The Incorruptibles (21 page)

The legionaries were troubled – the constant threat of
vaettir
had put them on edge and in-fighting had become commonplace. Cimbri’s voice was hoarse from shouting, and even his implacable second, Paterna, looked harried and sleepless as they assembled the conscripts and assigned duties.

In the
Cornelian
’s hold, they moved Agrippina into a wagon. Though a legionary had covered her nakedness with a long woollen coat and trousers, she was as I’d last seen her: strapped to the torturer’s board. Her face was obscured by the Gossip’s Bridle, and she was trussed so tightly, it was a wonder she could draw breath at all.

Fisk and Secundus arranged for the silver chains to be bolted to the wagon while I assisted Livia with her gear.

There’s maybe two or three miles of foothills before the Whites get treacherous. We rode out from the
Cornelian
in the glaring bright of a sunny winter’s day. Seven people, sixteen horses (and one mule, my sweet Bess). One
vaettir
, gift-wrapped. A wagon.

In the company rode Fisk, Livia, Reeve, Samantha – looking very uncomfortable bundled in winter wear and on horseback – and a fierce-looking tribune named Manius, a quick whip of a legionary named Titus Petro, and myself.

And Agrippina, of course, but I did not count her. Nor the Crimson Man.

The seven of us made a sacred number, riding forth, or so Reeve told us in his rough brogue. The number of the Prodigium, the number of the old gods, before Ia gained primacy. I didn’t like to think about the significance of that. ‘We are seven, and blessed,’ Reeve intoned, his breath crystalline and sparkling in the slanting morning light. ‘May we have the strength of each: the Mater, the Pater Dis, Gemini, Mithras, Veneris Magna, Nyar and Amor.’ I didn’t like the man, Reeve, despite Fisk’s seeming fondness for him. The legionaries seemed nonplussed regarding his blessing – it’s long been known that soldiers still worship Mithras in secret. They all have tattoos of the great bull on them, somewhere.

‘And Ia protect this journey, help us save Isabelle, and keep us from damnation,’ I added, not looking at Reeve.

He laughed and I felt my ears burn, my cheeks go ruddy.

We rode north, in the shallow rises and valleys of the White’s foothills. There had been heavy snow in the preceding days, but the wind had carved it into gleaming white-blue sculptures abutting upturned boulders and snarls of bramblewrack, stands of gambels and aspens, the drifts like frozen waves on a wintry shore. The air was still. The horses’ hooves whisking and crunching on the snow, the occasional nicker of a horse or Bess’s intermittent brays, were the only sounds. Titus Petro became mired in a snowdrift, and it was long minutes before we could extricate his horse, which fortunately seemed none the worse for wear after the episode. It kept its head above the snowline and expelled huge draughts of air, but remained calm and didn’t thrash about.

This boded well for the trip.

Fisk rode point, the
daemon
hand swinging freely on his chest, outside his oilcoat. He kept the carbine in one heavily gloved hand and the languor that had afflicted him the previous evening seemed to have vanished in the freezing, brilliant air. His eyes were bright, his movements crisp. And even though the man never normally smiled – as well I knew – at times I felt there was a smile lurking behind the rim of the heavy leather gorget he wore covering the lower half of his face. I hoped it didn’t reflect the hideous grin of the Crimson Man.

Livia paced him. She had a fine hand for riding, her competence matched only by her beauty and exceeded by her intelligence. I have never encountered a more formidable and singular woman than Livia of the Cornelians.

The legionary Manius drove the wagon, pulled by two enormous draft horses and laden with supplies, tent, water, grain, extra ammunition, and of course, Agrippina. I checked her occasionally during the ride, and gave her water.

Titus looked at me strangely as I was dripping water into her mouth, past the Gossip’s Bridle bit.

‘Heard tell they take neither food nor water, but live off their own hatred and take comfort only in fornication,’ Titus said. Reeve reined in his horse closer and watched me.

‘Don’t know nothing about that. But I know Isabelle, and I’ll make sure this stretcher is still alive. She’s no good as ransom if she’s not.’

Reeve nodded, and Titus tugged on his horse’s reins and slogged off through the snow.

The sheriff looked at me closely. ‘Ye have religion, do ye?’ he asked.

‘You could say that.’

‘Ye keep faith with Ia, and Ia alone?’

