10

The White Serpent

The highest of towers has always been seen as a symbol of status. So, naturally, the higher the tower, the greater the status.

This is far from true.

Far below the twisting towers and mist so thick you could almost catch it in a bucket, someone had built a fragment of paradise among the shit and garbage.

Great tapestries hid the dull, oppressive walls; a chandelier filled a once gloomy and dismal room with a warm, pleasant light, and the opulent furniture usually reserved for buildings much further above sea level punctuated the cavernous room.

A small orchestra sung their soothing hymns, playing something soft and light, not to overpower the atmosphere and draw attention, but to enhance it and compliment it.

He worked away at the head of a table that stretched further than was reasonable for a normal conversation. Chosen more for the symbolism than the practicality.

His quill scratched away as the group around sat uncomfortably waiting.

One fidgeted in his chair, trying to fill the deafening silence, trying to get the head’s attention, or both.

Behind stood Thaun. Stoic, strong and loyal to a fault. Dark, short fur, wearing an expression of grim business. A true doberman, as any were.

‘Please, if I just-’

The head held a pale finger up, and he instantly silenced himself.

They waited a little longer, waiting for the ‘tink’ of quill settling back into the inkwell.

‘Sir, if I-’

Again he held his finger up. The band played their final note, long and drawn out. He closed his eyes, felt the note, absorbed it. They finished. He let out a sigh of satisfaction.

The White Cobra settled his hands on his table and gestured to the one so eager to talk.

‘T-the huska I sent out was completely legit; fresh from Sanrid,’ the jackal pleaded. ‘Whatever happened must have been after it reached Evandis.’

The fear in his voice was beyond obvious. Not a fear of getting caught, but one of knowing what happens if he does. The Cobra’s eyes never even laid themselves upon the jackal. Those pitch black eyes landed on what should have been Lady Wretch; an unfortunate, if not appropriate name, instead they saw what was a rotund, hairy boar with an oddly misshapen nose.

‘The stuff got hit before it got even close to us. Hands, apparently. We don’t even know what happened after,’ the boar said dismissively, leaning back and keeping his arms folded tight to his chest.

The band began another song.

‘Thaun,’ said the Cobra, voice rich and calm, yet enough to fill the room and all else. ‘Explain.’

Thaun stepped forward and stood by the seat of the Cobra. ‘Apparently beneath the layer of huska was some mix of wheat, beetroot and berries. This has affected distribution from Oldtown, leaving us far below our weekly target.’

‘I told you it wuz Hands. That’s what we was told, anyway.’

‘This has not been the first time someone has raided our smugglers on indirect routes that only members of the Serpents know of. A coincidence appears unlikely.’ He spoke with such direction and bluntness that it was hard to know if he was actually alive, or just some construction built to serve. ‘And just who was it that told you?’

The boar’s lips parted, revealing the sickening yellow teeth beneath, and they formed a greasy smile. ‘Some merc called Ludgar. A black wolf. Lady sent him to pick up the barrel with Pedris. Made it back, but Pendris wasn’t there. They’re the ones who claimed an attack from Hands. Had a bunch of others with him. Cat called Kathiya. She used to be one of our thieves. Funnily enough, they were looking for a way here.’

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

‘And why are we only hearing about this now?’

‘... What?’

‘This was not reported. We had to find out through other means. We’re beginning to question her loyalty.’

‘The Lady is absolutely loyal. I don’t even see the reason why I’m here.’

‘Nor do I,’ the Cobra answered in place. ‘Why is Lady Wretch not here?’

‘Said she was busy.’

‘Too busy for me?’

‘...’

‘It’s no secret that Lady Wretch has been acting outside of the Serpent’s interests, not to me anyway. We already had suspicions she was sending thieves to steal from our smugglers and selling it on the side, circumventing my share. Not to mention her own constant huska abuse cuts into our profits. This improvised huska business is what I consider the final straw to investigate just how loyal she really is.’ He stood, his scaled hood outstretching beyond his chair’s backrest.

