Midnight Tides

  Clearly, only Gerun Eberict had known the full extent of the scheme. His hirelings would not have anticipated their employer’s attacking them. Killing them. They’d fought back, and one had come close to succeeding. And the Finadd carried the scars still, lips and crooked teeth, to show the nearness of the thing.

  Immunity from conviction. So that Gerun Eberict could set out and do what he wanted to do. Judge and executioner, for crimes real and imagined, for offences both major and minor.

  In a way, Tehol admired the man. For his determination, if not his methods. And for devising and gambling all on a scheme that took one’s breath away with its bold… extremity.

  No doubt Brys had official business with the man. As King’s Champion.

  Even so, worrying. It wouldn’t do to have his young brother so close to Gerun Eberict.

  For if Tehol possessed a true enemy, a foe to match his own cleverness who – it would appear – surpassed Tehol himself in viciousness – it was Finadd Gerun Eberict, possessor of the King’s Leave.

  And he’d been sniffing around, twisting arms. Safer, then, to assume Gerun knew that Tehol was not as destitute as most would believe. Nor entirely… inactive.

  Thus, a new fold to consider in this rumpled, tangled tapestry.

  Gerun was immune. But not without enemies. Granted, deadly with a sword, and known to have a dozen sworn, blood-bound bodyguards to protect him when he slept. His estate was rumoured to be impregnable, and possessed of its own armoury, apothecary with resident alchemist well versed in poisons and their antidotes, voluminous store-houses, and independent source of water. All in all, Gerun had planned for virtually every contingency.

  Barring the singular focus of the mind of one Tehol Beddict.

  Sometimes the only solution was also the simplest, most obvious. See a weed between the cobbles … pull it out.

  ‘Bugg!’

  A faint voice from below. ‘What?’

  ‘Who was holding Gerun’s tiles on that bet this afternoon?’

  His servant’s grizzled head appeared in the hatch. ‘You already know, since you own the bastard. Turble. Assuming he’s not dead of a heart attack… or suicide.’

  ‘Turble? Not a chance. My guess is, the man’s packing. A sudden trip to the Outer Isles.’

  ‘He’ll never make it to the city gates.’

  ‘Meaning Gerun is on the poor bastard.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you be? With that payoff?’

  Tehol frowned. ‘Suicide, I’m now thinking, might well be Turble’s conclusion to his sorry state of affairs. Unexpected, true, and all the more shocking for it. He’s got no kin, as I recall. So the debt dies with him.’

  ‘And Gerun is out eight hundred docks.’

  ‘He might wince at that, but not so much as you’d notice. The man’s worth a peak, maybe more.’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘All right, so I was generalizing. Of course I know, down to the last dock. Nay, the last stripling. In any case, I was saying, or, rather, suggesting, that the loss of eight hundred docks is not what would make Gerun sting. It’s the escape. The one trail even Gerun can’t doggedly follow – not willingly, anyway. Thus, Turble has to commit suicide.’

  ‘I doubt he’ll agree to it.’

  ‘No, probably not. But set it in motion, Bugg. Down to the Eddies. Find us a suitable corpse. Fresh, and not yet drained. Get a bottle or two of Turble’s blood from him in exchange—’

  ‘What’ll it be? Fire? Who commits suicide using fire?’

  ‘The fire will be an unfortunate consequence of an unattended oil lamp. Unattended because of the suicide. Burnt beyond recognition, alas, but the scrivers will swear by the blood’s owner. That’s how they work, isn’t it?’

  ‘A man’s veins never lie.’

  ‘Right. Only, they can.’

  ‘Right, if you’re insane enough to drain a corpse and pump new blood into it.’

  ‘A ghastly exercise, Bugg. Glad you’re up to it.’

  The wizened face at the hatch was scowling. ‘And Turble?’

  ‘We smuggle him out the usual way. He’s always wanted to take up fishing. Put someone in the tunnel, in case he bolts sooner than we expect. Gerun’s watchers will be our finest witnesses. Oh, and won’t the Finadd spit.’

  ‘Is this wise?’ Bugg asked.

  ‘No choice. He’s the only man who can stop me. So I’m getting him first.’

