Chapter 32

Something was off.

That was his first thought when he woke, for all that someone was staring down at him.

“Ferranda declined. We’ll have to do without her.”

Tristan rubbed his eyes blearily, hiding his discomfort by throwing Yong half a glare. At a look, people were only just beginning to stumble into the courtyard – the usual early birds. The only person already in the kitchen was Vanesa, whose late nap last night must have shortened her night.

“How are you this much of a morning person?” he complained.

No one was around him save for Yong, so why were his hackles raised? It was a blind thing, like smelling rain on the wind, but Tristan had not survived this long by ignoring his instincts.

“Can’t yell at your men for not waking up fast enough if they’re awake before you are,” the Tianxi cheerfully replied. “Up and at it, Tristan.”

Fortuna, leaning over his shoulder, covered a yawn with her hand.

“He doesn’t even look hungover,” she admiringly said. “His liver must be cast iron.”

He would have glared at the goddess if he could. The thief fought against the urge to yawn for a moment before giving it up a lost cause, earning a mockingly raised eyebrow from Yong. It wasn’t like Fortuna even got tired, she was yawning purely to yank his chain.

“I secured the munitions and permission to enter,” Tristan said. “We can proceed when I return.”

Yong, crouched by the curtain that served as the ‘door’ to his room, openly frowned.

“I don’t understand why you have to head out at all,” he said.

“I am not asking you to,” Tristan firmly replied.

Even the implication that his actions were up to debate was best snuffed out early. The former soldier raised a hand in appeasement.

“I won’t dig,” he said. “But you need to be careful, Tristan. If you die out there the plan falls apart.”

That was, in fact, not true. It had been arranged for Lieutenant Wen to deliver the munitions and orders to Maryam should Tristan perish and it was Francho who would be the ace after they took the lift up. They needed someone capable of deciphering cryptoglyphs, not a thief. Even Yong, who would wield the musket and salt munitions, was arguably more important to the cause than Tristan at the moment.

“I have taken measures in case it happens,” he vaguely replied. “But I assure you I have no intention of making a mistake this late in the game.”

“That much I can believe,” Yong said, then hesitated.

The Tianxi bit the inside of his cheek.

“You’re usually cautious, until the bullets starts flying,” Yong said. “This kind of recklessness is unlike you.”

The unspoken question hung loud in the air. It was his instinct, as always, to sidestep it and keep his past a guessing game. But Yong, he’d extended trust. He had told Tristan of the sorrows that brought him here, the reason for the shaking hands and the drink that steadied them. It was not a debt, not exactly, but neither was it nothing. Abuela would have called this mawkishness, chided him over considering something as childish as reciprocity. Every secret is a stone, she’d taught him. Every time you share one your tomb grows closer to finished.

But he’d learned, since coming to the island, that he’d known even less about Abuela than he’d thought.

“I have debts that need settling,” Tristan finally said.

Yong hummed. He did not ask to whom, or what kind of debt. The veteran knew better.

“And they are best repaid here?” he asked instead.

“There might not ever be anywhere else,” Tristan honestly replied.

If he did not act now, the Cerdan brothers and Cozme Aflor would slip his grasp and return to Sacromonte. Once they returned to the safety of the Orchards, the walled districts where the infanzones dwelled under the light of the Glare, they would be beyond his reach. He could live with the brothers surviving his attentions, but Cozme Aflor? There were five names on his List and most of them had either vanished or gone behind tall walls. He would not surrender the opportunity to cross out even the name at the bottom.

Remund Cerdan would die, and through him Cozme would be forced to either seek out Augusto as a last ditch to salvage his position with House Cerdan or try for the refuge of joining the Watch. Either way, Tristan would get a clear shot at him.

Yong’s dark eyes met his, searching, and at last the older man nodded.

“They always tell us that revenge isn’t worth it, you know?” Yong said. “That it isn’t worth burning your life for, that it will make you no happier after. A hollow victory at best.”

“And was it?” the rat asked. “Worth it.”

The Tianxi smiled, slow and cold as the bite of spite.

