Kal Moonheart Trilogy: Dragon Killer, Roll the Bones & Sirensbane (24 page)

Kal was suspicious. Why was this man so open? But then who would believe her if she publicly accused him of being behind Amaranthium’s biggest crime spree?

‘Off you go then!’ he said. ‘I’ll try to make sure that I’ve finished up at Redrake’s house before you get there.’

Kal paused as she went by.
How did he know so much about her?
He was leaning against the rail now, his attention seemingly held by the procession of white-robed figures crossing the bridge. Kal joined him, and for a few slightly awkward moments, they watched the parade below.

Led by the two outgoing consuls—a brother and sister from the Firehand family, no less—the entire body of the Senate, Ben included, was marching ahead of Cassava’s army. There were a hundred of them … well, ninety-nine now … and Kal could also pick out Felix Firehand, Ganzief Greatbear and Viola Witchwood.

As if in answer to Kal’s unspoken question, Will Straightarrow began to talk. ‘They haven’t made last night’s murder public yet, but everyone in the city is talking about it. Look at them all, going ahead with their ceremonies and rituals, when behind their gated mansions they are plotting each others’ downfall. It could be Redrake, sure, but people on the street are whispering that Witchwood is the killer. Did you know that three of her lovers—rich and powerful men and women—have died in mysterious circumstances over the years. Some say that poor old Grey was her latest conquest.’

Kal could play this game too. ‘If you are going to listen to rumours,’ she said, ‘then the killer could be Greatbear. People have always been suspicious of him since he defected from Zorronov. I think everyone has wondered at some point if it’s possible that he’s a double agent. Or what about Felix Firehand; his family have been ruling from behind the scenes for centuries—maybe this is his way of keeping the balance of power tipped in his favour.’

The senators had now passed, and Cassava’s troops marched into view. They carried the battle flags of their conquered enemies: frightening tribal designs on ragged banners. Shuffling along in chains behind the troops came the prisoners of war: those who had once fought proudly under the captured banners. From a distance they looked like tall bearded men wrapped in unseasonal furs, but Kal knew what monsters Cassava had been fighting in the east …

Trolls!

These brutish creatures would be led down to the lowest chambers in the Cut, and at the same moment that General Cassava triumphantly ascended the steps of the Basilica they would be garroted with steel wire. There was no sense in keeping monsters in the city any longer than necessary after showing them off to the crowds.

From up on the observatory dome, the scene below seemed surreal; there were monsters in the city, but the crowd were cheering and clapping. The King of Thieves was still blathering on about last night’s more real horror. ‘Benedict Godsword,’ he ruminated. ‘Now there’s a man who has potential to be a secret killer. He plays it cool, but the man is descended from ancient kings and gods. Just think how much frustrated entitlement must be simmering under the surface. He’s not put himself up for the consulate, but maybe he has his eye on an even higher position.’ Straightarrow treated Kal to a broad smile. ‘Someone should tell him that there’s only room for one king in this city right now!’

Kal returned his playful gaze with an accusing one of her own. ‘By the way, what were
you
doing at Godsword’s party last night?’

‘You mean apart from hoping for a chance of a dance with you? I was looking to fill my pockets. You have no idea how profitable a packed party can be: a dance here, a kiss there; a gold bracelet and a silver hairpin …’

The rumble of drums was getting louder, and Kal could hear shouts, and even some screams, from just out of sight down the Kingsway. A handful of robed priests were running down Arcus Hill and across the bridge, in the opposite direction to the marching troops.

‘They don’t look too happy about something,’ Kal said, almost to herself.

‘General Cassava always had a knack of winding up the priests,’ Straightarrow said. ‘And there’s your final suspect, right there: I’ve heard rumours that the general killed a dragon out in the Wild. That constitutes an instant knighthood and makes the general a shoo-in for the consulate, despite never having been a senator. It’s no coincidence that after ten years away, there’s murder in the Senate the day before the almighty general returns.’

