The Iron Ship (15 page)

“Out with Trassan?” said Aarin.

Garten nodded with a wince. Rel smiled.

“Lucky. I’d kill for a decent beer. The stuff they give us down here is sour and turns your stomach.”

“You have found yourself a fine palace,” said Trassan.

“Believe me, this is a lot nicer than the other cells I’ve been in,” said Rel.

Garten shook his head. “Never say that in front of mother.”

“Where’s Guis?”

“Sulking,” said Trassan.

“Typical.”

“Still, we’re all here, aren’t we?” said Garten.

“So, what is it this time?” said Trassan. “I heard you tumbled some old money aristo’s wife.”

“Well, yeah, yeah I did,” said Rel. “But that’s no reason for this!” He shook at the bars. They did not budge. “Bastard couldn’t even let me wait fifteen days for Katriona. I can’t believe this. I’ve done nothing to Colonel Alanrys. He’s always had it in for me. He’s been waiting for me to screw up, and I did.”

Aarin raised his eyebrows. “With your predilections, little brother, he was never going to have to wait forever.”

“One rich man’s wife!” protested Rel.

“The
wrong
rich man’s wife,” countered Aarin.

“I don’t even get to cross the Neck when the Great Tide is in. Do I get to see the sun setting as I bid farewell to my homeland? Whitecaps crowning the turbulent channel, picking out the whirlpools Gorgoantha and Sryman either side? Do I bollocks. Just miles and miles of sucking mud. He waited on purpose for after a Great Tide. He’d be here crowing now if it were the done thing.”

“I hear the Maceriyan Channel stinks when the tide is out,” teased Trassan.

“That was terribly portentous and dramatic,” said Garten. “You should be the playwright, Rel.”

Rel looked down at his feet glumly. “And the least that sod could have done is turn up. I might never see any of you again.”

“Don’t be like that,” said Garten. “You’ll be home soon. You’ll see. One big adventure and you can bore us all with it until we’re all fat and old, and then start on our grandchildren.”

“Looks like he’s already getting fat,” said Trassan.

“Says you! Garten, what did mother say? Katriona?”

“Oh! I almost forgot,” said Garten. “Mother did write to the colonel to allow she and Katriona into the barracks.”

“You mean Katriona asked?” said Rel.

“Well, yes.”

“And of course Alanrys said no. Well. And too much to ask that father come,” said Rel.

“He is still angry with you,” said Aarin.

“Furious,” corrected Trassan. “‘A disgrace! Wastrel! A shame on the family! Does he know how much this is costing me? I should have let them flog him!’” He mimicked their father’s voice, although he left out the man’s speech impediment. They never mocked that.

Rel pulled a face. “He actually said that?”

“He actually did,” said Trassan. “But he’s not as angry with you as he is with Guis, so you’re winning there.”

“The station’s too hectic for mother’s nerves,” went on Garten, “and she wouldn’t allow Katriona to go unchaperoned so close to her wedding. Katriona gave me this letter to give to you.” He pressed a square of paper sealed with dark blue wax into Rel’s hand. Rel pulled it back through the bars. He cracked the seal and scanned it.

“She’s prepared your bags. They’ll be waiting on the train. You should have everything you need, and most of what you want,” said Garten.

“She’s too good to us,” said Rel sadly.

“At least once you’re on the train you can change out of those rags,” said Trassan.

“They’re not rags!” protested Rel. “This shirt was tailored by Karosian and Bwyn. Tyn stitching!” he said, tugging at it. “It is very fine.” He grimaced at it. It was stained all over, wide sweat patches under his arms and round his neck, grubby from being slept in for a week. “
Was
very fine.”

“I’d throw it away,” said Garten.

“I’d burn it,” said Trassan.

“It does smell a little, brother,” said Aarin.

“Listen to Aarin, he spends his time surrounded by corpses,” said Trassan. “If he says ‘a little’, it means ‘a lot’.”

The door rattled open. Two others of the Karsan third Dragoons came in, grinning meanly. One carried a ring of polished keys. A brass fob depicting the regimental arms hung among them. The other guard brought a sack. “Captain Rel, your next duty awaits.”

Rel stood up and sighed. “This is it boys, off to the fucking end of the world. And look, Alanrys has sent his two biggest lickspittles. Nice to see you, Plovion. Juresk, looking as hideous as ever I see.”

The uglier of the two—and Rel was not wrong, in his brothers’ opinions—loured. The other answered. “Shut it, captain; while you’re in there and I’m out here you’ve no right to be speaking to us that way. Your rank is suspended.”

