​​​​8 Like that Time with the Peppers

Present Day

BUILDINGS KNITTED TOGETHER before Threadfin’s eyes. It was like some pagan god on a creative binge, hurling brick, stone, and wood into place. Reality shuddered, asserted itself. He found himself standing in an alley of mud. He stared down at a second pair of ruined shoes. Ten years in Lame, and he’d managed with nothing fancy. It was all Aiyana’s fault. Need to get hold of a pair of boots, he decided. Good, hard-wearing scuffed leather. Proper mage-wear.

Something felt wrong. There had been a pulling sensation when he’d entered the mirror, which had grown painful. He’d fought back, focusing on Tiral and those with him.

His Darken, muttering, immediately set off down the long alleyway. He reached the nearest exit, short sword in hand, and disappeared. Grudge was hurling up an inadvisable breakfast, and Vilt watched over him with concern. Nevet and Tope both looked pale, but moved to secure the alley, weapons drawn.

Pole returned after a few minutes, wearing a dark scowl, confirming Threadfin’s fears. ‘This is not Tiral,’ said the Darken.

‘Don’t tell me we’re still in Tystria.’

‘Oh, no, it’s much worse.’ Pole’s scowl deepened. The twitch had returned.

‘Fine, fine,’ said Threadfin, rubbing his forehead, ‘something went wrong. No, I don’t know what, so don’t pester me. I don’t think we can rely on my magic to get us anywhere. Not until I figure out what’s going on at least.’

‘Problem is,’ Pole growled, ‘you never seem to know where we’re going. I shouldn’t be surprised. Was my own fault for agreeing to this escapade.’

‘Not like I gave you a choice.’

‘Excuse me?’

Threadfin faced his Darken, fists on knobbly hips. ‘Look, I’ve done the best I can. Since you know next to nothing of magic, having an honorary membership in that Aidari cult, why don’t you let me figure it out?’

‘He’s got a point,’ said the sergeant, strolling past, wrapped bow strapped to her back, ‘you know nothin’ about magic, Podral Pole. Least he got us here alive. I always appreciate arriving in one piece. So long as it continues, and I get paid, I don’t care where he takes us.’ That earned a glower from Pole. As an imperial Darken, he outranked her, and was second only to the imperial marshal. At least, in theory. It wasn’t something any Darken often put to the test, since in the past, they’d remained anonymous.

Pole paced the alley, muttering with fists clenched. Grudge huddled with his head between his knees. Vilt returned to the scout’s side, stroking his hair.

‘So,’ said Pole after a moment, ‘you’re telling me we have to walk to Tiral? You know how far it is? Even if we manage to secure some mounts, we’d never get enough, not for all of us. Not with the way things are.’

‘I did tell you to bring one other, Pod.’

‘Are you saying this is my fault?’

‘I’m not selfish. I’m willing to share the blame.’

‘You don’t know where you’ve brought us to, do you?’

Threadfin decided not to answer. In truth, he understood Podral’s frustration. He had gotten them lost a few times, but he couldn’t figure out why, or offer an explanation.

‘This is Byrsa! Of all the places to bring us, it had to be this city.’ The twitch over Pole’s eye was now pulsating. ‘In case you haven’t figured it out, by the way, it’s not good.’ It always took him longer to calm down. A few hours to several days. Sometimes, a week. ‘Only bit o’ luck is, it looks quiet out there. No thanks to you.’ Once, he’d gone a month.

‘Well,’ said Threadfin, trying to look satisfied, ‘I got us closer to Tiral, didn’t I? You got to learn to look on the bright side.’

‘This entire city’s been devouring itself. It’s not even considered an imperial city these days.’

‘My sister would disagree.’

‘Tell it to the primes who rule here. Ever since the Nephilim attack, there’s a different prime popping up on every street corner. Each with a private army and all. Folk are starving; I doubt there’s a single darag, kecc, or grolg they didn’t eat.’

‘I know, I know,’ Threadfin grated, also beginning to pace. Grudge took one look at them moving, face paled, and resumed retching. Having heard the truth of their predicament, Vilt abandoned the scout. She was on lookout like the others. Though the sun had crested the eastern peaks, the alley remained in shadow.

‘What went wrong?’ Threadfin muttered to himself. He’d used the mirror as he’d done many times before. As he’d probed its depths, his reflection had started laughing. My reflection, he thought, isn’t mine.

Pole pointed a finger at him. ‘This is like that time with them peppers.’

‘You’re overreacting.’

‘“Back to Icarthya,” you said, “for a rest and refit.” Instead, you landed us in the hold of a bloody ship in the South Adalcis Ocean. Off the coast of Grim-hooded Calamir of all places. Buried in peppers up to my neck. Not to mention on a ship full of Calamiri sailors who happen to hate us Icarthians. Besides which, I hate peppers. Especially Calamiri ones. Make my skin and eyes burn.’

‘Good for the blood,’ said Vilt in a low voice, which carried from the shadow of a doorway ten feet away.

