The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(119)

"Human trouble," Hennaq said with a snort. "Nothing to bother us. But perhaps you would prefer to stay aboard for a while, Erishen-tuur, until peace returns?"

"No." Erishen felt the humans' unease. That blind terror was all too familiar. hrrith. "No, I must go ashore now."

Hennaq bowed his acquiescence and signalled for the boat to be lowered. Erishen clambered down into it and was soon rowing himself back towards the palace. If the hrrith had managed to escape, they would slaughter everyone in their path, just as Charles had described. And Kiiren was right in the middle of it.

It felt like an eternity until the little boat's prow bumped against the mooring posts, an eternity in the Christians' Hell, all flickering torchlight and screams of terror. Erishen leapt ashore and began pushing his way through the crowd towards the nearest entrance to the palace. Two guards, their faces pale as porridge, barred his way. Beyond them he could see bodies strewn across the courtyard, the gruesome details of their fates intermittently revealed by the light of dying fireworks. He watched for any sign of hrrith lurking in the shadows of the outer cloister, but they would have fled the fireworks as blindly as their victims fled the hrrith.

Erishen closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. The dark plains were knee-deep in a swirling golden mist, exuded by the citizens' panicking minds as rationality gave way to nightmare terror. He waded through it, looking for Kiiren, and found his amayi at last, a pale solid presence amongst the chaos. He lived, then. Erishen opened his eyes, smiled at the two guards and punched them both in the stomach before they could react. With a murmured apology he strode past them into the palace.

"You must have some idea of what these creatures are and how to stop them," Mal said, pacing back and forth across the worn floorboards.

Charles glared up at them. He was seated on a rickety stool in the middle of the gambling house, fenced in by Ned and Parrish. The other patrons had fled into the night, and the owner had barricaded himself in the upstairs room. Coby was keeping watch on the street through one of the shutters.

"And why should I tell you?" Charles asked.

"Would you rather let these creatures have the run of the city?"

"No."

"So help us. You seemed very keen on a reconciliation yesterday. Brother."

"Aye, well, that were yesterday, before you let all Hell loose. You and your skrayling friends." Charles spat on the floor, narrowly missing Ned's foot. "Fuck the lot of 'em."

Mal hauled him upright by the front of his doublet. "Tell me what you know, or do I have to beat it out of you?"

"Why, little brother, you've grown balls since I last saw you."

Mal slapped him backhanded across the mouth. Charles raised a hand to his cut lip.

"Tell me," Mal said again.

"We gleaned some intelligence," Charles said at last. "But never enough. These creatures are fast, strong and tireless, and as cunning as a den of foxes."

"Sandy said you tracked them into the hills, back home. For how long?"

"Days, sometimes. Once, we found one… it had been roaming the hills for weeks, judging by the trail of dead sheep."

"It won't be sheep that get killed here."

"I know that."

"Then help us," Coby said, turning away from the window. "If not for our sakes, then for the sake of your friends and neighbours, and all the good Christian folk of Venice."

She glared at Mal, who reluctantly let Charles go.

"What business is it of yours, anyway?" Charles asked. "The Doge has soldiers, intelligencers, the machinery of an entire state at his disposal; let him deal with it."

Mal shook his head. "The Venetians have no idea what they're up against. You're the only man in the city who has ever faced one of these creatures, so…"

He left the threat hanging, and Charles reacted just as he'd hoped.

"Christ, no! Please, brother, you wouldn't hand me over to the Ten, would you?" He fell off the stool onto his knees and grovelled at Mal's feet. "You don't know what they do to traitors. Please…"

"Get up." Mal turned away in disgust, adding in a low voice, "I know exactly what they do."

Coby caught his eye and looked away, her features taut with sympathy. Mal turned back to his brother, who had ceased his grovelling but remained on his knees, shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Help me to clear up this mess," Mal said, "and we will both earn the Doge's gratitude. Perhaps even a reward."

Charles' head jerked up, and an avaricious smile spread across his features. "How many of the monsters did you say there were?"

"A good dozen."

"Christ's balls." Charles made the sign of the cross. "It'll take more than you four to kill that many. A lot more."

"Four is all we have," Mal replied. "Or should I say five?"

Charles turned pale. "No. You can't get me to face those things again." He raised a hand to clutch his side, as if his old wound had reopened.

"And you call me a coward. So, four. Mayhap with the aid of your knowledge it will be enough."

"Do we have to fight them?" Ned asked. "This city is full of churches and shrines. Perhaps we can find a priest, banish them back to Hell where they belong."