In Constellated Wars - Part Five
Okay, it is my lunch hour, so I should go out and get something to eat, but I am not actually hungry. (I don't doubt that I'm going to regret this decision in a couple of hours, but whatever. I have a granola bar and funky Korean snack food. I'll live.)
NaNo is probably a better use of my lunch hour, anyway.
“You know Erelim Arriortua, I take it,” Thierry said once they were safely aboard the martola that would take them to the Redwater district. It was possible to walk just about everywhere in Altera, but sometimes traveling by water through the canals was faster. Thierry, being land-born, preferred to walk when he could. Aubrey was just the opposite in all respects. His kin were seafarers and always had been. It showed, whenever Aubrey got in a martola or a larger boat. Aubrey was always more at home on the water.
Aubrey looked out over the water, drawing a flat glass coin from his belt purse. “I started at Redwater,” he said, rubbing his fingers over the emblem of Saint Sachiel, daughter of Solariel and patron saint of the waters. Sachiel was the demigod protector of the creatures who dwelled within her domain, as well as those who made their living upon it. It didn’t matter whether a seafarer was a sailor or a pirate - they all swore by Sachiel.
They all held the same superstitions, too. After a moment, Aubrey kissed the coin and sent it skimming across the water. It skipped four times and sank, adding wealth to Sachiel’s coffers. A flat stone that had been painted with Sachiel’s emblem would work just as well, or so Thierry had been told, but for the sailors who made port in Altera, the glass coins made by the artisans who lived in the Glassfire district were the offering of choice. They were a rare thing, once they got farther out to sea, and therefore more likely to please to Sachiel.
“Lady defend us,” Aubrey murmured.
Thierry waited a moment longer, in case Aubrey had anything to add to his prayers, but that seemed to be it.
“I thought you started at Ravensgate,” he said. He’d never had any reason to believe otherwise. Very few of the Guardsmen chose to leave the Guardhouse they’d first been assigned to, until the terms of their contract were up and they were free to sign one elsewhere.
“Would that I had,” Aubrey muttered. “Arriortua’s a blood-mad fool. I’ve known pirates with more honor than him.”
Aubrey generally regarded pirates as the scum of the earth, lower than the worst dregs of humanity they faced as Guardsmen. To say that someone had less honor than a pirate was probably the worst insult in Aubrey’s not inconsiderable repertoire.
Thierry wondered what Arriortua had done to deserve it.
“Why’s he still an Erelim, then? Surely someone’s noticed.”
Aubrey’s lips curled back, showing teeth. “Arriortua knows how to polish his manners pretty-like when someone of rank comes round. It’s all smiles and sunshine and kittens, and you’d never guess that he’s an abusive dung-brained goat fucker.” Aubrey shook his head. “He was worse when Budesa was the Ophanim here. Now that Orseolo’s the Ophanim, he’s had to step carefully. Orseolo would get rid of him in a heartbeat, if he had the grounds to justify it.”
“Being an abusive dung-brained goat fucker isn’t grounds to dismiss him?”
“Not if you can’t prove it.” Aubrey’s jaw tightened at some too-present memory. “Funny, how many people who might otherwise have reason to accuse the Redwater Erelim of brutality go silent when the time comes to give testimony.”
Thinking about why that might be put a cold hard knot in Thierry’s stomach. “What does he do to them?”
“He sends his Guard after their families,” Aubrey said. “Says he’ll hurt wives or brothers or children until they agree not to say a word against him. I got out of there before he could order me to do so, or I’d bring testimony against the bastard, but knowing about it’s not enough to bring him down. At best, they’d suspend his duties while there was a formal inquiry, and that’s not likely to do any good.”
“Shit,” said Thierry. “That’s -” He shook his head. He didn’t know a word vile enough to describe a man who would abuse those under his protection like that.
“There’s a reason Redwater’s got so many fighters,” Aubrey said. “Most of them are looking to make a name for themselves, establish a reputation. A lot of them will hire out as protectors, in exchange for room and board. They’ve got no other way of protecting themselves, since they can’t go to the Guard.”
“That’s awful,” Thierry said. “Why don’t they leave, though?” The Seven knew that there was space enough for people to move if they didn’t like the district they were in. Altera wasn’t a large city by any means, but it still felt empty at times. The Carelians and Lucians and Aracelians who were settlers and colonists still didn’t make up the numbers the Thaqibans had once had in the city.
Aubrey shrugged. “Why should they?” he asked. “Redwater’s home. And besides. They look after their own, there.”
“But if the Guard there is that bad,” Thierry protested.
