‘A vulgar display of p-power, came her voice. Dyvok, most like, most like.
‘I nodded. “Strong enough to be mediae at least.”
‘The damage be n-not recent. Doubtful I think it, that highbloods linger here.
‘“Oui. But other maggots might’ve crawled into the grave they left behind.”
‘We sh-should make haste to Triúrbaile, Gabriel. The attack is set for findi morn.
‘I looked to the beautiful silvered dame upon the hilt, my voice soft with pity. “Ash … the attack on Triúrbaile happened thirteen years ago …”
‘“Who the fuck are you talking to?” Dior demanded.
‘“The Ashdrinker!” Bellamy shouted over the wind, nodding to my sword. “The blade of the Black Lion is enchanted, Dior! Magiks from the Age of Legends! The Ashdrinker speaks to the mind of her wielder. Some tales have it that the blade steals the souls of all she slays, and sings with their voices as she kills. Others say she knows the truth of how every man under heaven shall die, and she speaks those secrets to the man who masters her!”
‘I looked to the sword in my hand, eyebrow raised.
‘I am fond of thy new j-j-jester. He is most amusing, m-most amusing.
‘“Come on!” I pointed to a belfry above the rooftops. “We can shelter in the church!”
‘We trudged between tight-packed buildings, down a snow-clad boulevard. The storm was pummelling, but the houses were silent and still. Winfael seemed more a memory of a town than a town itself, doors a-hang like broken jaws, old bloodstains on dusty glass.
‘Truth told, it reminded me a little of my Lorson …
‘“So much for tha’ idea, Silversaint,” Saoirse growled.
‘Looking ahead, I saw the cathedral in the town square – hollowed by flame, broken rafters scraping the sky like an empty ribcage. The belfry tower still stood, but the clapper had long since rusted and fallen free, leaving the bell to swing in the bitter wind.
‘Voiceless.
‘Pointless.
‘Rafa was almost dead ahorse, Chloe and Dior both shivering uncontrollably. There was no respite on holy ground here, but there was shelter at least, just across the square.
‘“Let’s go to the pub!”
‘It was a two-storey affair, its sign bearing a bearded man with a leather apron swimming in a tankard of ale. THE HAMMERED SMITH was printed in faded letters beneath. The windows were barricaded, door locked tight, but a swift kicking would see it open …
‘“Hold!” Dior shouted. “You smash the door off the hinges, what shelter will it be?”
‘I lowered my boot as the boy bustled past. “You’ve got a key, smartarse?”
‘“To every lock in the empire, dumbarse.”
‘Dior fetched a flat leather case tucked into his boot. Within, I saw iron picks, a torsion hook, a small hammer and wedge, all well-kept and oiled.
‘“Thieves’ picks,” I growled. “Why am I not surprised?”
‘“Not just a fuckugly face, I s’pose?” the boy muttered.
‘I glanced to Chloe, and the sister simply flashed me a wry smile. And though it was freezing, his fingers trembling, the boy had that lock open quicker than a pisshead’s purse when the pub bells ring. With a triumphant grin, Dior pushed the door wide, dropping into a flashy bow as Saoirse gave a small round of applause. And stepping inside, he jumped three feet backwards with a frightened yelp. “Shit!”
‘Grabbing his fancy coat, I hauled the lad from the doorway and stepped inside, Ashdrinker raised. I looked about the commonroom, fangs bared: musty, cold, empty.
‘“What?” I demanded. “What did you see?”
‘The boy pointed. “Rats.”
‘Sure enough, the floor was crawling with them, thin and black and sleek, peering at me with eyes like jet. But they scattered as I stepped inside, swarming through splits in the floorboards, up into the mouldy walls. I glowered at the boy over my shoulder.
‘“I fucking hate rats, aright?” he pouted.
‘Shaking my head, I led the company inside while Bellamy took the horses to the stable. Dust coated the furniture, old wine bottles lay on tables or scattered on the floor. The walls were spackled with dark mould, and all smelled of rot and ratshit. But we were out of the wind at least, and with any luck, I’d find something to drink.
‘“I’ll look upstairs,” I said. “Saoirse, stay here with the others.”
‘“A please’d be welcome.”
‘I tilted my head at her. “What did you say?”
‘The young slayer rested her axe on her shoulder. “I’m nae some hammerman ye fought wi’ in days of glory. Nor some lackey to be ordered aboot. A please’d be welcome.”
‘“We’re half-near frozen to death. In the corpse of a town that’s obviously been gutted by coldbloods. And you want to pull out our cocks and measure them now?”
‘“Ye’ve been swingin’ yer tadpole aboot every chance ye get already, man. Why should now be any different?”
‘I walked across the creaking floorboards until we were chest to chest.
‘“Pretty please. With fucking sugar on it. Stay here with the others.”
‘Saoirse scowled. I turned on my silver heel and stomped upstairs, paying a visit with my boots, door to door. Ashdrinker was singing an old nursery rhyme in my head, and I did my best to ignore her as I went from room to room. The bedchambers were small, dusty, all empty save for a handful of rats who looked slightly outraged at my presence. But it seemed we had somewhere to sleep at least – presuming we were allowed to.
‘Bellamy came in from outside, slamming the door against the weather just as I returned to the commonroom, sheathing Ash to quiet her disjointed song in my head. The others were in the kitchen – rusty knives on the walls, pots of old cast iron. But there wasn’t a trace of food. Nor liquor, more’s the pity.
‘“Clear upstairs.” I glanced to Dior, shuddering. “Save for all the rats.”
‘“Gabe, stop it,” Chloe murmured.
‘“Huge bastards, they are.” I measured a yard with my hands. “Well fed too, by the look. I swear God, one of them was wearing a waistcoat of human skin.”
‘The boy flipped me the Fathers. “Suck my cock, hero.”
‘“We can wait here until the weather breaks,” Chloe declared. “Warm up. Sleep.”
‘Rafa was slumped by the hearth, shivering head to toe. The sister knelt beside him, arm around the poor old bastard for warmth. Bellamy scruffed the snow from his still-perfect three-day stubble, stomped his feet to get the feeling back. “I’ll get a fire going.”
‘I nodded, looking to Saoirse. “Where’s that cat of yours?”
‘“Phoebe wanders. She’ll be back when she gets bored.”
‘“Right. I might go for a look-see myself. Rest of you stay here, stay warm. Pretty please.” I glanced to Chloe. “Trouble finds you while I’m gone, belt that horn of yours, S?ur Sauvage.”
‘Chloe spared me a small, grateful smile. “Walk careful, mon ami.”