“When I think of that last gasp rattling past her lips,” Yong softly said, “it warms the cockles of my heart. Even now, after all these years. I’ve regretted a lot of things, Tristan, but my revenge never once.”

The older man clapped his shoulder before rising to his feet.

“Good luck,” he said.

The thief watched him leave in silence, sorting himself out. It was not exactly trust, what lay between them. They both knew the other had intentions they would not compromise on, even at the other’s expense. But there was an understanding, he thought, and in some ways that was more reliable than trust. Less blind. And something worth keeping around, if he could. Maryam had implied that whatever opportunity was to be offered to him after these trials would not be offered to Yong, but perhaps there were ways around that.

And now that Yong was gone, no longer distracting him, the unease returned. Rain on the wind, clouds in the distance.

“You know that’s a married man, you harlot, so reel in that longing gaze.”

The thief hid his surprise. He had not heard Lan approaching, so it was on the backfoot that he began as Lan grinned down at him unpleasantly. He rose to his feet, pulling down his clothes into place. Unease could wait, lest he miss another rat biting at his tail.

“I thought we were feuding,” Tristan said.

“We’re reconciling,” Lan told him. “There’s no longer a group around Tupoc and we’re both headed into the maze, yes? Best bury our grudge in case we run into one another.”

The thief rolled his shoulder.

“You don’t intend to come back here.”

It was more a statement than a guess.

“I’d rather ride Tredegar’s coattails than risk your scheme,” Lan frankly replied. “As long as we don’t lose too many people on the last stretch of road, the trial is in the bag.”

He conceded with a nod. Tristan did not necessarily agree, but neither could he say she was wrong. Chances were high that the last tests would be brutal, but taking a swing at a relatively easy one then hiding behind the Pereduri for the rest of the trial was not a bad strategy. If Lan got lucky with her test and became a victor she could spend the rest of the Trial of Ruins as a spectator – much as Isabel Ruesta had. She was unlikely to be bothered over perceived cowardice: this close to the gate and with so few trial-takers left, victors were too precious a resource to be risked.

“Sensible,” he nodded.

He paused, after, and considered whether or not he should continue. After his conversation with Yong, though, it would have felt like a betrayal not to.

“I believe it was Brun,” Tristan abruptly said.

Lan went very still, then forced a smile on her face.

“How sure are you?”

“Enough to approach him over it,” the thief said.

He could not be entirely certain, not with what he knew, but Brun was the most likely to be the killer by a fair amrgin. It was only the issue of motive that held Tristan back from speaking in stronger terms.

“Interesting,” Lan said, her tone flat and dead. “I’ll get the details out of Sarai, so no need to belabor. His reasons?”

“Unknown,” Tristan admitted, then passed a hand through his hair. “But there is something off about his contract.”

“A killing price?” she frowned. “That is very illegal.”

It was one of the few things the Guardia bothered to chase after even in the Murk. Not out of worry for the rats, of course, but because such contracts were illegal under the Iscariot Accords and failing to stamp them out would mean Sacromonte was in breach.

“I don’t know about that,” he hedged. “I do not think it so straightforward, but I also doubt his contract is as simple as feeling presences.”

Lan slowly nodded.

“You are being generous with information,” she said.

He was, though not as generous as he could have been.

“If we are to part ways, let it on good terms,” he replied. “It costs me little to give you this.”

The blue-lipped woman hummed, considering him.

“Someone went into your room during supper last night,” Lan said. “The curtain wasn’t the same way you left it.”

And like that the unease he had been slowly shedding was back.

He stilled, mind spinning. Had Lieutenant Vasanti come to suspect him? There would have been nothing for her or her minions to find. He had not hidden the brand in his room, preferring to tuck it away in one of the abandoned bastions, and the stone buttons never left his pocket. Only Francho and Maryam knew where the brand was, since he’d tasked them with trying it on the machine Vasanti wanted them to study. I’ll have to look through my belongings after breakfast, see if anything’s missing.

What did he even have that was worth stealing? Most his arms and clothes came from the Watch and the rest of his affairs fit in a single bag. His cabinet wasn’t worth much without knowledge of the vials and how to use them, and believed to be a medicine cabinet besides – pointless to steal from when the Watch physician could be relied on instead. Lips thinning with worry, he nodded his thanks to Lan. She snorted.

