Mourningbird Read online

  Dorian crept into the room, his movements as silent as the shadows cast by the moonlight streaming through the window. The old man and woman shared a bed, which warranted a bit of caution if he was going to claim them both without rousing either of them and risk alerting the guards. Under normal circumstances, this would be a simple task, but he needed to make the old woman’s death appear natural.

  The Necrophage retrieved a soul stone that resembled a scarab with six gold legs. He gently set it on the woman’s rising and falling chest. The scarab’s spindly, needle-like legs flexed and sank into her chest. She started, but the stone’s magic held her in stasis and lulled her back into a deep sleep. At the last moment, Dorian decided to let her live. She might be more useful in gathering information about his soon-to-be host and city alive. Her death might also bring undue attention from friends wanting to express their grief.

  With the wife safely constrained, Dorian grabbed the front of the old man’s sleeping gown, jerked him into a sitting position, and jammed the gold spike with its attached soul stone into the base of his neck before he could issue more than a brief mutter of surprise.

  His prey paralyzed, Dorian went to work relieving him of his identity, life, and very soul. Within minutes, all that he was or would ever be belonged to the Necrophage. As Dorian absorbed the man’s soul and the memories that accompanied it, a thought rose to the surface. Powder. Dorian probed deeper, curious as to why this was the pre-eminent thought in what remained of the man’s mind.

  The image of a substance resembling black sand formed, and Dorian recalled the powder he had discovered on the humans’ airship, the very stuff that appeared to power their weapons. This man was highly placed in its construction. Dorian smiled. Yes, this had been an excellent target indeed.

  ***

  Fred drank deeply from the tumbler of whiskey before raising the pipe packed with aether weed gripped in his other hand to his lips. He alternated between the two in an effort to vanquish both his pain and fear as Top Hat recounted his meeting with Nimat. The fact that his man had returned in one piece had been promising, but that was about the extent of his good news.

  “So, Nimat does not suspect me?” Fred asked.

  “I’m sure she is full of suspicion, but it is not on you alone. Neither does she appear certain enough to act upon it at this time,” Top Hat answered.

  “Do you think Kiera was telling the truth, about the masked man and not having the stone?”

  “Her words and body language suggested that she was being honest, but a good liar can fool the best of readers, as my performance proves.”

  Fred took another drink and drag. “The girl has many talents, but lying ain’t one of them, not good enough to fool Nimat, that’s for damn sure.” Fred glared at his now empty glass and hurled it into the fireplace. “Who in the Tormented Plane is this man who is so intent upon destroying me, and who has my stone?”

  “I have no answer to either of those questions.”

  “Then get some damn answers!” Fred winced at the pain his tirade caused his wound and inhaled more aether weed. “My techno-arcanists are making me little more than toys. I need that stone if I am going to make a weapon strong enough to wrest control of this city from Rafferty and Nimat. And find me some better arcanists!”

  “Unregistered techno-arcanists are hard to find, as you know. Those with any real talent are particularly adept at hiding or are in the guild.”

  “Then kidnap a registered arcanist if you have to!”

  Top Hat’s thin eyebrows bumped together, creating a crease between them. “Fred, I fear the situation and your medicinals have clouded your judgement. Kidnapping a registered arcanist would bring the entire gendarme down upon us. That’s assuming we could even manage the feat, given the extraordinary security they have around them at all times.”

  “You’re right, of course, Mr. Ridley. Thank you for being my voice of reason. We need to figure out how to recover from this damn expensive disaster.”

  “I can make a trip to our factory and check on the status of our two techno-arcanists. They had made some progress in chaining smaller arcanstones together to create more powerful effects, but it was minimal. Perhaps there has been some improvement since last reports.”

  Fred thought a moment. “No, I need you here. We have to carry on like it’s business as usual.” He slammed his heavy fist against the table, knocking over an empty cup. “I need to make some real weapons, not these glorified toys. If Nimat decides I was behind the debacle last night, we’re all dead, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop her. I need a weapon powerful enough to make her fear me, and for that I require more than industrial mage glass. I have to have pure arcanstones and an arcanist who knows how to channel that much power, not those two trumped-up tinkers I have now.”

  “I will continue my search for a better arcanist,” Top Hat said.

  “Do that, and see what you can find out about this man who fought with Nimat and lived. If he can wield power similar to hers, he could be an invaluable ally.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Rastus descended the dark stairs to the unadorned rooms lying in the deepest sections of his palace. The blue light cast by his mage glass lamp revealed a myriad of disused pieces of furniture, trunks, and other family possessions covered in sheets and dust, discarded and long-forgotten by his ancestors.

  It was an odd place for the ruler of the most powerful city in the realm to be wandering about. However, it was not mere meandering that brought Rastus down into the bowels of his palace. He thought he heard a noise and directed his light into a dark corner only to find a seamstress’ mannequin staring back at him. A shadow flickered in the corner of his eye, and he spun about in an attempt to capture the fleeting image but discovered nothing but dust, disturbed by his presence, floating in the air.

