Dark Legion Page 26

  I was rounding said corner when I collided with someone. “My apologies,” I said. Then I looked. I stood face to face with an Inquisitor, his skin black with ink. “My apologies,” I said again and turned to walk away.

  “Wait,” someone said from farther away. I turned back and saw another Inquisitor standing over a dead body. The body of the foppish painter lay in a recessed doorway in a pool of blood. Red streaks flowed from his nose and mouth, now dry and cracked. Seeing what I had done, I felt a pang of guilt. I was sure of it then—it was guilt.

  I could not recall the last time I had felt guilty for anything. For years I had done what needed doing, never looking back. But I did feel guilty. I may not have intended to kill the man, but I had. And it would not have been a pleasant death, or a quick one. I resolved to take more care with my actions; to be slower to act on my impulses.

  The second Inquisitor, who stood over the corpse, was not as fully tattooed as the first. His face and one arm were still bare. “Brother,” the man said. “Do you not recall this one? He was questioned at Sagemont when the inn burned. Though not questioned quite as thoroughly as I would have liked.”

  “Yeees, I remember now. Good memory, brother. Tell me, worm, what brings you to our fair capital?”

  “Ale,” I said.

  “Ale? Did we not find you at the tavern last time we spoke? Have you drunk the place dry and now find yourself here to further your debauchery?”

  “No, we bought the tavern you found me at last. That tavern, the Bleeding Wolf, won the imperial brewing competition. We came here to deliver the ale for the Harvest Festival.”

  “I see,” the first Inquisitor said. “Very well, we will have to check on your story,”

  “By all means,” I said.

  “Tell me,” the second Inquisitor said. “Have you seen this man before?”

  I looked down at the painter and nodded. “Yes, I saw him here yesterday afternoon. He spoke to me and my friend. Complained about the taxes and such, and said that he was thinking about leaving the empire. He spoke of plans to do some frescoes in a temple somewhere. He didn’t say much else, just tried to get us to pay for a painting.”

  “I now regret not being able to speak to the heretic myself,” the second Inquisitor said, spitting on the man’s corpse. I had hoped for just such a reaction. “What did you do when you concluded your conversation?”

  “We fed those vicious fish,” I said pointing at the lake. “Then we bought treacle apples and went to our rooms.”

  “Which rooms?”

  “Our rooms at the Eagle’s Perch.”

  “Expensive,” the first Inquisitor said. “A waste. Typical of a heathen such as yourself to waste your coins on such frivolities.” The Inquisitor turned to his brother standing over the corpse. “Make a note of this, brother. We should check if this Bleeding Wolf Tavern have been keeping up on their taxes. They clearly have too much money if they are wasting it so.” He turned back to me. “Be gone, worm, we have work to do.”

  I decided to skip my visit to the lake, but my mind kept puzzling over the drain. The flooded tunnel was our best escape route. Perhaps my friends and I could have escaped by a more conventional means, but while I did not know how many slaves would be joining us, any at all would make things difficult. The tunnel, then—but how to get rid of the water?

  The easiest way in my mind was to block the drain, but the how of it was the issue. The painter, now dead… Gods, I’d nearly forgotten. “One for the one who waits,” I said in offering. Anyway, the painter had mentioned that they’d removed the trees because the leaves kept blocking the drain. So my first idea was to just dump a hell of a lot of leaves into the pond. It was a stupid idea of course and was quickly discarded.

  The best way would be to block it directly. Easy, right? Except for two issues. Firstly, with the water as clear as it was, it would have been blatantly obvious that the drain was blocked. Secondly… those damned fish would have devoured me. Enough poison would have rid me of them, sure. I had every intent of doing just that, but the sight of the painter lying in the blood he had coughed up… it made me hesitant. With the amount of poison needed, which presented its own problem, the lake would have been deadly for a few days at the very least. Poisoning the capital’s water supply was a bit much, even for me.

