She led them at last to the mouth of a filthy alleyway. ‘There,’ she said with a hoarse laugh. ‘A beautiful palace for a beautiful boy.’
She turned and headed slowly back into the gathering dark. Living dead, waiting for her heart to give out like her rotted mind and body, something eating her away from the inside. A kindness just to kill her now. Tobias realized suddenly and horribly that the way she itched her face was the same as Marith’s habit of rubbing at his eyes. He and Rate and Alxine stared at the doorway she had indicated. A stream of raw sewage ran across the threshold. A man lay in the sewage, muttering something under his breath, the same meaningless syllables over and over again. There was blood around his mouth. His lips were stained black. The woman had been horrible. This was worse. Tobias pushed the door open hesitantly and stepped inside.
It was a wine shop, though poorer and more dishevelled than any place Tobias had ever been in. Very dark, a single windowless room lit by a few lamps that gave off a rancid, fishy smoke. A handful of customers were slumped at dirty tables. A man with a face that was a mass of sores stood behind the bar, laughing mirthlessly at an old woman in a torn dress who twitched and jerked like a beetle on a pin. The air stank of puke and piss and raw alcohol, so strong it made Tobias’s head spin. There were puddles on the floor he tried hard not to tread in. A large rat scuttered past, something hanging from its mouth that might be alive. Fat flies crawling on hands and faces and cups, clustering around eyes and open mouths. No talking. No singing. No arguments. No whores. Not a place where people came to drink, this. A place where people came to die.
Marith was in a corner at the back, the side of his head resting on the table-top. His eyes were open and staring, empty as stones.
Tobias sat down opposite him. Felt sick looking at him.
‘Hello, Marith.’
‘… Tobias …?’ Marith blinked and raised his head, made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh. After several attempts, he managed to sit up. His voice was thick and strange, coming from a long way off, like he was an animal trying to speak. He took a gulp of his drink. ‘Hello … Want to join me?’
‘We’ve been looking for you for hours. Where the fuck have you been?’
‘I’ve been … here.’ Waved his hand vaguely, knocked over his cup. Its contents splashed over the table with a hiss, scorching the wood. Tobias jerked backwards.
‘What in all hells is that?’ Alxine asked in a horrified voice, hastily moving his hands off the table. The liquid was thick and dark and oily, deep red with a glossy sheen. Tobias could swear it was smoking slightly.
‘Firewine,’ said Rate. ‘Blindness-in-a-bottle, it’s sometimes known as. Sort of a cross between an alcoholic drink and the stuff used to poison wells in a siege.’ He looked quite impressed. ‘I’ve never managed more than a couple of cupfuls, myself. And then I was ill for a week.’
Would the boy’s prowess never cease? ‘You were supposed to be with Emit,’ Tobias growled at Marith. ‘Where in the gods’ name is he?’ Entirely pointless. Something of a surprise if the boy had any idea where he was at this particular moment, let alone anyone else. But he had to ask.
‘Emit …’ Marith blinked at him. ‘Emit … he’s … in an alley. Somewhere.’ His eyes flickered for a moment. Something like a smile passed over his face. ‘I can’t remember where.’ He poured himself another drink and carefully set the bottle back down on the table. Alxine flinched as it rocked.
Tobias grabbed Marith’s arm. ‘I think you’ve maybe had about enough now, boy,’ he said, to sniggers from Rate and Alxine. ‘Time to stop, don’t you think?’
Marith’s eyes seemed to clear for a moment. Like he finally understood what Tobias was saying to him. ‘I’ve had nothing like enough. I don’t intend to stop until I’m unconscious.’ His voice was raw with hatred. Pushed Tobias’s hand away, took a long drink. ‘Or dead.’
The last time something like this had happened, it had been Gulius and Alxine, and they’d come fairly peacefully after Tobias had yelled at them enough. There was something else here. Shadows crawled on the walls, like the shadows in Marith’s eyes. The boy looked like a demon. A wraith. A thing undead, steeped in hate and grief. The room was full of pain, soaking into the bones, despair beating around them. Ruin and dust and dark. The drinkers coughed and whimpered, waiting for death.
‘I’m your commanding officer, Marith,’ Tobias said firmly, keeping his voice low. ‘This is an order. We’re leaving. Now.’
Marith’s face went dark. He frowned at Tobias, then laughed and took another drink. ‘No.’
‘You don’t refuse to obey orders, boy. You follow them. Get up.’
Marith laughed again.
‘You’re drunk, you’ve misused Company money entrusted to you, and you’re committing an act of insubordination. That’s a whole world of trouble. Get up. Now.’
Marith picked up the bottle and very carefully topped his cup up to the brim.
‘Get up, boy, or I’ll have Rate and Alxine drag you out of here.’
Marith blinked and smiled and something dark and rotten climbed out from behind his eyes. The background noises in the room faded. A sound from far off like a sword being drawn.
‘No.’
‘This is an order. We leave, now, and tomorrow you’ll be whipped.’
‘I said no.’ Marith raised his cup, drained it, refilled it, drained it again. ‘I am a prince of the line of Amrath the World Conqueror, kin to the dragons and to the Living Gods of Immier and Caltath. In my veins flows the blood of gods and demons from beyond the realms of life and death. My family has ruled over empires the likes of which the world had never known. We have been kings since the land rose from the sea and men first crawled from the mud to do our bidding.’ He bared his teeth, his voice an angry hiss. ‘I do what the hell I like.’
The dramatic effect was spoilt slightly when he slumped sideways and was violently sick all over his lovely new coat.
Chapter Seventeen
Two young men, boys really, stumble down a dark street. One is slim and dark-haired, the other stockier and fair-blond. They are both expensively and elegantly dressed, torchlight flickering on the embroidery of their coats. The dark-haired boy leans heavily on the fair-haired boy’s arm. He might perhaps charitably be described as more than a little drunk.
They stop walking. The dark-haired boy falls over. Lands in a dirty puddle. Doesn’t get up.
‘I can’t walk any more,’ he moans. He crawls forwards a few paces, curls up with his head resting in the muddy water. ‘I told you that stuff would finish me,’ he mutters in a slurred voice.
‘You’ve just got to get used to it. Then you’ll be fine.’ The fair-haired boy sits down beside him and passes him a vicious-looking black glass bottle. The dark-haired boy hesitates, then sits up and drinks.