Kal Moonheart Trilogy: Dragon Killer, Roll the Bones & Sirensbane (33 page)

‘Well don’t let
him
make an impression on
you
,’ Zeb warned. ‘He’s a thief; he stole from us, and one day soon, he’s going to pay. That’s the only reason you’re getting involved with him. So don’t get too close.’

Too late,
Kal thought, but she kept a straight face.

‘How are you, anyway?’ Zeb asked ‘You look a hell of a lot better than you did last night when they dragged you in.’

‘It’s the clothes,’ Kal joked. ‘Inside I’m dead. And this heat is insufferable; let’s get back in the house.’

The atrium was cool and quiet. The open-plan space that had been the scene of the party was now neat, clean and ordered. Kal crossed the spot where she had found Senator Grey’s body, and a chill ran up her spine.

They found Ben in his office, sitting on his desk, surrounded by piles of paperwork. He looked tired and frustrated, and Kal couldn’t help but notice the hip flask that was also on the desk. Ben brightened when he saw her, though.

‘Welcome back to the land of the living, Mooney,’ he greeted her. ‘Can you take over here while I go to bed. No, don’t give me that look. I’m joking.’

‘What is all this, Ben?’ Kal asked.

‘Eye-witness statements—I managed to get them off Dogwood after some effort. Everyone who was at the Snake Pit on the night of the robbery was questioned … and nobody noticed anything that will be useful to make a case for Zeb’s defence. The Snake Pit guys I just interviewed were no help either—they had no idea where they were held, or by whom.’

‘Firehand needs evidence too, remember,’ Kal pointed out. ‘If he wants to convict Zeb, then he needs to
prove
she robbed her own business.’

‘Does he?’ Ben said, handing Kal a piece of paper. ‘Take a look at this.’

Kal scanned the list of names. ‘I recognise the names; they’re all senators.’

‘Yes: the jury for tomorrow’s trial. Supposedly the names are drawn at random, but almost everyone on that list is an aristocrat with some connection to Firehand. There are maybe five names who might be sympathetic to our case, but both advocates have a right to strike five names off the list, and Firehand will choose the ones that we would rather keep. It won’t make a jot of difference who I choose.’

‘Can you bribe any of them?’ Zeb asked bluntly.

Ben gave her a pained expression. ‘My bribery budget is stretched pretty tight as it is right now. Do you know how expensive it is being a senator?’

Kal slumped down on the leather sofa next to Zeb. There was one final factor that could swing the result: the man or woman who would rule the courtroom. ‘Who’s going to be magistrate?’ she asked.

‘Well, that’s one position that Firehand has no influence over,’ Ben said, reaching for a thick book. ‘The court appointments were all scheduled at the start of the year. Tomorrow, the criminal court will be presided over by …’

He showed Kal the name.

‘Ganzief Greatbear,’ she said. ‘So whose side is
he
on?’

Ben spread his palms. ‘Who knows. The Bear has always followed his own agenda. Or perhaps he follows the agenda of his handlers back in Zorronov, if the rumours are true. Hell, Kal, the man is as unpredictable as the weather. He’s rich, so he won’t stand for a bribe. He follows his own set of principles and logic. He only has one weakness as far as I know.’

Kal knew Greatbear quite well from the times they had faced each other across the card table. The man was a keen gambler—and a gracious winner who also always kept his humour in defeat. He enjoyed socialising and gossip, and often spouted provocative opinions just to get a rise out of his political opponents. He made and spent a great deal of money, most of it on gambling, food and drink, and women.

‘Yeah,’ Kal concurred. ‘He has a weakness, alright … his weakness is me.’

IV.ii

Born Under a Blue Sky

They spent the rest of the morning and afternoon in Ben’s study, with the blinds drawn on the windows to keep out the fearsome sun. At lunchtime, a goblin brought them sandwiches, which Ben ate standing up while he paced the floorboards, declaiming the opening statement he was rehearsing for tomorrow’s trial.

Kal sat on the floor, her legs spread out to stretch her muscles. She half-listened to Ben, while at the same time slapping cards from a deck down in rows and columns—a game of solitaire. When it wasn’t possible to play with others, Kal often liked to challenge herself.

Zeb lounged on the nearby couch and listened to Ben. With no alibi or evidence of her innocence, the owner of the Snake Pit was relying on the senator’s oratorical skills to get her out of trouble.

