Moon's Artifice (26 page)

‘The Fett Canal,’ Narin ordered the boatman when he asked their destination.

His words caused Enchei to nod briefly as he watched for faces on the receding Imperial Island shore. They could go directly to House Dragon’s dock – indeed, it would be a shorter journey – but best not to alarm the goshe yet. Lord Vanden Wyvern’s palazzo was a modest affair in the centre of the district, but it would be easy to misinterpret their destination.

The main Dragon dock was almost directly across the Crescent from where they were – to the right of that was a walled fortress of black stone that stood above any other in the district. The fortress was a central block topped by a pair of slender towers that shone with eldritch light and flanked by square barbicans on a perimeter wall. There the most powerful man in the city lived, Lord Omtoray Dragon, with a standing force of five hundred warrior-caste soldiers and no doubt at least as many servants to serve in the famously opulent Halls of Silk and Gold.

If the warrior-mages of House Dragon’s Astaren were to be found anywhere in the Imperial City that was a man’s best bet ; some secret corner the courtiers and power-brokers were politely excluded from. To see Narin head towards that would probably panic any enemy into doing something rash – and it was too early for that.

With the practice of a lifetime, the boatman steered a path between a pair of barges, both decked out in House Dragon’s colours, a huge roaring maw on the larger’s prow. The tide was turning, running out from the mouth of the river on the far side of the island, but they made fair time as he rowed up alongside the island shore until they were almost at Temple Island.

Far smaller than the Imperial Island’s three-mile span, it was no more than two hundred yards at its longest and had been colonised by a dozen temples as ground apart from the authority of any Great House. A single bridge connected it to Dragon District and it was here that their boatman cut across the flow of traffic on the Crescent, the barge gliding neatly into the small artificial harbour at the mouth of the Fett Canal locals referred to as the lagoon.

Once inside, two canal men hopped up from where they lounged until Narin gestured he wouldn’t be needing passage onward. The two men disembarked and headed past a stack of crates being loaded onto a barge. Narin looked around and saw a fair number of dock workers waiting for work despite the hour. Clearly, trade was slow at the moment, something that could perhaps be ascribed to the House Dragon soldiers stationed on the far side of the small oval lagoon.

Wearing formal cuirasses emblazoned with the dragon of their homeland, the black-skinned soldiers carried both longswords and solid, brass-chased muskets. The party of four men and one woman all wore the red collar of the warrior caste – high born and clearly unused to the guard duty they considered this to be. The labourers steered well clear of the soldiers, knowing the slightest askance look could result in a beating, and even Narin – safe at least from unprovoked violence – quickly turned away.

‘Looks like they’re reminding the city who rules here,’ Narin muttered, eliciting a grunt of agreement from Enchei.

‘Aye, sure it’s all smiles and laughter in Eagle District,’ his friend added. ‘You can bet the Dragons are reminding every district that borders Eagle of that. Probably marching troops up and down the public thoroughfare too.’

‘Are they trying to start the war early ?’

Enchei shrugged. ‘Ah, it’s mostly show. No doubt there’ll be some duels, but this is neutral ground and the Houses won’t let it go beyond that. When that Eagle warship disappears from outside the harbour waters though, then you’ll know things have got serious.’

The small lagoon was sheltered from the tides of the Crescent by enormous stone blocks sunk into the riverbed. The canal beyond was unnaturally still – a calm and regular curve of green-tinted water marking the border between Dragon and Tale districts on one side, Fett and Cas Tere on the other. At the far end, where it met the Inner Sea, the canal was sheltered by a seawall built before the Greater Gods had ascended – allowing shallow-bottomed canal barges to travel right into the harbour in almost any weather.

Narin disliked travelling that way, as the canal passed under a section of the city known as Coldcliffs, a multi-level expanse strung across two high cliffs. Built out of the same unnatural white stone as the Imperial Palace, both buildings pre-dated any recorded history – but there the similarities ended. The Imperial Palace had been easily adapted for human habitation, possessing freshwater wells and all the usual requirements, albeit on a scale to house many hundreds in luxury. By contrast, Coldcliffs was near-featureless aside from its gently curved roof and the four curling ramps that connected its two levels.

