Read Online Bloodfeud (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 3) by Ben Galley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ben Galley
Tags: Fiction
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resist taking a peek at what I have taken from him.’
‘Like a bee to a flower.’
Dizali and Hanister walked along in silence until they passed the door with silver etched into it.
‘What did he want?’ asked the Lord Protector.
‘To see you, as usual. Thinks he should be set free. In the captivity sense, not killed. He was quite clear on that.’
‘I grow tired of his demands.’ Dizali had pondered long and hard over whether he should just kill Witchazel and be done with the bothersome wreck of a man. He was a loose thread, but the deeds still had to be plucked from the detestable Orange Seed device. Karrigan’s last laugh , as Dizali had privately dubbed it.
‘Want me to shut him up?’
‘Not yet,’ Dizali replied as they juddered down the stairs. ‘Come. It is time we went to pay our good Queen a visit. We have a sentence to deliver.’
*
The day had become rainy and humid, and it made for an uncomfortable carriage-ride to the Palace of Ravens. If they kept the windows shut, they practically roasted alive. If they had them down, the stench of a wet city pained their noses. There wasn’t a thick enough handkerchief in the world that could combat London’s summer stink.
Dizali sweated beneath his suit. For such a momentous occasion, his attire was rather plain; but he had never been one for show and pomp. Doing. Action. Progress. That was where he directed his efforts.
The Lord Protector watched his city roll by, fading from riches to poverty to riches again, all in a score of miles. A rolling picture of humanity, spattered with all its glory and grime. His city. His, and only his . Or at least it would be very shortly. Loose ends always beg to be cut.
When he heard the familiar rattle of the cobbles die to the smoother gallop of the flagstones of London’s core, Dizali turned to Hanister.
‘Has there been any word from your Brothers?’
‘Not since the last wiregram, my Lord. They should be out of the trenches by now. Going via Venice, then London via the railroad.’
‘With good news, I trust? Vials brimming with leech-blood.’
Hanister met his gaze evenly. ‘My Brothers will get it done, Lord Protector. They always do.’ At least he was managing to remember the proper titles. Only Gavisham could get away with being casual.
‘We shall see. Speaking of blood, are you prepared?’
‘As always, my Lord.’ Hanister undid a few buttons and showed the insides of his waistcoat, where a score of skinny vials were concealed in clever pockets. Blue through to brown and yellow, and then to deep red. A neat spectrum.
‘Good. I expect the Queen to be far from gracious.’
Hanister joined him in a murky chuckle.
Before long, they were rolling up the wide road connecting the Emerald House with the Palace of Ravens. The palace walls bristled with arms and armour, as they had for many days now. Barricades blocked every gate and entrance. Heavy guns perched in their cradles, glinting in the patchwork sunlight. Men and women swarmed every inch of pavement: lordsguards, soldiers of the army, even some of the constabulary, come to gawp. They were as silent as the crowds of citizens, perched on the opposite sides of surrounding streets and braving the showers. Some came to glare at the house of the traitorous Queen, others to stare at the soldiers and lordsguards. The more the merrier , thought Dizali, allowing himself a smile. Making history always requires an audience.
Dizali wound down his window, peering over the armoured heads, bayonets, and spear-tips to admire Victorious’ temporary prison. The vast grounds between the barricaded gate and the palace door were empty; just a few dumbstruck queensguards hovering by the mighty steps. They were trapped, the same as their queen. They carried no spears, no weapons at all. Warning shots inches from their feet had seen to that, thanks to Admiral Caven’s excellent snipers. Now all they wanted was out. Sadly for them, Victorious had put some old
‘Like a bee to a flower.’
Dizali and Hanister walked along in silence until they passed the door with silver etched into it.
‘What did he want?’ asked the Lord Protector.
‘To see you, as usual. Thinks he should be set free. In the captivity sense, not killed. He was quite clear on that.’
‘I grow tired of his demands.’ Dizali had pondered long and hard over whether he should just kill Witchazel and be done with the bothersome wreck of a man. He was a loose thread, but the deeds still had to be plucked from the detestable Orange Seed device. Karrigan’s last laugh , as Dizali had privately dubbed it.
‘Want me to shut him up?’
‘Not yet,’ Dizali replied as they juddered down the stairs. ‘Come. It is time we went to pay our good Queen a visit. We have a sentence to deliver.’
*
The day had become rainy and humid, and it made for an uncomfortable carriage-ride to the Palace of Ravens. If they kept the windows shut, they practically roasted alive. If they had them down, the stench of a wet city pained their noses. There wasn’t a thick enough handkerchief in the world that could combat London’s summer stink.
Dizali sweated beneath his suit. For such a momentous occasion, his attire was rather plain; but he had never been one for show and pomp. Doing. Action. Progress. That was where he directed his efforts.
The Lord Protector watched his city roll by, fading from riches to poverty to riches again, all in a score of miles. A rolling picture of humanity, spattered with all its glory and grime. His city. His, and only his . Or at least it would be very shortly. Loose ends always beg to be cut.
When he heard the familiar rattle of the cobbles die to the smoother gallop of the flagstones of London’s core, Dizali turned to Hanister.
‘Has there been any word from your Brothers?’
‘Not since the last wiregram, my Lord. They should be out of the trenches by now. Going via Venice, then London via the railroad.’
‘With good news, I trust? Vials brimming with leech-blood.’
Hanister met his gaze evenly. ‘My Brothers will get it done, Lord Protector. They always do.’ At least he was managing to remember the proper titles. Only Gavisham could get away with being casual.
‘We shall see. Speaking of blood, are you prepared?’
‘As always, my Lord.’ Hanister undid a few buttons and showed the insides of his waistcoat, where a score of skinny vials were concealed in clever pockets. Blue through to brown and yellow, and then to deep red. A neat spectrum.
‘Good. I expect the Queen to be far from gracious.’
Hanister joined him in a murky chuckle.
Before long, they were rolling up the wide road connecting the Emerald House with the Palace of Ravens. The palace walls bristled with arms and armour, as they had for many days now. Barricades blocked every gate and entrance. Heavy guns perched in their cradles, glinting in the patchwork sunlight. Men and women swarmed every inch of pavement: lordsguards, soldiers of the army, even some of the constabulary, come to gawp. They were as silent as the crowds of citizens, perched on the opposite sides of surrounding streets and braving the showers. Some came to glare at the house of the traitorous Queen, others to stare at the soldiers and lordsguards. The more the merrier , thought Dizali, allowing himself a smile. Making history always requires an audience.
Dizali wound down his window, peering over the armoured heads, bayonets, and spear-tips to admire Victorious’ temporary prison. The vast grounds between the barricaded gate and the palace door were empty; just a few dumbstruck queensguards hovering by the mighty steps. They were trapped, the same as their queen. They carried no spears, no weapons at all. Warning shots inches from their feet had seen to that, thanks to Admiral Caven’s excellent snipers. Now all they wanted was out. Sadly for them, Victorious had put some old
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