The mist was no thinner away from the shore. Grey waves rolled and foamed against the hull of the narrow vessel, blurring into the curtains of mist that enveloped them. The dark tombstone cliffs were swiftly lost from view, and soon Chel heard nothing beyond the creaking of the timbers and the whispering rush of the water beneath. Even the miserable gulls seemed to have abandoned them.
He stood with his hands on the rail, breathing hard and fighting down the boiling sickness in his gut that lurched with the vessel’s every rolling thrust. The pulsing in his head was diminished, but perhaps only by comparison. He took great gulps of briny air, trying to appreciate the drifting spray cooling on his clammy skin. He should have brought the blanket.
‘Fuck’s wrong with you?’
Rennic appeared at his elbow. He’d found something to eat, possibly a portion of the same mystery meat Foss had offered. Chel realized he’d left his own breakfast behind.
‘Fresh air must not agree with me.’
‘Not after a skinful of the upstairs’ finest grape, I’ll bet.’ He took another bite, tearing off a great strip of grey meat and chewing noisily. ‘Shepherd’s tits, boy, pull yourself together. No such thing as a hangover at your age.’
Chel shivered at the echo of Heali’s words. He swallowed with great purpose, then said, ‘Where are we going?’
‘Fuck knows.’
‘Who does Lady Palo work for?’
‘Someone with coin, God willing.’
Chel turned, his sickness fading. ‘How can you not know? You must have an inkling, at least?’
Rennic turned, his eyes dark.
‘Plenty of inkling, no shortage thereof. But I’m not one for making claims of knowledge I don’t possess. So, I’ll be keeping my counsel for now, and we’ll see what our prayers bring us.’
Chel stared at him, uncertain, and he tossed his head toward the back of the boat.
‘Go on, go tend to your whimpering liege.’
***
He found Tarfel at the back of the boat, huddled beneath his cloak, semi-disguised as a sack of grain. Dalim stood over him in haughty guard, maintaining perfect poise against the deck’s roll, his leather-wrapped glaive held steady across his shoulders. He looked away as Chel approached, but made no move to depart. Chel steered around him, good hand against the rail, then lowered himself down beside the prince.
‘Are you all right, highness?’
Tarfel’s gaze was hesitant, brimming with mournful resentment.
‘Oh, you.’
‘Of course me, highness. I wasn’t going to let them take you.’
‘They seem to have taken both of us instead.’
Chel shifted against the deck. ‘I don’t know where they’re taking us, but I stand by my oath. My life for yours.’
The prince snorted, a gentle puff of air that set his stringy fringe dancing.
‘I thought you’d forgotten.’
Chel couldn’t tell if he meant it as a rebuke. The prince sat staring into the drifting wall of grey beyond the rail, his head rocking with the boat’s roll. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, but for now his tears had passed.
‘You know, Vedren,’ he said after a contemplative pause, ‘I don’t think I’m going to be ransomed. I think I’m being sold. This is the worst thing to happen since … since the Month of Sorrows.’
Chel wasn’t sure if he was supposed to interject. ‘Was that …?’
‘Yes, when Corvel died and Father fell ill – well, he’d been a bit unsteady for a while before that, I remember, but that was when he was struck down and bedridden. Corvel died, Mendel was left horribly scarred, then Father collapsed in grief and nothing was the same. I was off to Denirnas within weeks, ward of Duke Reysel, for my own safety, and enrolled in the Academy within the year. I was only thirteen, Vedren, a little boy. Who wanted nothing more than to play games with his big brother, who’d turned overnight into a wounded, brooding soul who craved only isolation.’ Tarfel waved a hand. ‘He’s better now, of course – you saw, he’s got his humour back. But now he’s the heir he has no time for games any more, I’ve barely seen him since I was sent away. I miss Corvel. He might have been a ruthless bastard but he was still my … brother …’
The prince’s eyes were pooling again, and a single tear wandered discreetly down one pale cheek.
‘I never asked for this, Vedren. I never asked to be chattel.’
‘No one ever does, highness.’
Tarfel sniffed and wiped at his eye. ‘I’ve not forgotten our bargain. Deliver me safely from what follows, I’ll see you released. From everything.’
Chel nodded, jaw set. ‘On my oath, highness.’
A cry turned them to the bow. Chel had little idea of how long they’d been on the water, or even how far from the shore they’d strayed, but at last the mist was shifting. Drifting grey chunks thinned and split, and patches of weak, watery sunlight shone through, the sky a mottled rose behind. The surface clouds fell away before them, and the island hove into view. It jutted from the seething water, a towering pillar of stark, chunky granite, buttressed by hollow arches, ringed by sharp little rock teeth, poking up from the foam.
At its summit, hewn directly from the island’s rock, stood a structure. Small, dark squares of window travelled its walls in a spiral, while at its fringes lumpen stacks of granite had been carved into towers, topped with pale stone domes. Flat, grey walls abutted bloated formations of natural rock, following their curve and climb, and at the peak of its central dome, flanked by hazy pennants, stood a proud, giant crook.
‘What in hells is that?’ Chel stood, his eyes fixed on the towering icon. ‘Is that a church?’
