‘Feels a bit sad,’ Chel said from under his canvas, as they peered up at the glowing glory of the Bridge House from their dismal perch in the back of the wagon. They were through the giant gatehouse now and rolling up the gentle slope of the first bridge, the churn of white water against its piers quickly drowning the calls and cries from the bank as they climbed. The bridge was busy, people travelling in both directions, some mounted or with carts or wagons, others on foot in groups or alone. Chel thought he could tell the through-traffic like them from patrons of the House itself; they seemed to walk with their gaze downcast, never making eye-contact with anyone. He knew how they felt. ‘Getting so close to so grand a place, then not going in.’
Kosh was huddled beside him, peeping through the canvas gap while trying to affect indifference. Her excitement at the coming reunion with her compatriots had mutated into an irritable impatience, making her marginally less pleasant to be around than usual. ‘What is this place, that floods your gussets so?’
‘A meeting place, you might call it,’ Foss murmured from beside them. He was pacing alongside the wagon, a pretend guard, swathed in acres of rough cloak and the drooping brim of a hat too big for him. ‘You see that river, the big one? The province of Banut ends at the river. And you see the small one? That marks the start of Piaunu Province. But between them, that chunk of rock? Technically neither. It’s a black spot, a floater. Bound to no one.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘No tax or levies, as I hear it. They set their own rules over there. And they maintain the bridges, a major thoroughfare, for which they collect a no-doubt reasonable toll.’
‘Nobody has tried to take it by force?’
‘Look at it. I’m sure they’ve tried, but it’s still here, eh?’
‘What happens inside?’
Foss looked uncomfortable beneath the appalling hat. ‘A lot of things. People come here from all over, not always as themselves. It’s said that what happens there, stays there, according to popular convention at least.’
‘How charmlessly banal.’
‘Indeed.’
Up close, the house was even more imposing. It loomed over them, a soaring stack of nested blocks, lamplight burning from countless gauzy windows. Statues stood in its forecourt, lions and bears and other great beasts, carved from dark stone and capped with bronze and steel. A great archway marked the forecourt’s entrance; beside and beyond, the second bridge began to the far bank, the disappointing destination for their trundling wagon.
‘It’s majestic,’ Chel said, neck craned to make out the summit of the structure, wreathed in drifting steam overhead. The canvas was peeled back now, and he knew he risked a sharp rebuke from the drivers if they spotted it.
‘It is gauche,’ Kosh muttered from beside him. ‘Artless. The spiral towers of Astrum in Serasthana are majestic; this is a child’s rendering of majesty. A stupid child at that.’
‘Then forgive my artlessness but I like it. Maybe we can come back one day, once all this is over. Would make a fine location for a belated birthday party, eh, Tarf?’ He looked back beneath the canvas, across the wagon bed. ‘Tarf?’
He stuck his head in deeper.
‘Shit.’
***
‘How the fuck did you lose him?’ Rennic hissed from the wagon’s far side. ‘He was right there next to you!’
‘How could you miss him?’ Chel hissed back. ‘He must have slipped right past you!’
‘Aye, right, where’s friend princey now, anyone?’ Lemon called over her shoulder.
‘I told you: you all needed to be kinder to him!’
‘That boy needs to cope with a bruised ego a fuck-sight better than this if he has any hope of holding a throne someday,’ Loveless snapped.
Whisper signalled urgently. There he is!
‘He’s going into the courtyard!’
‘Of course he is, cub. Shepherd’s tits, he’s probably going to wail to them about his birthday.’
‘Little man, grab him!’
‘You grab him! I’m supposed to be cargo, remember?’
‘Whisp, you—’
Loveless threw up a furious hand. ‘If anyone tries to grab him and drag him back here, he’s going to squeal like a horny piglet. And we are going to attract a lot of unwanted attention.’ She looked up and down the bridge through narrowed eyes, torchlight flickering in the crosswind. ‘We’re already too much of a spectacle.’
Lemon cleared her throat. ‘Folks, no rush but we’re coming up on the turning here. Any danger of a plan?’
Loveless looked very tired. ‘Someone needs to go in after him, and coax him out.’
‘Little man, you’re up.’
‘Thrilled as I am to be upgraded from the status of baggage, how the fuck am I meant to find him in there on my own?’
‘Wee bear makes a good point, to which I’d add, exactly what do the rest of us do in the meantime? Park up the wagon on the bridge-side here? Pretend we’ve bust an axle?’
Whisper signalled again. And if there’s trouble inside?
Rennic let out a long, low growl. ‘Nine eternal goat-fucking hells!’
