A Clean Death is the fourth in the Tales of The Lesser Evil and this is the twelfth—and final—chapter.
This is a fantasy series—not quite grimdark, but dark nevertheless—with complicated and believable characters doing their best to survive in a world simply indifferent to their existence.
To read an introduction to this novella, and the backcover blurb, click here.
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Always In Danger
‘What do you want us to look at?’ Pepper asked.
Hedda was still processing what she had witnessed, so unlike anything in her sphere of knowledge. A part of her was terrified, but another corner of her brain was simply curious, fascinated that something that would have been impossible just an hour ago was now simply a problem that needed solving. She supposed this was the joy of life, from a very young age every moment was simply another puzzle to work on, answers to be found when sought. The question currently foremost in her brain was why a woman with an incredible amount of impossible power wanted her and Pepper removed. What threat were they? How could they possibly alter anything she wished to do?
The three were sitting in the comfortable apricot room once again. Menna had ordered more food and wine, apologising profusely to his cook and servants, promising bonuses Hedda had seen people killed over. His staff did not seem too perturbed at being woken before the dawn had even whispered her presence and immediately set to work rekindling the fires and almost immediately bringing tea.
Outside, the first carts of the morning were trundling through the streets, heading to the dawn markets, bringing in freshly caught and often live seafood, shellfish, tangles and drapes of different edible seaweeds.
The Southspray Maree sailed with the evening tide, or the morning if they were ready to leave, and Hedda found herself looking forward to her comfortable bed on the boat. This time she was determined to enjoy the voyage as much as possible: watch as the Black Pyramid and the Blackfang disappeared in their wake, at the thousands of seals hauled out on the vast sandbanks in the gulf, the leaping dolphins and plunging seabirds, the net of stars bright above at night and the sense of movement—to ride the very wind itself.
Menna walked to one of the glass-fronted bookcases, extremely fine and very expensive glass panels protecting the books within, polished carved wood darkly shining in the lamplight. Hedda wondered what these books were, why they were secured from casual eyes where others were freely readable. His hand stopped at a shelf which sported a pair of large and ornate locks, the bookcase’s glass reinforced with a fine lattice of steel.
‘These are the books that contain things that could get me killed in this city,’ Menna said as if reading her mind. ‘They tell of secrets, lies, rumours, heresy—things that certain powers have long sought to hide. Just owning these would be enough to have my skin removed and my body salted as a warning to others.’ He pulled a key out from around his neck, turning it one way for a certain distance, withdrawing, pushing on part of the wooden structure, then turning the key in another lock, the opposite direction. Hedda knew the shelves were trapped and professional interest made her wonder what would happen if someone did not follow the correct sequence.
Pepper refilled their glasses from the teapot, as Menna returned to his seat, a leather document wallet and a small canvas-wrapped package in his hands.
‘This is the sum total of all I know. Scraps, collected over the years, tales that seemed too outrageous at first, but with more investigation could be backed up by other witnesses. It would seem,’ he paused, clearing his throat and taking a long swallow of tea, before reaching for his wine cup and taking an additional mouthful, ‘It would seem that there are those who can use true magics. It would also seem that we met with one of them, with her,’ he passed a beautifully wrought portrait, sketched in inks and tinted with perfect paint.
The shadow woman was instantly recognisable.
‘Where did you get this?’ Pepper asked, passing it on to Hedda, who studied it intently, turning it in the light to best make out the detail.
‘That came from the plague in Youlbridge, thirteen years ago. It was pure chance that I was given a first look over some paintings and books stolen—looted—from the chambers of the Council of Eleven. I recognised her immediately.’
‘You recognised her today? Or…’ Pepper asked.
Hedda was still studying the portrait. The woman was beautiful, but whoever had been commissioned to work on the piece had also seen cruelty. Something about her mouth, a tiny knowing smile, something about her eyes, as though laughing at a secret only she knew—the painter had captured her perfectly.
Menna did not answer but instead passed Pepper a piece of board.
