‘“I’ll be back. Quick as a bishop up an altar boy.”
‘Rafa blinked, shivering. “I think p-perhaps your experience with b-bishops differs from mine, Silversaint.”
‘I stepped out into the sleet, shoulders hunched as I made a slow circuit of Winfael. I trudged through tight-packed streets, checking houses and cellars, then down to the edge of the freezing loch. A tangle of old nets. Boats abandoned. Water cold as a bog hag’s tit. The houses were stripped, whether by folk who lived here or scavengers after, I’d no ken. But save for the vermin, there wasn’t a soul alive in this whole forsaken place.
‘No Dead either, at least.
‘I circled back to the main square, silver-heeled boots crunching in new snow. The ghosts in the houses whispered old secrets to the storm. Through the flurry ahead, I caught a hint of blue and silver, disappearing through the doors of the burned church.
‘Dior.
‘It was freezing, and I was itching for a smoke, but I trusted that fancy little shit as far as I could piss into this wind. And so, I stomped across the square and through the buck-toothed dawndoors of the Winfael Cathedral.
‘It was a modest affair – circular, limestone blacked by flame. Its roof had collapsed, snow drifting into its hollow belly. The windows were old stained glass, mostly shattered on the floor. But in the nor’most wall, the glass was intact – a scene depicting Michon leading her army during the Wars of the Faith. The first Martyr was tall, flaxen-haired, fierce as a hundred angels. Dior stood before the window with a puzzled look on his face.
‘“The fuck are you doing?”
‘The boy startled as I spoke, spinning on his heel. His silver dagger was out of his coat in a blinking. I had to admit it – the little prick’s hands were as quick as his tongue.
‘“I thought I told you to mind your business, hero.”
‘“And who said that you get to tell me anything at all, boy?”
‘“Your mama,” he scowled. “After I rumped her on your papa’s sheets.”
‘I chuckled at that, tipped my tricorn. “You’ve got balls, Lachance. I’ll give you that. But my boots are bigger. What are you doing in here?”
‘He gestured to the broken pews around the altar. “Bellamy needs firewood.”
‘“Mmf.” I nodded. “Fine idea. Worthless made worthwhile.”
‘“You honestly can’t imagine the relief I feel at meeting your approval, hero.”
‘Dior stalked among the pews, gathering up the crushed timber. I reached into my greatcoat for my pipe, packed a neat hit of sanctus into the bowl. I’d been working my way through the new batch I’d cooked nice and slow, and that fledgling’s blood was rich as fine wine. I probably didn’t need another smoke yet. But Need and Want are two different masters entire.
‘That sharp snap of iron on flint. That sorcerie of heat and vapour slipping like the sweetest blade into my chest, face upturned, snowflakes pressing gentle kisses upon my fluttering lashes, as close to heaven as I’d ever get.
‘“Any opportunity to feed that need, eh?”
‘Dior’s voice brought me back to earth. I exhaled a crimson lungful and looked him over with eyes the same shade. Elidaeni haute couture on his back. Cheap Sūdhaemi leather on his feet. Nordlund blood in his veins. Button missing from his right sleeve. Left-handed. Gutter thin. Black beauty spot on his right cheek. Fingers stained grey from his traproot cigarelles. And for the first time, I saw he had scars across his palms – knife wounds carved in his skin, long and deep. Only a couple of months old, by the look.
‘“And what would you know about it, boy?”
‘“I know you suck on that pipe like you were getting paid for it.” Dior lifted his foot and snapped a shattered pew in half. “I know you got a shadow on you, hero.”
‘“You know shit, Lachance. Keep talking it, see what happens.”
‘The boy sneered and nodded to himself. “And there it is.”
‘“There’s what?”
‘“The first resort of every man like you I ever met.”
‘“Don’t make the mistake of thinking you know me, boy.”
‘He shook his head, glanced to my pipe. “I’ve known people like you all my life. No matter if it’s the bottle or the needle or the smoke, the same’s true for every one of you. Once that hook’s in your skin, it just drags out the worst in you.”
‘“You’ve never seen the worst in me.”
‘“I’ve seen enough. You treat the people around you like shit.”
‘“I treat the people around me like they deserve. It’s just most people deserve to be treated like shit.” I fixed him in a bloody stare, watching his eyes. “Liars, especially.”
‘The boy matched my gaze, unafraid. “Everybody lies.”
‘“That they do. But you’re not half as good at it as you think, boy. With your big cock swagger and your beggar’s boots and your fancy coat.”
‘“Not just fancy, hero.” The boy brushed his midnight-blue lapel. “This coat’s magik.”
‘“Magik.” I scoffed. “Bullshit. Just like the rest of you.”
‘“As you like it.”
‘I lifted my pipe, staring at the stained-glass likeness of the first Martyr.
‘“The Grail of San Michon, eh? You want to tell me how a gutterborn thief from the arse end of Sūdhaem learns the whereabouts of the most priceless relic of the Holy Church?”
‘“No,” Dior replied. “No, I don’t.”
‘I stepped closer, watching his pupils dilate, listening to his heart beating a touch quicker. “Danton Voss. Sisters of the Inquisition. Dúnnsair slayers. Soothsingers and holy men. You’ve got a strange crop tangled up in this bullshit of yours, Lachance. And normally, I’d be struggling to find a reason to care. But the Silver Sister in that taverne back there who believes in you so hard? She’s a friend of mine. And they’re thin enough on the ground these nights for me to feel overprotective about the few I have left.”
‘Dior clenched his jaw. “Sister Chloe saved my life. I’d never do anything to hurt her.”
‘“Except drag her through hell for the sake of a cup that doesn’t exist?”
‘His eyes twinkled then. “But there’s the joke, hero. It does exist.”
‘“Is that right?” I smiled, stepping closer. “Why don’t you tell me where it is, then?”
‘“And why would I do that?”
‘“Because if anything happens to my friend because of your bullshit …” I put my hand on his shoulder, teeth sharp against my tongue, “… it won’t go well for you.”
‘“There it is again,” he whispered. “The first resort of every bad man I ever met.”
‘“The world needs bad men, boy. We keep the monsters from the door.”
‘“But that’s the problem, hero. Bad men never realize when the monster is them.”
‘“Gabe? Dior?”
‘I turned, found Chloe at the broken doors, wind howling at her back. Her cloak was up over her curls, scarf about her face. But her big green eyes were fixed on me.