Shed had given Krage only nine of ten leva. The coin he held
back bought firewood, wine, and beer to replenish his stocks. Then
other creditors caught wind of his prosperity. A slight upturn in
business did him no good. He met his next payment to Krage by
borrowing from a moneylender named Gilbert. He found himself
wishing somebody would die. Another ten leva would put him in
striking distance of getting through the winter. It was a hard one,
that winter. Nothing moved in the harbor. There was no work in the
Buskin. Shed’s only bit of good fortune was Asa. Asa brought
wood whenever he got away from Krage, in a pathetic effort to buy a
friend. Asa arrived with a load. Privately, he said, “Better
watch out, Shed. Krage heard about you borrowing from
Gilbert.” Shed went grey. “He’s got a buyer for
the Lily lined up. They’re rounding up girls
already.”
Shed nodded. The whoremasters recruited desperate women this
time of year. By the time summer brought its sailors, they were
broken to their trade.
“The bastard. Made me think he’d given me a break. I
should have known better. This way he gets my money and my place.
The bastard.”
“Well, I warned you.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Asa.” Shed’s next due date came
on like a juggernaut. Gilbert refused him another loan. Smaller
creditors besieged the Lily. Krage was aiming them Shed’s
way.
He took Raven a complimentary drink. “May I sit?”
A
hint of a smile crossed Raven’s lips. “It’s your
place.” And: “You haven’t been friendly lately.
Shed.”
“I’m nervous,” Shed lied. Raven irritated his
conscience. “Worried about my debts.”
Raven saw through
the excuse. “You thought maybe I could help?”
Shed
almost groaned. “Yes.”
Raven laughed softly. Shed thought he detected a note of
triumph. “All right, Shed. Tonight?”
Shed pictured his mother being carted off by the Custodians. He
swallowed his self-disgust. “Yeah.”
“All right. But this time you’re a helper, not a
partner.” Shed swallowed and nodded. “Put the old woman
to bed, then come back downstairs. Understand?”
“Yes,” Shed whispered.
“Good. Now go away. You irritate me.”
“Yes, sir.” Shed retreated. He couldn’t look
anyone in the eye the rest of that day.
A bitter wind howled down the Port valley, freckled with flakes
of snow. Shed huddled miserably, the wagon seat a bar of ice
beneath him. The weather was worsening. “Why tonight?”
he grumbled.
“Best time.” Raven’s teeth chattered.
“We’re not likely to be seen.” He turned into
Chandler’s Lane, off which innumerable narrow alleyways ran.
“Good hunting territory here. In this weather they crawl back
in the alleys and die like flies.”
Shed shivered. He was too old for this. But that was why he was
here. So he wouldn’t have to face the weather every
night.
Raven stopped the wagon. “Check that
passageway.”
Shed’s feet started aching the instant he put weight on
them. Good. At least he felt something. They weren’t
frozen.
There was little light in the alley. He searched more by feel
than sight. He found one lump under an overhang, but it stirred and
muttered. He ran.
He reached the wagon as Raven dumped something into the bed.
Shed averted his eyes. The boy couldn’t have been more than
twelve. Raven concealed the body with straw. “That’s
one. Night like this, we ought to find a load.”
Shed choked his protests, resumed his seat. He thought about his
mother. She wouldn’t last one night in this.
Next alley he found his first corpse. The old man had fallen and
frozen because he couldn’t get up again. Aching in his
soul, Shed dragged the body to the wagon.
“Going to be a good night,” Raven observed.
“No competition. The Custodians won’t come out in
this.” Softly: “I hope we can make the hill.”
Later, after they had moved to the waterfront and each had found
another corpse, Shed asked, “Why’re you doing
this?”
“I need money, too. Got a long way to travel. This way I
get a lot, fast, without much risk.”
Shed thought the risks far greater than Raven would admit. They
could be torn apart. “You’re not from Juniper, are
you?”
“From the south. A shipwrecked sailor.”
Shed did not believe it. Raven’s accent was not at all
right for that, mild though it was. He hadn’t the nerve to
call the man a liar, though, and press for the truth.
The conversation continued by fits and starts. Shed didn’t
uncover anything more of Raven’s background or motives.
“Go that way,” Raven told him. “I’ll
check over here. Last stop, Shed. I’m done in.”
