Bloodrush (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 1) (23 page)

The path took them deeper into the rocky, tabletop hills, where at last the earth turned a little greener. Brave little plants and anaemic shrubs clung tightly to the shadows between the juts of stone and rocky outcrops. Some even had the audacity to sport a few bright flowers: whites, yellows, even a few blues. Merion tried to count each and every one, as if somehow a lofty enough total would reassure him that there was still life in this barren wasteland of a country.

By the time they found their campsite, Merion couldn’t wait to sit down. The sandy hollow looked so inviting it might have been covered in velvet and strewn with duck-feather pillows. Merion slumped into an undignified heap and let the rucksack slip from his shoulders. Even though Rhin was usually as light as a feather, even with all his armour, at that moment the faerie felt as heavy as rubble. Merion sighed as he felt the cold evening air soothing the sweaty warm patch across his spine. Merion was spent.

‘What happened to all that spit and vigour o’ yours, then?’ Lurker smirked.

Merion shrugged. He couldn’t bring himself to move. ‘Evaporated, apparently. Must be that cursed sun.’

Lurker gazed off to the west, where the bruised sky still glowed defiantly orange. ‘Yep, she’s a harsh mistress.’

Merion rolled his eyes. ‘That’s one way to put it,’ he mumbled, then abruptly clicked his fingers. ‘And speaking of suns, I do believe ours has set for the day. Which means I get to carry on talking, does it not?’

Lurker churned his tongue around his teeth for a spell. ‘S’pose. I did say.’

‘And they say a man’s word is his bond.’

‘That’s more a lie than a truth in these parts, boy. Do well to remember that.’

Merion sighed. ‘That may be so, John, if I may call you John …?’

‘Don’t sound right to me.’

‘That may be so, Lurker, but I’d wager you were a man of his word.’

Lurker spat. ‘Shit.’

Merion, despite his tiredness, had to grin.
There was always more digging to be done.
‘I’ll take that as a yes, shall I?’

But Lurker wagged a finger. ‘Dinner first, then you can talk. Don’t want you havin’ t’ shout over my grumblin’ belly.’

Merion huffed, but Lurker’s stomach wasn’t the only one growling. Merion rolled onto his side. ‘And what is the menu tonight? Salmon? Boar sausages? Prussian potatoes?’

‘Beans.’

Merion slapped his hand on the ground. ‘Beans! Of course.’

Two days, and already Merion never wanted to see another bean in his life.

*

Sadly, Lurker was in charge of the pot. And as Merion was quickly learning, when Lurker is in charge, you’d better be ready for beans. As Lurker caressed and nurtured his bubbling pot, waving the spoon to and fro like an artist delicately crafting a masterpiece, Merion wondered if the man knew how to cook anything else, but he held his tongue, and silently awaited his bean-laden fate, busying himself by ordering his questions in order of importance. His fingers drummed a little impatient rhythm on his knees.

Jake was hopping around the small fire, eying Merion with his single black eye. At first, he ignored the strange magpie (which seemed more and more human by the day, might he add), but each time the magpie passed, he paused a little longer, staring up at Merion as if straining to set fire to Merion’s hair with his good eye.

Another minute went by, and Merion snapped. ‘Agh!’ he cried, clapping his hands at the magpie. Jake could not fight his instincts. He leapt to the other side of the campfire, a thrashing, cawing ball of frantic feathers.

‘Why’d you go do that for?’ Lurker sounded a touch angry. Merion couldn’t help but be slightly taken aback by it.

‘He…’ Merion began, suddenly tasting how childish his words sounded. ‘He keeps looking at me.’

‘He’s a bird. Every bird has a bit of an issue with staring. Can’t help it.’

Merion wrapped his arms around his legs and glared at the magpie, who was hovering just to the right of the fire, opposite Merion’s rucksack. For the moment, he stayed where he was. Still staring, of course, but motionless, nonetheless. ‘But it’s like he’s accusing me of something. He doesn’t like me.’

Lurker snorted. ‘Jake don’t like many folks. Barely tolerates me.’

‘Hmph,’ was all Merion could say to that.

‘Here, grab a bowl.’

‘Joy,’ Merion whispered under his breath.

