Old Man's Ghosts (3 page)

Behind him there came a noise. A growl – quiet, but this time unmistakable.

Brodin felt his chest tighten as a bitter taste filled his mouth. He watched the club waver as fear sapped his strength, but before he could turn or even move, the shadow in front of him shifted.

In the fireplace there was a crackle and hiss as a finger of yellowed flame appeared over the embers. The shadows below the line of the fire-guard deepened, intensified. Brodin saw it now, the curve of a neck, the thick muzzle and ragged snub ears.

Two red glowing eyes turned his way. There came a second growl behind him but he was transfixed and in the next instant the shadows leapt forward. The hot lash of tearing teeth whipped across his face. Brodin fell back, swinging the club wildly but hit nothing as the shadow-hound pounced.

Claws tore at his arms like burning nails while his own blow passed unnoticed until it hit the brick chimney and was jerked from his grip. Brodin hardly noticed as a second set of teeth tore into his cheek – he screamed with all his strength, then jaws of crackling fire closed about his throat and snuffed the sound out.

Light flashed before his eyes as the pain drove deeper into his mind and eclipsed all thought or feeling. Images and faces flooded through his last moments of life – a bottle, a glass, greying hair, a weathered face. Then deeper – the stains of tattoo-ink on fingers, a mark of the Imperial House.

Then it all faded. The light drained away and all was black as the last of Brodin Catter, proprietor of the Lost Feathers, died. The growls in the tavern continued a few moments longer, before melting back into the shadows and once more becoming just a distant howl on the wind.

Kine lay very still, pain, exhaustion and terror draining what little strength she had left. The sounds in the room were garbled and distant, the faces around the sofa looming and monstrous. The midwife, head down and focused as she tended to Kine – unaware of what was playing out around her. The fat young wet-nurse at her side, commanded into silence by the stern doctors who attended the child.

My baby.

Kine wanted to cry out, but she barely had the strength to breathe. She could see little, lying on her back with her head wedged back against a cushion. There was blood, she could feel that and see smears down her thighs, but how much soaked into the padded seat she didn’t know.

The head of the taller doctor turned towards her, his mouth a thin, hard line. His words were garbled in her ears, Kine couldn’t make out the order he snapped at the midwife but she saw the shock in the woman’s face. The doctor’s hair was scraped back and tightly bound. Kine could see scars disappearing beyond the hair line; ugly, jagged marks that spoke of violence. His companion was cherubic by comparison, skin so dark he could almost have been House Dragon – darker even than Kine’s – and so smooth and clean it seemed to shine in the lamplight.

The doctors wore white aprons, now stained with blood, over expensive clothes. Lace cuffs had been rolled up to be kept clean and secured with gold pins embossed with the constellation of Lady Healer. Kine could see the detailed braiding on the blue collars that declared their caste, symbols of Healer, Pilgrim and Chance worked into an elegant design.

How many others?
Kine wondered in her dazed state.
How many deaths in childbirth have these men overseen? How many murdered babies?

The midwife had half-risen to argue with the doctor, confusion and anger on her face, but he gave her no time. An open hand caught her across the cheek and sent the woman sprawling over Kine. The weight of her made Kine shriek, the shock and fear in the midwife’s lined face lending her strength.

She took a heaving breath and the room came into greater focus. The taller doctor advanced on the midwife, threatening another blow as she half cowered and half shielded Kine from his sudden wrath. The round-faced man, a tangled bundle in his hands, dispassionately watching the scene play out. The tiny limbs that twitched, the hand of her child upraised with fingers splayed in final, desperate appeal to the Gods.

Something caught in Kine’s throat. The way he held her child, carelessly and without interest. It was a girl – an heir would be cradled like the Emperor’s crown itself.

My daughter,
Kine tried to say as the realisation cut her to the bone more effectively than any murderous doctor might.

‘Please,’ she whispered, causing the doctor to pause in his remonstration of the midwife. ‘Please let me see her – just once. Before … see my daughter once.’

The doctor spoke in a quick, clipped tone as he glanced at his colleague. ‘Quickly then.’

Incredulity crossed the face of the other, but the taller man just frowned and waved him forward.

God-Empress – grant me her life
Kine prayed, half-delirious as the bundle was shoved forward.
I offer my own, but save my child! Lady Chance, name your price and I will pay.