“It has been a pleasure to work with you, rat,” she said. “To my surprise.”

“And you,” Tristan replied. “We’ll meet again in the Trial of Weeds.”

“If you don’t bite off more than you can chew,” she teased, then waved him away.

It was a fitting goodbye, he thought, for the likes of them. If not for the revelation someone had gone through his things it would have lifted his mood. Instead it was with a frown he ventured out for breakfast, finding that the usual already seated. Tupoc and his crew were always the first to leave in the morning, so even though there were now much reduced – there remained only Ocotlan, Lan and a very nervous Augusto – they had claimed their usual table. Tristan went to sit with Yong, who had gone ahead, and within a moment had a bowl of porridge in front of him. He looked up at Vanesa, who had been the one to bring it, and cocked an eyebrow.

“You have been doing it for me every morning,” the old woman smiled. “I thought I would return the favor at least once.”

She looked better this morning, he thought. Not as pale as she had been for the last few days. His stomach clenched at the sight, though. Pleased as he was she was doing better – enough to move around on her crutches and hand people bowls – it put him on edge. Her wound was not the kind of wound that got better.

“And we all benefit from you,” Yong drawled. “She brought mine as well.”

“You didn’t need to,” Tristan told Vanesa.

Her breath, he noted, was slow. Slower than it should be, though if this had been too much it should be quickened instead.

“I wanted to,” she replied, jaw set.

And looking at her, at the determination in her last eye and the way she stood, he paused. Something was off, he’d felt from the start. Something was off about her. His gaze flicked to the other table.

“Them too?” he casually asked.

Vanesa did not answer.

“She’s too kind,” Yong said. “Tupoc should be starved, not fed.”

But it wasn’t Tupoc Xical that Tristan was looking at, Lan or even Augusto Cerdan. It was Ocotlan, the big bruiser with the Menor Mano tattoos on his arms. Who had served as a legbreaker for that coterie. Vanesa, he remembered, had come here in her son’s place. A son whose leg had been broken by the Menor Mano for unpaid debts. Two days back, Tristan had walked away while Vanesa had been spellbound by Augusto Cerdan recounting Ocotlan’s boasts. The bruiser’s stories about the things he had done for the Menor Mano.

The details fit each other like cogs, clicking into the place.

“Vanesa,” he quietly said. “Tell me you didn’t.”

The old woman sighed, then lowered herself onto the bench at his side. She leaned the crutches against the side of the table, comfortably resting her shoulder against the thief’s.

“It’s too late, dear,” she said. “He’s already on his second bowl.”

Yong’s eyes widened as he looked at them.

“Vanesa,” he whispered. “What did you do?”

“I put down a rabid dog,” the old woman said.

And what Tristan heard, when she said that, was a trigger being pulled.

It was three more seconds before the shouting began.

The thief watched, grey eyes unblinking, as Ocotlan toppled forward. The Aztlan was convulsing violently, foaming at the mouth until he began vomiting all over the table. Tupoc and Augusto fled from him, as if his very presence were dangerous, while Lan stumbled onto the ground in fright. The spectacle attracted the attention of everyone in the courtyard, including the blackcloaks.

“What did you use?” Tristan hoarsely asked. “What vials, how much?”

Passing this as an allergy was unlikely. Cold pooled in his stomach. There must be a way to frame, to turn the truth around until it said what he needed it to say.

“The three in the upper compartment,” Vanesa calmly said. “I apologize for the theft, but I wanted to be sure.”

The thief choked.

“The entire vials?” he got out.

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She nodded and he breathed in sharply. His entire stock of white arsenic, mandrake and antimony. Each of them a lethal poison, each of them so concentrated it was enough to use five drops to kill a grown man. Vanesa had dumped enough poison into that porridge bowl to kill every soul in the Old Fort twice over. No wonder it had taken minutes instead of hours for Ocotlan to react. Tristan breathed out, forced himself to calm. To think.

