Sam Sykes - Black Halo

‘This is … for work, then?’ she asked, the hesitation in her voice only indicative that she knew the answer.

‘This is for my duty , yes,’ he corrected as he set aside another paper crane and plucked up another bone-white sheet. ‘Librarian helpers, I call them. My helpful little flocks.’

She plucked up the crane beside her delicately in her hand, stared into its irritated little eyes. The dye was thick, didn’t settle on the page as proper ink should. It was only when the scent of copper filled her mouth that she realised that this paper wasn’t meant for ink.

‘You … This is,’ she gasped, ‘your blood?’

‘Some of it, yes.’ He held up a tiny little vial with an impressive label, shook it, then set in a decidedly large pile. ‘I ran out after the four hundredth one. Fortunately, I’ve been granted special privileges for this particular duty, up to and including the requisition of a few spare pints.’

Anacha had long ago learned that wizards did laugh and that they rarely did anything relatively offensive to brains from those not possessing their particular talents. Their attitude towards other bodily parts and fluids, however, was not something she ever intended to hear about without cringing.

She had little time to reflect on such ghastly practices this morning.

‘Why do you need so many?’

At this, he paused, as he had when she had discovered wizards could lie.

‘ What is your duty? ’ she had asked, their sixth night together after five nights of reading.

‘ I’m a Librarian .’ He had turned at her giggle and raised a brow. ‘ What? ’

‘ I thought you were a wizard .’

‘ I am .’

‘ A member of the Venarium .’

‘ I am .’

‘ Librarians stock shelves and adjust spectacles .’

‘ Have you learned nothing of the books I’ve brought you? Words can have multiple meanings .’

‘ Books only make me wonder more … like how a Librarian can go to Muraska and afford whores? ’

‘ Well , no one can afford whores in Muraska .’

‘ Why did you go to Muraska, then? ’

‘ Duty called .’

‘ What kind of duty? ’

‘ Difficult duties. Ones that demand the talents of a man like myself .’

‘ Talents? ’

‘ Talents .’

‘ Fire and lightning talents? Turning people to frogs and burning down houses talents? ’

‘ We don’t turn people into frogs, no. The other talents, though … I use them sometimes. In this particular case, some apprentice out in the city went heretic. He started selling his secrets, his services. He violated the laws .’

‘ What did you do to him? ’

‘ My duty .’

‘ Did you kill him? ’

He had paused then, too.

‘ No ,’ he had lied then, ‘ I didn’t .’

‘No reason,’ he lied now.

‘I’m not an idiot, Bralston,’ she said.

‘I know,’ he replied. ‘You read books.’

‘Don’t insult me.’ She held up a hand, winced. ‘Please … you never insult me like clients insult the other girls.’ She sighed, her head sinking low. ‘You’re bleeding yourself dry, creating thousands of these little birds …’ She crawled across the bed, staring at his back intently. ‘Why?’

‘Because of my-’

‘Duty, yes, I know. But what is it?’

He regarded her coldly. ‘You know enough about it to know that I don’t want you to ever have to think about it.’

‘And you know enough about me that I would never ask if I didn’t have good reason.’ She rose up, snatching her robe as it lay across her chair and wrapping it about her body, her eyes never leaving him. ‘You want to be certain of carrying out your duty this time, I can tell … but why? What’s special about this one?’

Bralston rose and turned to her, opening his mouth to say something, to give some rehearsed line about all duties being equal, about there being nothing wrong with being cautious. But he paused. Wizards were terrible liars, and Bralston especially so. He wore his reasons on his face, the frown-weary wrinkles, the wide eyes that resembled a child straining to come to terms with a puppy’s death.

And she wore her concern on her face, just as visible in the purse of her lips and narrow of her eyes. He sighed, looked down at his cranes.

‘A woman is involved.’

‘A woman?’

‘Not like that,’ he said. ‘A woman came to the Venarium … told us a story about a heretic.’

‘You get plenty of stories about heretics.’

‘Not from women … not from women like this .’ He winced. ‘This heretic … he … did something to her.’

She took a step forward, weaving her way through the cranes.

‘What did he do?’

‘He …’ Bralston ran a hand over his head, tilted his neck back and sighed again. ‘It’s a gift that we have, you know? Wizards, that is. Fire, lightning … that’s only part of it. That’s energy that comes from our own bodies. A wizard that knows … a wizard that practises, can affect other people’s bodies, twist their muscles, manipulate them, make them do things. If we wanted to, we wizards, we could …

‘This heretic … this … this …’ For all the books he had read, Bralston apparently had no word to describe what the rage playing across his face demanded. ‘He broke the law. He used his power in a foul way.’

‘That’s why they’re sending you out?’ she whispered, breathless.

‘That’s why I’m choosing to go,’ he replied, his voice rising slightly. She took a step back, regardless, as crimson flashed behind his eyes.

She could only remember once when he had raised his voice.

‘ What happened? ’ he had asked as he came through the door.

It had been a month since he had begun paying for her, not yet to the point when he began to pay for exclusive visitations. She had lain on the bed, the poetry smeared across her breasts with greasy handprints, her belly contorted with the lash marks upon it, her face buried in her pillow, hiding the redness in her cheeks.

‘ What ,’ he had raised his voice then, ‘ happened? ’

‘ Some … ’ she had gasped, ‘ some clients prefer to be rough … I’m told. This one … he brought in a cat .’

‘ A whip? That’s against the rules .’

‘ He paid extra. Someone working for the Jackals with a lot of money. He … he wanted it … ’ She pointed to the hall. ‘ He’s going down the halls … to all the girls. He had a lot of … ’

Bralston rose at that point, turned to walk out the door again. She had grabbed his coattails in her hand and pulled with all that desperation demanded. No one troubled the Jackals. It wasn’t as hard a rule then as it was now, the Jackals being a mere gang instead of a syndicate back then, which was the sole reason Bralston never had to raise his voice again. No one troubled them; not the nobles, not the guards, not even the Venarium.

Bralston pulled away sharply, left the room. His boots clicked the length of the hall. She heard the scream that ensued, smelled the embers on his coat when he returned and sat down beside her.

‘ What did you do? ’ she had asked.

He had paused and said. ‘ Nothing .’

She had barely noticed him pulling on his breeches now. He did not dress so much as gird himself, slinging a heavy belt with several large pouches hanging from it and attaching his massive spellbook with a large chain. He pulled his tunic over the large amulet, a tiny red vial set within a bronze frame, hanging from his neck. It wasn’t until he reached for his final garment that she realised he wouldn’t be stopped.