Gavin Smith - The Age of Scorpio

‘Good choice,’ Fachtna muttered.

Men , Britha thought, shaking her head. Just another pissing contest . Still, at least she seemed to have won.

‘People call me Hanno, or Hanno of Carthage if there are more than one of my name here. My friend here has the honour of being Kush – once a slave, then a gladiator and now a close friend who keeps me safe from my enemies, though I have few of those.’

‘Must you always mention me being a slave once?’ Kush asked, sounding less than happy.

‘It is a great thing to rise from being a slave to a free man!’ Hanno cried.

Kush leaned in towards Britha, Fachtna and Teardrop. It was all Britha could do to stop herself from pulling away from him. ‘I was not a slave for very long, you understand?’ The three of them nodded. ‘And it is an ill thing to keep a slave.’

‘Oh, I agree,’ Fachtna said. Britha couldn’t help but glance down at the white-clad kneelers all around them. Hanno was looking a little uncomfortable.

‘I am Fachtna, a Gael of the line of Mael Duin.’ He stepped forward and grasped Hanno by the arm. The Carthaginian reciprocated. Fachtna turned to Kush but the bodyguard would not relinquish his hold on his axe.

‘He means no offence but he likes always to be ready to use it,’ Hanno said.

Fachtna shrugged, choosing not to take offence, for which both Britha and Teardrop were relieved.

‘I am Teardrop on Fire of the Croatan.’ He moved towards Hanno, offering his hand. Hanno looked to Kush, not taking the proffered arm immediately. Kush studied Teardrop and then Fachtna in turn.

‘I think we walk with gods and demons,’ he finally said.

‘My friend has the nose for this,’ Hanno said.

‘And we will treat you as you treat us,’ Britha told them. Hanno glanced at Kush again, who nodded. Hanno took Teardrop’s arm.

‘And I am Britha, ban draoi of the Cirig,’ Britha said, offering her arm. Hanno regarded it coolly but took it.

‘I do not know this word, ban draoi .’ Hanno admitted.

‘She is priestess, blessed by their gods or touched by their demons,’ Kush said.

Britha turned on him. ‘My power is my own and we do not make ourselves slaves to men or gods,’ she told him angrily.

‘You speak her language?’ Teardrop asked, hoping to ease the tension.

‘Anyone can see what she is for the looking,’ Kush told them. Teardrop was looking at him with interest.

‘You are not with these cravens who cower behind their wall?’ Hanno asked, turning towards the fort. ‘Without even so much the offer of a drink!’ His voice echoed around the harbour.

‘They were attacked,’ Teardrop told them, ‘by black ships.’

Kush and Hanno exchanged another knowing glance.

‘You’ve seen them?’ Britha asked.

Hanno shook his head. ‘Kush here smelled them,’ the Carthaginian said.

‘There was something evil and unnatural on the seas in the south,’ the tall axeman said. ‘We wanted none of it.’

‘We are traders, that is all. We will fight to protect ourselves but…’

‘Only a fool picks a fight with demons,’ Kush finished and looked at Teardrop again.

‘Good luck getting them to come out to trade,’ Fachtna said as he nodded towards the fort.

Hanno spat. ‘I told you we came too far north. There is nothing up here but sharp rocks, cold seas and colder women.’ Britha stared at him. ‘See!’

‘We need passage south,’ Britha said.

‘Aye,’ Fachtna agreed.

Hanno turned to regard them with a calculating expression on his face.

‘Where the demons are?’ Kush demanded.

‘They will be moving faster than you and they are also heading south,’ Teardrop said.

‘The Will of Dagon is one of the fastest—’

‘We know,’ Britha said. She had met merchants before. They were always very proud of their ships.

‘They are demon ships,’ Kush said. ‘Their unnatural power will move faster than even the Will of Dagon .’

‘Take us as far south as your nerve will allow you,’ Britha said. Hanno glared at her. ‘My nerve, woman, was tried in battle when you were still an infant wriggling in your own shit, and not against the likes of the savages you have on your small cold island.’

‘Well argued,’ Britha said, smiling. ‘So you’ll have no problem taking us.’

‘If you can pay,’ he said, crossing his arms.

Britha cursed herself for not taking any of the Cirig’s gold. They had died on the red beach wearing their torcs, silver for the cateran and gold for the mormaer . She had not taken it because she had not earned it. Such gifts were for those who had proved themselves in battle as warriors. When they were defeated they belonged to the victors. The Cirig expected nothing less when they met enemies in battle. That said, these considerations seemed foolish in the face of practical requirements, but if they let their ways go, what was left of them? It was her job to keep, even enforce, their ways no matter how hard or inconvenient it was. She felt shame at wanting to barter away gold and silver bought with skill, strength and blood.

Britha had not noticed Teardrop staring at Fachtna. He sighed and took off a finely wrought silver torc wrapped around his left arm. It was in the style of the Goidel, not as chunky and chain-like as those worn by the Pecht.

‘I will cut off a piece of this for you,’ Fachtna told Hanno.

‘Then you will spoil it for us, as we will soon own all of it if you wish passage south,’ Hanno said.

‘That is a gift worthy of a mighty mormaer ,’ Britha said angrily. ‘One that you have not earned with mere trade.’

‘So haughty, walk if you prefer. I’m sure your demons will wait.’

‘This is not a good way to behave,’ Britha told the merchant. ‘You are taking advantage of us.’ People just didn’t act like this; they asked a fair price for the service rendered. They did not steal from you just because they knew you needed what they had to offer.

‘Britha,’ Teardrop said softly. She lapsed into a fuming silence. Fachtna reluctantly gave Hanno the torc.

‘We would also like to seek passage,’ the old man from the kneelers said.

‘All seem to seek the demons this night,’ Hanno said as he turned to the man. ‘But can you pay?’

Du Bois was hungry. He was hungry because he had been on the go for the better part of three days and his body’s augmentations wouldn’t let him become tired, or indeed ever operate at anything other than heightened peak performance. He was sitting in the mess at Fort Southwick eating as much high-calorie food as he could, as quickly as possible. His body processed the food with near-total efficiency and turned it into energy.

Portsmouth had been locked down. Police and military blockaded the three bridges onto the island. Du Bois didn’t think it would help much and was largely of the opinion that it had been done to be seen to be done in what was being portrayed as a terrorist incident. He had, however, quietly circulated a picture of Natalie Luckwicke to those manning the blockades but he couldn’t imagine getting that lucky. The press were on to what they thought was a suspect, and Control had D-noticed the press to make sure that her picture didn’t get out.

Du Bois had come to the conclusion that Natalie had indirectly been the cause of what had happened in the nightclub and that somehow someone must have imbibed her blood. He wasn’t even sure where to start with that – drug dealers, blood clinics or just some mixed-up kids with syringes of blood, and if that was the case did it mean that Natalie was dead?

He knew the DAYP were in the city but was wondering if someone or something else was involved. Judging by the interrogation and mutilation of Arbogast, they were after the same thing as he was, though he hoped that they did not understand its significance. However, when he seeded the rats and the insects and set up AI monitoring of the imagery looking for traces of Natalie, he discovered that there were parts of the city that the rats just simply did not go, mostly in the southern part of Portsea Island towards the Solent. The seeded insects just disappeared when they went far enough south, as if they were encountering some kind of blood-screen. One problem at a time , du Bois decided, unless that was where she was hiding. A manual search of the seafront was rapidly becoming the only option. He would not like to be Control having to explain that to the Home Office. Their influence was incredibly strong but not total. The people of Portsmouth and Southsea were not going to like having their homes searched by soldiers and police regardless of the reason.