Hedda looked over Pepper’s shoulder. It was the same woman, that was clear, even down to the same hairstyle. Yet the clothing was archaic and she knew the artistic style was Old Eastsea. Behind the woman’s shoulder were the nine towers, all still standing, all with their original skybridges of stone and metal. This was ancient, the Ninth tower—the Fallen, the Dead Tower—had collapsed many centuries ago and the skybridges had been destroyed long before that.
‘Fuck,’ Pepper said.
‘She’s aged really well,’ Hedda added, smiling. Pepper turned to look at her for a moment, then burst out laughing, Menna joining in a heartbeat later. It felt good to laugh.
‘She has. Especially considering this.’ Menna walked to the table of dark wood, covered in statuettes, carvings, pieces of art and selected one piece, the length of his forearm. ‘This was dug from the ruins of Ablandin, here in Youlmouth, buried beneath many spans of hardened volcanic ash and tuff. Ablandin was destroyed by the Blackfang over three thousand years ago.’
It was her. Exquisitely carved, the white marble carrying every feature, every hair on her head, every curve and line of her naked body, even down to the half-smile.
‘The style, as far as I am aware, would have meant the statue was originally clothed in whatever was fashionable that year, perhaps with further details painted on the marble. In the excavation of the site of the cataclysm, the archaeologist Dornem Damsk found murals that suggested the statues may also have originally been painted. Schinlo’jol, however, suggests…’
‘Menna,’ Pepper gently interjected, ‘that is very interesting, but we are not here for art history or discussion of archaeological theories. I need to know about this woman, this woman who appeared here, somehow, as a shade, somehow, talked to us, somehow, then stole our prisoner. Somehow. What is going on?’
Menna laughed, taking another long swallow of wine. He placed the statue on the table beside the carafe.
‘This woman is one of several I have learnt of. I have much less information on the others, they are perhaps more secretive, but she,’ he paused and gestured, ‘she seems to enjoy leaving clues. Or maybe she just loves the sight of her face. Whichever it is, this statue and some ancient carvings I also have rubbings of suggest she is at least three thousand years old. At least. And unchanged in all that time.’
‘And she knows my name? Fuck, I’m not sure whether I should be quivering in a ball of terror, or outrageously flattered.’
‘My guess is yes, she knows you and Hedda here, or at least the woman we held, Zhilli, did. That can only suggest you stand in her way somehow, able to disrupt her plans. Which suggests she is in Eastsea, or that is where her plans are centred. It suggests you are in considerable danger if you return.’
‘We are always in danger, Menna,’ Hedda said. She scratched at her throat, unable to rid herself of the memory of being utterly helpless, unable to move anything but her eyes. ‘We are always in danger. That was the first lesson I remember, fifteen years ago, when I had just learnt to walk, even before I reached Eastsea. As the saying goes—let your guard down and you may as well open your veins. And I have no intention of allowing my veins to be opened, by myself or anyone else. So, what options do we have? I can think of three.’
‘Three,’ Pepper agreed, nodding.
‘We can stay away from Eastsea, hide somewhere for an indeterminable length of time. Or we could stay here and return in the spring, or after some further time. Or we can head back today.’
‘Yes. You know my vote,’ Pepper said and Hedda nodded in reply.
‘I think you should stay here, at least for some time. Let me look into this more, see if my contacts can collect any further information about the Abriki, for example.’ Menna said.
‘Thank you, really, for everything, but we need to return today. The way I see it, if we are important enough to send someone to kill us, if we are important enough for this woman,’ Hedda gestured at the table, ‘to appear here and somehow take back our prisoner? Then we are important enough to Eastsea that we need to be there.’
‘Agreed.’ Pepper replied, smiling, pride at her pupil once more evident.
Menna noticed her smile and returned it, a big grin across his face.
‘Very well. In which case, you need to take this, I can always collect it at a date in the future and I do have copies. I won’t even charge you that much. I do not, however, like the idea of being forced to rely on messenger birds for the winter, but there is little else we can do. I will use this time to try and uncover more, maybe also host a dinner for the local archaeology community. This is an exciting conundrum. Thank you for the adventure. Your visits have always been entertaining, Pepper, but never as much as this!’
‘I am especially interested in these others like the woman. Facing one of these magicians will be bad enough, facing more than one? I do not like that idea at all.’ Pepper picked up the board portrait of the woman, ‘We will return and do some digging ourselves.’
