Bloodrush (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 1) (13 page)

Merion felt the blood draining to his toes. ‘I thought you were trying to convince me to stay?’

‘I am! Isn’t it exciting? All that history, all these creatures. It’s incredible.’

Merion rolled his eyes. It was like being invited to a knife fight on the premise of it ‘being a laugh’. ‘You sound like a woman I met on the ship. Forgive me if I don’t share your enthusiasm, Aunt Lilain.’

‘You’ll see soon enough,’ she told him. ‘And so in summary, I live out here on the edges of town because the others are afraid of ghosts and zombies and other such undead creatures.’

‘And …’ Merion couldn’t help but stammer at the mere mention of the undead. They scared him more than he liked to admit. ‘… are they right to be worried?’

Lilain hooted with laughter as she closed up the last of Mr Tavish’s gruesome wounds. ‘Hah! Not in the slightest. Human spirits aren’t strong enough to maintain ghost-like form, never mind manipulate anything. Older spirits can though. Zombies?’ And here she shrugged. ‘Possibly. But I always take my precautions.’

‘Pre—precautions?’

Lilain tied off the final loop of thread, and Merion’s heart sank a little when the scalpel cut it clean. ‘A little sprinkle of the right kind of dust here and there does the trick,’ she mumbled to herself. With a sigh, she stood upright and put her hands together. ‘And I believe that brings us to the very last of your questions, doesn’t it?’

‘It does.’

Lilain took a moment to walk around the table, so she could lean against it whilst facing her nephew. She crossed her arms and looked at him. ‘So, why do you think you are here?’ she asked.

Merion knew this one. ‘Because somebody murdered my father,’ he replied flatly, begrudging saying it aloud.

Lilain shook her head solemnly. ‘No that’s the answer to the question of why my brother is dead. Why are you
here
?’

The young Hark sighed. He despised guessing games. ‘Because my father thought it would be a good idea to ship me off to the edge of the world for five years, leaving my inheritance protected only by law and open to the pilfering of thieves and jealous lords?’

‘Wrong again.’ Seeing the colour growing in his cheeks, Lilain decided to put him out of his misery. ‘You’re here, nephew, because I just happen to be the only family you have left on this earth. My father and mother were both only children, like their parents before them. No aunts, no uncles, and no cousins. Why, Karrigan could have left you in the care of the party, or the law, but from what little I know of politics and the thieves you talk about, that would have been a very bad idea indeed. No, you’re here because this is the best place for you. Your father wanted you here. Not out of spite, nor lack of love, but out of design.’

Merion took several slow and long breaths. It all seemed logical, but he still didn’t like it one bit. ‘You may see a design in all of this, Aunt Lilain, but all I see is a mistake,’ he said, almost growling his words.

‘With all due respect, Tonmerion Hark, you ain’t seen shit yet,’ she replied, grinning wide. She knew then she had possibly pushed him too far.

Merion got down from his stool and straightened his shirt. He wrinkled his lip when his fingers rediscovered the sticky bloodstains he’d forgotten about. Merion looked past her as he spoke, at the stairs in the shadows beyond. He could not quite meet her twinkling eyes.

‘This all seems rather like a joke to you, Aunt. I was expecting the sister of my dead father to be a little more …
upset
at her brother’s murder.’

Lilain’s face fell into the very picture of gravity. ‘I have done my grieving, nephew. I won’t let anybody tell me different,’ she replied. There wasn’t a single trace of humour in her voice. ‘Duty’s done.’

Merion didn’t reply. He was already halfway to the stairs. Lilain didn’t stop him. Instead she let him go, waiting until his feet disappeared from view to call out. ‘The way I see it, I may have lost a brother, but I’ve gained a nephew. The Maker’s ever fair, in my eyes.’

She received no reply, save for the creaking of the basement door. Lilain brushed that offending strand of hair from her face once more, and clapped her hands against her thighs with a sigh. ‘Well, Mr Tavish. Let’s get you to bed, shall we? I’ve got a dog to see to.’