It took her a moment to take it all in, but then the pain and fear was washed away as she stared at the face of her daughter. Thin and pale against the darker hands of the doctor, a cruel flicker of hope appeared in Kine’s heart. Wrinkled eyelids were crumpled against the weak light, rounded cheeks squashed by the grip on her, but the girl was a Wyvern still. Skin no lighter than Kine’s husband, the girl’s face betrayed nothing of her mixed heritage. In that moment Kine knew she could be accepted as her husband’s child – loved and protected all the days of her life.

But she would not be. Forever a reminder he had been cuckolded, her husband would never suffer a girl to live. A son he could accept; an heir to carry his name on whether or not he chose to look the boy in the face, but never a girl.

‘Leave us,’ the doctor said to the midwife and wet-nurse.

The look on his face was empty, just another dull task to perform, but both women cringed away as he pointed towards the door. The wet-nurse scampered towards it and jerked the door open, then gave a small cry and fell back. Kine turned at the sound, the taller doctor did too, but neither saw in time what was in the darkened corridor beyond.

The doctor’s head snapped back, causing Kine to flinch and moan with pain at the movement. A gutteral ‘gah’ escaped the doctor’s lips as he staggered back then stood dumb and wavering as he faced the door.

In a blur of movement, someone entered and kicked the door shut with a flick of the heel. The other doctor shouted, the wet-nurse screamed, but Kine could make out nothing through the fog in her mind. Then the taller doctor crumpled unceremoniously, head flopping backwards with a short arrow protruding from one eye. Kine gasped as a dark figure stormed into the centre of the room, blue-braided hair flying, and her heart filled with relief and hope once more. The Gods had sent their emissary – a mortal Avatar of their mercy.

‘Myken,’ Kine said, delighting in the name though she barely had the strength to say it.

The woman’s stern brown face had been a rare sight here in recent weeks – invented tasks keeping her well clear of her sworn duty to be at Kine’s side.

Knight of the warrior caste and bodyguard to Lady Kine Vanden, Myken ignored her – if she even heard the feeble sound of Kine’s voice. Her attention was focused on the doctor, the man holding that precious bundle. A knife appeared in his hand from somewhere. He held it up for all to see, not quite at the baby’s throat but close enough that Kine softly wailed in new-found terror. Myken’s arm was levelled, a hand-bow discarded at her feet and one of her pistols now drawn.

‘Give her the child.’

‘Stand down, Siresse,’ the doctor said calmly, respectfully addressing her by her title as a female knight. ‘Our master is the same, as well you know.’

‘My master is duty,’ Myken replied, ‘my mistress the lady you stand over.’

‘Stand down or you will die,’ the man repeated. ‘Fire that gun and you’ll never make it out of the palazzo. You know this as well as you know why I’ve been ordered here today.’

‘None of that matters. I am warrior caste, my service is sworn.’

‘You will be shamed, your family ruined by this traitorous act – and if I fail, another will be sent. You know this. Don’t throw your life away.’

‘My life means nothing. Give her the baby.’

The doctor almost looked amused at that, pity and contempt sounding in his voice as he spoke. ‘Nothing will dissuade you? As you wish, but I am a man of my word too. Let us put this in the hands of the Gods.’

He moved the dagger further from the baby. ‘Lower your pistol, drop it on the floor and draw your knife – I will give her the baby and the Gods may choose which path is taken.’

Myken did not move at first. Kine wanted to cry out a warning. Every syllable of the doctor’s words declared him to be a skilled knife-fighter, but she was transfixed by the scene. Her bodyguard was warrior caste, trained to kill with every weapon, but guns were only permitted to those of the higher castes and it was there the power of the warrior caste lay. Long blades and guns were her trade, but some sort of street-fight with knives? She couldn’t win, but nor could a warrior back down.

‘Agreed,’ Myken said abruptly and lowered her pistol.

The doctor nodded and took a careful step back, a small smile of delight on his face. Kine had seen the look before, even in the course of her sheltered noble life. She’d seen the same from a merchant-prince whose wealth eclipsed every nobleman in the House Wyvern homeland, and in the eyes of a priest as he chastised a minor Imperial caste.