  ‘If he catches a whiff that it’s you—’

  ‘Then I’m a dead man.’

  ‘And I’m out of work.’

  ‘Nonsense. The lasses will carry on. Besides, you are my beneficiary – unofficially, of course.’

  ‘Should you have told me that?’

  ‘Why not? I’m lying.’

  Bugg’s head sank back down.

  Tehol settled back onto the bed. Now, I need to find me a thief. A good one.

  Ah! I know the very one. Poor lass…

  ‘Bugg!’

  ****

  Shurq Elalle’s fate had taken a turn for the worse. Nothing to do with her profession, for her skills in the art of thievery were legendary among the lawless class. An argument with her landlord, sadly escalating to attempted murder on his part, to which she of course – in all legality – responded by flinging him out the window. The hapless man’s fall had, unfortunately, been broken by a waddling merchant on the street below. The landlord’s neck broke. So did the merchant’s.

  Careless self-defence leading to the death of an innocent had been the charge. Four hundred docks, halved. Normally, Shurq could have paid the fine and that would have been that. Alas, her argument with the landlord had been over a certain hoard of gold that had inexplicably vanished from Shurq’s cache. Without a dock to her name, she had been marched down to the canal.

  Even then, she was a fit woman. Two hundred docks were probably manageable – had not the retrieval rope snagged on the spines of a forty-stone lupe-fish that had surfaced for a look at the swimmer, only to dive back down to the bottom, taking Shurq with it.

  Lupe fish, while rare in the canal, ate only men. Never women. No-one knew why this was the case.

  Shurq Elalle drowned.

  But, as it turned out, there was dead and then there was dead. Unbeknownst to her, Shurq had been cursed by one of her past victims. A curse fully paid for and sanctified by the Empty Temple. So, though her lungs filled with foul water, though her heart stopped, as did all other discernible functions of the body and mind, there she stood when finally retrieved from the canal, sheathed in mud, eyes dull and the whites browned by burst vessels and lifeless blood, all in all most miserable and sadly bemused.

  Even the lawless and the homeless shunned her thereafter. All the living, in fact. Walking past as if she was in truth a ghost, a dead memory.

  Her flesh did not decay, although its pallor was noticeably unhealthy. Nor were her reactions and deft abilities in any way diminished. She could speak. See. Hear. Think. None of which improved her mood, much.

  Bugg found her where Tehol had said she’d be found. In an alley behind a bordello. Listening, as she did every night, to the moans of pleasure – real and improvised – issuing from the windows above.

  ‘Shurq Elalle.’

  Listless, murky eyes fixed on him. ‘I give no pleasure,’ she said.

  ‘Alas, neither do I, these days. I am here to deliver to you an indefinite contract from my master.’

  ‘And who would that be?’

  ‘Not yet, I’m afraid. Thieving work, Shurq.’

  ‘What need have I for riches?’

  ‘Well, that would depend on their substance, I’d imagine.’

  She stepped out from the shadowed alcove where she’d been standing. ‘And what does your master imagine I desire?’

  ‘Negotiable.’

  ‘Does he know I’m dead?’

  ‘Of course. And sends his regrets.’

  ‘Does he?’

  ‘No, I made that up.’

  ‘No-one
hires me any more.’

  ‘That is why he knew you would be available.’

  ‘No-one likes my company.’

  ‘Well, a bath wouldn’t hurt, but he’s prepared to make allowances.’

  ‘I will speak to him.’

  ‘Very good. He has anticipated your wishes. Midnight.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘A rooftop. With a bed.’

  ‘Him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In his bed?’

  ‘Um, I’m not sure if that was in his mind—’

  ‘Glad to hear it. I may be dead, but I’m not easy. I’ll be there. Midnight, until a quarter past. No more. If he can convince me in that time, all and well. If not, too bad.’

  ‘A quarter should be more than enough, Shurq.’

  ‘You are foolish to be so confident of that.’

  Bugg smiled. ‘Am I?’

  ****

  ‘Where’s Bugg?’

  ‘He’ll be meeting us here.’ Tehol walked over to the couch and settled down on it, drawing his legs up until he was in a reclining position. He eyed the three women. ‘Now, what is so important that I must risk discovery via this reckless meeting?’

