Bloodmoon (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 2) (43 page)

The arguing and shouting continued unabated. Spittle flew like fireworks from both sides. Dizali decided it was time to act. He had let them squabble enough for one morning. He had a plan to put into action, after all. Adjusting his coat, the Prime Lord got to his feet and raised his hands. He could see the Voice throwing up his hands in despair out of the corner of his eye. The Voice held the power of silence and order, and yet Dizali, as Master of the Benches, had the command of their ears. A little coin here and there fills many of the potholes along the road to command. And Dizali’s purse-strings had been rather busy of late.

‘My Emerald Lords and Ladies!’ he roared. He had been saving his voice since the session started.

Though he may not have been heard, he had been seen, and slowly but surely, the Benches calmed themselves. Seats were taken, arms were crossed, and eyes were narrowed anew. Dizali took a moment to tuck his fingers inside his suit jacket and stare about the room. He even spared some time to look up at the high ceiling, and at the great chandeliers that hung there, stuffed with myriads of crystals; and above them, the great paintings of the history of the Empire. A thousand years splayed across the arches and gilded ribs of the ceiling.

‘You have questions, I am sure …’ he began.

One was immediately hollered out from the back of the hall, from the Cardinal’s side: ‘And just when are we going to talk about the real matter at hand here?’

Dizali despised being interrupted, but he let it play out. Over the last week, he had teased out every thread of this moment, followed every strand.

‘And what matter is that, Sir?’ Dizali looked up at the Cardinal party, scanning faces until he found the culprit. ‘I presume you speak of the war in the east? Of the Red Tzar’s hunger for Ottoman land? Or perhaps the growing war in the west? And of Lincoln’s struggle with the Shohari?’ he bellowed in reply.

There were mutterings now in the Emerald House. Dizali had shamed them, and he knew it.

‘Or perhaps you wish to discuss matters closer to home? he asked.

There was a murmuring, like an autumn wind through summer trees, colder than usual. Dizali wanted to smile, but he refrained. He let the chuntering grow into a clamouring, let the complaints rain down. The lords and ladies of his cabinet sat either side of him. He turned to each with a knowing look as the Benches descended into uproar again.

‘Five days, it has been, since the Hark estate was burgled!’

‘Violated, I say!’

‘And not a word of the culprit! Not a damned explanation!’

‘And a traitor? What is the meaning of this?’

The Voice began to bawl once more, hammering his little bell, but to no avail. Once more Dizali held up his hands for silence, and once more, the Voice despaired in his pulpit, shaking his head, and wondering what the point of it all was.

‘As the papers have been rife with speculation, let me put it to you simply and plainly.’

‘Please do!’

Dizali’s face flashed with anger. ‘Lord Umbright, if you speak out of turn again, I will have you ejected from the hall. Perhaps in the street outside you can find something more worthwhile to do than interrupting your Prime Lord with injudicious yelping.’

The Lord Umbright lowered his head and said no more.
Pompous Cardinals
, Dizali cursed inwardly.
They always needed a firm hand.

Dizali continued. ‘As you all are aware, two tragic crimes have occurred in the last week. Firstly, the late Prime Lord Hark has been discovered to be a traitor to the crown and to the Empire. Now I for one, was initially shocked and appalled at such accusations. Outraged even. All of us here knew Karrigan Hark to be a true and just man, a fine servant of the Empire.’ Dizali paused here for effect. ‘And yet, my Lords and Ladies, we have been all of us deceived.’

There was a flurry of concerned mumblings from both parties.

‘The newspapers, usually so concerned with gossip and keeping their pockets full of coin, have been proved correct. I myself have seen the evidence produced from their anonymous sources, and let me tell you, it is most disturbing. Letters, in great number and with great secrecy, were exchanged between our good Prime Lord and the so-called king of the Endless Land, Lincoln. I have seen his signature and seals with my own eyes.’

