Scar Night Page 0,48
hates me, so he always…” Fogwill couldn’t find the words for his frustration. “He always…”
“No body ?”
A wounded look.
“Truly I am sorry you lost your friend, Fogwill, but that’s no reason to suspect foul play. He may simply have wandered off. I understand that’s common for those employed in the Poison Kitchens. Nobody in their right mind wants to work there. Despite Devon’s official title, he is not a wicked man.”
“A moot point. Look at the weapons he devises. The level of suffering he strives for is quite unnecessary.”
“Your opinion of his work is hardly relevant.”
“Let me put the Spine on it—just to observe him.”
“Impossible.”
“We could use Rachel Hael. She’s still untempered, has connections within the military, we—”
“No. I want her watching Dill.”
“Then let me speak to the Roper,” he said, “find out where and when his daughter died, perhaps examine the body.” He surprised himself as he said it. The League of Rope was not the safest place in Deepgate.
The Presbyter shook his head. “Fogwill, we denied this girl our blessing. Her father will be hurt and grieving. I don’t want you salting his wounds. My answer is no.”
Why are you blocking me? Fogwill shook his head in frustration. Was Sypes hiding something?
A light rain began to patter against the window behind the Presbyter’s desk. The sunset was now a rip of gold between the horizon and the towering clouds. A storm was coming. It would be dark earlier than usual this Scar Night, and Fogwill suspected there would be more than one murderer at large.
* * *
Part II
Murder
* * *
11
Scar Night
Rain fell in sheets, rattled catch-pans or gurgled through gutters and into the throats of cisterns. Chains steamed and dripped endlessly, shifted, groaned under the weight of waterlogged buildings—like dull iron voices in every part of Deepgate. The evening light dwindled and died, but no lamplighters appeared to brighten the streets, and soon the temple districts, the Warrens, and the League of Rope filled with darkness.
Twelve Spine assassins had gathered in Pickle Lane: gaunt-faced ghosts, unmoving; rain hissing off leather armour; knives, swords, and crossbows within easy reach of their pale hands. Of all the twelve, only Rachel shivered. She had seen the others many times before, yet knew none of their names.
A dead-eyed man with a hook-shaped scar that curled around his nose addressed her. “You will be bait.”
“Why me?”
“You have the capacity to enrage her.”
“And you don’t?” Rachel snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. Open your mouth and say anything, she’ll be pissed, I guarantee.”
“Provoke her, Adept. Carnival will respond to you—to your insults. You have a talent for applying such emotional…devices. You will be bait.”
Conversations with the Spine were typically wooden. These were the times Rachel was almost glad she’d been spared the needles, the torture, the brutal tempering which would cleanse an Adept and allow one to function without the burden of emotion.
Almost glad.
“And, of course, you are expendable.” This came from a rakish woman with full, bloodless lips. She stood beside a slender girl who might have been her sister, a young thing with deep bruises under her vacant eyes.
God, do I look like this? Like these ghouls? These husks?
Rachel glanced from one hollow stare to the next, found nothing there. “Expendable,” she muttered. “Yes, I forgot. Stupid of me. Thanks for that.”
The rakish woman nodded stiffly.
Insults, sarcasm, irony—all wasted on her peers. Rachel would have slapped the woman if she’d thought it would anger her, but where was the satisfaction in striking a brick wall? And yet Rachel envied her, envied them all. Tempering offered an inner silence for which she would not mourn the loss of her sense of self. “Just get out of my sight,” she snapped. “I’ll meet you at the planetarium.”
The dead-eyed man said, “You will not engage Carnival until the trap has been sprung.”
“And if she attacks me before then?”
“Do nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“That is correct.”
Rachel clenched her fists. “Whatever you say.”
The dead-eyed man tilted his head. “Darkmoon is rising.” At this unvoiced command, the Spine slipped away into the night, leaving Rachel alone.
Do nothing? She turned one way, then cursed and turned back again.No, I’m going to find a tavern, bang on the bloody door until they letme in, then sit and have a drink like a normal person. Maybe meet a man…Maybe…
Maybe it wasn’t too late for her.
She stormed off into the rain. The streets were deserted, but she sensed atightening in the air all around her. A thousand noises came from the dark homes: shutters checked; nails driven into