  Shand ran a calloused palm over her shaved head. ‘We want to know what you’ve been up to, Tehol.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Rissarh said.

  Hejun’s arms were crossed, and there was a scowl on her face as she added, ‘We don’t need a bodyguard.’

  ‘Oh, forgot about him. Where is he?’

  ‘Said he had some belongings to collect,’ Shand said. ‘He should be here any time now. No, the others haven’t met him yet.’

  ‘Ah, so they are sceptical of your enthusiasm.’

  ‘She’s been known to exaggerate,’ Rissarh said.

  ‘Besides,’ Hejun snapped, ‘what’s all that got to do with being a bodyguard? I don’t care how big his—’

  The warehouse door creaked, and everyone looked over.

  Ublala Pung’s round face peered timidly inside, from just under the overhang.

  ‘Dear sir!’ Tehol called out. ‘Please, come in!’

  The half-blood hesitated. His pale eyes flitted among Shand, Rissarh and Hejun. ‘There’s… three of them,’ he said.

  ‘Three of what?’

  ‘Women.’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Tehol. ‘And…?’

  Ublala frowned, lips drawing together into something much resembling a pout.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Tehol invited with a wave of a hand, ‘I promise to protect you from them.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Absolutely. Come in, Ublala Pung, and be welcome.’

  The huge man pushed the door back further and edged inside.

  Ublala’s belongings did not, it was clear, include trousers or loincloth. He was as naked as he had been down at the canal. Not that clothing would have much disguised his attributes, Tehol concluded after a moment of despondent reflection. Well, never mind that. ‘Hungry? Thirsty? Relax, friend. Set your bag down… yes, there is just fine. Sit down – no, the bench, not the chair – you’d end up wearing it, which, now that I think on it… no, probably not. Ublala, these women require a bodyguard. I assume you accepted the offer from Shand—’

  ‘I thought it was just her.’

  ‘And that makes a difference?’

  ‘Makes it harder.’

  ‘Granted. But, most of the time you’ll be here…’ Tehol’s voice trailed away, as he finally noticed that Shand, Rissarh and Hejun had neither moved since Ublala’s arrival, nor said a word. Oh, now really…

  ****

  Nisall had been the King’s First Concubine for three years. No official power was accorded the title, barring what the personality of the woman in question could achieve. There had been considerable variation throughout history, often dependent upon the fortitude of the king at the time, as well as that of the queen and the chancellor.

  At present, there were six concubines in all, the others young, minor daughters of powerful families. Potential investments in the future there as much to capture the prince’s attention as the king’s. Like the queen’s four consorts, they were housed in a private, isolated quarter of the palace. Only the First Consort, Turudal Brizad, and the First Concubine were permitted contact with anyone other than the royal personages themselves.

  Brys Beddict bowed to Nisall, then saluted Preda Unnutal Hebaz. He was not surprised to find the First Concubine in the Preda’s office. Nisall had decided her loyalties long ago.

  ‘Champion,’ the young woman smiled. ‘Unnutal and I were just discussing you.’

  ‘More precisely,’ the Preda said, ‘we were conjecturing on the content of your conversation with Finadd Gerun Eberict earlier today.’

  ‘Preda, I regret my delay in reporting to you.’

  ‘A well-rehearsed report by now,’ Nisall said, ‘given that you have already been required to provide it to the First Eunuch and Ceda Kur Qan. Thus, we will allow you a certain lack of animation in your telling.’

  Brys frowned, his eyes on his commander. ‘Preda, it occurs to me that Gerun Eberict remains one of your officers, regardless of the King’s Leave. I am surprised he has not already reported to you the details of today’s conversation.’

  ‘And who is to say he hasn’t?’ Unnutal enquired. Then she waved a hand. ‘An uncharitable response on my part. I apologize, Brys. It has been a long day indeed.’

  ‘No apology required, Preda. I spoke out of turn—’

  ‘Brys,’ Nisall interrupted. ‘You are the King’s Champion now. There is no place where you can speak out of turn. Even unto Ezgara himself. Forgive the Preda her brusque manner. Conversations with Gerun tend to make one exasperated.’

