O-o-operation? I stuttered the question out. Victory could be measured now by a lack of soiling myself. Cutter John was a name everyone knew, but not many claimed to have seen him. Cutter John came into play when Maeres wanted to hurt people more creatively. When a broken finger, amputated toe, or good beating wouldnt suffice, when Maeres wanted to stamp his authority, set his trademark upon some poor soul, Cutter John would be the man to do the work. Some called it artistry.
The poppies.
I didnt see any poppies. Row upon row of green things growing, here under Builder-lights. My Uncle Hertert-the heir-apparently-not, as Father liked to call him-had made countless initiatives to cut the opium supply. Hed had town-law out on boats patrolling God knows how many miles of the Seleen, convinced it came upriver from the port of Marsail. But Maeres grew his own. Right here. Under Herterts nose and ready to go up everyone elses. I didnt see a thing, Maeres. I ran into a door, for godsakes. Blind drunk.
You sobered up remarkably well. He lifted a golden vinaigrette to his nose, as if the stink of me offended him. Which it probably did. In any event its a risk I cant run, and if we have to part company we may as well make it a memorable event, no? He tilted his head at Cutter John.
That was enough to let my bladder go. It wasnt as if anyone would notice, soaked and reeking as I was. C-come now, Maeres, youre joking? I owe you money. Wholl pay if I. . if I dont pay? He needed me.
Well, Jalan, the thing is, I dont think you can pay. If a man owes me a thousand crowns hes in trouble. If he owes me a hundred thousand, then Im in trouble. And you, Jalan, owe me eight hundred and six crowns, less some small amount for your amusing Norseman. All of which makes you a small fish that can neither swallow me nor feed me.
But. . I can pay. Im the Red Queens grandson. Im good for the debt!
One of many, Jalan. Too much of any denomination waters down the currency. Id call prince an overvalued commodity in Red March these days.
But- Id always known Maeres Allus for a businessman, a cruel and implacable one of a certainty, but sane. Now it seemed that madness might be spiralling behind those dark little eyes. Too much blood in the water for the shark in him to lie quiet any longer. But. . what good would killing me do? He couldnt ever tell anyone. My death wouldnt serve him.
You died in the fire, Prince Jalan. Everyone knows that. None of my doing. And if a hint of a rumour floated behind Vermillions conversations, a whisper that you might have died elsewhere, in even less pleasant circumstances, over a matter of debt. . well then, what new heights might my clients reach in their efforts not to disappoint me in future? Might there be ladies of ill repute who would recognize Cutters latest bracelet and spread the word as they spread their legs? He glanced towards Cutter John, who raised his right arm. Dry bands of pale gristle encircled the limb, rustling against each other, dozens of them, starting at his wrist and reaching past his elbow.
Wh-what? I didnt understand what I was seeing, or perhaps some part of my brain was sensibly stopping me from understanding.
Cutter John circled his own lips with one finger. The trophies along his arm whispered together as he did so. Open wide. His voice slithered as though he were something not human.
You shouldnt have come here, Jalan. Maeres spoke into the silence of my horror. Its unfortunate that you cant unsee my poppies, but the world is full of misfortunes. He stepped back to stand by Daveet at the door-the lights flickering across his face providing the only animation, a shadow smile there and gone, there and gone.
No! For the first time ever I wanted Maeres Allus not to leave. Anything was better than being abandoned to Cutter John. No! I wont talk! I wont. Not ever. I put some anger into it-who would believe a sobbing promise of strength? Im saying nothing! I strained at my ropes, rocking the table back against its legs. Pull my nails. I wont talk. Hot pincers wont drag it from me.
How about cold ones? Cutter John raised the short-handled iron pincers hed been holding all this time in his other hand.
I roared at them then, thrashing, useless in the ropes. If one of Maeress men hadnt been standing on the table legs, it would have tipped forwards and Id have gone face first into the flagstones, which bad as it sounds would have been far less painful than what Cutter John had in mind for me. I was still roaring and screaming, working my way rapidly towards sobbing and pleading, when a hot wet something splattered across my face. It was enough to make me unscrew my eyes and pause my bellowing. Although Id stopped yelling the din was no less deafening, only now it wasnt me screaming. Id drowned out the crash of the door bursting open, too far gone in my terror to notice it. Only Daveet stood there now, framed in the doorway. He turned as I watched, slit from collarbone to hip, spilling coils of his guts to the floor. To the left a large figure moved at the edge of my vision. As I turned my head the action shifted behind the table; another scream and a pale arm wrapped in bracelets made from mens lips landed on the flagstones about a foot from where Daveets head hit the stone when he tripped on his intestines. And in one moment there was silence. Not a sound save for men shouting far down the corridor outside, echoey in the distance. Daveet appeared to have knocked himself out or died from sudden blood loss. If Cutter John missed his arm, he wasnt complaining. I could see one more of Maeress men lying dead. The others might be dead behind me or taking a leaf from my book and sprinting for the hills. If I hadnt been tied to the damn table I would have been overtaking them on the way to the aforementioned hills myself.
