‘“No, you fucking don’t,” I spat. “You want to make yourself of use, balladboy, gather more wood. Or I’ll put that lute to proper service and burn it.”
‘Young Bellamy flashed me a grin, unflappable. “After dinner, then?”
‘Père Rafa was well provisioned, and he set a pot boiling, mixing a soup that would’ve smelled delicious if I didn’t have another hunger in mind. I fetched my small chymist’s foundry from my saddlebags, set the cast-iron contraption near the fire to heat. Rafa and Bellamy watched in fascination as I filled the outer sphere with salted water. And with shaking hands, I reached into my greatcoat, withdrawing a glass phial brimming with bright and beautiful red.
‘“What’s that?” Dior asked, staring across the flames.
‘“All that remains of Danton Voss’s daughter,” I replied.
‘I poured the blood into the foundry’s inner chamber, tweaked the pressure valve. It’d take hours for it to desiccate enough to blend with the other components in my bags, so I took out my pipe and tipped a peck of my dwindling sanctus into the bowl. Just enough to kill the thirst while the good batch cooked.
‘“That’s blood,” the boy realized. “You use blood like them.”
‘I struck my flintbox, pipe to my lips. “I’m nothing like them, boy.”
‘“The silversaints are good men, Dior,” Chloe said, wrapping the lad tighter in her furs. “They may be born of vampire fathers, but they fight on the side of the light. Sanctus is a holy sacrament, keeping their unholy thirst at bay. Gabriel is a faithful warrior of God.”
‘I dragged the smoke into my lungs, and I saw the boy’s eyes widen as my own flushed crimson. The blood was pauper’s quality, but still, I felt that need drift off my bones, all the night growing bright and beautiful, sharp as pins and soft as petals and deep as dreaming.
‘Père Rafa made the sign of the wheel. Saoirse watched with curious eyes. Bellamy’s gaze was on Ashdrinker as he strummed a few chords, and I sighed red, red smoke.
‘“How long have those inquisitors been hunting you, Chloe?”
‘The sister met my eyes. Dragging a curl from her cheek, she glanced around the fire. I felt the secrets under their skins then. It’d been a long time since I’d seen her, but there was history between us, so it stung a little to realize Chloe didn’t trust me as she once had. “Almost two months. Since Lashaame.”
‘“And what happened in Lashaame?”
‘“Ye’ve no need for the knowing o’ that, Silversaint,” Saoirse scowled, her big lioness purring like thunder as the girl scratched under her leather collar.
‘“Do I look a fucking mushroom to you? You’re the people who asked me to this dance, so if you plan to keep me in the dark and feed me shite all day—”
‘“I dinnae ask ye the colour o’ sky, Silversaint. Yer here at the sister’s request, nae mine. And if ye’ve a will to plod along with us to the Volta and chock that sword at the bastards tryin’ to gaff us, so be it. But ye know as much as ye need to fer that.”
‘Bellamy gave an uncomfortable cough. I glared at Chloe, but she remained mute. She was saved from a bollocking by the intercession of Père Rafa, who tapped his steaming cook pot and smiled. “Soup’s ready.”
‘The priest served his fare in wooden bowls, and after a day without a morsel, I had to admit it smelled good enough to marry. I put my back against one of the broken walls, all set to tuck in when Rafa cleared his throat and held up the wheel strung about his throat.
‘All about the fire bowed their heads, eyes closed for the Godthanks.
‘“Heavenly Father,” Rafa said. “We thank you for this bounty, gifted by your hand most divine. We thank you for this fellowship, assembled by your will most holy. We welcome our new friend, Gabriel de León, and we ask you gift the chev—”
‘“Oi!”
‘Rafa flinched as a chunk of broken brick crashed into the fire, sparks scattering skywards. He looked to me, silent and shocked as I raised another chunk in warning.
‘“Don’t you pray for me, old man. Don’t you dare.”
‘Silence rang around the flames. Rafa glanced to Chloe, watching with worried eyes.
‘“Forgive me, Chevalier. I sought only to seek the Almighty’s bless—”
‘“You want to waste your breath, have at it. Just leave me out of it.”
‘“No breath is wasted that sings the praise of Almighty God. And no—”
‘“—no call unheeded that by faithful hearts is sung to heaven. I know the Testaments, priest. Sell that horseshit to the rubes on prièdi.”
‘Rafa glanced to the sevenstar on my palm. “Are the sons of San Michon not faithful servants of the Lord most high?”
‘“Servant?” I scowled, blood-red. “Do I look a man on his fucking knees to you?”
‘The crackle of flames filled the cold quiet between Rafa and me. I gobbled down my soup, tossed the empty bowl at the old man’s feet, and rose to mine.
‘“You want to spit in the dirt and call it an ocean, so be it. You want to sing songs to the deaf, I’ll find not a care to give. Just keep my name out of your fucking mouth when you do it. You hear me, god-botherer?”
‘“I hear you, Chevalier. And the Almighty hears you too.”
‘“I’ve no doubt he does, old man. I just doubt he gives a shit.”
‘I struck my flintbox again, breathed down the last of my dose. Reaching into my saddlebags, I fetched one of the vodka bottles I’d brought from Dhahaeth.
‘“Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”
‘Hand on Ashdrinker’s hilt, I trudged out into the dark. I could feel their stares between my shoulderblades, but paid them no mind. The night was alive and singing, bloodhymn rushing in my veins. And by the firelight at my back, I heard Dior mutter to Chloe, soft enough no ordinary man would’ve heard.
‘“Faithful warrior of God, my arse …”’
III
MONSTERS WHO WEAR THE SKINS OF MEN
‘IT WAS SOMEWHERE near dawn when I awoke.
‘The bloodhymn was soft in my veins, stale vodka on my tongue. My slumber had been haunted by dreams that made me wish I’d just stayed awake. I needed sleep, though, curling beneath my furs and trying to burrow back into it. But looking across the embers, I saw Dior’s bedroll was empty.
‘Muscles aching, I stood in the bitter chill. The dark before dawn was the kind that seemed made of glass; still and black and sharp. The snow had ceased. Rafa, Chloe, and Bellamy were curled close to the smouldering coals, the horses huddled together for warmth, Jezebel right in the middle. Saoirse had volunteered for dawnwatch, but I could see no sign of her. And kicking Dior’s furs with one silver-heeled boot – oui, they were empty.
‘I checked my foundry by the firepit, saw the fledgling’s blood had reduced down to a thick dark scab. Nudging the contraption away from the heat, I went for a look-see.
‘Saoirse’s scent was easy to follow, iron and leather through the mournful trees. I wound my way up the gully, eyes bright in the dark. And perhaps a hundred yards from the camp, I found her, leaning against the corpse of an old oak.