Soulkeeper Page 37

  First, the boring busy work. He scooped out organs like pulp from a pumpkin he planned to carve. Lungs, liver, heart, intestines, all of it into a wet, stinking pile. Once she was completely hollowed out behind the rib cage he cut a center incision directly up to the breastbone, then flayed her like a fish so that her ribs were clearly exposed. Only from her neck up remained together.

  Janus paused to think, then pressed his fingers to her face. The woman’s skin hardened into a single sheen of gold. As for the pile of organs and blood at his feet, he touched it as well, but only to drain it of color.

  That’s the easy part done, he thought. Now for the tricky part.

  Blood was tremendously important to humans, and they likened it to life itself. Only the soul was revered more highly. He could use that. The greater the shock, the greater the likelihood they would remember and commit his message to memory. Janus grabbed a large chunk of the woman’s fat and pressed it to the ribs. The chunk changed to his will, becoming a massive array of thin, pink veins. It wouldn’t be her actual veins, but to any human who came to observe, it’d certainly look like a natural part of her body. The tangle slithered into various parts of her exposed form, latching onto bones, ribs, and pieces of flesh. Once tethered, the other ends shot to the ceiling, becoming a massive web as they merged stone to vein.

  Janus guided each and every strand, and it took all of his concentration. With how thin, and how many, it’d be easy for the web to lose any semblance of order. Worse, the veins might tear, especially when applying weight. He couldn’t have that. Not until his art was discovered, and the rumors could spread like a disease throughout Londheim.

  Once every single vein was finished he passed his fingers over the dead woman’s wrists, freeing her from the wall. She swung forward a foot before coming to rest. Janus watched closely to ensure that the many bands could support her weight.

  “Excellent,” he said, but his tone did not match the word. Already he felt drained, his exhilaration becoming subdued disappointment. This wasn’t enough. Would it ever be enough? He retreated down the center aisle to view his artwork from afar. Disgusting filth escaped the interior of a gilded body. Its veins burst to the ceiling, supporting her while also conveying a singular message. The several hundred veins crisscrossed each other to connect to nearly every corner of the ceiling. There seemed to be no apparent order to the entanglement, but if one stood in the center of the aisle the various gaps and overlaps came together to form one single word.

  ABANDONED.

  Janus exited the church to a dark, empty street. City guards were likely on their way, so he shifted his entire body, molding skin, clothes, and hair into his preferred disguise. He hobbled down the street, a burning hole in his stomach refusing to let him feel proud of his accomplishment.

  “They’re not learning,” he raged to the night. “They’re not listening.”

  The pleasure in crafting the art did not last. It never did. He would have to paint or sculpt again, each message louder than the one previous, until they finally understood. Their Goddesses had abandoned them. Their faith would not save them. Only as equals to the dragon-sired might they survive, and things were so far from equal.

  “I’ve tried your way, Viciss,” he said, shaking his head. “But now we do it mine.”

  One way or another, the people of Londheim would receive his message, even if he must craft it with their own bones and blood.

  CHAPTER 34

  Jacaranda flitted through the crowded morning market, Tommy at her side and a tired and grumpy Devin trailing behind her. She’d noticed that the past few days of night patrols often left the Soulkeeper in such a state.

  “I could be sleeping right now,” he said as they paused before a stall selling racks and racks of beaded necklaces and bracelets. “I should be sleeping right now.”

  “Have you no sense of excitement?” she asked as she eyed the collection. The stall’s merchant kept back so they might browse, but his jittery arms and wide eyes made him look like a wolf about to pounce.

  “Devin has no sense in a lot of things,” Tommy said, lifting a dangling bracelet for a closer look.

  “It’s beautiful,” Jacaranda said. The bracelet was an alternating string of black and violet beads, each one smoothly polished. “Who’s it for?”

  “Me, of course. Who else?”

  She batted her eyelashes at him, deciding it might be fun to hone a particular skill set she had painfully little practice with.

  “Why, I thought it might be a gift for me. After all, wouldn’t those black and violet beads match my eyes so much better?”

