The Night Parade Read online

  Lucius called for the company to halt, and he pointed at the sight that had arrested his attention. They were close to the shipping lanes, traveling between endless rows of buildings that had been converted into warehouses. Ahead they could see the bay’s sparkling, clear waters, along with nearly one hundred ships in the docks. Above one of the ships, like an angry black fist, rose a cloud of smoke. A small boat had been set on fire and was sinking into the waters.

  The mage dismounted and led his sleek black horse to the others. Reisz took the animal’s reins as Lucius offered to go ahead and learn what had happened. Myrmeen and Burke agreed. As they waited for him to return, she thought of Kracauer, the baby merchant who had been slain by the strange weapon charged by a form of magic that had unnerved Cardoc. She considered the possibility that the assassin had been close enough to hear the names Kracauer had given them. Having mentally traced the trajectory of the second blade, the one, presumably, meant for her throat, Myrmeen knew that, without Lucius’s interference, the knife narrowly would have missed her.

  The killing had been a warning.

  Lucius came back and announced what Myrmeen had already guessed: The boat that had been sunk belonged to Ivan Nehlridge, the smuggler who frequently shuttled Kracauer’s stolen freight from the city. Witnesses had seen him engulfed in flames, screaming for his life, as the boat had gone down.

  “Martyn Johannas is the only one left,” Lucius said. “What I learned about him was a bit more vague. That could work in our favor.”

  “Perhaps,” Burke said as he ordered the company to follow the mage. They left the docks and cut across the dark heart of the city, the meaning of Cardoc’s words apparent: Their only possible advantage depended on the quality of the information received by the killers, who were attempting to seal off Myrmeen’s avenues of inquiry. If they had been given the same odd phrases as Cardoc to explain the whereabouts of Martyn Johannas, then the Harpers had a fair chance of getting to the man first.

  The morning was a bitter memory by the time they arrived at the outskirts of the city’s financial district. Guardsmen ordered them away from the busy streets. The Harpers put up their mounts at the first stable they spotted, which had been filled nearly to capacity. Myrmeen was doleful at the idea of leaving the mounts in the oppressively hot stables. Fortunately, the stalls they rented were the responsibility of a young stable boy who seemed to genuinely love and respect the magnificent animals left to his care. She gave him an extra coin for his troubles.

  Before they left, the boy took her to a private room, where she changed into an elegant gold-and-white dress from her travel bag. When she emerged from the room, her hair was piled up in a regal style and held in a beautiful headdress. She wore white gloves that covered her forearms and ended above her elbows. Her shoulderless gown plunged in the front, revealing the creamy tops of her breasts, which had been thrust upward by a wire corset that chafed against her skin. Her bearing and style of walk had changed, too.

  The Harpers had decided that they would draw far less attention if they posed as servants and bodyguards to a finely dressed lady. For Myrmeen, her companions’ expressions at her emergence as a woman of wealth and privilege made it worth slipping out of her battle-worn leathers, mails, and thigh-high boots. Her only mistake in choosing this outfit had been her sandals, which revealed her calloused feet. Cardoc nodded at her approvingly, his gaze lingering perhaps a moment too long.

  The group left the stable and walked for several blocks. They were surprised as they turned a corner and were suddenly swallowed up by a torrent of citizens. The people rushed blindly forward, heads down, their gazes carefully set to take in any obstacles at a glance without making eye contact with anyone. As Myrmeen had imagined, the passersby were dressed in the finest, most brightly colored gowns and business wear that the city’s markets had to offer. Many people had entourages similar to Myrmeen’s, and her group drew little attention, except for the occasional stare inspired by Myrmeen’s hypnotic beauty. They had not traveled far before Myrmeen realized that Lucius had vanished into the crowd.