‘That’s right.’

He nodded his head. ‘That’s good,
dvergar
. Very good. I’d rather have men around me with allegiance to
something
than the faithless ones. Those who’re too lazy to believe in anything when the evidence of the divine and infernal is all around them.’ He stuck out his arm. ‘Well met, Mr Ilys, and between us, we might see this mission through.’

I looked at his hand and didn’t want to shake it. Always been taught not to tolerate those who revere the old religion. The
daemon
hand, Reeve, even Agrippina, made me feel rudderless, adrift, without some centre point. Before we began riding with the Cornelian brood, everything had been simple. We were soldiers then, outriding for the Empire, with Ia protecting and defending us against the taint of the infernal. And now? We’d become the preventers of war, with the weight of three great powers yoked around our necks. With the obscure goals of the
vaettir
to consider. And the nefarious designs of the Crimson Man leading us toward Isabelle.

What did I want? Did I know anymore? I’d become as lost as any mare’s colt among the shoal grasses. Here, Reeve’s prodigious benedictions seemed less heretical than the Shoestring of two months ago would have countenanced. Here, in the shadow of the White Mountains, the politics regarding Isabelle fell away and she was just a girl, grievous wounded, in need of rescuing from monsters.

I looked at Reeve for a long time, watching the expressions chase each other across his face. Earnestness, puzzlement, confusion, and mirth. Finally, I clasped his forearm. He grinned, the smile splitting his beard wide open and showing a bristling mouthful of teeth jutting in all directions. He released my arm, turned his horse, and returned to the front, where Fisk led.

Reeve was an adept horseman and handled himself well. With the exception of Livia and Samantha, everyone in the company had served in the either the fifth legion or the cavalry. It was strange to see Fisk leading such a group. I was used to him taciturn – just us two, riding scout under the vault of sky. And this outing was no jaunt, nor hunting expedition.

We rode all day until the sun passed over the rim of mountaintops wreathed in clouds. The whole earth took on a half-lit quality, and the air became so cold it hurt to breathe. We found a copse of thick pines and made camp in the lee side of a small clearing. Reeve, Titus, Manius and I unlimbered the large oiled canvas tent from the wagon while the rest of the company gathered wood, hunting through snow-covered timberdrifts.

Ultimately, Samantha had to draw a ward on the frozen earth and bind an
imp
in it. There we piled on the wood. Even sodden and rimed with ice, it caught and burned merrily. I flipped open my outrider’s kitchen, stuffed with spices and dried herbs I’d gathered from the
Cornelian’
s kitchen under Lupina’s watchful eye, and began cooking a stew in the pot I’d packed on Bess.

Water, crushed winterfat and fiddleneck and sage, peeled potatoes, chopped onions, and some salted pork went into the pot.

When it’s bitter cold, like it was that night, it’s important to get something hot and filling into the riders, and oats into the horses. In some ways the wagon was a great blessing, for it allowed us to pack more than we’d have been able to carry otherwise. And in winter everything is harder, takes longer.

It was dark by the time the tent was up. Titus and Reeve used a draft horse to drag a large log over to the fire, so that there’d be warmth all night, while Samantha banished the
imp
back to Hell. The flames needed its assistance no more.

We ate stew from pewter mugs. I took a few rocks and placed them in the fire for the companions to stick in their sleeping bags.

Fisk, who had a bright, impatient look about him, said to the group, ‘We’ll watch by twos. Shoe will take first watch with me. Best get some sleep, all of you.’

Titus lingered by the fire, along with Samantha, but Livia, Manius, and Reeve went into the tent to take their rest. Fisk stared at the trees ringing the fire, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette and pacing.

I wrapped the stones in a scrap of canvas, stood up, and took them to the wagon. Agrippina’s eyes were closed and her face taut when I carefully removed the Gossip’s Bridle. I uncovered her arms and legs one at a time and massaged them, bringing back warmth and restoring some circulation. Her bonds would remain until we found Isabelle. Nothing more I could risk doing for her. Just hope she didn’t die.

‘At night, the big mountain lions come down out of the heights to feed,’ Titus said.

Samantha and Titus talked while they watched me at my ministrations.

I exposed her long leg and gripped the thigh and began abrading the skin with my rough palms, kneading the muscles underneath. I could feel her tense and then loosen as my hands worked into her flesh. Her eyes were open, gathering firelight. She observed me with the most curious of expressions.