‘Why is he doing this, Kal?’ she asked her friend. ‘Benedict Godsword doesn’t owe me anything.’

Kal smiled. ‘It depends who you put the question to,’ she replied. ‘Ask Ben, and he’ll say that Amaranthine law is the fairest in the world, and that everyone inside the city walls is guaranteed a defence, no matter how guilty they are. Not that you’re guilty, of course!’

‘Of course. So … what if I asked, say,
you
?’

‘Well,’ Kal said, ‘I’d tell you that Ben’s been looking for an excuse to take on the Firehands for a long, long time now. If Ben destroys him in court, then Felix won’t be able to stand for consul … and then the Firehand dynasty’s grip on the city will be severely weakened.’

‘
If
,’ Zeb echoed. ‘I thought about running away, you know, Kal; leaving the city for good.’

‘And go home?’

She nodded. ‘I left the Winter Steppe over fifteen years ago now, but I sometimes think about going back. It may take some time getting used to living in the saddle again, but I bet I could still beat anyone in the tribe with a bow.’

That was true. Kal and Zeb practiced shooting down at the butts on the Field of Bones every Sunday morning until their arms were sore. Kal was a good shot, but Zeb could decorate a someone’s hat with an arrow from a hundred paces.

‘If you were going to go,’ Kal said, ‘then it would have to be tonight.’

Zeb shook her head. ‘No. I don’t want to give Firehand the satisfaction of driving me from the city. This is my home now.’

Kal’s hands idly continued with her game: the next card she drew from the deck was the Queen of Cups. She examined it wistfully for a moment. ‘You know I’d do anything to help you, Zeb,’ she said, ‘so, I think it’s time I gave Ganzief Greatbear what I know he’s always wanted from me.’

Zeb’s eyes went wide. ‘No!’ she said.

Kal gave her a tight smile. ‘If he will just show a little bit of sympathy for our cause in the trial, it will be worth it. And besides, it will cost me nothing but an hour of my time.’

* * *

When darkness fell, Kal went to work. As she crunched along Ben’s drive, she looked up at the massive visage of Ganzief Greatbear that stared out from the giant banner Ben had erected. The fat senator had made quite a name for himself since he had defected from Amaranthium’s traditional enemy, the eastern city of Zorronov, some twenty years previously. He had shaken up Senate politics with his maverick approach, and Kal could understand why Ben would support him, rather than the entrenched aristocracy, in the consular elections. But whose side was Greatbear really on?

Well, Kal didn’t care. She was going to see the senator tonight with one specific deal in mind: to give up what she knew Greatbear was after, in exchange for his support in the trial. Kal knew that he wouldn’t be able to resist: Greatbear had implored her regularly for all the years they had known each other.

The city was quiet tonight. General Cassava’s troops were on patrol everywhere, and now they were unashamedly in full uniform: steel-banded body armour over red tunics, and skirts of steel strips for both men and women. News had reached Ben’s mansion that Cassava had passed an emergency bill in the Senate House that, in the wake of Viola Witchwood’s murder, granted the general executive powers when it came to keeping the peace.

Tonight, the only sound, apart from the footsteps of the patrols, was the noise of hammers and sawing that carried across the still night air from way over by the docks. The Amphitheatre was being prepped for General Cassava’s games: a weekend of fun and death that would precede—and probably continue right through—the elections. Kal made a mental note to steer clear of that part of town over the next few days. There would be plenty of bookmaking action, but Kal generally drew the line at gambling on people’s lives.

She avoided the soldiers, too, as she made her way around the circumference of Arcus Hill. They had been looking for her yesterday, and Kal had a suspicion that her reputation as a
dragon killer
had caught their general’s interest. But honestly, if Cassava wanted that title now, then let her have it. Kal would happily let it be known that the dragon Cassava had executed in the forum was much,
much
more fearsome than Kal’s dragon from Refuge, if that was all the general wanted to hear.

Kal’s route took her across the Forum. The vast paved public space marked the terminus of the Kingsway that ran in from the East Gate. At the western end of the Forum, a winding stair climbed the rock face to the Basilica at the very top of the Hill, and the north and south sides of the rectangular plaza were packed with civic buildings, temples and the court houses, as well as the great library and the Cut—the city’s sinister prison. The fearsome statue of Feron Firehand towered over all of this, and the long black shadow that was thrown by the moon landed, with delicious foreboding, squarely on the pale stone facade of the Senate House itself.

