“You can do that?” the constable asked. “Get into her head?”
“Sadly no.” Lizanne blinked water from her streaming eyes, seeing the Blood-blessed once again resuming his seat. “A trance would be possible, certainly. But her inner defences will be far too formidable, even for me.” He offered Lizanne an apologetic smile as he reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a vial. “I’m afraid we’ve reached that point in the interrogation, Krista,” he said, raising the vial to his lips. “Ever closed a blood vessel with Black?” He leaned forward to focus his gaze on her forehead. “There’s a particular vein in the frontal lobe that, if pinched with the correct amount of pressure, produces a level of pain said to be truly unbearable. So unbearable in fact, the subject will do anything to ensure they never experience it again.”
For a second Lizanne felt panic threaten to overwhelm her as the Black closed in, fixing her head in place. Julesin’s control was impressive, allowing not the slightest movement in her skull, though her eyes were free to flick about as she tried to master her fear. Her gaze slid over Julesin’s face, set in a frown of concentration, Constable Darkanis’s bulky, filthy caped form and the spot where Makario had been standing only seconds before. Except now he was missing, and so, she noticed as her gaze flicked to the table, was her penknife.
Makario moved with a lithe economy of movement that made Lizanne conclude that he had also been tutored in dance as well as music. He leapt high, descending on Julesin and bringing the penknife’s small blade down in a blur, sinking it deep into the join between the Blood-blessed’s neck and shoulder. The grip of Julesin’s Black vanished, leaving Lizanne sagging in her bonds, gasping for air as she tried to clear the throb from her head. The sounds of a struggle forced her gaze up, finding Darkanis slashing at Makario with her other knife. The musician danced back, evading the blade, then whirled to deliver a cut to the constable’s hand, the resulting spasm of pain forcing him to drop the weapon. The bigger man roared and charged, head lowered and moving with bull-like ferocity. Makario tried to dance clear once more but the constable was too fast, his shoulder taking the slender musician in the chest and bearing him to the floor.
“I told you,” Darkanis grated, grabbing Makario’s hair in a meaty fist and slamming his head onto the floorboards. “Don’t ever try to fuck me over!” He repeated the process, punctuating every word with another jarring slam. “Don’t! Ever! Try! To! Fuck! Me! Over!”
Lizanne tore her gaze away, fixing it on Julesin who lay less than two feet away, gazing up at her with rapidly dimming eyes as blood pumped in rhythmic gouts from his wound. Makario might not have been the greatest of fighters, but clearly knew how to find the right vein.
Another slam as Darkanis vented his rage on a near-senseless Makario. Lizanne heaved herself back then forward, the chair legs squeaking on the boards as she built momentum. Three more heaves and it tottered so far that she feared it would send her onto her back. It hung there for a very long second then swung forward once more, Lizanne hurling her weight against the ropes to force it over. She toppled onto Julesin’s body, squirming to manoeuvre her head closer to his wound. The severed vein was still pumping but with less energy now, blood coming in small, thick squirts, blood still rich in the Black he had drunk.
Lizanne struggled close enough to cover the wound with her mouth, fighting nausea as she sucked the blood down her throat, feeling Julesin die beneath her. The hot, iron-tinged flow slowed then stopped as the Blood-blessed gave a final twitch. Lizanne suppressed the reflexive need to vomit and raised her gaze to see Darkanis now standing over Makario. The musician flailed on the floor, arms moving in a spastic parody of combat. The constable had retrieved the knife and paused to laugh before he knelt, pressing the blade to Makario’s throat, his mantra coming in a soft whisper now. “Don’t ever try to fuck me over.”
Seeing little point in prolonging matters, Lizanne summoned the Black, finding she had imbibed more than enough to crush the constable’s head.
? ? ?
She used the last of the Black to free herself, finding she lacked the concentration to unravel the knots and settling for dismantling the chair. With the Black expended, she lay on the floor for a time, recovering strength enough to search Julesin’s person. He had all four vials, presumably smuggled in thanks to Constable Darkanis, each about three-quarters full. Lizanne sniffed each in turn until she found the Green, managing to restrain the urge to gulp half the contents and instead rationing herself to only two sips, just enough to get her on her feet.
Makario and Darkanis lay side by side, the musician liberally spattered with the gory debris left by the constable’s demise. Makario still moved his arms about, though with less energy, throwing feeble punches at nothing, an absent cast to his half-closed eyes. Lizanne knelt and lifted his head into her lap, checking to make sure Darkanis hadn’t managed to crack his skull. She smoothed a hand over the musician’s brow until some semblance of awareness returned to his gaze.
“Told you not to go out,” he murmured, a small smile playing over his lips.
“What did Darkanis promise you?” she asked.
Makario swallowed and licked his lips, shoulders moving in a shrug. “Release, what else? New name, new life, far away from here. Once Julesin was in charge and the silver started flowing. Also gave me the components I needed, for the pianola. Music always was the quickest way to my heart.”
They both winced in unison as a massive boom sounded from outside. It was perhaps the loudest explosion Lizanne had ever heard, louder even than the massed artillery at Carvenport. It must have been quite a sight, she thought, leaning over Makario as the building trembled, displacing a cloud of plaster and dust from the ceiling.
“What was that?” he asked.
Lizanne took the vial of Green and pressed it to his lips. “A chance at what you were promised,” she said. “But I can’t guarantee you’ll live to see it.”
CHAPTER 30
Hilemore
He stood on the walkway, frozen in the dark. The lights had disappeared only seconds after the platform began its plummet, leaving him alone in a pitch-black void, still staring down into the shaft even though there was nothing to see. Sigoral and the two younger Torcreeks gone in an instant. Hilemore clamped down on the rising swell of guilt and self-reproach. You will always lose people, his grandfather had told him once, sombre face veiled by pipe-smoke as he reclined behind his desk. No matter how skilled a sailor or competent an officer you become, lad. Whatever you do, you will always lose people.