‘Are they fearless?’

‘Aye. Quite fearless of man or beast. I’ve seen one attack a horseman sitting astride a warhorse.’

Samantha said nothing. I imagine a woman who can suborn
daemons
to her will wouldn’t be too frightened by the threat of an errant mountain lion.

‘So, you raise devils? That
imp
was a neat trick. Would’ve had to rub my fingers raw with a tinderbox.’

‘Yes. I’m an engineer.’

‘How do you become one?’

She was quiet for a long while before answering. ‘Don’t know, really. My pa was an engraver in Covenant. Put the fancy scrollwork on rich men’s guns, their longknives and swords – though swords have fallen out of fashion.’

‘Sounds like a good living.’

‘It was. I grew up with a burin in my hand, helping my father in his workshop.’ She raised a gloved hand and carved at the air. ‘I learned to read early and was too much trouble for the tutors my parents found for me. So my folks scraped up enough money and sent me on a big-bellied cotton cruiser to Rume, where I was presented to the College of Engineers and Augurs.’

While Samantha spoke, I placed the hot stones on Agrippina’s body and, as Ia is my witness, she sighed. Her eyes became lidded, and she looked at my face, running a tongue over cracked lips.

I gave her water, but she spat out the stew I gave her. After the bread, it didn’t surprise me.

Titus said, ‘Had an uncle who was an augur. Mean sonofabitch. Always cuttin’ up animals.’

Samantha ignored him, staring into the fire. ‘The college accepted me. And when I was old enough, Beleth took me into his service as an apprentice.’

‘That old cunnus?’ He took something from inside his coat and drank. He offered it to Samantha, but she shook her head.

‘He’s a hard master, but the best at what he does. It’s a shame he’s been so … so disgraced. They warn us in the college not to become affiliated with patricians, because their influence will compromise our work.’

‘Word among the boys is he enjoys cutting the stretcher.’ Titus chucked his head in my direction. ‘Maybe got an unnatural hankering for the wogs, if you know what I’m saying.’

I couldn’t tell if a blush coloured Samantha’s wide, moon-face in the dim light of the fire, but she was quiet for a long while. I was thankful the man didn’t ask if she shared Beleth’s bed. Or proposition her, homely as she was.

‘He’s a strange man, one I don’t know very well despite my years in his service.’ She said it with simplicity, and her tone made clear it was all she had to say on the matter. Her face remained inscrutable.

Titus stood up, cracked his back, and shook blood back into his legs.

‘Been a pleasure jaw-wagging with you, ma’am, but I’m for bed.’

She nodded, staring into the fire.

I carried on placing the hot stones about Agrippina’s body and massaging her limbs.

When you’re holding someone’s hands, kneading the flesh of the fingers, the meat of the palm, the muscles and sinew running up to the intricate collection of flesh that is the primary way we
interact
with the world, you get a sense of scale. Of the
vaettir
we encountered, Agrippina was surely the smallest. But she was ten feet tall, if she was an inch.

Holding her remaining hand in my own, I began to realize, truly, how much larger she was than me.

I moved up her forearm, kneading the flesh, working around the notched leather strap binding her to the torturer’s board at the elbow, and onto her upper arm. I was working blind, my hands moving under the heavy woollen blankets and tarp covering her. But her face was exposed for now and her large eyes tracked me as I worked. Occasionally she’d draw back her lips and expose two rows of sharp teeth.

‘You had some of that stretcher pussy yet?’ his voice came low and soft in my ear.

I jumped and turned. My hand twisted and sprouted a blade.

Fisk.

He stood beside me. Grinning.

It was a grin unlike any I’d ever seen except once before. Full of mirth and hatred. A hungry smile, showing teeth.

‘I think she likes you, Shoe,’ he said. Then he made a slurping sound in his mouth, in imitation of a sexual act I will not mention here. ‘You make quite a pair.’

His eyes seemed uncommonly bright, and he stood hunched over, very close, his head thrust out toward me.

The
daemon
hand swung on its chain between us.

He glanced at the knife. ‘You plan to prick me, dwarf? Stick me with one and the stretcher with the other? Is that it?’ He chuckled, and it rose like sap and stuck in the back of his throat, phlegmy and thick.