  My thoughts ran in circles as I made my way down the broad avenues. They were far wider than needed, and at no point was it necessary to move out of another’s way. Which was doubly surprising, seeing as I’d decided to walk in what others probably considered to be the wrong direction. You see, long stretches of the avenue had raised flowerbeds down its center, with statues rising from them every dozen steps or so. By some unspoken law, everyone had decided to walk along the left side—or their left, I should say. This of course resulted in everyone on one side of the flowerbed walking in the same direction. Except me.

  I found the train station abandoned once again. It seemed an awfully large and expensive building to leave unused like that. It had a waterfall, by Svyn’s balls! There were still a few slaves scrubbing floors, trying to look busy. I’d been a slave once; I knew how it worked. I scanned the faces, and each slave bowed as my eyes met theirs. Ferran was on the far side, and I walked to meet him. “Greetings,” I said. “I have a plan coming together, but it still needs some work. Here’s the gist of it. On the night of the Harvest Festival, gather your men and women here, anyone that wants to come. My friends and I should arrive here about an hour after the toasts start at the palace. I assume some of you will be on duty at the palace, but they will know when the time comes to leave. Those outside the palace will need to figure something else out. Work with them, come up with a plan. Meet us here, but if we don’t come, continue with the plan. We will block the drain in the pond in the city center. This will allow you to raise the metal grates over the channel by the waterwheel. Climb down and follow the tunnel. It should lead out into the mountains. Understand that I do not know for certain that it is clear for its entire length, but I believe it is. Once out, make for Ubrain and travel to the Great Oasis. You know of it?”

  “I do, my prince,” Ferran said.

  “Good, that’s the plan, then. I apologize for the level of uncertainty, but it is the best I can do with the time I have.”

  “No apologies necessary, my prince. It is a sound plan.”

  It was a plan, but far from sound. At least it gave them a chance. I frowned when I saw a lone wagon sitting on the tracks. It had Malakai’s two oversized rockets strapped to it. The smaller ones were missing. “What is that doing there?” I asked.

  Ferran turned around and saw the wagon. “There were instructions to leave those on the wagon. My master forbade us from storing them with the rest of the wagons and carriages. He said he didn’t trust those things.”

  “He doesn’t realize how right he is to be suspicious,” I said. “Won’t it get in the way?”

  Ferran shook his head. “The train isn’t leaving for another couple of weeks. The tracks only extend to Sagemont. Once they are constructed to more distant towns, there will be more frequent trips. Hopefully I won’t be here to see that.”

  “Count on it,” I said.

  I said my goodbyes, wished them luck, and made my way back to the Eagle’s Perch. With my stomach somewhat settled, I was starving, and I decided to have a late lunch before we went to have dinner with Hobart.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Hobart

  The old man at the Eagle’s Perch had not lied when he’d said that Hobart’s family’s estate was large. If anything, he had undersold it. In any other city, it could have passed as a palace. The guard at the gate expected us and opened it without a word. Neysa walked in front of me, and I could not help but stare. She looked stunning. She wore a dress made to be stared at, ivory white, covered in jewels, and so form-fitting it was close to improper. I did not mind in the slightest. Marcus and I looked pretty good too, I guess. For some reason, the more expensive the clothing, t
he less comfortable it became. I was very uncomfortable. As wealthy a man as I now was, I preferred simpler garb.

  The guard led us along a meandering path through the garden. The word garden, however, does not properly convey the botanical wonderland we walked through. I figured that if I had invested as much as this had clearly cost, I would have made sure my visitors spent as much time as possible walking through it on their way to my door, too. Large flower beds were arranged in wide curves, and flowers of every color were clustered in pleasing patterns. The flower beds were separated by short cut grass, with not a weed in sight. Along the path, we passed shrubberies tortured into the shape of every animal imaginable. Well, perhaps not quite, but were they alive, it would have been considered an impressive zoo.

  As we reached the door, the guard bowed and took off back along the path. Marcus looked my way and slammed the metal knocker so hard that the door shook in its hinges. It was unnecessary. The door opened almost instantly, and a well-dressed older gentleman bowed, and gestured for us to come in. The man was caught quite off-guard by Marcus’s embrace.