Plovion unlocked the door to the cell and undid Rel’s manacles.

“If it were down to me, I’d leave you here to rot,” grunted Juresk.

“Good job it isn’t then.” Rel smirked as he rubbed at his wrists. “You’re only jealous you didn’t get to tumble Lady Anellia yourself. Best you’ve ever had charged you double, you’re so ugly. Isn’t that right, Plovion?”

“How the hell should I know?” growled Plovion.

“Sorry, I thought you did your mother’s accounting. My mistake.”

The guards both tensed up. Trassan and Aarin stepped in front of their brother, smiling without warmth.

“If you’re intent on a fight, boys, I’d happily make the time. Leaving two corpses behind me would be quite the exit, don’t you think?” goaded Rel.

Aarin cleared his throat. He stared at Juresk and Plovion. The scars around his white eye were livid and menacing. His head shook the tiniest degree. That was enough. There were few men who would anger a Guider.

“Just get yourself ready,” said Juresk nervously. He pushed a regimental jacket at Rel, then the sack. “Papers are in there. Be outside in two minutes or it’ll be the worse for you.”

“Now why would I duck such a prime posting?” Rel said.

“You are a disgrace, Kressind,” said Plovion. “Get your uniform on, then get out of here.”

“Ah ah ah!” said Trassan. “We’re all Kressinds here. Insult one, insult us all.”

“Begging your pardon, your reverence,” said Juresk nervously to Aarin.

Plovion elbowed him, but said nothing to the brothers. He went away for a minute, and came back with Rel’s sabre, sheathed in its steel scabbard. Rel took it with a nod and hung it from the belt about his waist. The guards went away. “Two minutes!” reiterated Plovion, cleaving to this last scrap of power.

Rel did up his buttons. Dirty though he was, he looked more of a gentleman in his jacket. “I can fight my own battles,” he said pettishly.

“Evidently not,” said Aarin. “Not all, anyway. I have this for you.” He pulled his hand out from his sleeve, in it was a plain leather pouch, tied at the top with silver wire. Rel accepted it with suspicion.

“There are bones in this?”

“Yes!” snorted Aarin. “It is the magic of the dead, little brother.”

Rel passed it from hand to hand and wiped his palms on his jacket. “What is it for?”

“Protection,” said Aarin. “The Gates are regarded as a soft place for a soldier by some, but there are many perils out in the Black Sands. If you ever find yourself out that way, this is proof against some of them.”

“How will I know when to use it?” said Rel. He fiddled with the wire.

“You’ll know,” said Aarin. “And don’t ever open it!” he added quickly.

“No fear there,” Rel said, and tied it to his belt.

They walked to the foot of the steps. “Well,” said Rel. The barking of drays and clatter of wheels on cobbles sounded down the stairs. The light from the open door and windows at the top dimmed in sequence as a carriage drew up. “I think that’s me. Brothers, it’s been fun.” They embraced him one at a time.

“You’ll be back,” said Garten.

“You better be,” said Trassan.

“Be well,” said Aarin. “And be careful.”

Rel pulled back and smiled. “When have you ever known me not to be?”

“Captain Kressind!” shouted a voice down the stairs.

“I’m coming!” Rel bounded up the steps. He stopped at the top, silhouetted in the daylight, waved, and was gone.

“He’s still like a big bloody puppy,” said Garten.

“Aye, with a sword and a gun,” said Aarin.

“Lost gods help us all,” said Trassan.

Orders and proclamations and all that sort of military shouting that meant little to the others sounded outside. A bugle blew. The carriage drew off to the yipping of dogs.

Trassan smacked his lips and grimaced at the taste he found. “I do believe I am sobering up, and my head is beginning to hurt.”

“About time,” said Garten. “I hate to suffer alone. There was bacon promised.”

“Indeed. Might I treat you goodfellows to breakfast?” said Trassan.

They agreed that that would be pleasant, and together went in search of food.

K
ARSA CITY STATION
was a maelstrom of people. The noise was horrendous, with trains coming and going. The locomotives filled the high glass ceilings with clouds that stank of spent magic.

The carriage dropped Rel by the main entrance. Two of his fellow officers accompanied him to make sure he definitely got on the train. These were better disposed to him than either Juresk or Plovion, and aided him in retrieving his things and finding a handler for them before placing him on the train and bidding him farewell.

The whole exercise was conducted so quickly and under such stress that Rel did not remember to be sad until he had found his seat.