His reluctance lasted just until he put the hot spoonful into his mouth, and felt the rich, dark sauce spreading over his tongue. It was delicious, and without waiting to swallow the first mouthful, Merion began to gobble the contents of the bowl, spoon after overflowing spoon.

Merion wolfed down two bowls and still beat Lurker to the end of his one. Lurker seemed to eat one bean at a time, taking his time, savouring each mouthful like a man who had never tasted food before. Spending so much time in the desert will do that to a man.

‘So,’ Merion began his inquisition, ‘you said my Aunt Lilain hasn’t told you much about my father’s death?’

‘No sir.’

Merion ticked off his mental notes on his fingers. ‘Just that he was shot, and the killer is still on the loose.’

‘Mhm.’

‘Then what do you know about Aunt Lilain?’

Lurker sniffed, keeping his eyes on his beans. ‘Lots, and then not a lot, if you know what I mean.’

Merion sighed. ‘No, not really.’

‘She tells a lot of stories. I know about her and the three-week-old pig she found in a swamp. I know about her ex-husband, and how she likes to joke about striking him stone-cold dead with a hammer. I know all the stuff on the surface very well indeed, but then again I don’t know much about what’s underneath. She’s a very private woman, your Aunt Lil.’

‘But why undertaking?’

‘That’s not all she does, boy. Your aunt has a brilliant mind, don’t you forget that. One of them scientists, no doubt about it. She knows more about bodies and blood than anyone I’ve ever met.’

‘So what exactly is she hiding? What does she know about my father’s death that I do not?’

Lurker shook his head. Merion caught a glimpse of movement to his right, but when he looked, Jake was standing as still as a little statue, beady eye once again firmly glued to the young Hark. The boy scowled.

‘That’s not for me to say, boy. You’ll find out in a day or two, no doubt,’ the prospector was saying.

Merion sagged. ‘But you said
that
a day or two ago. Where exactly are you taking me, anyway? You still haven’t told me,’ he whined.

Lurker glared at him then. Now that night had fallen, his dark eyes had been reduced to mere flecks of firelight, glinting in the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat. Merion shivered. ‘You’ll see,’ was all Lurker offered by way of a reply.

‘Fine,’ Merion retorted. ‘Then tell me this: why does she collect animal blood? Why would a person do such a thing?’

Lurker smirked. ‘Why indeed, boy,’ he said. ‘It’s partly a job, partly a hobby. She’s got a thirst for it, strong and deep. When she’s not taking them to bits, she’s out there hunting, or trading.’

‘Trading for what?’

‘Anything she can get her hands on. Got a thing for fish at the moment, and a fish is a hard thing to find out here in the desert.’ Lurker thumbed his jaw. ‘Gets ‘em from the river, or so she says. Obsession, some might call it. It’s why she moved out here, to this devil’s crotch of a country.’ Lurker spared a moment to sip a little something from his flask, and then held up three fingers. ‘Lil always says there are three things she’s yet to get on her table, “in whole or in part” as she puts it.’

Merion leant forward. ‘And what are they exactly?’

Lurker prodded each of his fingers in turn as he counted. ‘A dragon.’

Merion scoffed. ‘Really?’

‘A mermaid.’

Now this was preposterous.
‘She cannot be serious.’

‘And a faerie.’

The silence that followed ached. Merion literally had to push the words out of his mouth with his tongue. ‘I see.’

Lurker sniffed and nodded slowly.

‘And what exactly would she do with a … with one of these monsters?’

‘Bleed them, most likely. Explore ‘em on the inside.’

Merion’s lip curled with his curt reply. ‘Vulgar.’

A finger was levelled at the boy. ‘Necessary,’ Lurker corrected him. ‘Like I jus’ said: part hobby, part
job
.’

Merion rubbed his eyes for a moment, knuckling away the sting of acrid smoke. The young Hark hadn’t had the pleasure of sitting at the edge of many campfires.

To his right, Jake hopped a little closer to the boy’s rucksack. Only Lurker saw, and he kept his lips tighter than a hatful of witches, or so he might have said.

‘And what is it about blood that fascinates her? Why is she so obsessed with it?’ Merion asked.