‘The Lady has always been loyal. As have I,’ he said, suddenly feeling much, much smaller as the Cobra approached.

‘Yes, you have always been loyal.’ His hand firmly grasped his shoulder, enough so he could feel the claws even through his coat. ‘So loyal and honest.’ His hand slid along and caressed his neck, claw lightly scratching at his neck. ‘Just not to me.’ His fingers dug deep into his jugular, warm blood gushing of pale scale, and his claws tore forward through the front of his neck. He slumped forward, a pool of warm crimson spreading beneath, and his body gave the last convulsions of a rapidly fading life.

The band stopped in shock.

‘Don’t stop playing!’ he called over.

They tried to continue, but it was confused and disorderly.

‘Not like that.’ He went over and began conducting them, directing using his bloodstained hand. They soon regained their rhythm.

He took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from his hand.

‘Send this back as a message,’ he directed at Thaun to the body. ‘And while you’re at it, look to the librarians again. Find this ‘Ludgar.’ I’m leaving. I’m already late for something much more important.’

He turned and left, leaving the recoiling jackal and Thaun to see to the mess.

No love, no hate. Just business.

Along a perfectly ordinary street sat a perfectly ordinary house. Not opulent, nor destitute. A home for a perfectly ordinary middle class family.

He unlocked the door and walked into a home as anyone would find. Comfortable lantern light, a roaring fire, crude drawings strewn about the sitting room.

A matronly woman greeted him at the hallway. He placed some coins into her hand, and she left. He looked at the grandfather clock, standing alone at the end of the hall. He was four minutes late. Four minutes too many.

She sat in the middle of the floor, by the fireplace, working on the next of her masterpieces that littered the floor around her.

He stepped into the room and she turned her head, eyes glinting from the light of the fire, and her face lit up even brighter.

‘Daddy!’ she yelled. She stumbled up and ran in for a hug, her long tail clumsily following behind. She was still young; she’d get the hang of it soon.

He knelt and scooped her up in his arms. Pale, like the snow, but faded into a fair pink at the edges of her forming hood. Were all young cobras like this, or was it just her?

She looked so much like her mother it was sometimes painful.

‘Did you have a good day with Nanny Olsa?’

‘Yeah! She was telling me about school!’

‘How wonderful!’ Strange the way time moves. One moment she’s barely able to walk, now she’s ready for her first day of school tomorrow. Seeing her grow was beyond a blessing, yet he couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. Her first day alone, without him there to guide her. Was she ready? Was he ready?

‘She told me how they used to hit her with sticks if her writing wasn’t nice. They’re not going to do that to me, would they?’

‘I should certainly think not,’ if he had any say. ‘Let’s not forget times have changed and Nanny Olas was at school hundreds of years ago.’

She giggled at that, then her smile faded into something solemn.

‘What’s the matter, Hana?’

‘What if no one likes me?’

‘Now Hana, I’m sure that won’t happen.’ He was damn sure. A nice donation to the school would see to that. If not, then he’d offer something far more persuasive. He noticed the drawing in her hand and took a deeper look. ‘Now what’s this you’ve made?’

She eagerly handed it to him.

To the eye of most people, it was rubbish. The colours couldn't stay in the lines, the figures looked more like snowmen than serpents, and the tree was an odd shade of purple. But to him, it was perfect, because she had made it.

Being a single parent wasn’t easy, but that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was her.

Even The Serpents, which was the business of his father and of his father before him, was of little value in comparison.

A whole family once, now just him.

Strange that he kept the name.

Even as they left the gentle light of the sitting room and walked the darkened hall to his study, her bright scales were so clear. As though all the light had been pulled from the sun and placed into one single person.

‘Shall we continue practicing our song?’

‘Yeah!’ she said with that exaggerated nod of the head that he noticed most children tend to do.

He guided her to the grand piano, where he sat upon the stool in front, and she sat on his lap.

‘Now remember, my little Lotus, a good song must never go unfinished.’