  “Thank you for the invitation,” Marcus said. “Hobart’s father-in-law, I presume?” He let go of the flustered old man.

  “Noo—no,” he said, shaking. “I am the butler, sir. Please… come this way.”

  The butler led us through the grand house, and I could not help but marvel at the place. The high walls were absolutely covered in paintings, big and small. They were hung with care, and each part of the mosaic managed to complement that beside it. The house was not a museum, however; it looked lived in, without being messy. It was a very nice house.

  We were led to a sitting room, and its five occupants stood as we entered. Hobart left his wife’s side, walking over to clasp our hands and kiss Neysa’s.

  “Welcome, welcome,” Hobart said. “I am so pleased you came by. You remember my wife, Mariana. And these are my sons, Albert and Joseph,” he said, pointing to his left and right, respectively. “And last but most certainly not least, my father, Emmitt.”

  Emmitt bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Welcome, honored guests. Hobart speaks highly of you and complains much of your achievements.” Hobart stared at the old man. “Oh, don’t mind him. He’s just bitter that you achieved in less than a year what he could not in ten.”

  Some polite small talk followed, the conversation lubricated with tea and biscuits. I did not much care for tea, but it felt rude to ask for coffee. We soon moved on to dinner at an overly long table. Hobart’s sons were sent away, looking relieved to be away from the boring old people.

  Servants came in with a constant barrage of smaller courses. I ate a lot and became concerned that my appetite would be long dead by the time the main course arrived. Each course required its own cutlery, and the space beside my plate still had quite a number displayed like weapons of war, ready for battle. It would be a battle, alright, and I doubted I would emerge victorious from that many more courses. Belatedly I realized that the others were not finishing each course served. Well, Marcus did, but that man’s stomach would never be satisfied.

  The food was nice, but the company tedious. I felt sorry for Hobart, as Emmitt rubbed our success in his face at every opportunity. It was an awkward affair, so to steer the conversation away from how awesome we were, I inquired about Emmitt’s business.

  “Glass windows, my friend, the likes of which you have never seen. Open those shutters,” he commanded of a servant. The shutters were opened, but I failed to see what the man was on about. “What do you think?” Emmitt asked.

  “I’m not sure what I am looking at,” Marcus said.

  “Exactly! Come, take a closer look.”

  Marcus, Neysa and I walked to the window. When I stood it became apparent that my legs were not as solid as they had been. They appeared to be full of wine. When we approached the window, I saw my reflection but little else.

  “Unbelievable,” Marcus said, thumping on the glass. “It’s so clear…”

  “Please… do be careful,” Emmitt said. “It is like to shatter. But your delight in my product warms my heart.”

  I marveled at the glass. The things you could do with something like that… Neysa tapped my elbow and pulled me back to the table. The others were already sitting down. We did the same, and I placed the large white napkin back on my lap.

  “Would I be able to purchase some glass panes on short notice?” I asked.

  “Usually, no,” Emmitt said. “But for you, I can make an exception. Leave me the dimensions, and I can have it ready in two or three days’ time. Will that suffice?”

  “It will,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Pleasant conversation followed, for a short while at least, but Emmitt found his way back to praising us. The others at the table looked as awkward as I felt. “Truly, it is a fine job you gentlemen did,” Emmitt said. “Not only did you brew a fine ale, but you managed to get it distributed throughout the Empire. And beyond too, if my business contacts are to be trusted, which they most certainly are not. How do you keep up with demand? Our modest business is currently experiencing difficulties in this area.”

  “Easy,” Marcus said. “We bought most of the other breweries in Sagemont, as well as another in Qash.”

  Emmitt shook his head. “Such a simple solution, and yet… I hate to admit that it has eluded me. Not only do you increase supply, but you crush the competition at the same time. I like it. I propose a toast,” Emmitt said, raising his glass. “To the Bleeding Wolf.”

  We raised our glasses, though not with much enthusiasm. It was not the first time that night that Emmitt had toasted our business. The man respected the brewery far more than he did us—that was for sure.

