The floor around him was like a pool of merging flesh now, the air so heady with narcotics he was finding it hard to focus. He listened to the rasp of breaths and voices, observed the sheen of oil on interlocked limbs, the flash of eyes, pink tongues, teeth, smiles and scowls, whispers, genitalia.
All hail the divine flesh, he reflected sourly.
Everyone was there of Sasheen’s inner circle and entourage. The two generals, eyeing one another like fighting dogs as they each caressed a slave girl and partook of dried fruits and wine. Sashseen’s caretaker, Heelas, going down on one of his young studs. Alarum the spymaster, holding court to a ring of apt listeners, including Sool.
The priests around these figures formed the outer circles of Sasheen’s court, those of lesser status who vied always to climb higher. At their very edges were the Matriarch’s aides and hangers-on. The twins were there, Guan and Swan, the brother and sister frolicking with a woman between them.
Around them all, Sasheen’s honour guard watched with their scratch-gloves sheathed and resting lightly on folded arms, their stares hidden by smoky goggles.
And who is watching the watchers, he wondered absently, and scanned the priests who also sat around the edges of the tent in the little alcoves, talking quietly or looking on with steady eyes, some too old for this sport, or too weary, or too bored. Three priests of the Monbarri, the fanatics of Mann, sat within an alcove across from him. The largest, seated in the middle of them, wore a lipless scar-mask for a face, his skin etched by acids in a statement of intent that was extreme even for a Monbarri inquisitor.
His eyes were studying Che from across the tent.
Che casually stared back at the faceless man. The bodies were pressing closer now, like a tide pressing against him. A head brushed his boot as a pair of bodies heaved before his feet. He placed his sole against the smooth scalp, pushed until they rolled away from him. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of Swan and saw that she was looking at him from afar.
He offered the young woman a nod of his head. She smiled. The moment of connection warmed him, sent a thrill up his spine.
The Monbarri was still watching him from across the room.
Che decided he needed to clear his head, and rose to his feet in the same moment. He paused to catch Swan’s eye, willing her to follow him, then turned and strode to the entrance as the Monbarri watched him leave.
As he stepped outside he took a deep lungful of untainted air. The sentries ignored him – just another priest of Sasheen’s entourage. Che looked to his right, where a bonfire burned high into the night sky. Two Acolytes were throwing another empty wine crate onto it, one of many the priests had already worked their way through.
It was to be expected, Che supposed. With the success of the crossing and the survival of most of the fleet during last night’s storm, the Matriarch and her general staff were in need of venting their tensions. Watching them tonight, feasting and gorging themselves, it had become clear to Che that until the very moment they had reached land with their forces largely intact, no one had been entirely sure if it was possible.
Che stepped a little further away from the noise of the tent. He waited in hope that Swan would emerge, while a slight breeze blew down the valley, carrying with it a hint of the winter still to come. They would have to make haste if they were to take Bar-Khos before the first falls of snow.
An Acolyte was escorting a scout through the entrance to the palisade, a weary middle-aged purdah covered in dirt and sporting a limp. His wolfhound was nowhere to be seen. Che squinted. Behind the messenger and scout, a second Acolyte had been approaching the entrance, though the man had stopped as the screen was drawn across the entrance again, and had doubled over in a fit of coughing, and now was walking off in a different direction entirely.
Odd, thought Che.
‘You there!’ Che shouted to the guards at the entrance. They turned to see who was shouting.
Another shriek broke the night air. It recalled to Che the sound of a scream from a boiling water-heater, the whistle that had finally obscured it.
Che’s eyes lingered over the retreating Acolyte.
‘Never mind,’ he shouted to the guards.
He looked back to the threshold of the tent. Swan had not ventured out to join him.
Che stalked off to his tent alone.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Old Wants
Ash awoke to an iron-capped boot prodding at his ribs.
He opened his eyes, bleary with what little sleep he’d been able to snatch in the small hours of the night, and felt a warm body pressed against his own.
He tugged the blanket from his face and blinked up at the scowling face of an imperial soldier.
‘On your feet, old man.’
Ash groaned and covered his head with the blanket once again. The boot prodded him harder.
He growled and scrambled to his feet, his sheathed sword in his hand. ‘What?’ he snapped, gaining himself a precious second to take in the situation.
Three soldiers surrounded him. Others were waking people across the dunes to press them with questions. Ash relaxed a little. They didn’t know who they were looking for, not by appearance at least.
Even so, all three soldiers were staring at the confident way he held his sword and had their hands resting firmly on the pommels of their own.
‘Captain Sanson!’ shouted the man with the friendly toecap. Another soldier stepped towards them. He took one look at the old farlander and narrowed his eyes.
‘You like walks in the night, old man?’
‘Is that an invitation?’
The captain tensed. From the corners of his vision, Ash saw that other soldiers were dragging away a man they deemed to be suspicious.
‘He’s with me,’ came a voice from below. All of them looked down to see Mistress Cheer emerging from the blanket, wiping sand from her flanks as she stood up in her heavy nightdress.
Captain Sanson eyed the woman coolly. ‘In what capacity, mistress?’
‘He’s my bodyguard,’ she explained as she took Ash’s arm in her own. ‘What did you imagine he was?’
‘And when did you employ him?’
Her eyes flickered to Ash. ‘Two years ago. For all it’s got to do with you. What’s the meaning all of this, anyway?’
Captain Sanson ignored her for a moment. He took another long questioning look at Ash, then at the tents where the girls were still sleeping. He bowed his head to Mistress Cheer. ‘My apologies,’ he told her. ‘Some enemy scouts may have been in the area last night. We’re making a security sweep of the beach, that’s all.’ A flick of his hand commanded the others to follow as he strode away.
‘My thanks,’ said Ash when they were safely out of earshot.
Mistress Cheer shivered in the cool morning breeze, then released her grip on his arm. ‘I repay my debts, that’s all. Is there something you wish to tell me, Ash?’
‘You heard what he said. Enemy scouts.’
She looked away for a moment, then fixed him with a hard stare.
‘I noticed you were gone for most of the night, before I came and joined you.’
Ash tightened his lips and looked to the sand at his feet.
Last night, when he’d finally returned from his botched mission, he’d collapsed in exhaustion next to the dead fire of their small camp. Some time later, confused and still half dreaming, he’d half awakened to find a blanket placed over him, and Mistress Cheer pressing her soft body against his own.
‘Be that way, then,’ she snapped at him now, and her anger was unmistakable. She took a few steps away before rounding on him. ‘I don’t care if you were thieving or worse last night. But I can’t have a bodyguard I can’t rely on to be here when he’s needed. Nor a liar whose secrets I can’t fathom. I’ve paid my debt to you. Help yourself to some hot food when the others awake, then I’ll give you your coins. But no matter how much I may be fond of you, Ash – if that even be your real name – I think it best that you move on after breakfast.’