid, now.’ Another step was taken, slow and careful. Lilain caught a glint of metal by his thigh.

‘Come on, Lil,’ he whispered.

‘I told you not to call me that!’ she hissed again.

Lilain might have been growing old in the bones, but by the Maker could she move when she wanted. Her hand flew down to the Mistress just as Sheen raised his heavy tent-spike, ready to knock her senseless. The pistol swung up and out in a wide arc, catching him under his chin. The barrel was sharp and solid, and there was an audible crack of metal on bone. Sheen made a strange sound and wobbled on his feet, head back and eyes rolling. As he fought to stay conscious, Lilain hit him again, in the place that any man holds most dear—a place reserved for moments like these. Sheen’s eyes bulged as he sank to the floor, reeling as he fought to breathe. Lilain disdainfully stepped over him, keeping the pistol trained on his face just in case he had the mind to try again.

‘Where’s Lurker?’

Sheen couldn’t do anything but wheeze. Lilain pressed the barrel of the Mistress against his forehead and let him see the steel-hard look in her eye. ‘I’ve killed liars like you before, and I don’t mind sayin’ there are few things in this world more satisfying. I’ve been itching for some good old fashioned justice lately. To scratch a few of my own notches in the sand, know what I mean? Now where’s Lurker?’

‘Docks,’ came the strangled yelp as Lilain pressed harder, her finger creeping towards the trigger. ‘Warehouse. Ambler & Co.’

‘There’s a good boy.’

She fought the urge to spit out anything more than words. ‘When I see you again, I’ll kill you. You and the rest of your deceitful, conniving little family,’ she growled, before bringing the handle of the Mistress down hard between his eyes. Sheen crumpled to a heap, and she slipped out of the wagon, quiet as a shadow.

*

A cold breeze was coming off the river, chased by the frigid winds of the Iron Ocean, a score of miles away. It made Lilain shudder even though the flagstones and dust were still warm from the day. The streets were almost abandoned. Lilain kept her head down and her ears pricked up, letting her boots decide the rhythm. Her plaid shirt rustled with each purposeful stride, and her ponytail thumped against her shoulders. The Mistress jostled for space against her spine, hidden under her belt.

Every now and again, Lilain would mutter something threatening as her mind unravelled the outcomes of what she’d done. And what she was still doing. Despite her gnawing doubts, she strode on, her boots not wavering for an instant.

The docks wandered on and on, little streets and avenues leading here and there, stoking her into an impatient temper. Half the gaslights had been extinguished, doing wonders for sign-reading. Each flat-faced warehouse looked the same. Street after street came and went, and with every one Lilain grew angrier.

After half an hour spent stamping around the docks, Lilain found it: Ambler & Co., a box of a warehouse halfway down a lane with the river at its end. Lilain hovered by the door. There was a faint light flickering in one of the windows, the wavering shadow of a lonely lantern.

There was nothing else to do but grasp the handle and turn. Lilain drew her pistol and held it up, both hands clamped around it. The Mistress sat as steady as a rock in her grip.

Crates and boxes sat in clumps in roped-off squares, some vast, some tiny, barely enough for a wardrobe. Lilain weaved between them, heading for the glow at the far end of the warehouse. She tread slowly, even though the walkways were clearly marked. All she needed was a forgotten chair or bottle to kick and that was it.

She heard no voices, just something occasionally snuffling, though that was enough to rattle her since it did not sound human. As the shadows grew fainter and the light stronger, she began to make out cages of different shapes and dimensions, covered with blankets and curtains, sitting quietly on their own in the dark. She spied the lantern now, sat on a small table. It had a neighbour: a skinny, pigeon-chested man with white-blonde hair.
Neams
. She inwardly seethed, crouching down to fiddle with her laces.
After all he had done for Rhin
. It was almost as if each of them had been assigned their own personal liar.

Neams had his chin propped in his hand, frowning at a book as if it were written in Cathayan. Every now and again he would flip back a page, frown even more, and then shake his head. Lilain crept forwards like a panther, soft and silent now without her boots. She walked in a wide arc, moving around behind him. Her heart thundered against her ribcage. She had never been one for sneaking. That was the faerie’s job. She winced with every step she took.

Half a dozen paces away, and Neams shuffled in his chair, making Lilain freeze. Her breath caught in her throat, and, in the tension, she coughed, loud and clear. Neams, thank the Maker, took a few seconds to prick his ears and make sense of the noise. Lilain dashed madly forward, swinging the pistol with all her strength.

It was an awkward strike, but somehow it did its job. As Neams leapt to his feet and whirled around, his hand reaching for his knife, the Mistress came swooping down. It caught him in the side of the neck, eliciting a dull thwack, like a fist pummelling a fat steak. There was a wet click as something in his windpipe split. He fell to the floor, gasping and clutching at his neck. Lilain leapt on him, hitting him a good few times in the face before pinning his arms to the floorboards with her knees and clamping her hand over his mouth. With her finger and thumb sealing his airways, she pressed down. Neams thrashed wildly, as any man will, no matter how stunned, when he is robbed of his air.

Lilain clung on like a limpet, watching his eyes roll madly around their sockets in panic. But his struggling cost him precious air. Within a minute, he had slumped like a rag doll and Lilain released him. He wasn’t dead, but close enough. It would buy them an hour or two.

‘John!’ she yelled. ‘John Hobble, you’d best be in here!’

And there he was. A gruff voice barking out. ‘Lil?’

It was then that another voice rang out, one so unexpected it made Lilain stumble as she ran towards Lurker’s cage.

‘Who’s there?’

Lilain stood open-mouthed. She swore she recognised that voice. It had come from the cage next to Lurker’s. She walked between them, reached up to seize the sheet that covered it, and yanked.