Rennic was ahead of him, knuckles white around his staff, breathing harsh and nasal. He spun around, his whole body bristling like a startled cat. ‘What fuckery is this, Palo? Are you handing us to the fucking Rose?’
Palo was at the mast, her expression unconcerned. ‘Not every sacred building is a church, Master Rennic, and not every church is in Primarch Vassad’s clutches.’ Rennic growled, and she took a step closer. ‘You’ll find friends here, be at peace.’ She turned and began calling commands, preparing the boat for their arrival.
‘Are you armed, sand-crab?’ Rennic’s eyes were still on Palo’s back.
Chel patted at his empty belt. ‘No.’
‘Then we’d better hope they’re friendly as fuck up there,’ Rennic said in a low voice. ‘As we’ve got a busted staff and a skinning knife between us.’
‘Chin up, shit-heads.’ One of the hooded figures that had accompanied Dalim aboard was standing beside them, eyes fixed on the approaching rock-pile. ‘Never seen the Silent Sepulchre before?’
Rennic’s hand shot out, seized the man by the shoulder, spun him around. He jerked back the man’s hood.
‘Spider. The fuck are you doing here?’
Spider’s bald head glimmered with spray. He snarled, unrepentant. ‘Same as you. Protecting my investment. If you’re chiselling extra coin for Prince Shitehawk, I’ll see my half.’
Chel puffed out his chest. ‘Half? You were one of seven on the job.’
Spider’s glance was withering. ‘And who do you think brought Beaky the job, rat-bear?’ He swept an arm across the boat. ‘These are my people, not his, and not yours. You are not among friends. So how about you keep your head down and your mouth shut, and you let the Spider do his work.’
He flicked the hood back over his head and stalked away.
‘Prick,’ Rennic muttered after him.
‘He telling the truth?’ Chel said. ‘He’s not one of your company?’
Rennic grunted. ‘We go back a long way, Spider and me. Always had our separate concerns.’
‘So he’s the one who works for Palo, brought you the job?’
Rennic wheeled on him. ‘You’d best be following his advice and all, boy. Head down, mouth shut.’ He turned back toward the great column of rock and stone that drew ever closer. Flocks of pale birds wheeled and swooped around the building, burnished in the feeble light. It did not look welcoming.
***
To Chel’s surprise, their boat swept wide of the island, carving a path around the savage rock teeth that enclosed it and revealing a chain of irregular, interlocking pillars in its far shadow. The island was in fact the tip of a thickening peninsular, the barren land stretching off into the receding mist toward some distant coastline. Some of the arches below the rocky formations stood overhung and lightless, no easy passage through to the sea beyond. It was toward one of these sea caves that the boat aimed.
The cave swallowed them, and as they tossed their way into darkness, Chel thought for a moment that the rock meant to consume them, to dash them against its mouth of stone teeth and devour them into a watery pit. Then torches spluttered in the darkness, and the hull bumped against netted barrels on the side of a stone jetty.
Shadowy figures on the dockside called out in a dialect Chel didn’t understand, to be answered by one of Palo’s men in what he assumed was the same tongue. The gangway was thrown, and a moment later their crew was disembarking into the gloom.
Rennic clubbed him on the shoulder. ‘Move your Andriz arse, boy. They’re hauling off our golden calf.’
Palo was leading Tarfel unprotesting down the gang, his head hung low. Dalim followed too close behind, full of superfluous swaggering menace, his glaive a balancing bar. Chel and Rennic scrambled after them, and moments later the boat was deserted, bobbing softly in the darkness beneath the Silent Sepulchre.
***
They descended into chilly darkness, the slap of the waves on the dock giving way to the plop of unseen drips from the rock that surrounded them. Chel followed in Rennic’s hulking shadow, the distant light of their escort’s torches glistening from the walls ahead.
‘Is this a smuggler’s dock?’ His voice echoed strange and uncomfortable from the cold black stone. ‘Where are the steps up? Are the Sisters smugglers?’
Rennic turned his head then bumped into the low ceiling before him. His enraged hiss carried down the passage, and the bobbing torches paused for a moment. ‘Fucksake, boy, not now!’
They stumbled on, eyes straining, always chasing the receding light. Other passages split and disappeared into the rock, some lit by torches or candles, none apparently occupied. No stairs presented themselves. For every upward step, another downward followed.
Over the echo of their jangling footsteps came a growing hiss, like the sizzle of hot fat on an iron. It was quiet at first, but louder with every step, until the torches guttered out ahead of them and the passage widened into a wide stone chamber, its entire far wall open to the grey sea beyond.
The group fanned out in the gloom. Rennic took a step to one side and bumped his head on the low stone ceiling.
‘God’s bollocks! What kind of prick lives in a rocky piss-hole like this?’
A throat cleared in the darkness, a rumbling, wet gargle, slick rocks rattling in a pool.
‘That would be me, Gar Rennic of the Black Hawk Company.’
Chel squinted against the haze. A large block at the cave’s centre, something he’d originally taken for a rock formation, had moved.
Rennic, to Chel’s surprise, did not back down. ‘And who are you, Man-Sitting-In-Slimy-Darkness? You seem to have the better of me, and that’s bad manners for a host.’
The shape chuckled.
‘Perhaps you should all come and sit down.’