Loveless gave a sour chuckle. ‘Better steer for the archway, Lem. There are courtyards we can park up inside. Did anyone bring party clothes?’
***
‘Do you see him?’ Chel pointed ahead. ‘Up by the door. Seems to be talking to someone there.’
Loveless strode past. ‘With any luck they’ll delay him long enough for us to catch up.’ She offered Chel a bright, brittle smile. ‘Let’s hope it’s nobody nefarious. Now all of you play along with the next bit, or none of us gets in.’
Burly guards in gleaming breastplates stood at the internal gate, behind them a squat structure with very thick walls. An administrator looked up at their approach.
‘Party of how many?’
Loveless counted. ‘Seven. Plus one already inside.’
‘Weapons?’
‘Plenty.’
‘Together or separately?’
Loveless unstrapped her precious sword, balanced it scabbarded in her hand.
‘Separately, I think.’
‘Very well.’
When Chel’s turn came, he passed the mace through a boxy window in the stonework to a clerk on the far side. The man placed it in a box, then looked up. ‘That all? Any knives, daggers, knuckles, small implements, anything that could be used to do harm?’
Chel surrendered his good knife. It went in the box with the mace.
The man in the window sniffed, wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘You hereby declare this collection as the sum of your ordnance, and consent to a search of your person prior to entry as well as at any point during your stay with us. Any breaches of policy will be dealt with in the harshest terms. Yes?’
A little unnerved, Chel nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Wait here.’
A narrow door opened in the wall behind the man, and for a moment Chel caught a glimpse of a glittering armoury, row after row of boxes groaning with weapons mundane and exotic. His own box disappeared through the door, and it slammed shut.
‘Here.’ The man was proffering something, a wooden token, smooth with use, engraved with a symbol Chel didn’t recognize. ‘Don’t lose it. Lost tokens are your own responsibility, unclaimed effects will be adopted by the estate after a lunar cycle. Next!’
Chel shuffled away, feeling somehow robbed. Lemon was waiting beyond the door, staring at her own token. She looked diminished without her tools.
‘Aye, now these boys know their business. Weapons at the door, keep it simple.’ She looked over at his token. ‘What did you get?’
‘No idea. Looks like … a drunk bird, falling into a pond?’
She reached over and turned it in his hand, righting it, apparently. ‘It’s the unshattered anvil. Very auspicious.’
‘For who?’
She shrugged. ‘Whoever runs this place, presumably.’
They looked up at a shout. A grim-faced Rennic was trudging back from the line of gate guards, a short, pointed dagger dangling guilty in his hand.
‘They catch you out, boss?’
‘Forgot one,’ he muttered as he passed.
‘Should be grateful, eh? Shows they’re thorough!’
***
A silk-wrapped major-domo met them at the top of the wide, ornate stairway to the main door, her face as smooth and gleaming as her robe. ‘Good evening, masters, and welcome to the Bridge House. Have you visited before?’
Loveless shot a quick look at the rest of them, then nodded. ‘Yes.’
If the major-domo was repelled by their ragged appearance, she gave no sign. ‘What can we offer for your visit? Do you have need of our conference chambers? Accommodation for a prolonged stay? Companionship? I can—’
Tarfel appeared over her shoulder, eyes wide and nostrils flared, although Chel couldn’t tell if it was anger or excitement that animated the prince. ‘Ah, here they are!’
‘These are your company, master?’
‘Indeed, indeed. This lady is company treasurer, and will see to the collateral. Remember, your finest service!’
‘Of course, master, the Pearl Terrace awaits.’ The major-domo turned back to Loveless. ‘You may present your collateral to my colleague.’ With a measured tilt of her head, she indicated a woman behind a tall wooden desk inside the door, then withdrew, ready for the next approaching group.
‘We could grab him now and make a run for it,’ Rennic growled. ‘Let’s hear him squeal with my boot in his teeth.’
‘You heard the lady, the Pearl Terrace awaits,’ Loveless said, jingling her remaining coin. ‘On the bright side, Gar, we’re unlikely to meet anyone we know up there.’ She strode inside without a backward glance.
‘Normally we scumbags are confined to the lower terraces,’ Rennic replied to Chel’s questioning look, then went up the steps after Loveless, shoulders hunched and fuming.
‘There goes our contingency,’ Foss sighed as the rest of them walked after him.
‘Cost of living, innit, Fossy?’ Lemon chuckled. ‘Everything you earn.’
With one last neck-cricking look at the looming structure, Chel followed.
***
‘This place,’ Kosh said, from his elbow as they walked, ‘is disgusting.’