Mr Tavish didn’t complain one bit. He just smiled his awful smile up at the brick ceiling as he was wheeled into the cold darkness of the basement.

THE MAN AND THE MAGPIE

‘Must keep running. I’m not letting that fucking Queen win this. I’m not going to die on her terms.’

7th May, 1867

F
or the first time in over a fortnight, Merion awoke to find his bed was not trembling. That is, his head was comfortably wedged on a friendly pillow, rather than a stranger’s lap, and neither was it numb from being pressed against a rattling window. A scraping noise had awoken him. It was coming from under the bed. Merion opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. The light was streaming throughout the holes in his curtains and making his room glow. It was too bright and cheery for his liking. He reached for the blanket and pulled it over his face. It smelled like mothballs.

‘Must you always sharpen your sword this early in the morning?’ he asked in a muffled voice.

‘Best time to do it,’ came the equally muffled reply. Merion felt Rhin’s words reverberate in the centre of his back. ‘Never know what’ll happen after breakfast.

The very mention of food stoked a fire in Merion’s belly. He was ravenous after emptying his stomach into the bucket the night before. The whiff of eggs and bacon sneaking through the cracks in his door did not help matters. If he concentrated, he could hear his aunt whistling in the kitchen. Before Merion braved the sunlight, he turned his mind to his day and what he would accomplish. Was he sure he wanted to do this, to brave the rail and the high seas all over again? Merion was not truly sure, but that sounded all too much like giving in—and Harks did not give in. The only way out was through. Merion spent the next five minutes with his eyes scrunched up tight, devising a plan, tiptoeing along the edges of slumber at the same time.

Rhin’s voice brought him abruptly back to reality. ‘You getting up or not?’ he asked.

‘Yes indeed.’ Merion said, and via his strength of purpose and hunger, he threw himself out of bed and onto the wooden floor. He was surprised to find the planks were warm under his bare feet, in contrast to the cold rug and marble of his vast bedroom in Harker Sheer. Merion grumbled as he reached for his shoes.

Rhin poked his head out from under the bed. ‘Bacon and eggs. Sounds great.’

‘Yes, yes, I’ll see what I can do. You just worry about your sword,’ Merion said, mumbling around a yawn.

‘And beans too, if there are any. I hear Americans like their beans.’

‘And just where did you hear that?’

‘On the train.’

Merion shrugged. They had heard a lot of things on the train. ‘Fine. Keep quiet.’

‘Aye aye, sir.’

Merion opened the door and was instantly enveloped in a wall of grey smoke. He grimaced and put a hand to his mouth. ‘Aunt Lilain?’ he yelled. ‘Something appears to be on fire!’

‘Only me!’ came the reply, from the right. He could see a shape moving about in the smoke. ‘Now, I don’t normally cook, so my apologies if it ain’t what you’re used to.’

Merion’s stomach didn’t care. It dragged him forwards into the smoke and into a chair at the small round table in the centre of the kitchen. Lilain busied about the room, checking pans and stirring the contents of assorted bowls. A plate landed in front of him. Its edges were so hot they burnt Merion’s fingers when he tried to move it closer. The breakfast came slowly at first, in little bits and pieces, splatters and splotches. Soon enough it became a landslide. Bowls began to gather around his plate, full of porridge and jam and milk and sauces. Sausages rained. Beans spread like oil slicks. Slices of toast began to tower around him. Merion could barely get his fork in edgeways as the food kept coming. It wasn’t long before he was staring at a fortress of a plate. Merion didn’t even know where to start.

‘Er …’ was all he could muster.

‘Enjoy,’ Lilain clasped her hands together. She was beaming. ‘I can rustle us up some more toast if you—’

‘No, thank you.’ Merion held up a hand, busy examining an intersection of mushrooms and fried onion. ‘I think this may be enough.’

If the sheer quantity of the breakfast didn’t kill him, he suspected its quality might just finish him off. Some of the sausages were more charcoal than meat, the egg nearest to him looked as though it could be employed as a plate, and it actually seemed as though the beans were trying to run away, rather than just wanting to see the world. An eager Aunt Lilain watched on as Merion gingerly raised his fork. He couldn’t decide which morsel to stab first. The closer his fork got to the mountain of food, the more Lilain leant over the table, and the tighter she clasped her hands.