  Marcus stood, and raised his own glass. “As you all know, we will be attending the Harvest Festival at the palace. We would be blessed if Hobart and Mariana would grace us with their presence on the evening. Without Hobart’s fine training, we would not be where we are today. To Hobart!”

  Marcus’s toast was heartily received by all but Emmitt. Hobart looked at his wife for a long moment, and I was sure there was a moistness to the man’s eyes. They hugged each other, rocking back and forth a few times before releasing each other. They both beamed. A part of me regretted it. I wondered how they would feel about this when they woke up on the floor, with the purveyors of fine ale having robbed their emperor. I hoped they would not be implicated, being our guests, but I doubted they would be. Not lying on the floor like the rest of the nobles. I was quite sure it would put a dent in Emmitt’s high esteem of us.

  But this was a night for celebrating, for eating and drinking. As the night wore on, the number of empty wine bottles at the center of the table increased, and I felt the ground below me become less sturdy by the glass. For a man with a brewery, several really, I rarely got drunk. But it seemed the night for it.

  On our way back to the Eagle’s Perch, three sheets to the wind, we took twice as many steps as would have been necessary if we’d followed a straight line. The steps to our suites were particularly troublesome. When we finally reached the top, I said my goodnights, went to my room, and collapsed on the bed. The room was just starting to spin around me when I heard a knock at the door. With a groan, I got to my feet, waddled back through the suite, and opened the door.

  Before I knew what hit me, Neysa wrapped her arms around my neck, went on her toes, and kissed me full on the mouth. She withdrew for a moment, smiling at me. I realized I was smiling too. I opened my mouth to speak and found she was back, biting my lip, then kissing me again. I returned it. Hells, I half thought I was dreaming. She stopped and leaned back, hands still locked behind my neck.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Neysa asked.

  I smiled, nodded, and took a step back into the suite. Neysa did not let go of me but kicked the door shut once inside. We made our way to my room, embracing, stumbling, kissing, and tripping over each other. Once in the room, she put her hand to my chest, shoved me
onto the bed, and followed me down. Her long hair tickled my face, glowing in the moonlight. Her elbows rested on either side of my face as she looked down at me. Gods, she was beautiful. She leaned down and kissed me gently, tasting of wine and something else, perhaps it was just her. The gentle kisses turned to more breathy ones, accompanied by awkward fumbling and touching.

  After a while of this, clothes became too much of a barrier. Neysa pushed herself up, got to her feet, and smiled. She hummed, and slowly started swaying, rocking her hips. I had no idea what she was doing—it wasn’t her usual magic—and I would have rather she came back to bed, but I could not take my eyes off her. Perhaps she used a different sort of magic, as the movement was quite hypnotic. The dance became much more interesting when clasps and straps started being undone. Then, like water, her dress slipped from her, cascading onto the floor. She gestured at her body, and the dance continued on.

  “Do you approve of my purchase at the market yesterday?” Neysa asked.

  I nodded, a goofy grin on my face. She wore undergarments that showed more than they hid. They were a very long way from being functional in the traditional manner. It seemed their only real purpose was to draw the eye, and that they did very well indeed. It was with great effort that I peeled my eyes back to her face and gestured for her to come back to bed. I had sobered up a lot since earlier in the evening, which pleased me. I wanted to remember this moment clearly.

  The undergarments, as enticing as they were, soon decorated the floor. Our lovemaking was awkward, but passionate, hungry, and… did not last overly long. The second round was a lot more measured, and twice as good.

  The next morning I woke with a start. There was a loud thumping on the door. Neysa’s arm lay draped across my chest, so I gently lifted it off and got out of bed. I couldn’t help but smile. Light was streaming through the window, and at a guess it was an hour past dawn. I had no memory of ever sleeping that late. I pulled on some pants and made my way to the door as the knocking grew increasingly insistent. I yanked it open and saw Marcus standing there, his hand still raised to knock. Marcus barged into the room.