‘Nah, it’s carrots you’re thinking of,’ said Nevet from the shadows opposite. ‘Hey, we planning on living in this alley? If you old maids are finished gobbin’, maybe we should move?’

‘Nev,’ Pole said, jabbing a shaky finger in his direction, ‘I’m giving you one warning.’

‘My Ma, she liked ’em,’ said Grudge from where he crouched. He seemed in control of himself again. He wiped his sweating face with the sleeve of his dirty cloak. They didn’t wear the green of the legion. Pole had deemed it the safer option.

‘My Da,’ continued the scout, ‘he didn’t like ’em much, so she buried him in a grave full of peppers. Not Calamiri though. They were Rinduran, all the ways from Pith. Blister a dead body good so can’t be identified. Always knew how to make a point did my Ma. He did like carrots. She didn’t bury him with those.’

‘Wait a second,’ said Nevet, ‘giants eat Rinduran peppers. What in the name of Grim was your Ma doin’ with those?’

The scout was sitting among several leather satchels containing their supplies. Mercifully, he hadn’t ruined the bags. He blinked up at the soldier. ‘She was buryin’ my Da of course.’

‘Alright, you lot,’ said Pole. ‘Keep your minds on the job and shut up.’ He mumbled something incomprehensible, massaging his right temple.

‘Look, I got us off that ship, didn’t I?’ said Threadfin, feeling hurt. His friend had no faith in him. ‘I’ll get us out of this. Give me a moment to think.’

Pole folded his arms, watching as the mage pulled a dusty bronze mirror from his cloak. A good ordinary cloak of grey wool.

‘Why not take us to Bashan,’ Pole snapped, ‘and visit old Og on his humongous bed. I’m sure he’d love us to drop in for a cup of piss, or whatever giants drink.’

Threadfin focused on the reflections within the mirror, ignoring him. The light was dim. He sought out Tiral in a world of reflections, but something hindered him. His reflection was laughing again and, accounting for the poor quality of the bronze, its visage was corrupted. Oh, it was his face alright, but it had an odd shaped head. He held the mirror at arm’s length for a better look. Extra horns lined his neck and shoulders in the mirror. It was his likeness, but it wasn’t him. One thing he was now sure of, my reflection, whoever or whatever it is, is definitely fighting me. He was also reasonably certain the image in the mirror was the Fetch.

It sneered at him, eyes glowing red. Using his magic, he attempted to force it aside, to delve beyond it. Everything as Scatter had taught him. He’d need a larger reflective surface if he wanted to bring the others with him, or would he? Well, maybe such an experiment wasn’t a good idea. It might lead to unfortunate results, and he didn’t think Podral would take it well.

The tentacles of his power snapped without warning. He landed hard onto his bony backside, his skull bouncing off a wall.

His Darken was quick to haul him to his feet, fury dampened by concern. ‘You can’t take us anywhere, can you.’

‘We need a ship,’ said Threadfin with a wince. He probed the back of his head for damage, but everything seemed intact, well, enough to be getting on with. He thought he felt some bones grind together.

‘So long as it don’t got peppers,’ muttered Pole.

‘What section of the city are we in?’

‘Could be the Mammon. A section of the wall’s visible from here, but it’s hard to tell. Whole place’s gone to Grim’s-own. Rot’s spread so one street looks like another. It’s my best guess.’

Threadfin turned to Grudge who was looking a little haler and back on his feet. He approached the scout and threw an arm around him. ‘You up to doing a job for us, soldier?’

‘Sure thing, Mr Mage, sir.’

‘It’s Threadfin, or Fin if you like. You don’t need to bother with titles, Grudge. I need you to go find us a ship.’

‘Shouldn’t ya send someone else?’ asked Nevet.

‘He’s our scout,’ said the mage, ‘and he’s good at it.’

‘Won’t be none docked,’ said Grudge, wringing his hands. ‘No one wants to do business here.’

‘There’s always ships,’ said Pole. ‘Primes run smugglin’ operations all the time, and by sea is quickest, and safest.’

‘Grudge,’ said Threadfin, ‘don’t talk to anyone unless they’re ship’s crew, you understand? We have coin, but don’t advertise it to everyone.’ He untied a leather purse from his belt, filled with silver dralans, and handed it to him. ‘Half now and half when we’re on board.’

The scout stumbled off down the alley, picking his nose.

‘And corporal,’ called Pole after him, ‘try not to bring up your Ma in any negotiations, okay?’

Watching him leave, Threadfin hoped everyone would take him for a local. Byrsa had grown dangerous, though right now it remained quiet.

For a city on the edge of chaos, too quiet.

‡

WITHIN AN HOUR, THE scout had returned. Vilt had discovered an open door, and they’d hid in the abandoned building as the morning brightened. A drunk had entered the alley, and lay unconscious in a corner, with a lump for his trouble.

‘There’s an imperial dromon in port,’ said Grudge. ‘Captain says he’s leaving, so we need be quick about it. Should’ve left with the tide since they already fought off some attacks.’

‘I guess the primes would want a big ship,’ Threadfin observed.