“Thierry,” Aubrey said gently. “If someone had told you and your family to leave the place where you’d been born just because the province overseer was an ass, what would you have done?”
“Stayed,” Thierry said promptly. “But that’s different. My family’s owned the inn for generations -”
“And most of the Redwater folk are looking to do the same,” Aubrey interrupted. “Many of them have children who were born there - children they’re looking to leave property to when they pass on. They’re strong. They can endure. Arriortua won’t be around forever.”
“Solariel and the Seven make it so,” the martolier murmured.
Thierry looked up at him. He’d forgotten that the martolier was there. The martolier were good at being unobtrusive. He’d stopped noticing them his first month in Altera. They acted like living, breathing extensions of their martolas, so practically no one paid them any mind. If they didn’t hold to a strict code of secrecy - no martolier would repeat the things he heard, regardless of what they were, on pain of death - the martolier could have ruled Altera’s information underground.
“Bit out of your territory, aren’t you?” Aubrey asked.
The martolier shrugged. “I go where my business takes me,” he said.
“Fair enough,” said Aubrey, leaning back to study the man. “You’ve heard of what happened at the House of Night Wanderers, I take it?”
The martolier nodded. “Much has been said,” he allowed.
“Anything specific?” Thierry asked.
The martolier eyed him warily. “No, my lord,” he said eventually. “Only that evil was done there.”
Thierry thought about what had been done to Mistress Elanore and couldn’t bring himself to disagree.
*
Erelim Arriortua was a large man, his skin seamed with scars where it wasn’t covered in coarse dark hair. He reminded Thierry a little of the brown bears that lived in the forest near his village, being of a similar size and temperament. The Redwater Erelim was cranky as an early-woken bear and just as dangerous.
“D’Adamo get tired of you, then?” he inquired.
“The Erelim bade us make our report of our findings to you,” Aubrey said woodenly. “We’ve encountered a case similar to one of yours.”
Arriortua waved this aside. “We all figured he would, you know,” he said. “We thought you’d be back within the month. But maybe d’Adamo likes weak-willed little pissants.”
“Madame Sirèneus reported the body,” Thierry interjected hastily.
Arriortua fixed him with a beady-eyed glare. “Why should I care if one of the bitch-queen’s birds got killed?” he demanded. “They’re whores.”
They’re people, Thierry wanted to say, and didn’t. There was no use in arguing with someone who didn’t have the ears to hear you, his grandmother would have said. It was obvious that Arriortua wasn’t going to listen, because he didn’t see the sirène as people worthy of protecting.
“The body was found just before twilight three days ago,” he said. “The skin was translucent and hard - near crystalline, suggesting that magic was involved. When Erelim d’Adamo brought the matter to the Ophanim’s attention, Ophanim Orseolo informed us that there had been a similar body found within your own district, and that the case was to be turned over to you as a matter of prior claim.”
Arriortua turned his head to the side and spat, indicating his opinion of the Ophanim’s wishes. “We did. What of it?”
“If you’d like us to make a report to be added to your own, we’d be happy to do so,” Thierry persisted. Gods, but the man was a fool. No wonder Aubrey hated him.
“A street tough and a whore are no great loss,” Arriortua grunted. “Make a report if you must. Orsul will hear it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Thierry said.
“Keep your thanks,” Arriortua told him. “I want to hear him say it.”
Aubrey glared at the Erelim. For a second, Thierry worried that Aubrey would attack Arriortua, but his mentor just said, “Thank you, sir” sounding as though the words had been ripped from his unwilling tongue.
Arriortua laughed.
Aubrey let Thierry give the report to Orsul, his jaw clenched so tightly shut that Thierry worried he might crack one of his teeth on all the angry words he would not - could not - give voice to. Thierry rushed through the latter half of his report and dragged Aubrey from the Redwater Guardhouse as quickly as he could.
Aubrey lashed out as soon as the doors of the Guardhouse closed behind him. His closed fist struck the wall. Aubrey swore, shaking his hand out and looking more like himself and less like a Guard-shaped masthead.
Thierry wasn’t sure what the protocols were for his mentor’s temper tantrums. That hadn’t been covered at the Accademia Guardia either. The Accademia Guardia hadn’t covered a lot of things that happened in Altera, but it was possible that that was because Altera was a unique unto itself.
“Valeray’s going to scold you if you broke your hand,” he observed. Actually, Valeray would do a lot worse than that, once he found out Aubrey had broken his hand doing something stupid. He’d take both of them off the patrol rosters and put them on in-house duty until Aubrey’s hand healed, to be stationed as the on-duty troubleshooters for every petty grievance that the Ravensgate district cared to bring to the Guard. It was worse than having the dawn shift.
