Stan Nicholls - Quicksilver Rising

For all the interest Caldason showed in giving chase, he needn’t have bothered; and Kutch had still to conquer his trembling. They watched the survivor flee, arms pumping, cape billowing. Fifty paces on he rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

The trio regarded each other.

‘Your arm …’ Kutch said.

Caldason glanced at his dripping limb. He pressed a wad of torn shirt over the wound, apparently unconcerned. ‘It’s nothing.’

The stranger spoke, his voice hoarse. ‘Thank you. Thank you both.’

Kutch was dispirited. ‘I did little enough,’ he sighed. ‘So much for my skill with the Craft.’

‘You tried,’ Caldason told him. ‘That does you credit.’

The boy nodded, unconvinced, and addressed the stranger. ‘Who are you? What were you doing at my master’s funeral? Who were those –’

‘There’s no time for that now,’ Caldason interrupted. ‘If we loiter here we’ll have the Watch to contend with.’ He fixed his sights on the stranger. ‘Which I imagine is something you’d rather avoid.’

‘Your friend’s right,’ the old man confirmed softly, directing himself to Kutch. ‘I’ll explain everything. But it’d be best not to be found in these circumstances.’

Caldason bent to the nearest body and wiped his soiled blades on the man’s jerkin. Then he rose and re-sheathed the weapons.

‘Move,’ he ordered, grasping the stranger’s arm.

They hurried from the lane and its litter of corpses.

As far as they could tell, no one saw them arrive at Domex’s run-down house.

Kutch fished a large iron key from the folds of his shirt and fumbled with it. Once the rusty lock was turned, Caldason unceremoniously kicked the door open. Bundling Kutch and the stranger inside, he shot the bolts.

‘Windows!’ he snapped.

Kutch went to draw the blinds. He was pale and unsteady. The stranger seemed calmer. He studied Reeth closely, tight-lipped, his gaze shrewd. But he held his peace. Caldason shoved him, not too gently, in the direction of the main room.

With daylight barred, save for tiny chinks in the tattered drapes, the chamber was gloomy and oppressive. Kutch lit a lamp. Cupping the taper with a trembling hand, he moved to the fireplace and applied the flame to the candles in a pair of bulky lead holders on the mantelpiece. Shadows played on the tattered spines of the books lining the walls.

‘Now sit,’ Caldason said.

‘You’re still treating me like a dog,’ Kutch complained, but did as he was told.

The Qalochian looked to the old man. ‘You, too.’ He pushed against the small of his back again, driving him towards an overstuffed chair. The stranger plumped into it, sighing. Dust motes swirled in the candlelight.

Even up close his age was hard to guess. He was certainly of advanced years, but more autumn than winter. It was his careworn appearance that made him seem older. Worry lines crimped his beardless face. His silvered hair, grown perhaps a mite too long for his age, gave him a venerable appearance. He dressed affluently.

When he spoke, his tone was easier, almost dulcet. ‘I owe my thanks to you both, and an explanation.’

‘You owe me nothing,’ Caldason replied brusquely. ‘I don’t much care who you are or what problems you might have.’

‘Yet you risked your life for me.’

‘I had no choice.’

The stranger scrutinised him. ‘I think there was more to it than that,’ he said gently.

‘Think what you like. My thought is that you’ve involved me in your troubles, and likely there’s more on the way. It’d be best to get out of here and not linger over it.’

‘I agree leaving would be wise. But word of their failure will take a while to get back to their masters. I don’t believe they’ll send more against me at this point. In any event, it’s not how they work.’

‘They?’

‘Our rulers.’

‘The government?’ Kutch piped up, wide-eyed.

The stranger nodded.

‘Who are you?’ the boy asked.

‘My name is Dulian Karr.’

Kutch straightened. ‘ Patrician Karr?’

‘You’re well informed.’

‘Everyone’s heard of you .’

‘What’s an Elders Council member doing in a place like this?’ Caldason said. He was at a window, watching the path outside, curtain bunched in his fist. Now he let the drape fall back.

Once more, Karr studied him. ‘You have the advantage of me. You know my name, but –’

‘He’s Reeth Caldason!’ Kutch butted in, adding knowingly, ‘The outlaw .’

If the patrician was jarred, he didn’t show it.

It was Caldason who reacted. ‘You’re privy to my business only by chance, boy. I’ll thank you to keep it to yourself.’

The words were like a bolt to Kutch’s breast. Reddening under Caldason’s frigid gaze, he began an apology that faltered and trailed off. A brittle silence took hold.

‘And you must be Kutch Pirathon,’ Dulian Karr interjected, taking pity.

They stared at him.

Kutch stumbled through, ‘How did you know that?’

‘Grentor Domex was one of my oldest friends. He often spoke of you. I had no idea when I came here that he was dead.’

‘All right.’ Caldason showed his palms like a man surrendering. ‘I can see we’re not going to escape your life story. Just keep it brief.’

The suddenly lighter tone, typical of Reeth’s mercurial nature, Kutch was starting to think, made the apprentice feel a little better about the scolding. ‘So, why did you come to see my master?’

‘And why no bodyguards?’ Caldason added.

‘I had a phalanx of them when I set out. Good men, every one. My enemies thinned their ranks until I alone remained. That was why my would-be assassins were armed with no magic worse than a negating glamour.’

‘Yet still you came.’

‘As still you defended me. And for a similar reason, I suspect; I had to.’

Caldason said nothing. He leaned against the dusty table’s edge, arms folded.

‘As to why I came here … Many years ago, a group of like-minded individuals, Grentor and myself included, joined in a common cause. Our passion was to see true sovereignty restored to Bhealfa. To have genuine freedom, not the pretence of it, by getting our tormentors off our backs.’

‘Fine words.’ It was impossible to tell if Caldason meant that cynically.

Karr disregarded it. ‘We were young and idealistic I suppose, but that made the object of our anger no less real. In due course we each took the path we thought best to achieve our aim. I chose politics and talking us to liberation.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Others favoured the military, a mercantile life, even banditry, and some fell along the way. Your master carried on being what he always was, Kutch: a maverick. What is it they say? A square shaft in a round hole. But I’m damned if I know which of us has been the more effective.’ A fleeting reverie clouded his eyes. He gathered himself and went on, ‘I came here with news of the progress of … a scheme. A plan Domex helped conceive and steer over the years.’

‘You had to come personally?’ Caldason said.

‘Few others could be trusted with my report. And I wanted to see him; it had been too long.’

‘What is this plan?’

‘Forgive me. It’s a confidence I can’t share.’

‘So why mention it at all?’

‘You saved my life. That warrants some measure of trust.’

Caldason shrugged dismissively.

Kutch had fallen quiet during their exchange. Caldason noticed his crestfallen expression. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I’m hearing about a side of my master I never suspected. I mean, I knew he had no love for the state. Now it turns out he was involved in something big. Something important . But … I didn’t know. He never told me about any of this.’