  A cold hand reached past his shoulder and stroked his cheek, the icy touch sending a chill down his spine. Rastus leapt forward, his hand instinctively reaching for the pistol tucked inside his coat.

  The duke dropped his hand to his side, leaving the weapon holstered. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

  Nimat shrugged and flashed him a coy smile. “I enjoy the practice as much as I do your reaction.”

  “I thought you would be contacting me soon given what I heard of the situation near the mooring yard last night. What happened?”

  “A business transaction gone bad, but that is not why I am here. Not exactly. I will deal with the fools who tried to steal from me.”

  “What do you need from me? Your intelligence operatives probably know more than I do.”

  “Of course they do. I am here to warn you. A great threat has entered our city. I fought him last night when he tried to steal something from me.”

  “Who would dare challenge you? What was he trying to steal?”

  Nimat’s eyes narrowed. “The what is none of your concern. As to the who, a deadly creature with dark power at his disposal. He can take on the appearance of most anyone, so you must trust no one.”

  “A disguise?”

  “A skin stealer, a very literal interpretation, and that is the least of his abilities.”

  “Sounds dreadful.”

  “You do not know the half of it.”

  “What is he?”

  “He is a creature called a Necrophage. They were Phaer’s original inhabitants before the sorcerers slaughtered them and drove the survivors across the sea.”

  Rastus took a step back, his hand unconsciously inching back toward the butt of his pistol. “Bertram came to see me earlier today. He saw you and what he described as a hiresword wielding the same magic.”

  “Remember what I said about skin stealing.”

  “So, he was not in his true form. He is like you.”

  “More so than I like to admit.”

  “How so?”

  “We were both rather busy trying to kill each other, but I sensed a familiarity in his aura—or familial might be a better word
. A close cousin perhaps.”

  Rastus rocked back on his heels, stunned by the revelation. “How is it that you became separated from your family? What brings you together now? Why would they oppose you?”

  “You fear we will ally? You need not worry yourself on that account, Rastus. There is no chance of that. I am an abomination, as was my mother who was left in the desert to die as an infant. Had not a band of Thuumian nomads found her, she would have been food for the scavengers.”

  “If she were abandoned as a baby, how do you know of her?”

  “We are creatures who use the power of souls to wield our magic. My mother shared a womb with a twin sister, and their souls are forever entwined. I know nothing of her except what my mother remembers through their bond. It is possible that bond is why her nephew found his way to this city, even if he is not aware of our connection.”

  “How much danger do they truly pose to us?”

  Nimat pressed her lips together and cast her gaze to the floor as she thought. “The fact that the Necrophage who attacked me did so by himself is proof of nothing but his own existence, and that is worrisome enough. He appeared as surprised to see me as I was him, so there might be others, including my aunt, within the city. If so, perhaps they thought him able to handle the situation himself. Or he is alone, which is most likely.”

  “What makes you think so?” Rastus asked.

  “Were there others, either in Velaroth or the other cities, I think I would know. They would not be idle, and I would recognize their hand in whatever nefarious schemes they were involved in. Especially now that I know to look for them.”

  Rastus nodded. “That’s good.”

  “It is good for now, but you fail to look beyond that which is in front of your face. This Necrophage made it across the Tempest Sea, and it is only a matter of time before others follow.”

  “How many of them could there be? How much danger do they truly represent to the cities? We are not as defenseless as we once were.”

  “Do not be too confident in your weapons. You face an enemy you do not understand. As you well know, we are a long-lived race, and the survivors of the sorcerers’ purge have had over a thousand years to rebuild their numbers.” Nimat handed Rastus a folded bundle of papers. “These are instructions for your techno-arcanists to ward every entrance to the palace against anyone wearing the skin of another.”

  Rastus took the pages. “That will be helpful.”

  “Still, do not trust anyone. Without superior numbers, the Necrophage will certainly seek to infiltrate the highest levels of society to undermine it from the inside while he grows his power and influence. It is what we do.”

  The duke’s face looked grim. “Are you sure? You have been separated from your people all your life.”

  “As I said, our ways are tied to our souls. Even now, I feel as if I can hear them whispering to me. I have also spent a lot of time and coin collecting what scant knowledge of their existence survived the purge.”

  Rastus sighed and bobbed his head. “I will attempt to call back the city heads to discuss defensive measures, but they will not be pleased.”

  “They will be less pleased to have their souls ripped from their bodies and consumed.”

  “I will also not be pleased to have the city torn apart by infighting. I welcome any help you can give to put an end to this creature, but whatever tensions you share with the other gangs in this city must not spill out onto the streets.”

  Nimat’s eyes closed to slits, but what little remained visible warned the duke not to overstep his authority. “I do not need you to remind me of our agreement. Just as I do not need to remind you that keeping my citizens in line is my responsibility and I will handle them as I deem necessary.”

  “Until it involves my citizens,” Rastus said, keeping his voice firm and steady to show that he would not be cowed by the underlord.

  Nimat flashed him a spider’s smile. “Of course.”

  “Thank you for the information. I will pass it along to those who need to know.”