“It’s fine,” Aubrey said.
“You’re bleeding,” Thierry pointed out.
“Really?” Aubrey demanded sarcastically. “I hadn’t noticed. I just broke the skin, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”
Aubrey probably wouldn’t say if he wasn’t, but his tone suggested that he wasn’t going to listen to reason.
Thierry sighed. “Where to now?” he asked.
Aubrey looked a little mollified. He actually smiled, if you could call a teeth-baring grimace a smile. “We’re going sight-seeing,” he said.
Thierry looked around. There was very little in Redwater to see, as far as he could tell. That might have had something to do with the fact that it was near twilight, and whatever businesses Redwater had were already closing up, signaling the end of the day.
“Right,” he said dryly. “Sight-seeing. Of course.”
“Come on,” Aubrey said. “It’s time to go get a good look at the city.”
*
Cathal Verducci’s House of Night Wanderers was nestled in the heart of the Redwater district, surrounded on either side by a public bath house and a tavern, both of which were under Verducci’s protection. Most of the Wanderer’s slept on the premises, Verducci explained, although a few of them slept elsewhere, serving as house guards when they weren’t training or engaged in matches.
“You’re here about Mercier, I take it?” he inquired as he led them up the stairs to his office. The Wanderers who were training on the ground floor watched them go. Verducci waved his hand at them irritably and they went back to what they were doing. Evidently they liked Verducci enough to want to protect him, but trusted his ability to protect himself.
He was their Erelim, Thierry realized. He’d have done the same for d’Adamo. Granted, Verducci was quite a bit older than d’Adamo - near fifty, or perhaps a bit beyond it, but he was in good condition for a man his age, still wiry and strong. His hair was close-cropped and fair enough that it was hard to tell whether or not it was showing silver, hiding his age, but his eyes were still sharp and his grip had been firm when he’d offered Thierry his hand. Thierry wasn’t sure how he would have fared in a fight against Verducci. He was younger and probably faster, but most fighters didn’t live to see Verducci’s age unless they were very, very good, and Verducci specialized in the best of the best. There was no reason to believe that he didn’t hold himself to their standards.
Not a man to cross, at any rate.
“We are, sir,” Aubrey said.
“Polite,” Verducci observed, gesturing for them to be seated. He closed the door behind them and took a seat at the desk, blue-gray eyes studying them warily. “You’re not with Arriortua.”
“No, sir,” Thierry said. “We’re with Ravensgate and Erelim d’Adamo.”
Was it just his imagination, or did Verducci look pleased by that? Thierry couldn’t blame the man for not wanting Arriortua running the investigation. Aubrey was right. Arriortua was an idiot. A dangerous idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. The Redwater Erelim wouldn’t be looking for any kind of justice any time soon, if his complete lack of interest in the second murder was anything to go by.
“Good,” said Verducci. “D’Adamo knows how to run an investigation.”
“Ah. About that,” Aubrey said. “We’re not here in an official capacity.”
The change in Verducci was immediate. “You’re not,” he said, voice going flat and cold.
“No,” Aubrey said. “We’re sight-seeing. Junior Guardsman Mèrault is new to the city, you see. The Erelim thought it best that I show him around a bit, since we were here to make a report to Arriortua.”
This seemed to mollify Verducci. “And you decided to start here,” he said. “Well, we’ve no fights going on, as such a thing would be illegal, so you’ll have to settle for listening to an old man’s ramblings. I hope you’ll find them entertaining.”
“Instructive, surely,” Aubrey said blandly.
Thierry sighed. Did no one in Altera speak plainly? What was wrong with simply saying that Arriortua had a prior claim on the case, but that d’Adamo and the Ravensgate Guard weren’t going to leave it to Arriortua’s incompetence?
“Phillip Mercier was one of the most promising fighters I had,” Verducci said. “Not the strongest, but quick. Adaptable. I’d have given even odds on him against one of Savita’s damn Shadows.”
“I saw him, once,” Aubrey said. “I started in Redwater three years ago,” he explained, at Verducci’s questioning look. “My own mentor decided to show me the sights.”
“I’ll bet,” Verducci muttered sourly. “You know, then. He was good.”
“One of the best,” Aubrey agreed.
Verducci nodded. A troubled expression crept across his face. “I found him just after dawn, when I came to open the House,” he said. “He was in the ring. The sand was scuffled, like he’d been fighting, but whoever his opponent was -” Verducci shook his head. “They didn’t give him a quick death, nor an honorable one. What they did to Phillip - no one should die like that.”