There was no ornamentation or detailing to be found anywhere, no walls to deflect the surging sea winds, no drinkable water except brackish rainfall. Throughout the city’s history it had been a slum, a sparsely-populated refuge of criminals and the poor that most Lawbringers felt was a stain on their souls, but never managed to change.

Narin and Enchei walked a short way down the towpath to enter Dragon District through a grand, red-lacquered archway – sinuous reptilian bodies wound around each pillar. It led onto the public thoroughfare that cut all the way through the district to the Tier Bridge, one of only two streets in Dragon District where the colours and arms of rival Houses would be tolerated.

They set off at a brisk pace, pausing only to bow to a patrolling Lawbringer as she passed them. Narin didn’t know her name ; she was one of perhaps a hundred women to have reached that rank and her face was only vaguely familiar. Most were neither locals nor those orphaned into the Lawbringers. They tended to be high-born women who had been trained in arms but cared more for justice than battlefield honours, frequently proving themselves the most driven and dedicated of all Lawbringers.

As Narin bowed, he saw the pistol holster under her coat and the red collar that declared her caste – marking her out as a fighter, as opposed to one of the untrained, who would wear a silk scarf instead.

‘Is that adhered to, really, in times of war ?’ he asked Enchei once they were well past the Lawbringer.

‘You mean if she had a sister wearing a high-caste scarf ?’ Enchei scowled. ‘Depends whether or not you think people are bastards whatever caste they’re born into.’

‘Well ? You fought in wars didn’t you ? Did you ever … ?’

The tattooist pursed his lips as he considered the question. ‘I probably ain’t the right one to ask, but when I commanded troops I soon let ’em know what I’d put up with. Other officers didn’t give much of a shit, but when you’re sacking a town or city there’s not much order to be found whatever your intentions. The warriors adhere to it mostly ; they’re taught rules of warfare their whole lives so they don’t have to think much. The low-born, serving military terms ; depends on their sergeants, but sure, oftentimes it’s respected.’

‘You were an officer first, or as a result of … ?’ Narin asked cautiously.

‘Aye.’ Enchei hesitated a moment before he continued. ‘A result. Served a good few years in the army one way or another. Never had a head for the other work. You want someone to travel halfway across the world without being seen, I’m your man. You want someone to spend years cultivating sources and using their arts to manipulate nations without falling asleep because he’s fucking bored by the whole thing, best find someone else.’

Narin shook his head. ‘I still find it hard to imagine – it’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just …’

‘Whole point, ain’t it ?’ Enchei said, smiling at last. ‘My homeland, they never wanted roaring monsters like the Stone Dragons to strike fear into the hearts o’ their enemies.’

‘Homeland ? You said you were born on the Otornen shore, House Falcon.’

Enchei patted him on the shoulder. ‘I say a lot o’ things,’ he chuckled, ‘don’t mean any of them is true. You should know that by now.’

‘Is your name really Enchei ?’ Narin said sharply.

‘It is now,’ the older man replied, upping his pace to move on ahead of Narin. ‘And that’s all that matters, my friend.’

After the pale stone and white-painted buildings of the Imperial District, there couldn’t have been more of a contrast here. The buildings were lower and darker, all painted with reds, oranges and yellows. Every gutter overlooking the main street was finished with stylised dragon-heads and banners hung over almost every window and doorway. Some bore prayers of invocation in the flowing script of the Dragons, on others Narin read savage exhortations to war or denunciations of House Eagle. Some were recently posted, he was sure, but Narin had walked these streets long enough to know the fervour and brutal strength of will that this nation and its vassal states possessed.

It didn’t take them long to reach the streets given over to House Wyvern, first amongst House Dragon’s vassals. Unlike most of the subordinate states, Wyvern occupied several streets of the district and ignorant observers would consider the sudden wash of blues and sharp-peaked roofs a note of defiance from that quarter. The truth was less dramatic, though ; Wyvern’s links to the Dragons pre-dated the Empire and only a mixture of geography and pride had kept the two nations separate.

Turning off the public thoroughfare the two men found themselves facing a crowd of people that almost blocked the street. The dark-skinned, powerful Dragons comprised the greater number, but Narin could see that their attention was taken up by two Wyverns – tall and relatively slender men on a raised platform. Their heads were shaved and each had trails of blood and sweat running down his scalp ; this was a strange and savage game peculiar to the Wyverns, fought with razor-tipped lashes.