And here, a collective gasp. Dizali once again fought the urge to smile. The Voice rang his bell pre-emptively. He was resoundingly shushed by both parties. He almost made to leave, but then thought better of it, and slumped back into his leather chair.

‘It appears that Karrigan Hark, not content with building his own private empire, sought to pervert ours with clandestine dealings with America, and with not a thought to include either the Benches, or the Queen. We can only assume that these were the tip of his treachery, and no doubt we shall uncover more as time goes on,’ Dizali lectured, now striding back and forth over the hall’s diamond-patterned floor. ‘I for one am still outraged.’

The shouts of ‘Hear, hear!’ were nearly deafening. For one of those rare moments, both parties had found a common enemy. Their worst fears, and in many cases, darkest wishes, had been confirmed. Karrigan Hark had betrayed them. Dizali watched the Emerald Lords and Ladies clench their fists and bark angrily between themselves. He knew that it was not just anger there, but something else entirely. They knew the law almost as well as he. They had seen their opportunity the moment the headlines had landed on doorsteps, barely five days ago.

‘And now onto the second of these crimes, very much entwined with the first,’ Dizali announced, and silence fell once more.

‘The Hark estate has been ransacked,’ he said, gaining volume and speed now. ‘And so it would seem that we have another traitor at large. One who seeks to circumvent the law, and claim Hark’s estate as his or her own, under the twilight of his treachery.’ He watched shock bloom on the faces around him like spring flowers.

Roars of indignity, some rehearsed, some genuine, filled the hall.

‘Outrageous!’

‘Proper protocol must be observed!’

‘Where is Hark’s executor?’

Dizali nodded at that, pointing a finger at the speaker, the grey-haired Lady Juven, from his very own party. He would thank her later. ‘Arrangements are being made to find him. It gives me great sadness,’ and here Dizali placed a hand over his heart, ‘to tell you that this traitor has not only defiled the Hark estate, but taken his lawyer and his documents hostage. But mark my words!’ Dizali yelled over the indignant ruckus. ‘And mark them well, my Lords and Ladies. He shall be found. He shall be rescued. And we shall bury this treachery behind us!’

There was a cheer or two now, and a smattering of applause that grew and grew into thunder. The Cobalts hastily got to their feet, standing behind their Prime Lord and Master. The Cardinals slowly followed suit, until the Benches stood to applaud the gallant Bremar Dizali, and his vows.

‘I will see it done!’ Dizali shouted, hammering the promise home. He nodded to the Voice, who roused himself from his petulant glowering and rang his bell with vigour.

‘Order! Order!’ he yelled to no avail. ‘This session is now adjourned!’

One by one, bench by bench, the lords and ladies moved their umbrage to the long and winding corridors that curled around the hall of the Emerald Benches like ropes around a prisoner. Some filtered away quietly, eager to set their own cogs in motion, frantically so, aware they were already late in doing so.

Dizali stood where the crowds were fiercest, shaking hands and nodding at the praise. It was all another act, of course. It always was. Favour leant in the direction of the wind, like a flag on a pole, and currently, it was blowing straight in his direction.

‘Second Lord Longweather, a moment please,’ Dizali whispered to his right-hand man when the praise had died away a little. Dizali took him by the shoulder and walked him between two pillars, where they could speak quietly.

‘How many?’ Dizali asked, barely above a whisper.

‘Fifty-two so far, Lord Dizali,’ grinned Longweather, a man whose stately nature was ruined only by a despicable comb-over that did nothing for his obvious baldness. He was a little on the portly side, a clear sign that he was taking to his role as Second Lord rather too comfortably. Still, the man had a tongue of pure silver, and it had been wagging quietly all week, bending ears and stealing votes.

‘I need more to swing the Benches, Longweather,’ Dizali growled. That’s not enough to sway the doubters, and the greedy.’

Longweather nodded, staring about the halls as the finely-dressed crowds milled about. ‘I’m aware of that, my Lord, but I’d wager they’re content to sit on the fence until you choose your moment. Dissent against the crown is a hard seed to sow, even though there are rumblings and gripes.’

