Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

In spite of her protests, the good wishes continued, growing increasingly incoherent as the night wore on. It was a warm summer night, and the air soon grew hot and smoky with the fire, the candles, and the close-packed heat of so many excited people. The smell of spilled beer mingled with the odor of unwashed bodies, smoke, and piss to produce an almost visible miasma. Winter felt herself passing into a bit of a daze as the excitement washed out of her, leaving her drained and shaky. She mechanically shook hands or accepted shoulder-buffeting clouts of endearment, nodding and smiling and pretending not to hear the questions about where she’d come from or how she knew Jane.

Movement by the door caught her eye, and she shook herself back to wakefulness. The crowd had cleared out somewhat, some to weave their way to their homes, others to the upstairs rooms. A contingent of hard-core drinkers had pushed their tables together, and matters had degenerated into tavern songs. Winn and Chris were among them, belting out the lewd verses as loudly as anyone. In one corner Walnut sat with a young woman on his lap, lips locked and one of his broad hands exploring under the hem of her shirt. His size made her look like a doll by comparison.

And Jane had gotten up and gone to the storeroom. She emerged a moment later leading the gagged Cecil by his bound hands, and dragged him toward the front door. A few of the revelers noticed, and they shouted encouragement at her. Only Winter seemed to see Jane’s expression-not merry at all, but furious, and full of cold determination. As Jane headed out the front door, Winter struggled to her feet and went after her.

The air of the street outside was refreshing after the dense stink of the tavern. Jane had paused to change her grip to the back of Cecil’s coat, the better to prod him along, and she glanced over her shoulder when Winter emerged. Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. She forced the tax farmer into motion, and Winter followed behind.

They walked for several minutes in silence, except for the occasional whimper and groan from Cecil. Jane answered these with vicious jabs, and eventually he kept up a steady pace. Before long they reached the broad mud-churned stretch of the River Road, which they had to pick a careful path across to avoid the puddles and mounds of dung.

On the other side, the Vor stretched calm and dark into the distance. The western tip of the Island was directly in front of them, a blaze of lights stretching high into the air. It took Winter a moment to see a silhouette, and when she did, she shivered; that was the crumbling spire of the Vendre, aglow tonight for who knew what sinister purpose of the Last Duke’s.

Upstream of the big piers where the cargo barges unloaded was an accumulation of smaller quays, knocked together from whatever bits of wood were at hand. These were home to the water taxis, smaller fishing vessels, and other little boats, and Jane steered Cecil in their direction. They clumped down across the muddy flood zone and out onto one of the piers. The far end was surrounded by a trio of deep-keeled rowboats tied to a post. Here Jane finally stopped and with a bit of effort forced Cecil to his knees.

Winter had watched all of this in silence, but she took a step forward when Jane’s knife appeared in her hand.

“Jane-”

“Quiet,” Jane said. There was something in her voice Winter hadn’t heard before. It was nearly a snarl. She bent over and cut the gag off Cecil, though she left his hands bound. “Bloody Cecil. You’ve had a nice long time to think about what you’ve done, haven’t you?”

Cecil took a few ragged breaths, then shuffled around on his knees so he could look up at Jane. “What do you want from me? Is it money? I can pay you whatever you want. Just don’t-” The knife was suddenly at his throat, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard and closed his eyes. “Don’t kill me.”

“Jane,” Winter said. “What are you doing?”

“Winter, please shut up and listen. Cecil, do you remember a night in February, when your men came looking for salt taxes? They went into Vale’s preserved-fish shop and started smashing up the place.”

His eyes, terrified, darted from Jane to Winter and back again. “I don’t-I don’t remember! We’ve raided hundreds of shops. How am I supposed to remember each one-” It occurred to him that this might not be the best tack to take, and he clamped his mouth shut.

“Some of my people decided to put a stop to it,” Jane went on. “I think it was Becca who took them down there. Vale’s married to her older sister, you know. There wasn’t time to gather up anybody from the neighborhood, so they went down there themselves, just a dozen girls. I’m not sure Becca realized it was your people they were dealing with. The other tax farmers would back off if you said you were from Mad Jane’s place, but not your men. Not this time.

“Well. There was a bit of an altercation.” Jane grinned, showing her teeth. “A bit of a fucking fracas, you might say. Becca got her arm broken. The others got scrapes and bruises. It didn’t help Vale one bit, but otherwise, you might say we got off lightly. Except one of the girls didn’t get away. Somebody must have grabbed her, and when our people scattered, nobody noticed she was gone.

“We found her when we went to clean up in the morning. Your men had taken turns with her, half the night, it looked like. Then, when they were finished, they cut her throat like a hog and left her on a pile of rotting fish.”

Winter felt her fists clench tight. Jane’s voice was deceptively calm, but there was something tight underneath, like a gut string wound round over and over until it hums on the point of snapping.

“I. .” Cecil hesitated. “You can’t mean. . That wasn’t my fault. I didn’t tell them to kill anybody!”

“Her name was Sarah,” Jane said, her tone flat and dangerous. “She was seventeen. She was one of mine. She had a copy of the Wisdoms that she read from every day, until it was practically falling apart. She liked to eat broccoli raw so it would still have some crunch. There was a boy she was sweet on, one of the fishermen’s sons, but I don’t think he knew she existed. She wanted to. .” Jane’s voice cracked. “She was one of mine . And you raped her, cut her throat, and tossed her into a pile of rotten fish .”

“ I didn’t do anything!” Cecil said, his Borelgai accent getting harsher as he grew terrified. “I didn’t- bhosh midviki -you can’t blame me for what some ghalian Vordanai thugs did!” He drew in a deep breath. “You know the kind of people I have to work with. They’re the scum of the earth. I don’t have a choice!”

“They wouldn’t have been there if you hadn’t sent them,” Jane snapped. “If you’d been reasonable like all the other fucking tax farmers.”

“And your Sarah wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for you ,” Cecil said. The blood was rising in his face. “ Blani Mad Jane. You run around the Docks like you’re some sort of hero from a fairy tale, and these idiot girls just follow your example. Have you ever thought they might be better off if you’d left well enough alone?”

“I help them.”

“Like you helped Sarah? Instead of staying in her father’s house minding her own business like a young woman should be doing, she was out trying to fight grown men with a stick! And look what happened to her.” Cecil’s thin face twisted into a snarl. “ Blani ga taerbon midviki. You’re going to kill me, I can see it. But I won’t let you pretend to be a saint while you do it.”

“You’re right about one thing,” Jane said. “I’m going to kill you-”