Lurker withdrew his finger and tapped it against the side of his nose. ‘Curious stuff is blood. There’s all different types, did you know that, boy?’

‘I would have guessed as mu—’

Lurker cut him off. ‘Not just from beast to beast, boy. Each and every one of us has a different sort o’ crimson flowing through our veins. You and me, we can’t share blood …’ It was here that Merion wondered why on earth he might want to do such a thing, ‘… we ain’t—how’d Lilain put it?—
Compatible
.’

Lurker shuffled around on his arse for a moment before continuing. ‘Way I heard it, Lil never saw eye to eye with your father,’ the prospector rumbled gruffly. ‘Now he and she might have been of the same blood, in the family sense, but that’s as far as it went.’ Lurker sniffed. ‘A thoroughbred, your father, Merion. As thoroughbred as they come. Different sort of crimson altogether. What was it they called him again? In the Empire?’

Merion swallowed. ‘The Bulldog. Bulldog of London.’

Lurker whistled. ‘See now ain’t that a title. And why exactly did they call him that?’

Merion did not feel comfortable now that the inquisition had been turned around on him. But sometimes you have to give a little to get a little more. ‘Because he was stubborn. Because he was proud, and because once he gave up barking and bit down, he wouldn’t let go until you begged him.’ Although it was painful to speak in the past tense, Merion felt pride flowing through him as he waxed boastful about his father.

‘When my grandfather handed over control of the Hark empire to my father, he ripped it to shreds and rebuilt it even stronger. There wasn’t a single industry he didn’t dominate, and his reach didn’t just stop at the borders of London. “The world may speak many languages, but the only language that is completely and universally understood is the language of power”, so he used to tell me. But that’s enough about me. I’m supposed to be asking the questions, not you.’

Those darkly glinting eyes of Lurker’s flashed. ‘I said I’d answer
some
. I’m taking you to those who can answer the rest. Ain’t that enough boy?’

Merion’s face was becoming flushed. ‘Please, can you stop calling me “boy”?’

‘Well that’s what you are, ain’t it?’

‘Why don’t you just tell me what I want to know now, so we don’t have to keep traipsing through this barren wasteland any longer?’ Merion whined.

But Lurker was firm. ‘I told you,
Merion
, it ain’t for me to tell you. Promise is a promise.’

‘Oh come on!’ Merion spluttered. ‘I don’t want another day of burning sun, of dusty shoes, and … and …
beans
! Just tell me!’ Merion’s whining had taken on an angry tone, and it was one that Lurker did not like. Nobody spoke ill of his beans.

Lurker leant forwards and the firelight played in the cracks and creases of his grizzled face, like wizened wood. ‘I said no, boy. And that’s the end of it.’

Merion’s mouth flapped wordlessly for a moment before it was shut, and sealed, and the words grumpily stowed away. Merion frowned so hard he gave himself a headache. He sighed, and rubbed his eyes.
Almighty damn this smoke!

It was rather unfortunate that he chose that moment in particular to knead his eyes … the very same moment that Jake chose to pounce on his rucksack.

There was a horrendous screech as the magpie ripped the flap free and dove inside, his wings flapping madly, claws thrashing and beak clacking. Merion jumped in shock, and upon witnessing what was going on, immediately lunged for the rucksack as it hopped and skittered across the sand. He screamed for the bird to stop. Lurker stayed silent as he got to his feet to tower over the sudden chaos.

Now, it is wise to learn at this juncture that the common faerie is blessed with rather incredible reactions. Being much, much smaller than a human, and having wings very similar to that of a dragonfly, faeries are forever being mislabelled as a delicious snack by the feathered creatures of this world. For birds have canny eyes, and some, given the right light, can see straight through a faerie’s spell. Corvids, as Lil would have lectured, such as Jake, have such a skill. This is why birds and faeries clash more often than you might think. Sadly for the birds, the Fae have had centuries to practise.

The screeching ceased abruptly, replaced by a harsh shout, and the sound of fabric-wrapped struggling. Within seconds a small boot kicked open the flap, and in a flurry of dishevelled feathers, Jake reappeared, held tightly by a fearsome, hissing faerie, wings proud and thrumming, sword held gently against the magpie’s iridescent neck.