“What do you mean?” Thierry asked, exchanging a look with Aubrey. The woman Elanore looked peaceful, as if she’d just fallen asleep.
“He went down fighting naked,” Verducci said. “Without a blade,” he clarified, at Thierry’s startled look. “I don’t know why. Phillip was better with a blade and he knew it, and it’s not like he didn’t have access to the armory.”
“Pride?” Aubrey suggested. “A lot of fighters don’t like to admit to weakness.”
“Not Phillip,” Verducci said. “He knew where his weaknesses were, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit them, either. No, if he died naked it was because whoever he was fighting kept him from getting at a blade.”
“How bad was it?” Aubrey asked.
“Bad,” Verducci told them both. “Whoever he was fighting broke both his arms. There was bone sticking out of his skin when I found him, in his arms and elsewhere. There were gouges in his skin, but there wasn’t any blood, so it wasn’t bloodloss that killed him. Whoever he was fighting crushed his throat and left him to die slowly, with the rest of us just upstairs and him unable to call for help.”
“There was nothing you could have done,” Thierry pointed out softly. “If his injuries were as bad as you say.”
“We could have made it quick,” the old man said bluntly. “It would have been a mercy to him.”
“What made you bring it to the Ophanim’s attention?” Aubrey asked. “It could have just been a challenge match gone wrong.”
“Could have, but it wasn’t. No challenger would dare use magic in a match. There’s no honor to it.”
“Maybe they wanted to win very badly,” Aubrey guessed.
“Maybe,” Verducci agreed. “But I doubt it. There wouldn’t have been any point to what they did to Phillip, if all they wanted to do was win. Whoever he fought made him a freak before he died,” he explained. “I could see through his skin, and when I touched him it was cold and hard as glass. You see a lot of bloodshed, in my line of work. Too many young men don’t know when to quit and wind up with their guts spilled across the sand, but I’ve never seen a man’s guts while they were still on his insides.” Verducci closed his eyes against the memory. “That wasn’t an honorable death,” he repeated. “No man should die like that. Nemamiah protect us all against what was done to poor Phillip. I still see his eyes whenever I try to sleep, all red and staring.”
“Red,” Thierry blurted, startled.
“Yes,” said Verducci. “I could see them beneath his lids. It was odd,” he added, looking troubled. “The rest of him was pale, like there was no blood left in him, but his eyes were filled with blood.”
“Oh,” said Thierry. Of course that was it. He’d thought - well, it was stupid. He’d thought maybe it meant something, that Phillip’s eyes had been red and the woman Elanore’s had been orange, but it made sense that their eyes had been filled with blood. A blow to the face did that, and the discoloration in Mistress Elanore’s eyes was just poor lighting, or perhaps he was misremembering it. It was nothing important.
Aubrey gave him a quizzical look. What was that about? he wanted to know.
Thierry shook his head. Nothing. Forget I said anything.
“You might send to the Temple district,” Aubrey said gently. “Have one of Nemamiah’s priests cleanse the house.”
Verducci shook his head. “We burn candles to the Lady of the Righteous,” he said, naming Solariel’s youngest daughter, the patron saint of those who fought for just causes. Thierry supposed that Verducci’s Wanderers could be counted among those who did, although he usually thought of Nemamiah as the goddess of soldiers and Guardsmen and mercenaries for hire. In Redwater, though, he supposed every man who fought in the rings might consider himself one who did so with good cause - especially since they couldn’t turn to the Redwater Guard.
“Nemamiah’s taken Phillip into her care, and we honor her for it, but it’s Lahatiel’s blessing I want now,” Verducci said flatly.
Thierry winced. His grandmother had been dead for close to a decade now, but the old woman would have found a way to box his ears from the land of the dead if he dared to invoke Lahatiel of the Fires, just like she had when she was alive. It was better to swear by Solariel, his grandmother always maintained, for Solariel saw everything under the sun and would mete out His justice accordingly. Solariel was ever merciful. Lahatiel, who was Solariel’s youngest son and divine enforcer, was not.
“You’re not the only one,” Aubrey murmured.
Thierry wasn’t sure if Aubrey meant himself or Madame Savita by that, but it probably didn’t matter either way. He was going to see justice done for this - for an old man’s nightmares and a motherless child he’d never met.
Lahatiel of the Fires might await whoever had done this, but Sun willing, they would face the Guard and earthly justice first.
18570 / 50000
(37.13%)
And for everyone that's confused by where the detail about orange eyes came from - I was bad and went back and added it to what I already posted in Part Two. Sorry. It was one of those details I realized the story needed, so stuff to come would make sense. Part Two has been updated to reflect the change, but really, it's a very minor detail and you can kind of get the context of it from this.