Shed nodded. He wanted to get the night over. To his disgust, he
had begun seeing the street people as objects, and he hated them
for dying in such damned inconvenient places.
He heard a soft call, turned back quickly. Raven had one. That
was enough. He ran to the wagon.
Raven was on the seat, waiting. Shed scrambled up, huddled,
tucked his face away from the wind. Raven kicked the mules into
motion.
The wagon was halfway across the bridge over the Port when Shed
heard a moan. “What?” One of the bodies was moving!
“Oh. Oh, shit, Raven . . . ”
“He’s going to die anyway.”
Shed huddled back down, stared at the buildings on the north
bank. He wanted to argue, wanted to fight, wanted to do anything to
deny his part in this atrocity.
He looked up an hour later and recognized nothing. A few large
houses flanked the road, widely spaced, their windows dark.
“Where are we?”
“Almost there. Half an hour, unless the road is too
icy.”
Shed imagined the wagon sliding into a ditch. What then? Abandon
everything and hope the rig couldn’t be traced? Fear replaced
loathing.
Then he realized where they were. There wasn’t anything up
here but that accursed black castle.
“Raven . . . ”
“What’s the matter?”
“You’re head for the black castle.”
“Where’d you think we were going?”
“People live there?”
“Yes. What’s your problem?”
Raven was a foreigner. He couldn’t understand how the
black castle affected Juniper. People who got too close
disappeared. Juniper preferred to pretend that the place did not
exist.
Shed stammered out his fears. Raven shrugged. “Shows your
ignorance.”
Shed saw the castle’s dark shape through the snow. The
fall was lighter on the ridge, but the wind was more fierce.
Resigned, he muttered, “Let’s get it over
with.”
The shape resolved into battlements, spires, towers. Not a light
shown anywhere. Raven halted before a tall gate, went forward on
foot. He banged a heavy knocker. Shed huddled, hoping there would
be no response.
The gate opened immediately. Raven scrambled onto the
wagon’s seat. “Get up, mules.”
“You’re not going inside?”
“Why not?”
“Hey. No way. No.”
“Shut up, Shed. You want your money, you help
unload.”
Shed stifled a whimper. He hadn’t bargained for this.
Raven drove through the gate, turned right, halted beneath a
broad arch. A single lantern battled the darkness clotting the
passageway. Raven swung down. Shed followed, his nerves shrieking.
They dragged the bodies out of the wagon and swung them onto stone
slabs nearby. Then Raven said, “Get back on the wagon. Keep
your mouth shut.” The one body stirred. Shed grunted. Raven
pinched his leg savagely. “Shut up.”
A shadowy shape appeared. It was tall, thin, clad in loose black
pantaloons and a hooded shirt. It examined each body briefly,
seemed pleased. It faced Raven. Shed glimpsed a face all of sharp
angles and shadows, lustrous, olive, cold, with a pair of softly
luminous eyes. “Thirty. Thirty. Forty. Thirty.
Seventy,” it said.
Raven countered, “Thirty. Thirty.
Fifty. Thirty. One hundred.”
“Forty. Eighty.”
“Forty-five. Ninety.”
“Forty. Ninety.”
“Done.”
They were dickering! Raven was not interested in quibbling over
the old people. The tall being would not advance his offer for the
youth. But the dying man was negotiable.
Shed watched the tall being count out coins at the feet of the
corpses. That was a damned fortune! Two hundred twenty pieces of
silver! With that he could tear the Lily down and build a new
place. He could get out of the Buskin altogether.
Raven scooped the coins into his coat pocket. He gave Shed five.
“That’s all?”
“Isn’t that a good night’s work?”
It was a good month’s work, and then some. But to get only
five of . . .
“Last time we were partners,” Raven said, swinging
onto the driver’s seat. “Maybe we will be again. But
tonight you’re a hired hand. Understand?” There was a
hard edge to his voice. Shed nodded, beset by new fears.
Raven backed the wagon. Shed felt a sudden chill. That archway
was hot as hell. He shuddered, feeling the hunger of the thing
watching them.
Dark, glassy, jointless stone slid past. “My god!”
He could see into the wall. He saw bones, fragments of bones,
bodies, pieces of bodies, all suspended as if floating in the
night. As Raven turned toward the gate, he saw a staring face.
“What kind of place is this?”
“I don’t know, Shed. I don’t want to know. All
I care is, they pay good money. I need it. I have a long way to
go.”
