Kal Moonheart Trilogy: Dragon Killer, Roll the Bones & Sirensbane (20 page)

A carriage was waiting; it was painted black with gold trim, and was pulled by two well-groomed black horses. The lictor held the door open and Kal hopped in. Taking up almost all of the space inside was Senator Ganzief Greatbear, dressed in a gold cloak and crown.

‘Kal!’ he boomed, eyeing up her costume. ‘You look incredible!’

Kal kissed the large man on his hairy cheek as she took her seat beside him. ‘Thank you, Senator. And what are
you
supposed to be?’

‘Oh, some old king or other.’ Greatbear tapped on the roof of the carriage, and the horses set off at a smooth four-beat gait. ‘I am very sorry I am late, Kal—I had pressing business at the senate house.’

Kal sensed that something was up. ‘On a public holiday?’ she asked him.

‘After last night’s fiasco, I
was
hoping to spend all day relaxing, eating and drinking,’ Greatbear replied, ‘but I got wind that some of Felix Firehand’s supporters were trying to pass a motion that would mean your friend Zeb Zing could be turned in for questioning at the Cut
before
her trial.’

Kal felt sick. The Cut was Amaranthium’s underground prison, and the kind of
questioning
that went on down there usually involved hot irons. ‘Has Zeb been arrested?’

‘Not yet,’ Greatbear told her. ‘But Firehand has been looking for an excuse to crack down on what he calls dissolute and amoral gambling in the city. If he can close the Snake Pit and make Zing disappear, he will.’

‘And did the motion get passed?’

Ganzief Greatbear laughed. ‘If it had been put to the vote, it would have. But I used my great seniority in the senate to make a long speech about the right to a public and fair trial—a very, very long speech, ho ho ho! I was barely warming to my theme when the sun hit the marker. I have bought you time, Kal, if you want to save your friend, but not much time.’

Kal knew what he was talking about: there was a marker on the back wall of the senate chamber, and when the rays of the setting sun reached it, then it signalled the close of business. It was a custom that had resisted the onset of mechanical clocks. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I owe you one.’

Greatbear patted Kal hard on the knee. ‘Anything for my little dragon,’ he purred. They sat in silence for a time as the carriage continued up the Kingsway, the longest street in the city, that ran all the way from the East Gate and up Arcus Hill. It was hot in the carriage, and Kal felt trapped—trapped in this ridiculous costume on the way to a stupid party where she would have to mingle with rich, dangerous, devious people. Why had she ever agreed to this? She promised herself that she would get away from it all as soon as she could.

The carriage crossed the Flow by Lovers’ Bridge. The bridge got its name from a story that, every time she crossed it, reminded Kal of the conflict that ran through the city’s history. Several hundred years ago, two young lovers from opposite sides of the city had held illicit midnight meetings on the bridge. The girl was a Firehand, from Arcus Hill, and the boy a Witchwood from the East Bank. Two powerful families; one with aristocratic blood, the other self-made; and between them, a simmering hatred that would end in tragedy.

When the patriarch of the Firehand family discovered the lovers in bed together, he had
both
of them put on trial on the spurious charge of adultery, since his daughter was engaged to another at the time. Their punishment was still talked about today. Tied naked to one another, they were laid on the mattress that they had once shared, which was then rolled up and wrapped in chains. The mattress was then carried to the bridge and dropped into the deep, dark water.

As Kal stared down at the river, the surface was lit up with the reflection of the night’s first fireworks, and she flinched as the bang shook her out of her thoughts. The carriage left the bridge and started up the hill, past the temples and banks, towards the Forum, but then turned off into the wealthy residential areas. It was only up here that Kal realised how fresh the air was. Back down in the city, the smell of sewage and people was so pervasive that it soon seemed normal.

The mansion that they pulled up in front of was the largest on the hill, a giant domed square with columned porticos on all four sides. It was set apart on ten acres of private gardens, which tonight had been strewn with multicoloured lanterns. As the carriage crunched to a halt on the gravel driveway, Kal and Ganzief could hear music and laughter emanating from the house. The fat, bearded senator turned to Kal with an excited grin on his face. ‘Sounds like quite a party,’ he said. ‘And from what I have been told, this house is a den of debauchery. Have you ever met Benedict Godsword before?’