NaNo is probably a better use of my lunch hour, anyway.
“You know Erelim Arriortua, I take it,” Thierry said once they were safely aboard the martola that would take them to the Redwater district. It was possible to walk just about everywhere in Altera, but sometimes traveling by water through the canals was faster. Thierry, being land-born, preferred to walk when he could. Aubrey was just the opposite in all respects. His kin were seafarers and always had been. It showed, whenever Aubrey got in a martola or a larger boat. Aubrey was always more at home on the water.
Aubrey looked out over the water, drawing a flat glass coin from his belt purse. “I started at Redwater,” he said, rubbing his fingers over the emblem of Saint Sachiel, daughter of Solariel and patron saint of the waters. Sachiel was the demigod protector of the creatures who dwelled within her domain, as well as those who made their living upon it. It didn’t matter whether a seafarer was a sailor or a pirate - they all swore by Sachiel.
They all held the same superstitions, too. After a moment, Aubrey kissed the coin and sent it skimming across the water. It skipped four times and sank, adding wealth to Sachiel’s coffers. A flat stone that had been painted with Sachiel’s emblem would work just as well, or so Thierry had been told, but for the sailors who made port in Altera, the glass coins made by the artisans who lived in the Glassfire district were the offering of choice. They were a rare thing, once they got farther out to sea, and therefore more likely to please to Sachiel.
“Lady defend us,” Aubrey murmured.
Thierry waited a moment longer, in case Aubrey had anything to add to his prayers, but that seemed to be it.
“I thought you started at Ravensgate,” he said. He’d never had any reason to believe otherwise. Very few of the Guardsmen chose to leave the Guardhouse they’d first been assigned to, until the terms of their contract were up and they were free to sign one elsewhere.
“Would that I had,” Aubrey muttered. “Arriortua’s a blood-mad fool. I’ve known pirates with more honor than him.”
Aubrey generally regarded pirates as the scum of the earth, lower than the worst dregs of humanity they faced as Guardsmen. To say that someone had less honor than a pirate was probably the worst insult in Aubrey’s not inconsiderable repertoire.
Thierry wondered what Arriortua had done to deserve it.
“Why’s he still an Erelim, then? Surely someone’s noticed.”
Aubrey’s lips curled back, showing teeth. “Arriortua knows how to polish his manners pretty-like when someone of rank comes round. It’s all smiles and sunshine and kittens, and you’d never guess that he’s an abusive dung-brained goat fucker.” Aubrey shook his head. “He was worse when Budesa was the Ophanim here. Now that Orseolo’s the Ophanim, he’s had to step carefully. Orseolo would get rid of him in a heartbeat, if he had the grounds to justify it.”
“Being an abusive dung-brained goat fucker isn’t grounds to dismiss him?”
“Not if you can’t prove it.” Aubrey’s jaw tightened at some too-present memory. “Funny, how many people who might otherwise have reason to accuse the Redwater Erelim of brutality go silent when the time comes to give testimony.”
Thinking about why that might be put a cold hard knot in Thierry’s stomach. “What does he do to them?”
“He sends his Guard after their families,” Aubrey said. “Says he’ll hurt wives or brothers or children until they agree not to say a word against him. I got out of there before he could order me to do so, or I’d bring testimony against the bastard, but knowing about it’s not enough to bring him down. At best, they’d suspend his duties while there was a formal inquiry, and that’s not likely to do any good.”
“Shit,” said Thierry. “That’s -” He shook his head. He didn’t know a word vile enough to describe a man who would abuse those under his protection like that.
“There’s a reason Redwater’s got so many fighters,” Aubrey said. “Most of them are looking to make a name for themselves, establish a reputation. A lot of them will hire out as protectors, in exchange for room and board. They’ve got no other way of protecting themselves, since they can’t go to the Guard.”
“That’s awful,” Thierry said. “Why don’t they leave, though?” The Seven knew that there was space enough for people to move if they didn’t like the district they were in. Altera wasn’t a large city by any means, but it still felt empty at times. The Carelians and Lucians and Aracelians who were settlers and colonists still didn’t make up the numbers the Thaqibans had once had in the city.
Aubrey shrugged. “Why should they?” he asked. “Redwater’s home. And besides. They look after their own, there.”
“But if the Guard there is that bad,” Thierry protested.
“Thierry,” Aubrey said gently. “If someone had told you and your family to leave the place where you’d been born just because the province overseer was an ass, what would you have done?”