There was Katriona’s wedding, Alanrys had made sure that he’d miss that. Rel had beaten the colonel in a fencing match, but it wasn’t that that brought his wrath down on him. There was some grudge he bore his family. He wondered which of his uncles were responsible, or even if his father was. And he wished Guis had come to see him go. Katriona couldn’t, but Guis could, and he should have come. The six siblings would rarely gather again, whatever happened.

His thoughts turned to his friends and his lovers as the waysayer’s whistle blew, answered by the long, mournful hoot of the locomotive. With a mighty huff the train jerked forward, jolting the couplings. Metal grumbled. Against its great protestation, the engine dragged the train forward. The crowd slid by, slower than a walk at first, quicker and quicker as the engine’s wheels bit and gained traction on the rails.

He would never see Ellimia or Druva again, or any of the other girls. And although only Ellimia and Druva really meant anything to him individually, the collective loss of the rest hurt almost as bad.

They pulled out into open air. Streamers of glimmer-tainted smoke spiralled past the window. Rain marked the glass with spots and streaks. He felt unspeakably low. The crowd madly waved to loved ones he could not see as the train pulled away. There was one figure who did not wave. He stood apart from the rest of the crowd, even though he was surrounded by them. Rel’s eyes went past him, but snapped back in recognition.

He sat up happily. “Guis!” he shouted, and banged on the window. The other passengers tutted at this un-Karsan show of emotion. “Guis!”

Rel’s eldest brother put two fingers to his temple and saluted sardonically. Rel waved back. Guis’s sinister companion blinked at him from behind a curtain of hair, eyes points of yellow light in the shade there.

“Guis!”

“Good luck,” Rel’s brother mouthed. Clouds of smoke and steam puffed past the window with increasing tempo. The groaning of the train lessened as the strain settled evenly. They picked up speed, and Guis was gone.

Rel elbowed a scholarly looking gentleman next to him. “That was my brother!” he said cheerfully. The man tried to look like he was somewhere else. “The bastard came after all.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Second Wedding of Katriona Kressinda

T
HE RAIN STOPPED
the day before Katriona Kressinda was due to wed a second time, a brief interlude in the weather the more superstitious society watchers trumpeted as a good omen. But a wedding as extravagant as Demion Morthrock’s to Katriona Kressinda was not to be missed, rain or not. The old aristocracy dismissively referred to it as an industry wedding and sneered at its common excess. They came nonetheless, along with everyone else.

Gelbion Kressind hired the Grand Hall of Karsa for the occasion. A tall confection of a building, stone white as sugar tracery and as intricately decorated. New buildings for new money, the old families said.

The Kressinds were not the wealthiest merchant clan in Karsa, but today they were paying to look like it. A stream of carriages drawn by matched dray teams arrived at the grand staircase to disgorge passengers as elegant as the building. The great and good of the city had barely time to step out before their transports were whisked off to allow the next to arrive. Servants dressed in a fantastical livery reminiscent of the Old Maceriyans greeted them at the door with drinks and flattery. A nine foot confection of spun caramel dominated the Great Hall’s rotunda, depicting the angels and devils of long ago. Men and Tyn in fancy dress wordlessly formed tableau depicting great events in Karsan history including, tellingly, the founding of the Kressind Works. The tableaux broke apart and reformed elsewhere to great approval. Jugglers and acrobats and exotic, firebreathing Oczerks walked the party. A Torosan godling, sweating in his traditional furs, brought gleeful terror from the guests with his mock roars and posturing. In three ballrooms there were three different forms of dancing. The great and good of the Karsan industrial elite commented with equal approval on the glories of the building and the bride both. As the evening wore on and the wine flowed, the old aristocrats too gave grudging praise.

The ceremony was short, though sumptuous. Everyone was eager to get on to the Mingling, the feast that followed, and the revelry after that.

All the Kressinds were present, down to cousins of the least degree.

Guis avoided his brothers for the time being, his apology to them not yet correctly formulated, and so he wandered through the throngs of guests, exchanging pleasantries with those that approached, evading the rest. He grew engrossed in a display of petty magics by a pair of Amarand witches in tight silks. They conjured bright lights from the air and birds from their hands. They wove visions of the heavens and hells over their heads. They made figures in the sugar sculptures dance and set the ears of dogs and antelopes upon unsuspecting worthies. All the while they climbed up over one another, twisting themselves sensuously through each other’s limbs. Their bodies and display enchanted Guis, until Tyn crawled up the collar of his coat.