‘I thought we might report to Abbot Khalid or fill our bellies, but Aoife led us straight to the Armoury. As ever, the windows were lit by forgefire, the chimneys belched black smoke – all save one, spitting that thin wisp of scarlet. Awaiting us on the steps was Seraph Talon himself, his greatcoat’s collar laced painfully tight, his ashwood switch in hand.
‘“Fairdawn, Frère Greyhand,” Talon said in his cool highborn tone. “De Coste.”
‘“Godmorrow, Seraph,” they answered.
‘The Seraph of the Hunt looked directly at me, stroking his long, dark moustache like a six-year-old strokes a favoured kitten. “Fairdawn, my little shitblood.”
‘“Godmorrow, Seraph,” I sighed.
‘Talon gave a small toss of his head, and we four followed him into the Armoury. The warmth of the forges was a blessed change from the road, the chymical globes glittering like stars in the gables overhead. The walls were lined with silversteel, and there among the racks, I saw Baptiste Sa-Ismael, the young blackthumb who’d forged my sword. His dark skin was damp with sweat, muscles glinting as he wheeled a barrow of raw coke for the forges. He stopped when he saw us, wiped his brow.
‘“Fairdawn, Seraph,” he said in his warm baritone. “Sister Aoife.”
‘Talon nodded, and Aoife bowed. “Godmorrow, Sa-Ismael.”
‘The smithy gifted the rest of us an impeccable grin. “And a fairdawn to you all, Brothers. Returned in triumph, I see?” He looked to the sword at my waist. “How did Lionclaw fare on her maiden voyage, de León? Slay me something monstrous?”
‘“She was piffed out a window by a bent priest, Brother. So, I fear not.”
‘Baptiste glanced towards Aoife and grinned. “Well, it sounds like you gave her an adventure, at least. Ladies do enjoy that sort of thing.” He slapped my shoulder with one warm hand. “Have no fear, Little Lion. God will grant your chance to do his will.”
‘Bloody hell, I liked Baptiste. And I wasn’t alone. De Coste lost all trace of his usual arrogance when in the blackthumb’s company. Even Greyhand looked close to dropping his customary scowl around the young smith. Baptiste had a smile that felt made just for you, a rich laugh, a good soul. But he glanced to Talon as the seraph cleared his throat.
‘“I see you’ve business to attend, Brothers. I’ll not keep you from God’s holy work. We can share your tales in the refectory tonight over a glass.”
‘“Or a bottle,” Aaron countered.
‘The smithy laughed, dark eyes flashing. “By the Blood. Tonight, mes amis.”
‘We nodded farewells, and followed Seraph Talon and Sister Aoife to an area of the Armoury I’d not visited before. Massive silver-clad doors barred the way, opened with a silver key around Talon’s throat, and beyond, a large room of dark stone awaited us. The taste of old blood laced the air. Tall ceilings lit with chymical globes arched overhead, the walls covered with anatomical illustrations of coldbloods, faekin, and other monstrosities. But the room was dominated by a large apparatus, the likes of which I’d never imagined.
‘It seemed a kind of forge, dreamed in an unquiet mind. A serpentine nest of pipes surrounded a row of large stone slabs. Channels were carved into the stones in the shape of the sevenstar, and on half a dozen, I could see the emaciated forms of vampires, bound in silver. Many were wretched, but at least one was highblooded – a pretty monsieur with long hair of Ossway red. Their flesh was lifeless grey, withered like old fruit. Silver tubes had been stabbed into their chests, and I could hear the drip, drip, drip of blood into glass jars.
‘I glanced to Aoife beside me and whispered, “What is this place, Sister?”
‘“The Scarlet Foundry,” she explained. “The hearts of coldbloods do not really beat, you see. And without a pulse to drive it, their blood goes only where they will it. The Foundry is the most efficient means of harvesting their essence, and thus, producing the greatest quantity of sanctus.”
‘Looking around the room with jaw slacked, I could feel a strange current crawling on my skin. This device seemed born half of science, half of sorcerie.
‘“De Coste,” Greyhand said. “De León. Make our guests comfortable.”
‘Aaron and I obeyed, placing our captured coldbloods on the slabs. Both were gagged and blindfolded, but a low moan of agony slipped over Vivienne La Cour’s lips as Aoife fixed silver manacles about her wrists and ankles. As her flesh began sizzling, I had to remind myself again that these things weren’t anything other than leeches wearing human skin.
‘“From the punishment they withstood, they’re definitely Voss,” Greyhand said.
‘Talon nodded to the boy. “This was first of the brood?”
‘“Oui,” Greyhand nodded. “Frightening little bastard for a fledgling.”
‘“Poor soul,” Aoife sighed softly. “He’s barely more than a babe.”
‘“Never to become a man,” Greyhand scowled.
‘“We will examine him thoroughly,” Talon said, with rather more relish than was comfortable. “Flame shall reveal whatever his blood does not before he leaves us for hell.”
‘Aoife made the sign of the wheel. The seraph glanced down at the boything’s forearm, still scorched from my touch. I saw him exchange a glance with our master.
‘“You two.” Greyhand turned to Aaron and me. “Go get yourselves bathed and fed. We may be ahunt again sooner than you think. De León, I’ll be arranging extra duties for you until we depart San Michon again.”
‘“… Duties, Master?”
‘“Starting amorrow, you’ll report to the stables before each dawnmass and muck out those pens until they’re spotless. I’ll inform Kaspar and Kaveh tonight. I’m sure our young grooms will enjoy the extra hour sleep your labours will avail them.”
‘I blinked in disbelief as Aaron stifled a triumphant smile.
‘“I’m to shovel dung every morn? I took down this thing single-handed.”
‘“Disobedience has its price. You think I’m being unfair?”
‘I bristled with the indignity of it, but gave a stiff bow. “No, Master.”
‘“Good. Off with the pair of you. I’ll follow presently.”
‘“By the Blood, Frère.” De Coste bowed. “Seraph. Sister.”
‘Aoife smiled farewell. Talon nodded vaguely, still peering at little Claude’s arm as Aaron and I marched out into the freezing eve. Standing on the Armoury steps, I gritted my teeth, trying to hold my temper. I’d disobeyed Greyhand, no doubt. And despite capturing the de Blanchet boy, I knew I deserved punishment. But this?
‘De Coste dragged his hand through his grubby mop of blonde and smiled. “Up to your shins in shit every morn, eh, Peasant? It’ll be just like home.”
‘“Speaking of home, how’s your mama? Tell her I miss her, will you?”
‘De Coste turned to face me. As he stepped close, I noticed that even though he was older, I was almost as tall as him now. Able to meet his pale blue stare.