Shed had given Krage only nine of ten leva. The coin he held
back bought firewood, wine, and beer to replenish his stocks. Then
other creditors caught wind of his prosperity. A slight upturn in
business did him no good. He met his next payment to Krage by
borrowing from a moneylender named Gilbert. He found himself
wishing somebody would die. Another ten leva would put him in
striking distance of getting through the winter. It was a hard one,
that winter. Nothing moved in the harbor. There was no work in the
Buskin. Shed’s only bit of good fortune was Asa. Asa brought
wood whenever he got away from Krage, in a pathetic effort to buy a
friend. Asa arrived with a load. Privately, he said, “Better
watch out, Shed. Krage heard about you borrowing from
Gilbert.” Shed went grey. “He’s got a buyer for
the Lily lined up. They’re rounding up girls
already.”
Shed nodded. The whoremasters recruited desperate women this
time of year. By the time summer brought its sailors, they were
broken to their trade.
“The bastard. Made me think he’d given me a break. I
should have known better. This way he gets my money and my place.
The bastard.”
“Well, I warned you.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Asa.” Shed’s next due date came
on like a juggernaut. Gilbert refused him another loan. Smaller
creditors besieged the Lily. Krage was aiming them Shed’s
way.
He took Raven a complimentary drink. “May I sit?”
A
hint of a smile crossed Raven’s lips. “It’s your
place.” And: “You haven’t been friendly lately.
Shed.”
“I’m nervous,” Shed lied. Raven irritated his
conscience. “Worried about my debts.”
Raven saw through
the excuse. “You thought maybe I could help?”
Shed
almost groaned. “Yes.”
Raven laughed softly. Shed thought he detected a note of
triumph. “All right, Shed. Tonight?”
Shed pictured his mother being carted off by the Custodians. He
swallowed his self-disgust. “Yeah.”
“All right. But this time you’re a helper, not a
partner.” Shed swallowed and nodded. “Put the old woman
to bed, then come back downstairs. Understand?”
“Yes,” Shed whispered.
“Good. Now go away. You irritate me.”
“Yes, sir.” Shed retreated. He couldn’t look
anyone in the eye the rest of that day.
A bitter wind howled down the Port valley, freckled with flakes
of snow. Shed huddled miserably, the wagon seat a bar of ice
beneath him. The weather was worsening. “Why tonight?”
he grumbled.
“Best time.” Raven’s teeth chattered.
“We’re not likely to be seen.” He turned into
Chandler’s Lane, off which innumerable narrow alleyways ran.
“Good hunting territory here. In this weather they crawl back
in the alleys and die like flies.”
Shed shivered. He was too old for this. But that was why he was
here. So he wouldn’t have to face the weather every
night.
Raven stopped the wagon. “Check that
passageway.”
Shed’s feet started aching the instant he put weight on
them. Good. At least he felt something. They weren’t
frozen.
There was little light in the alley. He searched more by feel
than sight. He found one lump under an overhang, but it stirred and
muttered. He ran.
He reached the wagon as Raven dumped something into the bed.
Shed averted his eyes. The boy couldn’t have been more than
twelve. Raven concealed the body with straw. “That’s
one. Night like this, we ought to find a load.”
Shed choked his protests, resumed his seat. He thought about his
mother. She wouldn’t last one night in this.
Next alley he found his first corpse. The old man had fallen and
frozen because he couldn’t get up again. Aching in his
soul, Shed dragged the body to the wagon.
“Going to be a good night,” Raven observed.
“No competition. The Custodians won’t come out in
this.” Softly: “I hope we can make the hill.”
Later, after they had moved to the waterfront and each had found
another corpse, Shed asked, “Why’re you doing
this?”
“I need money, too. Got a long way to travel. This way I
get a lot, fast, without much risk.”
Shed thought the risks far greater than Raven would admit. They
could be torn apart. “You’re not from Juniper, are
you?”
“From the south. A shipwrecked sailor.”
Shed did not believe it. Raven’s accent was not at all
right for that, mild though it was. He hadn’t the nerve to
call the man a liar, though, and press for the truth.
The conversation continued by fits and starts. Shed didn’t
uncover anything more of Raven’s background or motives.
“Go that way,” Raven told him. “I’ll
check over here. Last stop, Shed. I’m done in.”