Snorri ver Snagason stepped into view. You! he said.
The hooded robe hed been wearing when I ran into him was half-torn from his shoulders; blood splattered his chest and arms and dripped from the scarlet sword in his fist. More of the stuff ran down his face from a shallow cut on his forehead. It wouldnt be hard to mistake him for a demon risen from hell. In fact, in the flickering light, blood-clad and with battle in his eyes, it was quite hard not to.
You? The eloquence Snorri had demonstrated in Grandmothers throne room had wholly abandoned him.
He reached for me, and I shrank back, but not far because that fucking table was in the way. As that big hand came close, I felt a tingle on my cheekbones, my lips, forehead, like pins and needles, a kind of pressure building. He felt it too-I saw his eyes widen. The direction that had led me, the destination that had drawn me on. . it was him. The same force had led Snorri here and set him amongst Maeress men. We both recognized it now.
The Norseman slowed his hand, fingers an inch or two from my neck. The skin there buzzed, almost crackling with. . something. He stopped, not wanting to find out what would happen if he touched me skin to skin. The hand withdrew, returned full of knife, and before I could squeal he set to cutting my bonds.
Youre coming with me. We can sort this out somewhere else.
Abandoning me amongst loops of sliced rope, Snorri returned to the doorway, pausing only to stamp on someones neck. Not Maeress, unfortunately. He ducked his head through, pulling back immediately, a quick bobbing motion. Something hissed past the entrance, several somethings.
Crossbows. Snorri spat on Daveets corpse. I hate bowmen. A glance back at me. Grab a sword.
A sword? The man clearly thought he was still in the wilds amongst the overly hairy folk of the North. I cast my eye across the carnage, looking behind the table. Cutter John lay sprawled, the stump of his arm barely pulsing, an ugly wound on his forehead. No sign of Maeres. I couldnt imagine how hed escaped.
None of them had any weapon more offensive than a six-inch knife; carrying anything larger within the city walls just wasnt worth the trouble from town-laws. I took the dagger and kicked Cutter John in the head a few times. It really hurt my toes, but I felt it a price worth paying.
I hobbled back round the table holding my new weapon and earned a withering look from the Norseman. He picked up the door. Catch. I didnt quite manage it. Whilst I hopped on my good foot, clutching my face and swearing nasally, Snorri quickly hacked the legs from the table and, bearing it like a huge shield, advanced towards the corridor. Get my back!
The fear of being left behind, and finding myself in Maeres Alluss clutches again, spurred me into action. With some effort I picked up the door and together we propelled our shields into the corridor before stepping between them. Crossbow bolts thudded into both immediately, iron heads splintering partway through.
Which direc- Snorri was already too far away to hear me even if he hadnt been shouting his battle cry. Hed stormed off down the corridor behind me. I followed as best I could, trying to hold the door across my back while I stumbled after him, keeping my head down, reaching over my shoulders to hold the door in place. Shouts and screams ahead indicated that Snorri had gotten to grips with his hated bowmen, but by the time I got there it was all blood and pieces. The main difficulty lay in not slipping over in the gore. Several more bolts hit the boards across my back with powerful thuds, and another skipped between my ankles, letting me know that Id left a gap. Fortunately I had just ten yards to reach the exit. With the door scraping the floor behind me, and just the tips of my fingers exposed, I broke out into the night air. My traditional moment of triumph at escaping yet again was curtailed by a muscular arm that reached from the darkness and yanked me to one side.
Ive got a boat, Snorri growled. Normally when you say someone growled something its just a turn of phrase, but Snorri really put something feral into his words.
What? I shook my arm free, or he let it go, a mutual thing, neither of us liking the burning needling sensation where his fingers gripped me.
Ive got a boat.
Of course you do, youre a Viking. Everything seemed rather surreal. Perhaps Id been hit in the face one too many times since Alain made a grab for me in the opera house only an hour or two earlier.
Snorri shook his head. Follow. Quick!
He took off into the night. The sounds of men approaching down the warehouse corridor convinced me to give chase. We crossed a wide space stacked with barrels and crates, passed dozens of hanging nets, the sails of riverboats poking up above the river wall beside us. By moonlight we crossed a quay and descended stone steps to the water, where a rowing boat lay tied to one of the great iron rings set into the wall.
Youve got a boat, I said.
I was a mile downstream, free and clear. Snorri tossed his sword in, stepped in after it, and picked up an oar. Something happened to me. He paused, staring for a moment into his hand, though it held only darkness. Something. . I was getting sick. He sat and took both oars. I knew I had to come back-knew the direction. And then I found you.