Rob Scott - Lessek_s Key

‘What happens in Pellia?’

‘I’ve never done that leg of the journey. I don’t do well at sea.’

‘I recall.’

‘Right, um, I’m told that there is a deep-water dock. The cargo is unloaded onto barges and towed upriver to someplace near Welstar Palace. That’s all I know. I swear it.’

‘Who pays you?’

‘A general, here in Orindale, who deals with the prince’s financial affairs in the Eastlands, but he was killed in an explosion. He was living in the old imperial palace – where they took the spy after his encounter with you two. I don’t know if he’s still there. I don’t know who will pay me now, for these shipments, or the next.’

Brexan frowned. ‘There will be no more shipments.’

Carpello, afraid of being cut again, bit down on his tongue in an effort to control his sobbing. In his peripheral vision he could see the sun coming up, but he dared not look out the window. Instead, he kept his gaze focused on the bridge of Brexan’s nose. He was too frightened to look into her eyes; nothing he saw there gave him any hope that he would live another aven. Warm blood continued to ooze out and trickle down his leg, puddling on the floor beneath his chair. He thought for a moment that he could smell it, but in truth all he could smell was his own excrement.

Brexan left his side and moved to the window. ‘Have you ever been lost at sea, Carpello?’ she asked him, conversationally.

‘No.’

‘Have you ever been submerged in water so cold that you can’t feel your toes or fingers? That you forget your extremities – ever been there?’

‘No.’

‘Have you ever feared what might be waiting for you at the bottom of the ocean?’

‘When I was young, I was afraid of the-’

‘Shut up!’ Brexan turned back and glared at him. The lines across her brow and at the corners of her eyes were deep slashes in the dim light. ‘I don’t want to hear it, do you understand? The sound of your voice only makes me want to kill you even more.’ Tears welled in her eyes and her voice cracked as she shouted, ‘You don’t have any idea what it was like! I held him up, I carried him, and he was bigger and stronger than I am, but I did it anyway, because he was so tired and so cold. And do you know why he was that cold? Because you dragged him behind your ship; do you remember that, Carpello?’

He said nothing.

Brexan turned back to the window and watched dawn colour the salt marsh. ‘But then we were saved,’ she whispered. ‘We were saved and I thought I would live for ever. We didn’t have anything but a big, smelly fish, but I didn’t need anything. We were alive, and we were free, and we were together.’

She wiped the tears away and returned to the shaking merchant’s side. She bent down and asked quietly, ‘Do you know what happened then?’

Still Carpello kept silent. He could read his death in Brexan’s voice, in her stance, in the air. Begging would do nothing but hasten that eventuality.

‘Your scarred Seron happened. He came after us. It was just after dawn, about this time of day. The light was just like this; that meadow was so pretty, and I could smell the sea. It was a beautiful day.’ She took a selfish moment to allow the memories to wash over her, then she punched Carpello solidly beneath his chin.

The prisoner tumbled backwards, crushing the wooden chair beneath his weight and coming free from the leather straps, but neither Brexan nor Sallax feared that he would be able to escape. Instead, he rolled into a foetal position and lay there keening to himself.

‘Gods, look at what a pathetic creature you are,’ Brexan said in disgust, and then turned to Sallax. ‘Go ahead,’ she said.

Sallax got up from the end of the bed and stood over Carpello. ‘My sister’s name was Brynne,’ he said. ‘Say it.’

Carpello rolled onto his back, looking like a bloody stranded whale. ‘What?’ he muttered.

Sallax kicked him in the ribs. At least one snapped.

Carpello screamed, a hoarse rattling cry, until his voice gave up and faded to a whisper.

‘I said my sister’s name was Brynne. Say it.’

‘Brynne.’ The word was barely audible.

‘My sister’s name was Brynne. Say it!’

‘Brynne,’ Carpello repeated, a little louder. ‘Brynne.’

‘That’s right, Brynne.’ Sallax almost choked. ‘Brynne: an innocent little girl, you foul beast.’ Sallax ignored the tears coursing noiselessly down his cheeks. ‘She was a child when you ruined her. You tore her apart. It took Twinmoons for her to heal physically, but she never got past what you did to her.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ Carpello ‘s voice was a whisper. He reached out with both hands to Sallax, as if the big man might kneel down and embrace him, his apology accepted.

But instead, Sallax placed the heel of his boot on the fat man’s jowly throat and started pressing down. ‘My sister’s name was Brynne. She was a loving, caring, wonderful person who would have done anything for anyone. And she died an angry, knife-wielding killer, because of you. Do you understand that? My sister’s name was Byrnne,’ Sallax shouted down at him, ‘say it. Say it!’

All that emerged was a rasp, a coarse rattle, as Carpello gasped for air. Sallax removed his boot and, crying openly now, crossed the room to Brexan, who hugged him, hard.

Seeing them momentarily preoccupied with one another, Carpello summoned the last measure of his strength and, rolling to all fours, half-crawled and half-dived for the door. He crashed into it, feeling his rib flare, and the door flew out on its hinges, slamming against the wall with a satisfactory crash.

That ought to wake someone, he thought, but he tried to shout for help as well. ‘Please, help, someone,’ he rasped. He could barely hear himself.

Behind him, he heard Sallax and Brexan, and pulled himself painfully, clumsily to his feet. Neither had yet grabbed him, and he revelled in a wave of adrenalin: he had a chance, freedom looked to be just a few steps away. If he could reach the front room, there might be someone who could help him… One step, then two; he was nearly there. He drew what felt like the biggest, cleanest breath of fresh air he had ever tasted, and prepared a great bellowing cry for help. How can they not help me? he thought. Look at me: I’m cut to pieces, my face is a mess, my clothes are soiled – someone will help me. He shouted, his voice still hoarse but significantly louder than it had been only moments before, ‘Please, some-’

Carpello was silenced by a crushing blow to the back of his head. He lost consciousness immediately, but his onwards momentum propelled him headlong into the stone fireplace in Nedra’s front room. A sickening crack echoed as his head hit the carved mantelpiece and Carpello’s body fell to the floor. It twitched and jerked for several moments before stilling.

Sallax and Brexan had reached the door in time to see Carpello take his last flying leap into the mantelpiece. Turning towards the scullery, they saw Nedra standing in mute horror. A splintered log dangled from one hand.

Sallax reached over to take it.

‘Is he a thief?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t mean for him to-‘

‘He was an evil man,’ Brexan said, wrapping an arm around Nedra’s shoulders. ‘He was a hideous monster.’

Nedra nodded, her eyes still wide, taking in the gruesome scene in her dining room.

‘We’ll take care of this,’ Sallax said, tossing the log onto the overnight embers. They watched while it caught fire and began crackling brightly.

‘The tide will be high soon,’ Nedra said, almost in a daze. ‘I get rid of pallen and lobster shells, gansel bones, whatever. I just leave it a few paces below the high water mark. Half an aven later, it’s gone.’