Happy noises echoed from the polished wood floors and wall-panels, their Serican silk coverings lilting in the wind of their passing. Not the delirious whimpers of the poppy den, but genuine mirth, a genial hubbub, the clink and clatter of drink and fare. Distant sounds echoed from the galleries that opened above them, the muted roar and closer splash of water, the occasional moan or cry from somewhere in the dark recesses above. More guards stood at every corner, perfumed, oiled, and bulging with muscle. Chel tried to avoid their gaze.
‘This place is honest,’ Loveless said over her shoulder. ‘It makes no secret of its purpose, and no apology either. More than can be said for most great institutions.’
‘You seem very at home here,’ the Nort replied. ‘You’ve visited before?’
A tall, elegant woman passed them, dressed only in wisps of silk, a bulbous man with a beaming smile bobbing in her wake. Chel, Tarfel, and Kosh paused to watch them pass.
‘Or perhaps you worked here?’ Kosh said with an eyebrow raised.
‘Is that why you don’t like silk?’ Lemon added.
Loveless offered only a half-smile of her own. ‘Stairs are this way.’
Rennic still radiated fury, wrath coming off him in waves. ‘We’re inside and he’s in grasping distance, let’s slug the little fucker and carry him out like a drunkard.’
‘The damage is done, Gar – we’ve paid our share, and we might as well try to enjoy ourselves while we’re here. God knows we deserve a break.’ Again, the light revealed the tight lines around her eyes, the dark smudges beneath. No wonder she was pushing for a rest, Chel thought, she looked more tired than any of them.
As they approached the winding stairway up to the galleries, a well-dressed man sauntering the other way came to a sudden halt before Foss, staring openly. He was in early middle age, thick dark hair gone silver at the temples, and the cut of his robes suggested both wealth and access to exclusive tailors.
‘I say, I know you, don’t I?’
Foss froze. The man turned to Loveless, who had been walking a pace ahead. It seemed he’d taken Foss as her bodyguard. ‘My apologies, my lady. Sam Sayad, once of Qazvizd – before it fell to the Red Hand – at your service. Your man here, I’ve seen him before, haven’t I?’
Loveless’s gaze flicked from the new man to Foss and back, eyes narrow. ‘That seems … unlikely.’
‘Out east, years ago, easily a decade, maybe fifteen. I was touring then, lending assistance as it was required – as was done back then.’
Loveless flashed a flattering grin, but her eyes returned to Foss, sharp and urgent. Who is this and what does he know? Foss was sweating under his thrice-wrapped cloak.
‘You were king of the pit, weren’t you? In Marichan. We stayed to watch the whole tournament, quite incredible stuff. Missed the battle of Metten as a result, which didn’t go down too well!’ He shrugged in mock apology, then slapped Foss on the arm. ‘I must say, I’ve never seen a man, before or since, with such command of the environment. Stellar stuff. Obviously, we’ve all put on a bit of timber over the years—’ he patted his belly, which remained utterly flat, ‘—but you’ve made an excellent pick here, my lady. This man is a born champion.’
Loveless was still staring at Foss, but her expression had become one of mirthful surprise, tinged, perhaps, with a dash of admiration. Foss was still sweating, but for once his cheeks were dimpled with unfamiliar pride.
‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘What was it they called you? The Bridge … no, the Wall!’
‘Back then, they did.’
‘A title earned, good sir. I’m delighted to see you’re doing well for yourself, Master Wall, with such a charming employer. Good fortune to you all.’
With a cheerful wave, Sam Sayad passed on from them and was lost in the merry traffic on the outer hallway. Loveless watched him go, then turned with great deliberation to face the stairs.
‘That was interesting, wasn’t it? How about no more surprise visitors from anyone’s past this evening?’
***
Chel watched the décor change as they climbed, from the wood and silk of the lower floors, past the polished stone and solid furniture of the floor marked with steel plates, the wool-covered flooring and furs of the floor marked with ivory, all the way up to the wide, closed door, on the floor above, emblazoned with a sun of gleaming pearls. His excitement growing, Chel tried to peer through the lattice window, catching a glimpse of reflected lamplight glittering golden beyond. Music drifted through the door, something stringed, and laughter. It all sounded beautifully expensive.
A woman stood beside the door, another of the simpering silk-robed staff. She bowed at their approach and unlatched the door. ‘All are friends beneath this roof. Please, friends, enjoy your evening.’
‘Aye, no fear on that score,’ Lemon cackled as she piled through the doorway, ‘consider it a devout imperative …’