It looked like a duel to Narin’s eyes, but the combatants wore black neckerchiefs over the leather collars protecting their throats, indicating peasant caste. Only then did Narin notice the bookmakers waving fistfuls of white and red slips, the deep voices of Dragons calling encouragement or shouting additional bets instead of the solemnity of a duel. The two combatants wove and ducked through a whip-crack storm of their own devising, pausing only to disentangle their weapons before resuming their deft small slashes.

Working their way around the crowd, the pair were forced right up against the house-fronts to get past. Pillars marked the boundary of the Wyvern quarter, tall boles painted sky-blue with reptiles writhing around them. The Wyvern streets all centred on an open patch of ground where great jagged slabs of rock had been dug into the ground to form a sort of pen. Within, Narin knew, were more stone slabs that created a makeshift set of tunnels for an actual wyvern transported from the western desertlands. As they neared it, Narin felt a prickle of excitement as a shape moved within the pen, drawn by the noises and scent of blood on the air.

He went closer, drawing Enchei in his wake. The wyvern was a dusty brown colour, fading to white on its belly, while its darting tongue and the frill of spines around its neck were a bright, startling blue. The creature raised itself up on its hind legs, crooked wings touched to the ground for balance ; standing the height of a man before it dropped back down again.

‘Come on,’ Enchei said, nudging his elbow. ‘You can think about the pretty wyverns later, eh ?’

They crossed the broad square to a grand building on the far side, one of four palazzos occupying a corner of the square. Their destination was the oldest of the four, lacking the scale of decoration that the other three possessed, but they all bore grand porticos set in a cut-off corner that faced in toward the wyvern. Only three floors in height and possessing an air of fading grandeur, the palazzo still had a pair of guards on the door so Narin had to push ahead of his friend to prevent a scene.

The guards were both as tall as Lawbringer Rhe, but wiry like the fighters they’d just passed. Their hair was styled in long twists of blue cloth to echo the spike frills of their House’s emblem, tunics topped in steel collars painted the red of the warrior caste. They carried tall, broad-bladed spears that were traditional weapons in their homeland, but still had pistols sheathed at their waists. The pair gave curt bows when it became clear Narin was intending to enter, more out of cautious courtesy than anything else.

‘Master Investigator,’ the elder of the pair called in the common tongue, ‘how may I aid you ?’

‘We come to speak to my friend, Lord Vanden. I am Investigator Narin.’

‘Both ?’ the man couldn’t help but ask, one eyebrow rising at Enchei. Servants wouldn’t normally be admitted by the main door, whoever their master was.

Narin inclined his head. ‘I wish him to give testimony to the Lord Wyvern. He is home, I trust ?’

The guard’s cheek twitched, but he did not say any more as he opened the door to accompany them inside. It was dim within ; two arrow-slit windows admitting little light into the hallway beyond. As his eyes adjusted Narin looked up to where he knew he would see another guard on a mezzanine, this one carrying a fat blunderbuss for use on anyone forcing their way through into the tapered hall.

‘This way, Investigator,’ the first soldier said, indicating an audience chamber down the hall. ‘You may wait here.’

Without waiting for a reply the soldier continued to the end of the hall and pulled the door open just as a servant bustled through, having heard the main door open.

‘Investigator Narin for the Lord Vanden Wyvern,’ the soldier stated.

‘Thank you, sir,’ the servant replied smoothly. ‘The Lord Wyvern will be delighted ; I will take them straight up. Investigator, it has been weeks since you last visited us !’

Narin smiled, trying to wipe the nervousness from his mind. ‘Good to see you, Breven, you’re keeping well ?’

The servant bowed. ‘Yes, Master Narin, you honour me by asking.’

Breven was a greying man who’d been looking that way for decades, Narin suspected, seemingly having cultivated the look of a discreet, experienced lord’s servant early in life. Though he was more than familiar with the expressions and mannerisms of Wyverns these days, Narin still found Steward Breven a closed book. Kine reported that the man ran the entire palazzo around Lord Vanden, whatever the proud nobles and warriors of the household might think.