‘Why’s he still there?’ asked Pole, all suspicious.

‘Several of his crew are missing, and he’s been trying to find ’em. Besides, he’d offloaded some diplomat from the capital. She’s missing too. Had orders to wait, but it don’t look like she’s comin’ back. Said we gotta pay triple, you know, considering how things are and no silver. Pure gold imperial dralans. Fifty each.’

Pole near choked, but Threadfin nodded. He didn’t care what they paid. If they ran out, he was confident they would get more. After all, both he and Pole had experience in thieving.

Sometime later, as obvious as the boils on the Grim’s arse in sunlight, they moved through the streets of Byrsa.

‘Ah, a little aside, which I should’ve mentioned,’ said the scout, as they reached a treeline denoting a park. ‘A battle broke out in the city. A fair distance off, but it’s still going and it’s headed this way.’

‘Might be why it’s been so quiet this side,’ said Nevet. Punctuating his words was a clamour of voices and cries. There came the sound of weapons clashing.

Pole grabbed the scout by the scruff and shook him. ‘Next time, mention the important bits first. Here we are being nice and careful, in broad daylight, instead of running like we should’ve been.’

The sounds of fighting and animalistic cries grew louder. As they ran towards the docks, keeping to the shadows, they encountered corpses, crumbled buildings, and the damaged inner curtain wall. Tumbled stone, rusted metal blades and discarded armour, shot through with blades of grass. Some of it might’ve been from the Nephilim invasion, but not the bodies. Those looked too fresh.

The riot spilled into the street behind them. It was a running battle, perhaps between several primes and their followers. Nevet and Tope took up the rear, swords drawn. One or two got close, and Vilt dropped those with arrows. This, of course, drew attention.

Pole gave a warning shout and they increased their pace. They passed through both open gates of the shattered city walls, which led to the docks. No soldiers on guard. Nothing but refuse and rubble.

As they neared the port wall, figures issued from the shadows of warehouses and abandoned shipyards. Pole and the others tried to forge a path ahead. Those opposing them were either unarmed or unused to the weapons they had. Some knew how to fight, ex-legion most like, former bluecloaks, but those were fewer in number. Pole parried a spear thrust with a hooked blade, and drove his sword into his assailant. He twisted to block the blow of another, but a spear took the Darken in the back.

Threadfin cried out, and Grudge was at Pole’s side in an instant. The scout’s blade slashed and stabbed like something possessed. The sergeant had her bow working overtime, but in moments was out of arrows. She drew her sword. Nevet and Tope were busy with their own fights.

The dromon lay ahead, and Threadfin realised it was readying to leave. Sailors, guarded by marines, were trying to pull up the gangplank. Several of the attackers fell from shafts released from archers on deck. Hope they can distinguish us from these others, he thought.

It was no use. They wouldn’t make it like this. The mage felt for the life around him, careful to exclude his friends. He resisted the temptation to use a reflective surface, a flashing blade, or puddle of water. He couldn’t trust his magic. Drawing on their life forces was all he could safely do. Breathers dropped like maggots from a month-old corpse, some unmoving, others wriggling. Hideous boils consumed dozens in seconds. Others screeched as their skin blackened. Several of them died.

The healthy sores on Threadfin’s body bulged, with new ones forming. More attackers arrived, peeling away from the riots. He fed on those ones too.

The way clear, Threadfin and Grudge helped move Pole between them. The others covered their flanks and rear.

He avoided looking at those he’d killed. He’d had no choice, but he took no pleasure in it. At least a sword in the guts was honest. They had no defence against what he did, and knowing it made him feel sick. There’s something dark and vile inside me.

‘Took your time, didn’t you?’ Pole muttered as they half dragged him along.

‘You know,’ said Threadfin, ‘you should lay off those sweetcakes your rich lady loves keep stuffing you with. Don’t want to die an old fat fart now do we?’

Pole grunted a laugh, and passed out.

Shouting up at the ship’s crew, eventually the captain relented, and they replaced the gangplank. They boarded the galley, which bristled with oars, marines ready to leap to their defence. A short time later, three hundred oarsmen propelled them beyond the seventy-foot wide stone harbour entrance. It was a hundred and thirty miles to the open ocean through the fjord, after which they would unfurl the square-rigged sails.

Sometime later, Threadfin stood on the broad deck amid the marines and archers. He stared at the retreating city. His sister had a monumental if not impossible undertaking on her hands. Her efforts at diplomacy had obviously failed in Byrsa. He didn’t envy her the task ahead. She needed to unite her citizens, and quell the rebellions without alienating a jittery population. Not to mention deal with a rising criminal underworld. Word was spreading. A viral, one of those Plagueborn, ruled in Icarthya, although technically she wasn’t imperatrix. Some didn’t care either way, while others cared too much.

He turned his mind to his own task. Lorn Larthuz carried a dangerous power with her, but where was she going with it? Worse, who was she taking it to?

A pity he couldn’t give a rotten fig about any of it. All he wanted was an answer to one question.

Why?