‘Calidae Serped, what a surprise.’

And what a surprise it was. Lilain tried to keep her gaze fixed on Calidae’s eyes, even though it itched to wander to the scars, the puckered skin …

‘Madam Rennevie. And Tonmerion’s drinking companion too, if I’m not mistaken,’ the girl replied, as dry as an oven. The girl sat in the middle of her cage with her hands crossed. Her wardrobe was a far cry from what Lilain remembered. No silks, no satin, no feathers nor sequins. Just a pair of britches a size too big and a shirt that had seen so much of the sun it had forgotten what colour it used to be.

‘Let me out of this cage so I can belt her, Lil,’ Lurker grumbled.

‘In a minute, John.’

The last time Lilain had seen her, she had been running full pelt into the burning carcass of her riverboat mansion, skirts swirling around her legs with the smoke. Lilain looked again at her fire-kissed scars and found she wanted to swallow. Shame was, her mouth was as dry as Calidae’s tone.

‘I think I told you before that Madam Rennevie died with Mister Rennevie. It’s still Lady Hark to you.’

Calidae rolled her eyes.

‘What on earth are you doing here?’ Lilain demanded.

‘That is a long and terrible story. One we most certainly don’t have time for.’

Lilain smirked. ‘We? There ain’t no we, Calidae. Lurker and I will be leaving. You will be staying.’

The Serped girl was on her feet in an instant. She had grown wiry during her time in the desert. ‘You can’t do that. I’m the daughter of Lord Castor Serped!’

‘And that’s exactly why I ain’t taking you, Castor’s daughter,’ Lilain glared, sweeping the sheet off of Lurker’s cage. He looked awful. ‘Keys?’

‘Belt,’ Lurker rumbled, pointing to the comatose Neams.

Lilain was back in an instant, a fistful of keys in her hand. She went back to the door of Lurker’s cage and began to work through the keys.

‘How did she get here?’ Lilain whispered.

‘Got no clue. Some fellow dragged her in earlier. Empire accent.’

Lilain flashed him a look. ‘You serious?’

‘I can hear you whispering!’ Calidae yelled.

Handing the keys to Lurker, Lilain walked around the girl’s cage, her eyes suspicious. ‘Who was the man that brought you here?’

Calidae just sniffed, their eyes locked.

‘Fine, don’t tell me. Enjoy your stay.’

‘He works for the Empire. For Lord Dizali.’

‘Why is he here? What does he want with the circus, or you?’

‘He wants revenge.’

‘For what?’

‘The death of his brother, a certain Mr Suffrous Gile. He’s been given orders.’

Lilain sucked at her lip.
Merion
.

‘And where do you fit in?’ she asked.

Calidae tried on a despondent look. ‘He came to Fell Falls. Kidnapped me. Dizali wants my father’s estate, as he wants your brother’s,’ Calidae said, tilting her head to the side. They stared at each other, Lilain trying to hunt out the lie. But Calidae was unreadable, and Lilain did not have the time.

‘Merion’s in trouble,’ she hissed.

Lurker grunted as he manhandled the right key into position. The door popped open with a clang. ‘Well, we knew that …’

‘No, his plan. He’s got it all worked out. He’s going to hit them where it hurts, reveal them to Lincoln, before they can spring whatever trap they’re planning. But this changes everything.’

‘How?’

‘They’re not trying to trap him, they’re trying to kill him. Now that Karrigan’s been branded a traitor, they can do away with him and leave the estate heirless.’

‘Not quite,’ Calidae hummed.

Lurker gripped Lilain by the shoulders. ‘You, Lil.’

Lilain stuck out her chin and stared him squarely in the eye. ‘They can try,’ she hissed, before wrapping her arms around him and dragging him in close. Lurker was awkward for a moment, but then his big arms settled around her shoulders. ‘We need to get him out. They’re lampreys, John.’

‘I know, but Yara’ll be watchin’ in him now, like a hawk. We could ruin his plan.’

Lilain shook her head, fighting with her feelings. ‘Then we’ll be ready to step in.’

‘Dear Almighty,’ muttered Calidae, shaking her head. ‘It’s all so touching.’

Lilain whirled on her. ‘And you, do you want revenge on Merion?’

Calidae gave her a flat look. ‘They’re trying to kidnap me. It would appear we’re in the same boat. Again. No pun intended.’ Her voice was colder than Lilain would have liked.

‘You try anything, and Lurker here will crush your skull, won’t you, Lurker?’

Lurker growled, though Calidae didn’t look the least bit perturbed. ‘You help us, and we help you, lamprey,’ he said. ‘Just try layin’ a finger on Merion and I’ll end you.’

Calidae smiled sweetly in reply as they began to hunt for her key. Within a minute, Calidae was free, standing with her arms crossed and waiting. Lilain and Lurker watched her warily, as if she was a poisonous insect that had just crawled into camp. ‘Well?’

Lilain nodded. ‘Let’s go. We’ll find a place to lay low until tomorrow.’

‘Hold up,’ Lurker grunted, as they made to leave. He marched over to Neams’s little table, where the beast-keeper had left his bowler hat. Lurker grimaced as he wedged it onto his bald head. ‘It’ll do,’ he murmured.

Calidae rolled her eyes once more.

COLD OF THE NIGHT

16th July, 1867

T
here was a weight to the air. A ball and chain shackled to every second that crept past, teeth-clenchingly slowly. The hours were like shades of treacle, each one thicker than the last. All of the circus felt it. Hands moved to pocket-watches and timepieces whenever they found themselves idle. Eyes snuck to the sun now and again, checking where it lay in the sky. Everybody itched for the night, for the Bloodmoon.