Lifeblood Read Free Page B

only one player left, Jak. Where’s my winnings?”

2
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    E dwin Rafferty trudged up the steps leading out of the Midnight, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sunlight on the Grand. The wan Darkside morning was brilliant compared to the interior of the Midnight, where patrons downed mysterious drinks in complete darkness. Edwin had lost track of how much time he had spent there; it might have been hours, it might have been days. It was a surprise to discover that he was still unscathed, his meagre valuables untouched. Many visitors to the Midnight discovered to their cost that a pitch-black bar was the perfect hunting ground for pickpockets and cut-throats.
    As his eyes slowly came to terms with the light, Edwin took in the filthy majesty of Darkside’s main street. In his younger days, he had courted violence by standing out on the pavement while dashing off sketches of the surrounding buildings, and he was familiar with every smashed window and rusty railing. Generally the Grand was quiet in the mornings, catching its breath in between the eruptions of violence that marked the night. The crowds that converged in darkness had thinned to a smattering of passers-by and the occasional clip-clopping of a horse-drawn cab. High up over the street, smoke drifted listlessly from tall chimneys.
    This wasn’t to say the Grand was necessarily safe. The air was still heavy with sullen menace. Darksiders flung suspicious glances and threatening glares at one another and kept their hands free at all times, in case they had to defend themselves. Men huddled together in doorways, sharing grudges and plots in urgent whispers. Across the street, a couple of urchins scuffled in the gutter.
    Edwin ran a calloused fingertip over the scarred remains of his left ear, a familiar, comforting action. Deep down he knew that he shouldn’t have been drinking, and he felt the familiar aftertaste of guilt in his mouth. He had hurried to the Midnight as soon as he had navigated the barge back from Lightside. In truth, he should have returned to his house and started work on another painting, but as Edwin found himself descending the familiar steps, he reassured himself that it had been a stressful journey. It was only natural that he would want to unwind afterwards. One drink wouldn’t hurt.
    That had been many, many days ago.
    The truth – something that Edwin could now admit to himself – was that he was scared out of his wits. He had always been the weakest of his friends: Brother Spine they called him, with heavy irony. And now he had been dragged into a dangerous plot that pitted him against the most dangerous people in Darkside. In an ideal world Edwin would have told the others to go away and would have had nothing to do with their scheme, but in this world he was flat broke and the potential rewards were almost beyond comprehension. If everything worked out he wouldn’t have to worry about money ever again. He could move to a better house, buy himself a fine new wardrobe, regain the trust and respect of his family. For years they had treated him with scorn and contempt. They could never understand why he was happier in an artist’s studio than on the deck of a ship, or why he felt more comfortable with a pencil in his hand than the tiller of a boat. But if he was rich again, they would have to accept him. Maybe he could even buy the Midnight.
    With these attempts to comfort himself revolving round his head, Edwin turned down the brim of his hat and prepared himself for the long stagger home. Ramming his hands deep into his pockets, he felt his fingers brush against a piece of paper. He pulled it out and unfolded it. His bleary eyes struggled to decipher the handwriting, but eventually Edwin was able to make out the note. It read simply:
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    You will be my answer.
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    The hairs on the back of Edwin’s neck began to tingle, and his mouth ran dry. He read the note a second time, and then