Kal kept to the edges of the plaza to avoid the patrols. The soldiers here were busy erecting what looked like tall wooden posts on the podium, the raised speaker’s platform in the south west corner of the Forum. While they were busy, Kal slipped down the side of the Senate Guard barracks and into the small cemetery beyond.

She often passed through here, since there was a gate at the back that led to a residential district where many senators lived. She didn’t always stop at the small grave that sheltered under an ancient yew tree in an out-of-the-way corner, but tonight she made an exception.

Rafe Firehand

974-1004

‘All or Nothing’

You were one of them, too
, Kal thought.
What would you have done if you knew the ghost of your beloved ancestor was running around murdering people? Chased him back down to hell, no doubt! I really could have done with your help now …

* * *

Ganzief Greatbear’s home was a small townhouse in the middle of a long terrace of twenty identical buildings. Unlike Ben, he obviously preferred to live in a kind of affluent anonymity. The only difference between Greatbear’s house and his neighbours’ was the Senate Guard standing outside. Kal stepped across the small well-tended lawn in two strides, and nodded at the guard (who she vaguely recognised) as she knocked on the door.

Greatbear opened it himself. He was clad in a red velvet dressing gown and was clutching a tumbler, in which ice cubes knocked around in a clear drink.

‘Kal!’ he exclaimed. He looked over her shoulder as if he couldn’t quite believe that she would turn up at his home alone. ‘Come on in!’

Kal entered the narrow hallway. The floor was tiled black and white, and the walls were covered with gold-framed icons—tiny but detailed portraits of the gods. Greatbear’s heaving bulk was almost on top of her, and she could smell the zalka on his breath.

‘Having a party?’ she asked.

‘A private party,’ Greatbear said. ‘It has been a long day, Kal. I have been on my feet in the Senate House arguing for hours against Cassava’s bill, but it was passed forty votes to thirty-eight. So much power in the hands of one person! It is hardly in the spirit of the Republic. And why do soldiers always think they will make great politicians? Cassava can not expect to be admired as a mighty triumphant general, and then at the same time get down and dirty amongst the schemes and petty feuds that riddle the Senate House. Descending into politics is like trying to argue with a madman: Cassava will never win—the Senate will only drag her down to their level!’

Kal waited until Greatbear’s rant ran out of steam. ‘Have you finished?’ she asked finally.

He took a deep breath. ‘We could have done with Ben’s support today.’

‘He’s busy trying to help a friend,’ Kal said. ‘You know, if Ben defeats Firehand in court tomorrow, then it will clear the path for you to take the consulate.’

Greatbear laughed. ‘You are right—it will just be me and Cassava left standing. And maybe, if we both become consuls, then perhaps I can find another war for her to fight to get her out of the way. A nice distant war! Ho ho ho! But why are you here tonight, Kal? You do not normally like to talk politics.’

Kal took a deep breath. ‘I thought we could make a deal, Old Bear. After all, we both have something the other person wants …’

Greatbear seemed to sober up almost instantaneously. He dragged a hand through his beard. ‘Come on through to my parlour,’ he said.

Kal almost laughed out loud when she saw the giant stuffed bison head above the fireplace in the parlour. There was also an eagle, wings aloft, displayed under a glass dome in the corner. Spread out on the floor, between two luxurious chaise longues, was—of course—a bearskin rug. The walls were red, and Kal felt quite suitably dressed in her own red and black silk outfit.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ her host asked.

‘I think you’d better,’ Kal said, ‘before I change my mind.’

She perched awkwardly on the arm of one of the chairs, while Greatbear went to an ornate drinks cabinet, and poured Kal three fingers of zalka.

‘Do you know why I defected from Zorronov?’ Greatbear asked her.

Kal shook her head.

‘In my motherland, the Empress wields unlimited power. There is virtually no personal, political or religious freedom, and a man with opinions, such as myself, risks being sent to the salt mines in the frozen north for showing even the smallest sign of dissent. When I first entered politics, I dreamed of reforming the system, but there is a saying in Zorronov: ‘We are born under a blue sky, but die in a dark forest’. Well, I could feel the forest closing in, Kal, and I knew I had to escape.