‘We make it public,’ Hedda said, speaking as soon as the thought was in her head. ‘Or, at least, we commission copies of these and make her face public. From what she told us, she follows some sort of rules. The people of Eastsea will always want to gain a coin or two. Offer rewards for information through proxies, see if we can flush her out or, at least, make her more careful.’
‘Good idea. I like that. Despite appearances, this has been a good trip.’ Pepper smiled at Hedda, ‘I am proud of you.’
Hedda smiled back but said nothing. She could not help but wonder what her mother would think about the events. She imagined the expression on her face, the fear and deep worry in her eyes.
‘And maybe we don’t tell Merie everything,’ Pepper added.
‘Are you reading my mind?’
‘You have a habit of biting your bottom lip when you think of your mother or your family. You worry about protecting them, I know. You know as well as I that they are well cared for and perfectly capable of looking after themselves, at least against the average, non-disappearing assassin.’
‘It is settled then,’ Menna said, ‘You return to the Southspray Maree and sail back to Eastsea, just ahead of our winter. I will keep investigating, send you what I can by pigeon, send any longer updates with the first spring boats. I may travel to Youlbridge in the early spring, try and find more information about that portrait—it is our most recent lead, after all. I have to say, my friends, having you visit is the most excitement I’ve seen in some months. My Youlmouth, my beloved City of Masks, she can seem a little sleepy at times.’
Pepper and Hedda both smiled.
‘Before we leave for the sea, I shall write down all I think you may find useful. What we have already spoken of, but also anything fresh that the act of writing brings to mind. Hedda can copy it and add any notes of her own, then we can ensure we both have copies. No sense in leaving without a full report,’ Pepper said.
Menna nodded in reply and walked to the bell pull. Hedda finished her tea and moved back to her wine. She was tired, but a frisson of deep excitement fizzed through her veins, a feeling she had never felt before tingling through every part of her body.
‘You feel it too, don’t you?’ Pepper whispered.
‘Yes.’
‘I feel alive, in a way I haven’t in a while. I suppose it takes a threat like this to waken me. I am glad you have been blooded here and I am pleased with how we dealt with this,’ she gestured at the statuette. ‘Even this woman, this magic shade. If she cannot directly move against us, for whatever reason, whatever set of rules, then we have a small edge. My guess is that she will also now expect us to be terrified, to run or hide. I suppose most people would. It is a joy to be able to turn that around.’
On the other side of the room, Menna spoke with his servant, ordering inks and quills, parchment and sand. He also asked for a full breakfast, causing Hedda’s stomach to rumble. She felt hungry, in more ways than one. Her senses tingled, the thrill of deep danger, of an adversary beyond anything she had ever known, coursing through her—a floodgate now opened.
‘If we hurry with breakfast and writing, we could still catch the morning tide,’ Hedda said, one leg bouncing up and down, her eyes wide in the lamplight. It had been a long day, one full of surprises, dangers, doubts and fears, but she felt more awake than if she had rested all night.
‘We will remember today,’ Pepper said. ‘Days like this are to be savoured, they are points in life, stars in the darkness of our allotted time, always shining, for as long as we do.’
Hedda smiled and nodded, then added her mother’s favourite phrase, ‘Let’s do this.’
Many thanks for reading. Pepper and Hedda will return in The Lesser Evil trilogy, as will their mysterious and powerful foe…
Head to the introduction and contents page here.
Go back to the previous episode here.
Or read more about my fiction here.
If you noticed the map above is in French, and want to know more about the process I use to design the maps, you can find out more here.
After a short break, I’ll be back with the fifth of the Tales of The Lesser Evil—Death in Harmony. This is due to start on Friday the 5th of April and it will be the first novel-length piece I’ve shared here. I can’t wait to see what you think.
Set at two pivotal points, Death In Harmony weaves together strands of Flin’s life—much like one of her stories or songs—the two connected by her powerful determination, her will to survive, and the need to protect her son, Kadan, no matter the cost—and the cost can be very high indeed.
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Thanks again for reading, do let me know what you thought of A Clean Death!