Kal’s fingers gripped the iron railing tightly; she had heard a familiar sound over the increasing noise of the crowd—something she had last heard seven years ago and had hoped to forget.
No. Not here! Not inside the city!
The priests had every reason to be worried: every day in the Basilica they no longer prayed to their own long-dead gods, but instead pleaded to the god of the monsters,
the Dragon
, to spare the city from its wrath. General Cassava, it seemed, was taking the opposite approach …

Will Straightarrow whistled when he saw what was coming into view. ‘Well, it seems Cassava didn’t
kill
a dragon after all!’ he breathed.

General Cassava rode into view on a white charger. She was wearing silver armour, but her head was bare; Cassava had dark southern skin and hair cut short in a military crop. In one hand she held up a massive lochaber axe; her biceps bulged with the effort of keeping it aloft. In her other hand she gripped a chain, with which she dragged along her sacrifice. It was custom that a general would seal their triumph by executing their greatest enemy in front of the crowds.

The chains were wrapped around the creature’s muzzle, preventing it from unleashing its cry; but still it whined, making an unmistakable sound that tore at Kal’s eardrums like daggers on glass. The chains criss-crossed down the monster’s neck and then were tangled all over its torso, wings and legs. It managed to half-walk, half-shuffle across the bridge to its doom, prodded from behind by spears. A bloody stump was all that was left of its once mighty tail.

Crowds were running down Arcus Hill now to get a better view; students were moving in swarms through the university grounds to get to the bridge; and all over the city, shouts, screams, cheers and lamentations mixed in the sultry summer air. The priests were begging Cassava to turn back.

‘Oh, this is rare!’ the King of Thieves declared. ‘This is a massive two fingers up to the dragon god. And in all this pandemonium, I could probably walk right into the Basilica and peel the gold off the inside of the dome and nobody would notice! I’ll see you later, Kal!’

Kal hardly heard him leave. She had closed her eyes as the dragon was dragged across the Forum to the Basilica steps. They must have loosened the chains then, because the dragon’s awful screech split the sky, silencing both the priests’ protests, and the clamour of the crowds. Kal raised her hands to her ears.

But then, almost as soon as it had begun, the dragon’s cry was cut off with a
thud
. For the first time since the Midsummer celebrations had started, Amaranthium fell silent.

The city now had another
Dragon Killer
.

‘I declare a new era!’ Cassava’s clear voice carried across the still air. ‘No longer will we fear monsters outside the city walls, or within our imaginations! For as long as I shall live, I will protect you all from them both!’

Kal turned away from the spectacle and made her way down from the observatory dome. She was deep in thought as she walked across the now-deserted university quadrangles. Could General Cassava protect the city from what had killed Senator Grey at Ben’s party? Kal shivered despite the heat.
Not all monsters had wings and claws.

III.ii

Research and Development

Kal was troubled. Between the priests who begged
the Dragon
to stay away from the city, and the Dragonites who thought that life would be somehow better under the winged god’s rule, General Cassava stood alone, a lightning rod in a storm. Executing a dragon in the city was inviting a repeat of the monster invasion that shook Amaranthium five hundred years ago. Kal could see trouble ahead: there was a groundswell of support for both priests and Dragonites in the city, as well as an arrogant liberal elite who would no doubt approve of Cassava’s troops intervening if citizens came to blows.

A sweet smell drifted down from the Hill: the priests were burning saffron—an attempt to appease the dragon god by disguising the smell of the blood on the Basilica steps. The last time Kal had smelled that pungent scent was when they had beheaded a Dragonite in Satos Square. The braziers had burned for days, and the smell had hung around Kal’s apartment until she was sick of it. To her, it was the smell of death.

She shook her head to clear it of morbid thoughts. She had arrived outside the yellow limestone College of Engineering. Ben’s letter hadn’t directed her here specifically, but she was acting on a hunch. Hidden around the back of the college was a modern extension, built in stone to match the older buildings, but still clean and unweathered. There was a shiny plaque on one side of the entrance doors:

Department of Resistance Analysis

Sponsored by Senator Benedict Godsword

1001

Kal smiled to herself.
Resistance Analysis
sounded like a euphemism for something. A lot of folk believed that philosophers and alchemists dabbled in magic and arcane rituals behind the ancient walls of the university. When she was new to the city, Kal had once determined to find out for herself what went on here, and had sneaked into a philosophy lecture. Sat among the offspring of wealthy aristocrats (the only citizens who could afford the hefty fees) she had learned two important lessons that day: one, that nobody was checking attendance, so she didn’t need to sneak next time; and two … that there was no discernible difference between a
real
unicorn and an
imaginary
unicorn.