Dizali shook his head and prodded a finger into Longweather’s ample belly. ‘More. I will not risk them forming their own alliances before the moment comes. If I am to supplant
her
, I need to do it in a landslide.’

‘Surely our accusations will …’

‘Empires have fallen because of assumptions long before ours dominated the globe, Longweather. I need more of the Cardinals behind us,’ Dizali hissed. He spared a moment to shake the hand of one of his party members before continuing. ‘A united front is the only way to topple the throne. Our own doubters will not be able to fight that.’ Again another prod to the belly, sharper this time, and Longweather winced. ‘Play to their greed. I don’t care how much you have to spend, what you have to promise. Even if I have to whore you out myself, I will see that crown lying in the dust. Do you hear me? Just remember where you shall stand, in this new world we’re forging.’

Longweather bowed as low as he could before shuffling away to let his silver tongue perform more magic. ‘Loud and clear as always, my Lord Dizali.’

Dizali watched him go, and for the first time in days, allowed himself a small yet smug, smile.

There was more work to be done.

*

The key had foxed him for the past five days. Every day he had carried it inside his breast pocket, and every day he had found himself fondling it in with distracted fingers. He had tested its edges, felt its grooves, wondered at its purpose. It had teased him with its mystery, taunted him with the unknown. And he had quite enough of that.

Dizali had never been fond of showing his hand. But then again, if he was going to bare his cards, it was better to show them to a man tied to a chair in a dark cell in the depths of Cheapside than to anybody else. The Prime Lord stood outside the door, left ajar just a crack, listening to the grunts and soft, wet thuds from within. He held a handkerchief firmly over his mouth. The stench had only gotten worse in his absence.

Fever opened the door a crack wider and slipped out, leaving the twins to their work of knuckles and bruised flesh. The torturer seemed to have a spatter of blood on his shirt, no doubt not his own. It made a merry pattern across his buttons and decorated the lip of his collar.

‘If you kill him, Mr Rowanstone, I shall have your head,’ Dizali commented, as casually as if he had just mentioned the weather.

Fever bowed, as usual, an irritating habit he had refused to shake off. No doubt he would have called it professionalism. Dizali had repeatedly branded it as fawning.

The little man looked tired. There were bags under his eyes that would have fed a horse. His hair, usually pristinely combed, was more bedraggled than usual. He had obviously reached the end of whatever tether he clung to. He still clutched his bandaged hand to his chest.

‘He now refuses to speak. Not a word in five days,’ Fever confessed, clearly hating his own admission.

‘That will not do,’ Dizali mused. There was an edge to his voice that made Fever bow his head.

‘In all my years, my Lord, I have not encountered such a stubborn subject.’

Dizali entertained the idea of reaching out and crushing the man’s skull with his hands. Fortunately for the torturer, he held himself back. ‘He is a lawyer, Rowanstone. Are you telling me you’ve been defeated by a simple pen-pusher?’

‘He’s more loyal than a dog,’ came the excuse. ‘There are … other methods we could try,’ Fever ventured. ‘Methods that so far your wishes have prohibited.’

Dizali raised an eyebrow. ‘And they are?’

There was a muffled scream, and both men turned to look at the door. Fever took a breath. ‘I find that as they grow older, men grow fonder of what they have, and so their fear of losing it grows.’

‘What exactly do you mean?’

Fever bit his lip. ‘Certain
appendages
, for instance, are greatly missed.’

‘Fingers? Toes? Spit it out, man.’

‘More sensitive areas than that, my Lord. So far we’ve kept to fists and needles, or games that rot the mind, all of which Mr Witchazel has proved incredibly resistant to. Permanent loss, however, breaks the mind in another way. To change him
permanently
, so to speak, may just get the results you want.’

Dizali curled his lip as it became clear. ‘Whatever gutter you sprang from, Rowanstone, must have been foul indeed.’