  The buildings lining the financial district’s long, central street had been designed with the care and expense usually devoted to fine palaces or halls of study. Myrmeen had seen it all before. The merchants were so touched by petty rivalry that each had attempted to make his or her establishment more spectacular to gaze upon than all the others. Their childish infighting, something that would not have been allowed in Arabel, had led to impressive spurts of towering architecture; several buildings had bridges suspended twenty feet above the ground, linking them with covered walkways. Others had statues of fierce lions or creatures of myth built into their walls. A few of the designers had opted for simple but elegant spires and ornately decorated, concave walls.

  Cardoc had been told to look for “the house of the griffon” and to “regard kindly the temple of the sun.” Myrmeen found the trading house situated between a building guarded by a pair of stone griffons and a church made of glass. She and her party went inside the establishment and proceeded to the currency exchange bureau, where they found a tall man with slicked-back hair tied in a ponytail. He busily marked entries on a scroll and did not look up until Myrmeen set her gloved hands on either side of his parchment and leaned forward to whisper, “Martyn Johannas?”

  He looked up, stunned. “Yes,” he said.

  Myrmeen smiled. She had seen the expression before. At that moment, she was certain that he would have agreed to anything she proposed. Her entourage kept its distance, allowing her to delicately take a seat before the man, her gown parting slightly to reveal her firm, lightly tanned legs, which she crossed to add to the effect.

  “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask,” she said in a haughty, teasing voice.

  “I don’t think that will change the answer,” he said as he scratched his neck, “but ask away.”

  Myrmeen looked around, making a show of it. “Is there somewhere we can go that’s more private?”

  Johannas angled his gaze toward her companions. “That depends on whether or not they come along.”

  A throaty laugh escaped Myrmeen. She had softened him up enough, she decided. “I wish to trade some currency,” she said. “I seem to have a surplus of pearls from Amn.”

  The man shook his head, his expression slowly becoming serious. “And how many Roldons do you have to exchange?”

  “More than a thousand,” she said. “This trip, anyway. You see now why my personal assistants follow my every move.”

  He breathed out heavily. “Yes. That is a healthy sum.” Glancing at some papers on his desk, he rattled off the rate of exchange as of that morning. “Naturally there will be a short period of waiting while the coins are authenticated—merely a formality, you understand.”

  She shrugged. There was a slight rustle of cloth as she shifted in her chair. She had to get him away from the exchange in a manner that would make the accompaniment of her guards seem reasonable. Her only reason for playing the seductress was to unnerve him, and hopefully shake his otherwise stolid sense of judgment.

  “Is there nothing that can be done to speed up the process?” she asked. “Perhaps we could go where you could authenticate the coins personally and hurry the exchange.”

  The lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Am I to assume that these coins are fresh from the vats and have not yet cooled?”

  “That would a reasonable assumption,” she said, and gave the name of Lucius’s contact who had said that Johannas was experienced in such transactions. Stolen coinage from Amn would have engraved numbers that could be traced.

  “You understand that I can only pay half the going rate? The coins will have to be melted and recast—”

  “Of course,” she whispered, absently wetting her lips. “Now it’s my turn to say yes to whatever you desire.”

  He rose from behind the desk. “Wait a few moments, then follow me into the alley at the rear of this building.”
r />   She nodded and watched him leave. The man had been a thorough professional the moment he realized that he was about to make a personal profit. She turned to her fellows, who had been unobtrusively following his movements. Burke nodded, and she casually walked through the crowded establishment, the Harpers directly behind her.

  Within moments they were in the alley. Johannas was already waiting. Two men stood beside him, each carrying a large black bag. Before Myrmeen could give her companions the command to take all three men, Burke, Reisz, and Varina had sprung at them, shoving them against the next building’s wall as they placed their blades at the men’s throats. The pair of bags dropped in unison. Notably absent was the clink of shifting coinage as the bags struck the ground.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Johannas said without emotion. “I have a reputation in this city. Steal from me and you will be hunted down for what you have taken. Kill me and prepare to die in return.”

  “All I want is information,” Myrmeen said. “You can keep your money.”

  “I see,” Johannas said as he glanced toward the blade held tightly at his throat. He shifted his gaze to Myrmeen as he raised a single eyebrow. “This is not necessary.”