  ‘He has a certain hauteur about him,’ Brys said.

  ‘Arrogance,’ Unnutal snapped. ‘He did not give you cause to call him out?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How unfortunate,’ Nisall sighed.

  ‘Although I believe I was warned.’

  Both women fixed their eyes on him.

  Brys shrugged. ‘I was reminded that his list is an ongoing project.’

  ‘He considers killing Buruk the Pale.’

  ‘I believe so. The First Eunuch has been made aware of that possibility.’

  ‘Now,’ Nisall said, beginning to pace in the room, ‘should the king be informed of this development, he might be inclined to withdraw Gerun from the delegation. Which will be perceived as a victory by the queen and the Chancellor.’

  ‘Perceptions can be made integral to strategy,’ Brys said.

  ‘Spoken as a duellist,’ Nisall said. ‘But the advantages to the queen granted by Gerun’s absence perhaps outweigh any advantage we might fashion. Besides, we know Buruk the Pale proceeds under directions from her camp, so his loss will not hurt us.’

  Brys considered this, uneasy at such a cavalier dismissal of a man’s life. ‘How well does Buruk sit with his burdens?’

  ‘We have a spy close to him, of course,’ the Preda said. ‘The man is tortured by his conscience. He escapes with white nectar and drink, and dissolute sexual indulgences.’

  ‘The queen…’

  ‘Wants war,’ Nisall finished with a sharp nod. ‘The irresponsible, greedy, short-sighted sea-cow. A fine partner to the stupidest chancellor in the history of Letheras. And a thick, easily led prince waiting impatiently to take the throne.’

  Brys shifted uncomfortably. ‘Perhaps, if Buruk’s conscience is haunting him, he can be swayed to another course.’

  ‘Beneath the hawk gaze of Moroch Nevath? Not likely.’

  The Champion’s eyes narrowed on Nisall. This was all leading to something. He just wasn’t sure what.

  The Preda sighed. ‘Gerun needs to add a name to his list.’

  ‘Moroch Nevath?’

  ‘And that will be difficult.’

  ‘It will. The man is singular. In every way imaginable. Incorruptible, with a history to match.’

  ‘And to
whom is the man sworn?’

  ‘Why, the prince, of course. But the King’s Leave does not include killing royalty.’

  ‘Yet his history is far less pure.’

  Nisall added, ‘Gerun would not be able to act directly against the Prince. He would need to attack obliquely.’

  ‘First Concubine, I have little understanding of Gerun Eberict’s motivations. I do not comprehend the nature of his cause.’

  ‘I do,’ the Preda said. ‘I know precisely what he’s up to. And I believe we can see that he adds to his list.’

  ‘The concern is,’ Nisall said, ‘what role will his old Finadd, Hull Beddict, have during the playing out of all this.’

  Brys looked away. He was beginning to feel under siege. If not one brother, then the other. ‘I will give it some thought.’

  ‘Not too long, Finadd,’ Unnutal Hebaz said.

  ‘A day or two, perhaps.’

  ‘Agreed. Until then, Brys.’

  ‘Goodnight Preda, First Concubine.’

  He made his way out of the office.

  In the corridor, five paces from the two guards standing vigil at the door through which he had just exited, his steps slowed to a halt. Unmindful of the curious eyes on his back, the King’s Champion stood motionless.

  In the minds of the two guards, three titles. Master of the Sword, Finadd and King’s Champion – all were cause for envy and admiration. They might have wondered at him at that moment, however. The way he stood, as if entirely alone in a large, overwhelming world. Eyes clearly fixed on some inner landscape. Weariness in his shoulders. They might have wondered, but if so it was a brief, ephemeral empathy, quickly replaced by those harder sentiments, envy and admiration. And the gruff assertion that supreme ability purchased many things, including isolation. And the man could damn well live with it.

  ****

  ‘There’s no place for sentiment here,’ Tehol said, ‘sad to say. Letheras is unforgiving. We can’t afford to make mistakes. For Errant’s sake, Ublala, relax. You’re turning blue. Anyway, as I was saying, Shand, it’s careless being careless. In other words, we can’t keep meeting like this.’

  ‘Do you practise?’ Rissarh asked.