  Tommy blustered for a moment and then turned to Devin for help.

  “Solve this without me,” he said. “I’m not foolish enough to get involved.”

  “Fine,” Tommy said, handing it over to Jacaranda. “It does match your eyes better anyway.”

  Jacaranda slid the beads around her wrist and lifted it to catch the sunlight. She’d already convinced Devin to buy her a new wide-brimmed hat made of fine dark leather, and as for Tommy, he’d purchased the long dark gloves she wore from one of the first stalls they visited. Since she had no money of her own, she’d quickly discovered how easily a few well-timed smiles or pouts could loosen the drawstrings of their purses.

  “Beautiful,” she said. “Thank you so much, Tommy.”

  “Sure thing,” he said as he paid the smiling merchant. “Where to next? Should we find some exotic delicacies? Maybe see what new styles are in fashion?”

  Trade boats had arrived upon the Septen River carrying goods from Stomme to the east. Hundreds of men and women pulsed through the market district to browse the new wares and learn what life was like closer to Unified Orismund’s capital. It was a welcome reprieve to a city that had been living each day in the shadow of the living mountain, always tense and fearful of what might happen if it waked.

  “Everywhere,” Jacaranda said, filled with energy from the excitement. “I want to see everywhere and go to every shop and stall.”

  “She’s going to eat us alive,” Tommy said, not seeming to care she was right there to overhear. “Thank the stars Malik is letting me move into the Wise tower for free.”

  “I didn’t know your relationship had reached such a state.”

  “You’re in a relationship?” Jacaranda asked, momentarily halting. “That’s wonderful. Is he as kind as you? And why have you not introduced me?”

  “I, no, it’s…” Tommy flushed red with embarrassment. “It’s not like that at all. Quite the opposite really, Malik made that awkwardly and painfully clear. It’s just, there’s some spare rooms in the Wise tower, and your house is a bit full to the brim with guests.”

  Jacaranda was unsure of how to react, so she merely smiled in sympathy. Devin, on the other hand, loudly smacked Tommy across the back.

  “I’m sorry, Tommy. I really am. I could tell you were rather infatuated with him.”

  “Was I that obvious?”

  “For good or ill, you always wear your heart on your sleeve.”

  “It seems far more often for ill than good,” Tommy said. “I wish I could hide my adoration as well as you do.”

  Devin stiffened with embarrassment.

  “And what does that mean?” he asked.

  Tommy only winked. Jacaranda felt a warm buzz fill her chest, and she pretended not to have noticed the exchange as she hurried ahead. Her mood buoyed further when she noticed a curious gathering near a street stall selling a collection of hats. Most were children laughing and pointing, and they certainly weren’t fascinated with finely tailored headwear. Her gaze followed their pointing to the awning that gave the stall shade… and to the onyx faery dangling upside-down off the side of it by her toes.

  Jacaranda nudged Devin with her elbow so he also noticed, and together they approached the stall.

  “So this is where you’re running off to during the day,” he said after crossing the distance.

  “Hi, Devin! Hi, Jac!” T
esmarie shouted to them. Her wings buzzed to keep her perpendicular to the ground, and she swished her arms and laughed as the children did likewise. She looked so happy as she bathed in the sun. Certainly the little pile of food beside her helped in that regard. “Come to play, or buy some hats?”

  “Neither,” Jacaranda said. “We just wished to greet a friend.”

  Devin flipped a silver penny to the merchant family underneath the stall.

  “For dealing with the little one,” he said as explanation. The two waved to Tesmarie and then continued on with their browsing.

  Guards were a common enough occurrence as they made their way from the southern end of the market district to the north. Jacaranda kept a careful eye on each one they passed. She wore a white scarf across her neck to hide her mark, but that cover did not remove her paranoia. Devin and Tommy stopped at a stall selling heavy coats, so she continued onward, perfectly content to browse alone.

  “Rabid soulless? That a jest?”