  “Let him breathe, but stand ready to cut him if he tries to run or call for help,” Myrmeen commanded.

  Burke eased off with his knife but kept his grip on the man’s velvet topcoat. Ord stood to the back of the group, beside the door, ready to deal with anyone who made the mistake of entering the alley from the trading house. He suddenly became acutely aware of the deepening shadows in the alley, though the sky above had not changed to a discernable extent. The alley ran the length of the trading house, which had been deeper than the glass temple or the house of the griffon. Buildings blocked the alley at either end, but there was a narrow passage that appeared to lead back to the street they had traveled or forward to the next street. The alley formed an H and they stood at its vulnerable apex. Burke wondered if Cardoc was with them as he watched the shadows lengthen and again looked up to see a bright, perfect sky.

  A rustling from the shadows made Ord start. “Burke,” he called, “there’s something you should look at!”

  Burke shook his head. He was not about to give Johannas the opportunity to escape. “Quiet, Ord.”

  Myrmeen licked her lips, which had suddenly become quite dry, and said, “You handle the financial end of a lucrative business run by a man named Kracauer. He sold children for a living. You handled the money. Ivan Nehlridge took care of the freight, the human cargo. Now Kracauer and Nehlridge are dead. You’re going to tell me everything you know about the children that were sold to the Night Parade fourteen years ago, during the great storm. My daughter was one of those children. I want to find her. You will help me contact the Night Parade and together we will find my child. If you do not cooperate, there won’t be enough left of you to fit into those sacks your men brought with them.”

  Johannas smiled. “Those sacks are already occupied. You should take a look.”

  Myrmeen glanced down at the sacks and saw her own shadow lengthen. “Let me see that,” she said to Varina. The warrior gave the bag a quick kick, and the bag’s mouth came open, its contents spilling out. Myrmeen gasped as she saw a human head roll in her direction. Then she recognized the face as that of Martyn Johannas.

  Burke looked away from the face of Johannas’s perfect double when he heard Myrmeen’s small cry of surprise. The doppleganger took advantage of the man’s distraction by shoving his own shoulders back and drawing a breath. His frilly shirt burst apart and a black, gore-drenched arm shot forward, snatching Burke’s hand. It twisted the hand savagely, causing the warrior to drop his blade. Another hand erupted from the man’s stomach and caught the falling weapon, then drove it at the warrior’s chest.

  Varina had seen the incredible display. She shoved the man she guarded to one side as she lashed out with a kick that knocked the weapon from the gnarled second hand of the creature that held her husband.

  Johannas, or whatever the monster’s true name was, threw Burke to the opposite wall without effort. It then began scratching at its neck once again. Myrmeen finally understood that it was not a human gesture at all. As it clawed at its skin, great gobs of pink flesh tore off, revealing a charred, blackened surface beneath.

  “You should have taken our warning,” the thing said. “To appear during the day is abhorrent to our kind. But we were forced into it by your foolish tenacity, which you are now going to pay dearly for.” The doppleganger tore away the rest of its fleshlike covering and revealed a black, misshapen head. Only the perfect white teeth and glaring red eyes broke the monotony of its night-black flesh.

  The shadows grew and deepened at either end of the alley, sealing it off. Myrmeen heard the chattering laughter of creatures that had plagued her dreams since she had been a child. She had come to Calimport in search of members of the Night Parade. Now, it appeared, she had found them.

  Ord reached for the door, but it was covered in shadows and would not budge. The black-skinned creature looked at Myrmeen and laughed. It gestured with the additional two black arms that jutted from its stomach and chest, the palms open in a gesture of regret. “If they had told me you were so beautiful, I would have arranged to have you to myself for a time before I killed you.”

  No one had to give the order to attack. Reisz was about to slice the throat of the man he held when another creature emerged from the shadows, a man whose body seemed to exude darkness. The shadow man hauled Reisz from its companion, throwing the fighter at Varina. The humans fell to the ground.