Shed nodded. He wanted to get the night over. To his disgust, he
had begun seeing the street people as objects, and he hated them
for dying in such damned inconvenient places.
He heard a soft call, turned back quickly. Raven had one. That
was enough. He ran to the wagon.
Raven was on the seat, waiting. Shed scrambled up, huddled,
tucked his face away from the wind. Raven kicked the mules into
motion.
The wagon was halfway across the bridge over the Port when Shed
heard a moan. “What?” One of the bodies was moving!
“Oh. Oh, shit, Raven . . . ”
“He’s going to die anyway.”
Shed huddled back down, stared at the buildings on the north
bank. He wanted to argue, wanted to fight, wanted to do anything to
deny his part in this atrocity.
He looked up an hour later and recognized nothing. A few large
houses flanked the road, widely spaced, their windows dark.
“Where are we?”
“Almost there. Half an hour, unless the road is too
icy.”
Shed imagined the wagon sliding into a ditch. What then? Abandon
everything and hope the rig couldn’t be traced? Fear replaced
loathing.
Then he realized where they were. There wasn’t anything up
here but that accursed black castle.
“Raven . . . ”
“What’s the matter?”
“You’re head for the black castle.”
“Where’d you think we were going?”
“People live there?”
“Yes. What’s your problem?”
Raven was a foreigner. He couldn’t understand how the
black castle affected Juniper. People who got too close
disappeared. Juniper preferred to pretend that the place did not
exist.
Shed stammered out his fears. Raven shrugged. “Shows your
ignorance.”
Shed saw the castle’s dark shape through the snow. The
fall was lighter on the ridge, but the wind was more fierce.
Resigned, he muttered, “Let’s get it over
with.”
The shape resolved into battlements, spires, towers. Not a light
shown anywhere. Raven halted before a tall gate, went forward on
foot. He banged a heavy knocker. Shed huddled, hoping there would
be no response.
The gate opened immediately. Raven scrambled onto the
wagon’s seat. “Get up, mules.”
“You’re not going inside?”
“Why not?”
“Hey. No way. No.”
“Shut up, Shed. You want your money, you help
unload.”
Shed stifled a whimper. He hadn’t bargained for this.
Raven drove through the gate, turned right, halted beneath a
broad arch. A single lantern battled the darkness clotting the
passageway. Raven swung down. Shed followed, his nerves shrieking.
They dragged the bodies out of the wagon and swung them onto stone
slabs nearby. Then Raven said, “Get back on the wagon. Keep
your mouth shut.” The one body stirred. Shed grunted. Raven
pinched his leg savagely. “Shut up.”
A shadowy shape appeared. It was tall, thin, clad in loose black
pantaloons and a hooded shirt. It examined each body briefly,
seemed pleased. It faced Raven. Shed glimpsed a face all of sharp
angles and shadows, lustrous, olive, cold, with a pair of softly
luminous eyes. “Thirty. Thirty. Forty. Thirty.
Seventy,” it said.
Raven countered, “Thirty. Thirty.
Fifty. Thirty. One hundred.”
“Forty. Eighty.”
“Forty-five. Ninety.”
“Forty. Ninety.”
“Done.”
They were dickering! Raven was not interested in quibbling over
the old people. The tall being would not advance his offer for the
youth. But the dying man was negotiable.
Shed watched the tall being count out coins at the feet of the
corpses. That was a damned fortune! Two hundred twenty pieces of
silver! With that he could tear the Lily down and build a new
place. He could get out of the Buskin altogether.
Raven scooped the coins into his coat pocket. He gave Shed five.
“That’s all?”
“Isn’t that a good night’s work?”
It was a good month’s work, and then some. But to get only
five of . . .
“Last time we were partners,” Raven said, swinging
onto the driver’s seat. “Maybe we will be again. But
tonight you’re a hired hand. Understand?” There was a
hard edge to his voice. Shed nodded, beset by new fears.
Raven backed the wagon. Shed felt a sudden chill. That archway
was hot as hell. He shuddered, feeling the hunger of the thing
watching them.
Dark, glassy, jointless stone slid past. “My god!”
He could see into the wall. He saw bones, fragments of bones,
bodies, pieces of bodies, all suspended as if floating in the
night. As Raven turned toward the gate, he saw a staring face.
“What kind of place is this?”
“I don’t know, Shed. I don’t want to know. All
I care is, they pay good money. I need it. I have a long way to
go.”