‘But I can kill, skin and eat a
real
unicorn!’ Kal had argued with the professor.

‘Are you saying, young lady, that in your imagination, a unicorn can’t be killed?’

Over the years, Kal had gotten a pretty good education in history, literature and the arts. Unfortunately for her though, the colleges of Science, Engineering and Medicine had the nerve to demand to see her enrolment papers before they would let her take part in any lab experiments. Today, she entered the cool lobby of the Department of Resistance Analysis expecting to be challenged, but the place seemed deserted. There was only a fat old porter, half-asleep in his cramped lodge just inside the doors.

‘I’m here to see Doctor Phyn,’ Kal said.

‘She’s down in the basement,’ the old man grunted. He barely opened his eyes.

Kal shrugged and went looking for some stairs. Instead, at the back of the lobby, she found herself facing a pair of open vertical shafts around four feet across. Chains rattled along on the the inside walls of the shafts, moving down the left shaft and up the right. Kal was bewildered; was she supposed to jump in and grab a chain?

Luckily, the solution soon revealed itself, saving her any embarrassment. A wooden compartment was descending the left shaft, while a similar one was rising on the right. Kal hopped inside the left box and watched the lobby disappear above her. For several seconds she was in complete darkness, and then just as she was wondering whether or not she should start panicking, the basement level rose into view and Kal stepped out.

She could hear running water under her feet. Some underground river powering the lift mechanism? She was impressed already, and slightly apprehensive about meeting this Doctor Phyn. Walking down a whitewashed brick tunnel, Kal found herself standing before a solid metal door labelled
Research and Development
. The only way in was to pull the bell chain and hope for the best. No wonder the porter wasn’t too bothered about who wandered past him.

The door was opened by a young woman who had a small frame and short blond, almost white, hair. She was wearing a sleeveless top and loose linen trousers.

‘Well, hello Doctor,’ Kal said.

Nim Phyn laughed. ‘Hi Kal. Come on in! I’ve been waiting here for you all morning.’

‘Ben should have told you that I don’t do mornings,’ Kal said as she followed Nim. They entered an underground chamber that had white tiled walls and a concrete floor. Strange glowing lamps hung from the ceiling, illuminating the space with a flat, even light. There were workbenches full of mechanical equipment and unfamiliar tools, and large cabinets stuffed with papers and books.

Nim perched on a high stool and watched Kal’s face as she looked around the basement. ‘Anything catch your eye?’ she asked.

Kal accepted the invitation to have a snoop around Nim’s workplace. She examined a tray of rings fitted with intricate devices—needles, lockpicks and coils of filament wire. A two-wheeled frame with a seat and handles was propped against a wall. In one corner there was a tailor’s mannequin dressed in some soft, thin black leathers. Kal stopped by a collection of long knives with smooth, gleaming blades. She picked one up to admire: it was slim, light and very, very sharp.

‘They’re chrometal,’ Nim said, from over at her desk where she had begun inspecting a pistol crossbow. ‘Hard, flexible, and they won’t rust. Take one. In fact, take two. I had them made for you, after all.’

Kal tested the weight of the knife; the blade and the handle were perfectly balanced. She wondered how good of a replacement blade this would be for the bloodsteel shortsword and knife that Ben had given her last year; ancient weapons that had melted away to nothing in the lava of a volcano.

‘Are they better than the blades of the gods?’ she asked Nim.

Nim shrugged. ‘Did the gods have a block-wide steel foundry like the one I have use of downtown? They’ll serve you well, Kal. Ben told me about your knife fetish, so I ordered these especially. I even had them engraved for you.’

Kal looked closer; the knife was etched with an image of a dragon that coiled around both sides of the blade, from the hilt to the tip.