  Myrmeen backed away as the black-fleshed monstrosity rushed toward her. She snatched Burke’s knife from the ground and cut away the flowing skirt of her dress. Hurling the fabric at the creature’s face, she sidestepped it easily and spun to kick it face first into the opposite wall.

  All I want is my daughter! We don’t have to fight! she wanted to scream, but she knew her words would not gain the warriors the respite they needed if they were to escape from this trap. Her own weapons were bundled in the parcels the warriors had left at the stables. She knew that each Harper wore a sword and carried at least one dagger. Reisz had kept a scimitar strapped to his back. Ord carried a pair of steel truncheons. Reisz, Ord, and Varina were on their feet, drawing their weapons. Burke was still down.

  Varina had come best prepared for a deadly encounter. The leather gloves covering her hands flared at the forearms, covering the weapons she had carefully wired into place. By raising her fists and turning them in a quick motion, so that her palms faced her chest, she caused a set of blades to rip from her gloves and spring forward, clearing her hand by half a foot. The identical blades, which now appeared to be extensions of her arms, looked like straight pikes with curled blades attached beside them that reached ever farther, and a short dagger that extended away from her body. She had more surprises hidden in her boots and on the pads covering her thighs and upper arms.

  Myrmeen, on the other hand, had her bare legs, worthless sandals, and cleavage. She had clearly not taken the inherent dangers of this quest seriously enough. Under her breath she swore that if she could just make it out of this alley alive, she would never make the same mistake again.

  Varina and Reisz stood back-to-back, prepared to face the onslaught. Ord helped Burke to his feet and stood beside the man. Myrmeen moved close to them. The four-armed, black-skinned man-thing, its two companions, and the form whose body seemed to drink in light and reflect only shadows, closed around the Harpers. The creatures grinned to one another, forcing the humans back into a circle. Myrmeen did not understand why they hesitated to attack. Moments ago they had the humans separated and could have taken them one at a time. This way, they had allowed the party to merge into a position where they could use their strengths and support each other.

  A moment later, she had her explanation.

  “Zeal,” the creature who had posed as Johannas said, “we have them for you. Burn them!�
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  Myrmeen drew in a deep breath and looked up. At the edge of the opposing roof she saw one, perhaps two figures looking down at them. She thought of Kracauer’s distress when he saw the illusionary fireball in Cardoc’s hand and recalled the name he had used to address the mage. The man who had been called was going to rain fire upon them from above. She gritted her teeth and waited for the flames.

  Nothing happened.

  The doppleganger looked up in surprise. “Zeal?”

  Myrmeen wasted no time and hurled the knife she had been carrying. It struck the black-skinned creature in the throat. The monster gurgled in surprise and clutched at the weapon with all four of its arms, which now got in the way of one another. Twitching, it fell back to the pavement, oillike blood dripping from its wound.

  As the first one fell, the Harpers launched themselves at the other three creatures. Each still possessed the appearance of humanity. Even the shadow lord looked like a man, though a very dark and featureless one. The man closest to Varina was thick-chested, with a full black beard and impossibly blue eyes. Varina plunged her blades into his throat and realized that his handsome appearance was nothing more than a disguise. The man’s head had tilted as the blades approached, and the bones of his neck slid impossibly out of the way of the sharp edges, sliding to the opposite side of his neck, where they caused the flesh to ripple and change shape. The skin that had been pierced by the center staff stretched outward with the weapon’s tip, then sprang back into shape as it forced the blade out of his throat, leaving a wound the size of a gold piece that immediately sealed itself. The creature grinned and snarled. “My turn!” it shrieked.

  Varina leapt back as the man advanced on her, his upper and lower jaws expanding to three times their normal size. The bones in his hand ripped from their fragile coverings of flesh and reformed into identical copies of the weapons that Varina had produced. His ribs burst from his chest, clean, with no blood, and stood straight and razor-sharp as he tried to gather her in a lethal embrace. Reisz crossed in front of her, swinging his scimitar at the creature’s malleable arm. The weapon sank deep into the monster’s flesh, then stopped dead as it struck bone that was as strong as tempered steel.