‘I’ve never even
heard
of him,’ Kal said as she stepped out of the carriage. Up on top of the hill there was the faintest stirring of a breeze, and the party guests mingling under the portico turned to gape as Kal’s wings fluttered out behind her. Her skintight costume was covered in glossy black scales, and as she walked her tail dragged in the gravel and her long claws hung at her side. Men and women dressed as soldiers, gods and ghosts stepped aside as Kal swept up the steps. She ducked her gaze so that only the shining red eyes in her elaborate headgear met the stares of the other guests.

On Midsummer Night its time would come, and a monster would stalk the city for the first time in half a millennium.

II.ii

Monster Ball

Ben had bought this house a couple of years ago, but Kal had not yet had a chance to look around inside. Kal and Ben’s relationship was a secret, usually conducted deep underground in a hidden cave: the senator and the adventurer, each taking advantage of the benefits that their discrete alliance afforded. Kal operated outside of the law by which Ben was bound, but Ben’s influence could open doors that Kal often found closed to her. Together they played a game of power and money that provided them both with a good life.

Tonight though, all matters of circumspection were out of the window. Kal was here as the legitimate guest of Ganzief Greatbear and, by the looks of it, Ben had thrown open his doors to people from all walks of life in the city. Kal had seen the great playwright, Terence Deadhand and his wife Alcya—Amaranthium’s most famous actor—stroll in ahead of her, both of them dressed as fantastic colourful birds. Kal would fit right into this crowd, even dressed as a dragon.

The ground floor of Ben’s mansion was open plan, and designed purely for meeting and entertaining guests. In the centre, a square pool of shallow water filled a courtyard that lay at the bottom of a light well. All four sides of the house were open to the gardens: plants and shrubs had been brought inside, and statuary and stone benches filled the terraces outside. As a result it was hard to tell where the grounds ended and the house began.

In a corner, a trio of young musicians were playing dulcimer, harp and lute. The dancefloor was crowded with senators, merchants and other influential folk, all dressed in outrageous costumes. Among them flitted young men and women who were barely dressed at all, although Kal guessed that they were supposed to be the gods as depicted in paintings—wearing short white togas and gold sandals. Kal spotted thin, bony Senator Grey, who she had seen last night at the Snake Pit, dancing with a girl half his age. Kal swore she recognised her as someone who worked at the Cathouse downtown. Kal wasn’t one to judge,
but Grey was a man who was standing for consul in the upcoming elections
. Maybe she should go and rescue him.

A short man dressed as a goblin stepped up with a tray of drinks. Kal took a glass: it looked like white wine, but it seemed to be bubbling. She sniffed it, suspiciously. ‘That is called frizzanti,’ Greatbear explained as he caught up with her. ‘It is the latest thing! They bottle it early so it keeps fermenting under pressure.’ Kal shrugged and took a big swig. The bubbles went up her nose and she choked and laughed at the same time.

‘That,’ she pronounced, ‘is
not
a serious drink!’ She tipped it away into a nearby potted lemon tree. ‘Can you get me something else?’ she asked the goblin. ‘
Anything
else!’

The goblin just looked at her dumbly. Kal kneeled down and stared at it closely; the costume was convincing.
Very
convincing …

Kal gasped. She stood up and scanned the party. ‘Where
is
he?’ she seethed.

Senator Greatbear took her arm and guided her across the dancefloor to an alcove opposite, where Benedict Godsword stood chatting to bald Raelo Redrake. Ben was dressed in costume armour and had his arm around a lissome blond girl with a short pixie crop and large green eyes; she appeared to be dressed as a princess. Ben was swigging sparkling wine straight from the bottle. He looked up as Kal and Greatbear approached.

‘Benedict Godsword,’ Greatbear proclaimed, ‘allow me to introduce Kalina Moonheart, Dragon Killer!’

Ben seemed flustered when he saw Kal standing before him, wings outspread. ‘Good gods,’ he spluttered, ‘you’ve got a hell of a nerve coming here dressed as the monster that killed me!’ He laughed and patted his armoured chest. ‘Tonight I’m Banos, you see! Nice to
meet
you, Kal. I’ve heard so much about you.’ He nodded at the girl he was with. ‘This is Nim. She’s—’

‘Goblins, Ben?’ Kal interrupted furiously. ‘Really?’

‘They’re good little workers!’ Ben said defensibly. ‘And they
wanted
to come and work for me!’