“Stayed,” Thierry said promptly. “But that’s different. My family’s owned the inn for generations -”
“And most of the Redwater folk are looking to do the same,” Aubrey interrupted. “Many of them have children who were born there - children they’re looking to leave property to when they pass on. They’re strong. They can endure. Arriortua won’t be around forever.”
“Solariel and the Seven make it so,” the martolier murmured.
Thierry looked up at him. He’d forgotten that the martolier was there. The martolier were good at being unobtrusive. He’d stopped noticing them his first month in Altera. They acted like living, breathing extensions of their martolas, so practically no one paid them any mind. If they didn’t hold to a strict code of secrecy - no martolier would repeat the things he heard, regardless of what they were, on pain of death - the martolier could have ruled Altera’s information underground.
“Bit out of your territory, aren’t you?” Aubrey asked.
The martolier shrugged. “I go where my business takes me,” he said.
“Fair enough,” said Aubrey, leaning back to study the man. “You’ve heard of what happened at the House of Night Wanderers, I take it?”
The martolier nodded. “Much has been said,” he allowed.
“Anything specific?” Thierry asked.
The martolier eyed him warily. “No, my lord,” he said eventually. “Only that evil was done there.”
Thierry thought about what had been done to Mistress Elanore and couldn’t bring himself to disagree.
*
Erelim Arriortua was a large man, his skin seamed with scars where it wasn’t covered in coarse dark hair. He reminded Thierry a little of the brown bears that lived in the forest near his village, being of a similar size and temperament. The Redwater Erelim was cranky as an early-woken bear and just as dangerous.
“D’Adamo get tired of you, then?” he inquired.
“The Erelim bade us make our report of our findings to you,” Aubrey said woodenly. “We’ve encountered a case similar to one of yours.”
Arriortua waved this aside. “We all figured he would, you know,” he said. “We thought you’d be back within the month. But maybe d’Adamo likes weak-willed little pissants.”
“Madame Sirèneus reported the body,” Thierry interjected hastily.
Arriortua fixed him with a beady-eyed glare. “Why should I care if one of the bitch-queen’s birds got killed?” he demanded. “They’re whores.”
They’re people, Thierry wanted to say, and didn’t. There was no use in arguing with someone who didn’t have the ears to hear you, his grandmother would have said. It was obvious that Arriortua wasn’t going to listen, because he didn’t see the sirène as people worthy of protecting.
“The body was found just before twilight three days ago,” he said. “The skin was translucent and hard - near crystalline, suggesting that magic was involved. When Erelim d’Adamo brought the matter to the Ophanim’s attention, Ophanim Orseolo informed us that there had been a similar body found within your own district, and that the case was to be turned over to you as a matter of prior claim.”
Arriortua turned his head to the side and spat, indicating his opinion of the Ophanim’s wishes. “We did. What of it?”
“If you’d like us to make a report to be added to your own, we’d be happy to do so,” Thierry persisted. Gods, but the man was a fool. No wonder Aubrey hated him.
“A street tough and a whore are no great loss,” Arriortua grunted. “Make a report if you must. Orsul will hear it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Thierry said.
“Keep your thanks,” Arriortua told him. “I want to hear him say it.”
Aubrey glared at the Erelim. For a second, Thierry worried that Aubrey would attack Arriortua, but his mentor just said, “Thank you, sir” sounding as though the words had been ripped from his unwilling tongue.
Arriortua laughed.
Aubrey let Thierry give the report to Orsul, his jaw clenched so tightly shut that Thierry worried he might crack one of his teeth on all the angry words he would not - could not - give voice to. Thierry rushed through the latter half of his report and dragged Aubrey from the Redwater Guardhouse as quickly as he could.
Aubrey lashed out as soon as the doors of the Guardhouse closed behind him. His closed fist struck the wall. Aubrey swore, shaking his hand out and looking more like himself and less like a Guard-shaped masthead.
Thierry wasn’t sure what the protocols were for his mentor’s temper tantrums. That hadn’t been covered at the Accademia Guardia either. The Accademia Guardia hadn’t covered a lot of things that happened in Altera, but it was possible that that was because Altera was a unique unto itself.
“Valeray’s going to scold you if you broke your hand,” he observed. Actually, Valeray would do a lot worse than that, once he found out Aubrey had broken his hand doing something stupid. He’d take both of them off the patrol rosters and put them on in-house duty until Aubrey’s hand healed, to be stationed as the on-duty troubleshooters for every petty grievance that the Ravensgate district cared to bring to the Guard. It was worse than having the dawn shift.