But it seemed that today Merion had some good fortune, for once. There came a loud knocking at the kitchen door, and then in burst the rotund Eugin. His face was redder than a beetroot and sweat dripped from his chin in great globules. Merion found his hunger suddenly waning.

‘Lilain! Has there been a fire?’ he gasped, noting the smoke.

‘No, I’m just cooking! What on earth is it?’

‘Another dead on the railroad.’

‘You joking with me, barrel-boy.’

Merion barely suppressed a laugh.

‘Lordsguard’s honour, ma’am.’

‘That only works if you’re a lordsguard, Eugin.’ Lilain thumbed her nose. ‘Two in two days. That ain’t normal.’

‘Workers won’t go back out there today. Whole town’s full of them. Unofficial holiday, they’re calling it.’

‘Yeah, ‘cept for those who have to look after the bodies.’

‘Are you coming, Mister Hark?’ asked Eugin.

Lilain shushed him as she reached for her hat and gloves. ‘Don’t be silly, Eugin. Boy’s just sat down for breakfast. Leave him be,’ she said, and promptly pushed him out of the door. She turned back to Merion. ‘By all means, go wandering, but promise me three things. Don’t wander outside the town limits. Don’t go into any taverns, and don’t get on a locomotive. If you are going to leave, then it’ll be me seeing you off, you hear me?’

Merion nodded, pretending his mouth was full of food.

‘Good. Oh, and don’t go downstairs.’

He nodded again.

‘And your luggage will be dropped at the door at noon.’

More nodding.

Lilain stared at him a bit more, narrowing her grey eyes. There was a slight sheen of bacon grease on her nose. ‘You do understand me, don’t you, Merion?’

One last nod.

‘Good. Then I’ll see you back at the house this afternoon if not earlier.’

The door slammed, and Merion was left alone. Several seconds passed before Merion put down his fork and got up from the table. He could no longer hear Lilain’s footsteps or Eugin’s panting. He was well and truly alone. And as all children do when they suddenly find themselves alone, Merion went exploring.

*

The old house was, simply put, far from special. The upstairs was a creaking mess, where the bare floorboards were strewn with clothes and bits of paper. There was a small study over the kitchen, full of ageing furniture covered with books and old scrolls. Merion let his fingers wander their pages, tracing the lines of the detailed drawings, sketches of dissected eels and body parts. He grimaced, and moved on.

The main bedroom was equally untidy. The curtains were thick cotton, and they transformed the room into a dark cave. A single bed sat in one corner, a chest of drawers in another. More books were on the floor, along with more clothes.

The outhouse, which Merion found at the bottom of a dusty garden, was almost not worth mentioning. It was a tall wooden box standing upright in the ground, looking more like a coffin than a privy. He opened the creaking door and the smell hit him in the face like a brick. There was a seat and a hole, and that was it. A few sheaves of soft paper had been folded and left on the side.

Back in the house, the ground floor consisted of the kitchen, a set of grimy stairs, a storeroom full of stretchers and shovels, and his measly bedroom. All in all it was a shambles, but the heat of the morning sun and a glimpse of the town had doused his disappointment and disgust. Merion itched to see the rest of this doomed little town, to come face to face with whatever fates he had been lumped with.

Merion found Rhin waiting patiently on his bed. The sheets had been folded and the pillows punched. ‘We’re not staying, remember.’

Rhin just smiled. ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’

‘Don’t do that,’ Merion scowled as he rummaged through the rucksack for a fresh shirt. ‘Don’t just smile me aside like Lilain does, as if I’m joking. I assure you, I am deadly serious.’

Rhin snorted and drummed a quick rhythm on his knees. ‘So, did you get the answers you wanted?’

‘Some, but not all. She’s holding something back, I can tell.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She told me about my father, and why she lives here. Kept talking about olden days as well.’