  The phrase stole Jacaranda’s attention to a trio of well-dressed men gathered around a balloon of a man outfitted in Orismund’s finest silks. The four sat on stools facing a table loaded with sliced rolls and a single bowl of melted cheese they took turns slathering over their bread.

  “No other real way to describe it,” the merchant said. “They’re going violent, and it’s spreading like a goddess-damned epidemic. It’s particularly bad in the north. Heard they’re putting soulless down by the dozens in the new workshops. If you got yourself some spare gold crowns, invest in textiles. That shit’s about to get rare.”

  “Invest?” one of the local men with him snorted. “We’re barely skirting off famine, a damn mountain might crush the whole city for reasons only the Goddesses know, and you think we should be investing?”

  Mr. Pompous Balloon wagged a finger in his direction.

  “Always think long-term with your coin,” he said. “Famines come and go. Sure, people need food, but they’ll always need clothes, too. There’s no reason to let them get one part cheap just because another’s getting too rare and expensive. Same goes for property. You should be hovering over estate auctions like a hawk. Starving folk rarely get their wills in order.”

  It took all of Jacaranda’s self-control to keep her daggers sheathed. Her good mood broke beneath waves of rage. She wasn’t alone. Other soulless were waking, but unlike her, they did not have a kind Soulkeeper to help with the transition. No, they had cruel men and women willing to murder them like rabid animals.

  “Are you all right?” Devin asked, startling her.

  “I… yes, I’m fine. Really.” He clearly didn’t believe her but she shook him off. “I’d like to be alone for a little while, all right?”

  “Sure thing, Jacaranda,” he said. His pleasant tone did not match the worry in his eyes. He pulled a few copper and silver pennies from his pocket and handed them over. “That should be enough to keep you entertained for the rest of the day. Stay safe, you hear?”

  “I will,” she promised.

  She left the market and traveled east. The long walk calmed her rage but did little to remove her guilt. There were better things she should be using her time for, things more than decorating herself with little trinkets and gloves. Was this how life was when not soulless? Endless easy distractions so that difficult tasks kept sliding further and further into the future?

  Stop it, she mentally yelled at herself as she arrived at the docks along the far east edge of Londheim. You enjoy your time with Devin and Tommy. Don’t feel guilty for that. It’s your life. Live it as you wish.

  Jacaranda sat on a bench overlooking the many docking boats. Rich smells brushed over her with each gentle gust of wind. The earthy aroma of the dark riverbank soil. The sharp scent of pine tar on the docks and hulls. The steady flow of the water reminded Jacaranda of when she’d bathed in the river on the road to Oakenwall. Devin had kept his eyes to himself, but the thought of him watching her set her heart to flutter in a strange but not unpleasant way. Fascinating, the way sounds and scents tied together with various memories to elicit emotions. Sometimes, like with the river, she welcomed the sudden excitement. Other times, such as whenever her mind shot to her years under Gerag’s control, she loathed it with a passion.

  “Something the matter, miss?”

  Jacaranda startled out of her thoughts, yet another unaccustomed sensation. Soulless did not daydream.

  “Excuse me?” she asked the burly man, a fishmonger based on the bloodstained apron and thick bucket of stinking unpleasantness in his left hand. That apron was the only thing covering his bare, hairy chest, and given how the sky looked ready to snow, she had to commend his fortitude.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. No sap here is good enough to have a pretty lass like you for a wife, so I thought something might be amiss.”

  “Perhaps I am full of surprises?” Jacaranda asked. She brushed her hand across her bangs, flattered. She’d been complimented before while soulless. The flowery words had been meaningless then, objective opinions on skin, hair, and bone structure unwelcomely offered as facts. Yet now a smile bloomed on her face. No wonder a few charming words could disarm even the most guarded of hearts. Something about his earnest compliment made her feel happy, and perhaps slightly embarrassed for reasons she couldn’t hope to understand.

  “Hah, perhaps you are,” he said. He dumped his bucket of fish heads, spines, and unwanted guts into the river. “Serves me for making assumptions. Good day to you.”