“It’s fine,” Aubrey said.
“You’re bleeding,” Thierry pointed out.
“Really?” Aubrey demanded sarcastically. “I hadn’t noticed. I just broke the skin, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”
Aubrey probably wouldn’t say if he wasn’t, but his tone suggested that he wasn’t going to listen to reason.
Thierry sighed. “Where to now?” he asked.
Aubrey looked a little mollified. He actually smiled, if you could call a teeth-baring grimace a smile. “We’re going sight-seeing,” he said.
Thierry looked around. There was very little in Redwater to see, as far as he could tell. That might have had something to do with the fact that it was near twilight, and whatever businesses Redwater had were already closing up, signaling the end of the day.
“Right,” he said dryly. “Sight-seeing. Of course.”
“Come on,” Aubrey said. “It’s time to go get a good look at the city.”
*
Cathal Verducci’s House of Night Wanderers was nestled in the heart of the Redwater district, surrounded on either side by a public bath house and a tavern, both of which were under Verducci’s protection. Most of the Wanderer’s slept on the premises, Verducci explained, although a few of them slept elsewhere, serving as house guards when they weren’t training or engaged in matches.
“You’re here about Mercier, I take it?” he inquired as he led them up the stairs to his office. The Wanderers who were training on the ground floor watched them go. Verducci waved his hand at them irritably and they went back to what they were doing. Evidently they liked Verducci enough to want to protect him, but trusted his ability to protect himself.
He was their Erelim, Thierry realized. He’d have done the same for d’Adamo. Granted, Verducci was quite a bit older than d’Adamo - near fifty, or perhaps a bit beyond it, but he was in good condition for a man his age, still wiry and strong. His hair was close-cropped and fair enough that it was hard to tell whether or not it was showing silver, hiding his age, but his eyes were still sharp and his grip had been firm when he’d offered Thierry his hand. Thierry wasn’t sure how he would have fared in a fight against Verducci. He was younger and probably faster, but most fighters didn’t live to see Verducci’s age unless they were very, very good, and Verducci specialized in the best of the best. There was no reason to believe that he didn’t hold himself to their standards.
Not a man to cross, at any rate.
“We are, sir,” Aubrey said.
“Polite,” Verducci observed, gesturing for them to be seated. He closed the door behind them and took a seat at the desk, blue-gray eyes studying them warily. “You’re not with Arriortua.”
“No, sir,” Thierry said. “We’re with Ravensgate and Erelim d’Adamo.”
Was it just his imagination, or did Verducci look pleased by that? Thierry couldn’t blame the man for not wanting Arriortua running the investigation. Aubrey was right. Arriortua was an idiot. A dangerous idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. The Redwater Erelim wouldn’t be looking for any kind of justice any time soon, if his complete lack of interest in the second murder was anything to go by.
“Good,” said Verducci. “D’Adamo knows how to run an investigation.”
“Ah. About that,” Aubrey said. “We’re not here in an official capacity.”
The change in Verducci was immediate. “You’re not,” he said, voice going flat and cold.
“No,” Aubrey said. “We’re sight-seeing. Junior Guardsman Mèrault is new to the city, you see. The Erelim thought it best that I show him around a bit, since we were here to make a report to Arriortua.”
This seemed to mollify Verducci. “And you decided to start here,” he said. “Well, we’ve no fights going on, as such a thing would be illegal, so you’ll have to settle for listening to an old man’s ramblings. I hope you’ll find them entertaining.”
“Instructive, surely,” Aubrey said blandly.
Thierry sighed. Did no one in Altera speak plainly? What was wrong with simply saying that Arriortua had a prior claim on the case, but that d’Adamo and the Ravensgate Guard weren’t going to leave it to Arriortua’s incompetence?
“Phillip Mercier was one of the most promising fighters I had,” Verducci said. “Not the strongest, but quick. Adaptable. I’d have given even odds on him against one of Savita’s damn Shadows.”
“I saw him, once,” Aubrey said. “I started in Redwater three years ago,” he explained, at Verducci’s questioning look. “My own mentor decided to show me the sights.”
“I’ll bet,” Verducci muttered sourly. “You know, then. He was good.”
“One of the best,” Aubrey agreed.
Verducci nodded. A troubled expression crept across his face. “I found him just after dawn, when I came to open the House,” he said. “He was in the ring. The sand was scuffled, like he’d been fighting, but whoever his opponent was -” Verducci shook his head. “They didn’t give him a quick death, nor an honorable one. What they did to Phillip - no one should die like that.”
“What do you mean?” Thierry asked, exchanging a look with Aubrey. The woman Elanore looked peaceful, as if she’d just fallen asleep.