It was the look of a man who had the measure of his betters and intended to enjoy himself, humanity at its worst. But still she could do nothing, the strictures of her life and caste leaving her certain she would not sway Myken from whatever course she intended now.

With grateful hands Kine took her child from the doctor, once Myken had dropped her pistol and kicked it towards the desk. With her knife drawn, Myken did not advance on the doctor but he seemed not to care and made up the ground with a cruel slit of a smile parting his lips.

They were just paces apart and Myken had yet to even raise her knife, which still hung limp in her hands. Kine cast around desperately, hugging her daughter to her chest as she looked at the pistol on the floor, but it was hopelessly out of her reach. She would have to throw herself from the sofa to reach it and risk crushing her daughter in the process.

I will do it. If Myken buys me that chance, if the Gods offer this and this alone.

Kine looked down at the tiny face in her arms and felt a sudden intoxicating rush of love for her helpless, unnamed daughter.

‘Her name is Dov,’ she said in a croaking voice, just loud enough to make the pair hesitate.

Myken nodded briefly. ‘Lady Chance’s own name,’ she said. ‘It is fitting.’

Before the doctor could speak, Myken let the knife fall from her hands. In a practised movement she whipped her second pistol from its sheath across her belly and fired it at almost point-blank range. The bang was deafening in the small space as smoke erupted from the muzzle of the pistol and blood burst from the doctor’s back. The man crashed back, dead before he hit the ground, and Myken was already moving to the door.

As Kine watched she realised the Siresse wore dull, dark clothes except for her red caste collar and a shapeless pack sat high on her back. Hardly the formal wear she normally wore at Kine’s side, just enough to ensure she was not stopped re-entering the palazzo. Without a moment’s hesitation, Myken turned the key in the lock and dragged the table beside it across.

‘In,’ she ordered the aghast midwife and wet-nurse, pointing toward the dressing room that stood off to the left. They jumped to obey and she locked that behind them too before heading towards the window with brisk purpose. Kine could only feebly watch her go and admire the determination in everything she did. It occurred to her then she knew so little about her saviour, the years she had been her protector never eroding the boundaries of caste between them.

The woman stopped at the desk and bent down at the big lower drawer. The desk was an old one that had been in her family for generations – a solid block of dark polished wood from the homeland. Kine loved it for the family it reminded her of.

‘It’s no use, I’ve lost the key,’ Kine whispered, unheeded, just as Myken jerked it open and pulled out a velvet pouch that clinked with metal inside. She pocketed that and then withdrew a coiled rope, looping it around the foot of the heavy desk and tugging hard to ensure it was secure.

‘Come,’ Myken said, leaving the rope on the desk. ‘We must go. The guards will have heard that shot.’

‘I … I cannot,’ Kine protested as Myken scooped Dov from her arms. ‘What are you doing?’

Myken didn’t answer as she tugged her jacket open to reveal a sling bound around her chest. With as much care as she could manage Myken put the child into the sling and nestled her between her modest breasts, tugging the edge over Dov so she was securely held.

‘Come,’ Myken repeated and pulled on Kine’s arm. Ignoring Kine’s enfeebled protests and cries of pain she hauled her up and wrapped a long robe around Kine’s body. This she roughly pinned before pulling a plain cape around her mistress and bringing her towards the window. Pushing it open, she slipped the rope around Kine’s chest and pulled it tight. The cold, quiet city was unveiled in the light of the Gods, thin wisps of mist curling seductively round the great houses of Dragon District ahead of them.

‘No, I must fall,’ Kine mumbled, ‘I promised the Goddess …’

‘Damn the Goddess,’ Myken growled, hauling Kine up and over the windowsill, ‘no Goddess had a part in this plan so just do what you’re told, my Lady, and for Pity’s sake do it quietly. Bite your lip right through if you have to, but be quiet here until you’re on the ground.’

Even in her feverish and agonised state, Kine felt a flicker of astonishment at Myken’s brusque tone – so out of character from the model of restraint and respect.

‘Plan?’ she mumbled.

‘There’s a plan,’ Myken confirmed. ‘A slim chance, but better than none.’

She tipped Kine over the edge, one loop of the rope wrapped around her arm to take the strain, though the jolt itself was enough to make Kine draw blood from her tongue as she fought the urge to howl.