“It was Brun,” he suddenly said. “Yong, you saw him enter my room last night after dinner. I’ll head there and report someone stole of my medicine. We should have enough witnesses.”

If Brun’s head was on the line then Lan was certain to pitch in on their side. Would Maryam lend a hand? Even odds, he thought, but she wanted them rid of the killer and was pragmatic enough to use an opportunity should it be handed to her. That many voices should tip the balance their way even though they had nothing but witnesses. Vanesa smiled gently and patted his hand.

“You are a nice boy, Tristan, but it is too late for that as well,” she said.

His eyes narrowed.

“If you already confessed,” he slowly said, “we can say you were forced, that-”

“After serving him the bowl,” Vanesa said, “I drank three days’ worth of poppy. My limbs already feel numb. It should only be a few minutes now before my breathing stops, the doctor was quite clear about the dosages.”

Tristan swallowed. The way her face had been pale from pain last night, she had not been feigning it. She’d been saving up the poppy so she could drink it all at once.

“I’m sorry,” Vanesa said, squeezing his hand. “But I did not want it to be painful.”

Tristan swallowed, lips dry as he tried to find anything at all to say. He failed. Nothing he had learned had taught him words that would be more than air.

“Poisoned. This man has been poisoned.”

The Watch physician’s flat announcement put an end to all the shouting. The courtyard had filled with trial-takers and blackcloaks, all of whom went silent at the man’s words. Ocotlan lay on the ground, past convulsions. Past anything at all: the Aztlan was dead. His limps were warped and his face twisted into a rictus, his chest covered with vomit. It must have been, Tristan thought without sympathy, an excruciatingly painful way to die. The blackcloak physician pried open his mouth and looked at his swollen, blackened tongue. The man wrinkled his nose.

“And a high dosage at that,” he added.

He looked up at the figure presiding over all this. Lieutenant Wen’s face was a cold mask of fury.

“Watchmen, arms out,” he ordered, then his gaze swept everyone else. “No one is leaving the fort until we find who did this. Everyone is to stand unarmed in the courtyard while we –”

Vanesa grabbed her crutches and rose to her feet, leaning on them heavily, and the Tianxi lieutenant trailed off. Her movements were clumsy and Tristan reached out to help her, but his hand fell short before she drew away. He bit down on words he had not found, the clack of his teeth an unhappy sensation. Yong grabbed his shoulder, as if to draw him back, but Tristan shook him off. He did not rise, though.

What would have been the point, when it had all finished before he knew anything was happening at all?

“There’s no need for that, lieutenant,” Vanesa calmly said. “I did this.”

Lieutenant Wen blinked in surprise.

“You are confessing,” he slowly said.

“Ocotlan was an animal who crippled my only son for life,” the old woman said, adjusting her broken glasses. “How many lives did he ruin before going on to boast about it? Yes, lieutenant, I confess. I confess wishing it had taken him longer to die, so he might feel but a fraction of the misery he spent his life inflicting on others.”

Lieutenant Wen reached for his own spectacles, unfolding them carefully.

“You broke sanctuary,” the watchman said. “You were told of the consequences for this.”

“Yes,” Vanesa simply said.

Wen put on his glasses and drew his pistol.

“Close your eyes,” the lieutenant said.

His tone, Tristan thought, was almost gentle.

“I am too tired to be afraid, boy,” Vanesa softly smiled. “Send me on.”

Grey eyes watched as Wen’s finger pulled the trigger. Thunder, billowing smoke.

On she went.

—

The bodies were dragged away by the blackcloaks in the silence that followed. Sick as he felt, Tristan still finished his breakfast. Starving would be of no help to the dead.

—

The mood was still gloomy when everyone began to depart. Tristan could not muster amusement at seeing Augusto and Tupoc scurry off alone, not when the memory of that last soft smile would not leave him. He forced himself to be in the here in now when their group assembled around Angharad Tredegar, who briskly introduced him to the others before they set out. They were not such a small group, numbering eight: himself, Tredegar, Song , Zenzel, Yaretzi, Isabel Ruesta and at last the pair he did not intend to ever leave this island.

The Dove Shrine was not empty when they entered it, to the visible surprise of the others.