“He went down fighting naked,” Verducci said. “Without a blade,” he clarified, at Thierry’s startled look. “I don’t know why. Phillip was better with a blade and he knew it, and it’s not like he didn’t have access to the armory.”
“Pride?” Aubrey suggested. “A lot of fighters don’t like to admit to weakness.”
“Not Phillip,” Verducci said. “He knew where his weaknesses were, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit them, either. No, if he died naked it was because whoever he was fighting kept him from getting at a blade.”
“How bad was it?” Aubrey asked.
“Bad,” Verducci told them both. “Whoever he was fighting broke both his arms. There was bone sticking out of his skin when I found him, in his arms and elsewhere. There were gouges in his skin, but there wasn’t any blood, so it wasn’t bloodloss that killed him. Whoever he was fighting crushed his throat and left him to die slowly, with the rest of us just upstairs and him unable to call for help.”
“There was nothing you could have done,” Thierry pointed out softly. “If his injuries were as bad as you say.”
“We could have made it quick,” the old man said bluntly. “It would have been a mercy to him.”
“What made you bring it to the Ophanim’s attention?” Aubrey asked. “It could have just been a challenge match gone wrong.”
“Could have, but it wasn’t. No challenger would dare use magic in a match. There’s no honor to it.”
“Maybe they wanted to win very badly,” Aubrey guessed.
“Maybe,” Verducci agreed. “But I doubt it. There wouldn’t have been any point to what they did to Phillip, if all they wanted to do was win. Whoever he fought made him a freak before he died,” he explained. “I could see through his skin, and when I touched him it was cold and hard as glass. You see a lot of bloodshed, in my line of work. Too many young men don’t know when to quit and wind up with their guts spilled across the sand, but I’ve never seen a man’s guts while they were still on his insides.” Verducci closed his eyes against the memory. “That wasn’t an honorable death,” he repeated. “No man should die like that. Nemamiah protect us all against what was done to poor Phillip. I still see his eyes whenever I try to sleep, all red and staring.”
“Red,” Thierry blurted, startled.
“Yes,” said Verducci. “I could see them beneath his lids. It was odd,” he added, looking troubled. “The rest of him was pale, like there was no blood left in him, but his eyes were filled with blood.”
“Oh,” said Thierry. Of course that was it. He’d thought - well, it was stupid. He’d thought maybe it meant something, that Phillip’s eyes had been red and the woman Elanore’s had been orange, but it made sense that their eyes had been filled with blood. A blow to the face did that, and the discoloration in Mistress Elanore’s eyes was just poor lighting, or perhaps he was misremembering it. It was nothing important.
Aubrey gave him a quizzical look. What was that about? he wanted to know.
Thierry shook his head. Nothing. Forget I said anything.
“You might send to the Temple district,” Aubrey said gently. “Have one of Nemamiah’s priests cleanse the house.”
Verducci shook his head. “We burn candles to the Lady of the Righteous,” he said, naming Solariel’s youngest daughter, the patron saint of those who fought for just causes. Thierry supposed that Verducci’s Wanderers could be counted among those who did, although he usually thought of Nemamiah as the goddess of soldiers and Guardsmen and mercenaries for hire. In Redwater, though, he supposed every man who fought in the rings might consider himself one who did so with good cause - especially since they couldn’t turn to the Redwater Guard.
“Nemamiah’s taken Phillip into her care, and we honor her for it, but it’s Lahatiel’s blessing I want now,” Verducci said flatly.
Thierry winced. His grandmother had been dead for close to a decade now, but the old woman would have found a way to box his ears from the land of the dead if he dared to invoke Lahatiel of the Fires, just like she had when she was alive. It was better to swear by Solariel, his grandmother always maintained, for Solariel saw everything under the sun and would mete out His justice accordingly. Solariel was ever merciful. Lahatiel, who was Solariel’s youngest son and divine enforcer, was not.
“You’re not the only one,” Aubrey murmured.
Thierry wasn’t sure if Aubrey meant himself or Madame Savita by that, but it probably didn’t matter either way. He was going to see justice done for this - for an old man’s nightmares and a motherless child he’d never met.
Lahatiel of the Fires might await whoever had done this, but Sun willing, they would face the Guard and earthly justice first.
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And for everyone that's confused by where the detail about orange eyes came from - I was bad and went back and added it to what I already posted in Part Two. Sorry. It was one of those details I realized the story needed, so stuff to come would make sense. Part Two has been updated to reflect the change, but really, it's a very minor detail and you can kind of get the context of it from this.