‘Did they?’ Kal snapped. ‘Did you ask them? What did they say?
Mwaaarrgh?
’

Ben’s smile remained fixed, but his eyes were wild as he looked around. People nearby were staring at Kal as she became more and more animated. Ben put his hand on her arm to calm her. ‘Kal, you must see my gallery; I have this amazing painting of the Dragon that you’ll just love. Come on!’ He made his excuses to his friends and dragged her away.

Kal looked back to see Nim’s wide eyes stare imploringly back at her as Ganzief Greatbear moved in for the kill.

* * *

Ben’s gallery was a long, high hall on the first floor. Away from the bustle of the party, it was quiet and cool. Ben sat Kal down on a bench in front of the largest painting. She gazed blankly at the scene: a dark-haired girl with a golden spear, fending off a terrible black dragon.

Ben sat down next to her. ‘Are you alright, Kal?’ he asked. ‘You look troubled. Raelo told me about what happened at the Pit. If there’s anything I can do …’

‘I need money, Ben,’ she sighed.

Ben frowned. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I can give you a little to get you back on your feet. Hey, how did it go getting those documents signed yesterday?’

The documents?
She had almost forgotten. ‘Oh yeah, I got them. Then I lost them. Sorry! Ben, but I need more than
a little
—we need to pay off all the people who lost money last night, or else Zeb is going to be thrown in the Cut.’

Ben paced back and forth, anxiously rubbing his neatly-trimmed beard. ‘Don’t worry about losing the documents,’ he said. ‘They’re worth less than nothing in the wrong hands. But, Kal, I can’t spare any money at the moment to help you and Zeb.’

Kal looked up at him in surprise. Ben was her last hope. The bitter disappointment made the sarcastic part of her come back out: ‘Did you spend it all on this party?’

He spread his hands. ‘I’m sorry, Kal. I’m not … solvent right now. My money is tied up in …
things
. I’ll think of another way I can help out, I promise!’

Kal squeezed her eyes shut. Her back-up plan was to find Zeb and leave the city altogether. It would have to be
tonight
.

She heard light footsteps in the gallery, and when she opened her eyes, she found herself face-to-face with a small boy. ‘Hello,’ she said, momentarily forgetting her troubles. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Gwyn,’ the boy replied.

‘And what are you doing here, Gwyn? Who did you come with?’

The boy looked over his shoulder, back down the gallery. ‘The bad man,’ he whispered.

A tall figure was drifting down the hall towards them. A man dressed in a plain but expensively-cut doublet and high riding boots, with a sabre at his belt. His hair was white and cut short, but his eyebrows were thick and black. His eyes flicked between Kal and Ben as he stood before them.

‘Hello, Felix,’ Ben said, with forced joviality. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.’

‘Believe me, Godsword, it was mere curiosity that brought me here. So many members of the senate gathered in one place, I would be a fool to think that they were not conspiring against me.’ Felix Firehand gave a languorous sigh. ‘But no, I was wrong. They really are simply here to dance and drink themselves into oblivion.’

Firehand scooped up Gwyn, and held the boy up to admire the painted dragon. ‘I thought that I might try to salvage the evening by losing myself in some fine, expensive art. Perhaps you have something here that is the equal of my collection.’

‘Vuda and the Dragon,’ Ben supplied helpfully. ‘Do you like it?’

Firehand stepped back to take in the entire frame. ‘A daring composition,’ he offered. ‘Who is the artist?’

‘Ah, that would be me,’ Ben admitted.

They all stared at the painting in silence for a long minute, before Firehand resumed his critique. ‘Yes, the amateur brush sometimes reaches beyond its own meagre talent, and approaches true art.’

‘I love the dragon!’ Gwyn piped up.

Kal laughed, and Firehand seemed to notice her for the first time. ‘Is this your son?’ Kal asked him.

‘No,’ the senator said. ‘Gwyn is my priest.’

Kal and Ben exchanged glances. Firehand let out a long drawn-out breath, then decided to explain. ‘Gwyn is the son of one of my kitchen staff. He was born with only three fingers on each hand, and once he was able to speak, he started to exhibit signs of premonition.’ Firehand spoke slowly, as if explaining the obvious to an imbecile. ‘It was clear that Gwyn carried within him the spirit of the god Phanto. I purchased the child from his mother and he will serve me for the rest of our lives. Oh, he is young now, but one day he will be a powerful voice at my side.’