  “You mean Bertram. Do try to keep a leash on him. I do not doubt his desire to bite me should he get the chance.”

  “I will do my best, but he is headstrong. It would be wise to avoid him as best you can.”

  “Funny, I was going to say the same to you.”

  “He is the last of my family, Nimat.”

  “Well…almost.”

  Rastus swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “How is Naia?”

  “She is none of your concern. That was the deal we made. Do not try to change it now.”

  “No…of course not. I was just…” Rastus stiffened his spine and shoved the thought to the back of his mind. “I need to relay this information to Bertram and advise Commander Thibault to put the airship fleet on alert.”

  “A wise decision.”

  Rastus looked back into the room just after passing through the doorway into the hall, but Nimat was gone. He climbed back up the winding stairs, his steps heavy, weighted down not just by the grim news Nimat brought but a lifetime of sacrifices made for the greater good.

  ***

  Conner sauntered through the foyer and paused with his hand on the door handle. He knew beyond doubt who was knocking and was not eager to entertain a guest. Particularly one so…inquisitive.

  Conner opened the door, suppressing a sigh and plastering on a welcome smile. “Chief Inquisitor, welcome back.”

  “Please, you must call me Bertram.”

  “As you wish. Was there something I could help you with this evening?”

  Bertram held two thin books in his hand and passed them to Conner. “I brought you two of Jareen’s journals. They cover the first few years after the revolution.”

  Conner’s smile became genuine as he took the books. “Wonderful. I have been very eager to read these.”

  Bertram smiled, raised his eyebrows, and looked past Conner’s shoulder.

  Conner jerked almost spasmodically and stepped aside. “Please come in. Forgive me, it has been a hectic day.”

  “More trouble at your establishment?” Bertram asked as he led the way into the parlor, forcing the home’s owner to chase after him.

  “Yes, there was. You look to have gotten into a scrape recently yourself.”

  “Never a dull night for a dutiful inquisitor, but I am sure you know that all too well. You are answering your own door these days. Is Mr. Cleary out on one of his errands, or did you give him the night off?”

  “I regret to say that Mr. Cleary was shot by a customer high on dream dust last night. I filed a report with the gendarme earlier today once I was certain he was in stable condition.”

  Bertram removed his mask so as to reveal his obvious vexation. “Conner, must we continue this game?”

  “I do not understand. To what game are you referring?”

  “I tracked a masked man wounded during an assassination attempt on Fred Switzer to your house, only to find Mr. Cleary also suffering from an injury. Last night, there was a battle of almost unheard of intensity involving elements of various criminal organizations, one of which I strongly suspect being Fred’s, and your butler just happens to get shot on the very same night?”

  “I understand your incredulity at the coincidences, but that is all they are. And I recall you saying you tracked Mr. Switzer’s assassin near my house, not to it. The man wore a proper mask, and my home is located near a gate leading into Liberty. It makes perfect sense that he might flee past my residence.”

  “I suppose I will find the report you filed back at the gendarmerie?”

  Conner ducked his head. “You absolutely will. You may also inspect the body the gendarmes took away late this morning. It was quite an ordeal. I had to close my business after the incident and only recently reopened it.”

  Bertram studied Conner through narrowed eyelids and finally relented with a sigh. “Very well. Forgive me if I falsely accused you.”

  “You are obviously stressed, and for ve
ry good reason.”

  “Can I still count on your assistance as we previously discussed?”

  “Of course. I am just as adamant in my desire to put an end to the nefarious elements of this city as you are. Would you like a drink?”

  The inquisitor scrubbed his face with his hands and heard as much as felt the rasping of callouses against his beard stubble. “No, but I certainly need one. I think I am on my second night without sleep.”

  Conner strode to the liquor cabinet. “Please, sit down. You can tell me what happened last night.”

  Bertram nodded his thanks when Conner returned with a tumbler filled with whiskey and sat across from him. “One of my gendarme patrols noticed something odd in the area around a warehouse near the mooring yard. By the time I assembled a large force and arrived, the place was already in chaos with what I now know were three different factions.”

  “Was it a turf war? Those things usually involve only two sides, one vying for the territory of the other. And those are rare. It’s the one benefit of Nimat running the criminal element.”

  “This time Nimat was in the middle of it.”

  Conner’s eyebrows rose. “Someone fought against Nimat? I cannot imagine anything more foolish. Did two groups think they could unseat her by working together?”

  “Not from what I have been able to discern. No, it appears to be a buy gone bad. A group of mercenaries were sent into the desert with a blast box to acquire something valuable for Nimat. During the exchange, a third party thought to steal it from her.”

  “I still can’t imagine anyone would be stupid enough to try to rob her.”

  “I don’t think anyone other than Nimat and a few of the mercenaries who retrieved the object knew who it was for or even what it was they were selling, including the people hired to steal it. I have questioned some of the men who delivered it, those who were guarding it, and a few who tried to steal it, and none knew what was being delivered.”

  “Neither the sellers nor the robbers?”

  Bertram shook his head. “None I’ve spoken to. It was a blind deal.”