  “And you, too, fishmonger.”

  The man sauntered off, and Jacaranda turned her attention back to the river. The shipments from Stomme had arrived in a grand fleet, with boats anchoring at every dock and many more waiting their turn farther out. These boats announced their names in a myriad of ways, with chiseled letters on their bows, colorful flags fluttering from their masts, or symbols in the hands of figureheads carved into the prow. There was one in particular she searched for, and it didn’t matter that it took an hour of waiting before she found it.

  The smaller boat docked several rows to her left, too far for her to read the name on its bow. The flag, a sickle wrapped in white cloth over a green field, was enough to confirm it the Hawkins, the trade ship of the Petyrn family, who mostly dealt with dried corn and beets grown on their sprawling family estate. Mostly. Jacaranda pulled her hat lower on her head and turned away.

  The crew of the Hawkins might appear to be unloading its cargo, but Jacaranda knew better. Only the cheaper, bulk-rate goods would reach the markets and stores today. The real value of its haul would be transported come nightfall, and Jacaranda would be there to greet it.

  Under normal circumstances the docks should have been alive with sailors gambling, singing, and flirting with the night women come to ply their trade. It seemed they’d been told of Londheim’s dangers, for the docks were empty but for the unlucky few stuck on guard duty. The bars and taverns nearby were crammed full to the brim, and based on the noise coming from the boats, those who couldn’t find room were bunking inside.

  For Jacaranda, this was just fine. She passed unseen alongside the river, the Hawkins her unerring destination. A single guard stood bored beside the ramp. Any more would attract attention for such a small ship. A lantern hung from a hook on the prow, casting its yellow light across the dock. Jacaranda observed its gentle sway as the boat rose and fell atop the water, memorizing the dance of the shadows it cast.

  It didn’t matter that the guard was bored and spending more time paying attention to cleaning his fingernails. Even if alert, she’d have still buried her dagger into the back of his head without him noticing her approach. She carefully guided the body down so it wouldn’t make a noise hitting the wood, then bent him over at the waist so he was hidden behind a stack of crates.

  Jacaranda raced up the ramp and to the door of the captain’s quarters. She knocked twice with the hilt of her dagger. Stealth wouldn’t be necessary here. After all, it was perfectly normal for her to acc
ompany these nighttime transactions.

  “What is it, Troy?” the captain, a short, stocky man named Malin, shouted from within.

  “I am not Troy,” Jacaranda said, her voice perfectly even. “I am Jacaranda.”

  That was enough to get the captain up and to the door. She heard him grumbling from the other side, speaking to someone with him.

  “The bitch’s got some damn good timing, don’t she?”

  Malin flung open the door. He wore only a loose, untied pair of breeches. His long brown hair was unkempt and his skin layered with sweat. An amused younger man lay in the cabin’s lone bed, his nakedness hidden by a blanket. The light of two candles on the desk flickered in the sudden intake of air.

  “What do you want?” Malin asked. “Shipment’s not to…”

  Jacaranda slammed her fist into the lump of his throat. He staggered into the cabin, retching violently. She slid through the opening and pulled the naked man from the bed. Her heel ended on his throat, pinning him. His hands flailed ineffectually at her ankle and shin.

  “Are you a member of the crew?” she asked. She relented enough pressure so he could answer.

  “Not crew… bed warmer.”

  “Which brothel?”

  He gasped in a breath of air.

  “The Gentle Rose.”

  “Then get out and pretend you were never here.”

  The young man was more than happy to oblige. The moment she pulled back her leg he fled out the door, the thin sheet his only covering. Jacaranda turned back to Malin and reacted only with mild annoyance to his attempt to stab her with a dagger he’d somehow obtained. A slight shift to the left caused it to miss wide of her neck. She struck the interior of his armpit to pop the bone out of joint, then dipped low to swipe with her dagger. The blade cut cleanly through his heel, severing the tendon and dropping Malin with a howl. For good measure she stabbed through the other heel as well. It paid to be thorough.