Bring Down Heaven 01 - The City Stained Red by Sam Sykes

Author:Sam Sykes [Sykes, Sam]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction / Fantasy / Epic, Fiction / Action & Adventure, Fiction / Fantasy / Dark Fantasy, Fiction / Fantasy / Historical
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2014-10-28T00:00:00+00:00

If Silktown was where money went to live, Sheffu’s courtyard was almost certainly where it went to die. The trees were bare and sickly. The lawn was brown and parched. Cobwebs of aged silk hung everywhere, a single ancient, hairy arachnid making its way slowly across the courtyard.

While he had been assured that Sheffu, like all fashas, did own property in Silktown, Lenk found it hard to believe. The manicured lawns, glistening gates, and palatial manors he had seen seemed like a dream. This massive, ugly thing on eight legs seemed like a waking nightmare.

Free-ranging spiders were not only encouraged but mandatory in Silktown, he had been told. It was against the law to cage them, to interfere with their daily roaming, or—if one was poor enough—to touch them at all. Apparently, there was no law against keeping particularly depressing specimens, though, for Sheffu’s solitary spider seemed as though it might just give up and die at any moment.

As a solitary upside, the scenery was so magnificently depressing as to keep Lenk’s mind off the hunger pangs gnawing at his belly.

At least, until he smelled the food.

Khaliv set a steaming plate of rice and scraps of baked meats before him. Lenk had already started devouring it before he became aware of the fork that had been delivered with it. And by the time he was aware of that, he was also aware of Mocca, sitting in the other chair, looking horrified.

Lenk smacked lips stained red with sauce, noting the empty space before his companion. He made an offering gesture to his plate, which Mocca politely waved away.

“Are you sure?” Lenk asked. “It’s pretty good.”

“It’s terribly rude to speak ill against one’s host,” Mocca replied. “Though not half as rude as lying. I can tell just by looking at that that it’s less food and more war crime.”

Lenk looked down at the dish. The rice was slimy. The meat was burned. The sauce had some kind of chunks in it that would probably raise a lot of questions later. But, considering that everything he had eaten over the past two days now lay within a copper urn along with some kind of wriggling demon, he was willing to accept it.

“I’ll feel bad about it later,” he muttered.

“Whatever you feel later is between you and the toilet,” Mocca said.

“My apologies.” Lenk glanced up to see Sheffu walking toward the table. “I employ only Khaliv and Eili to do my cooking and cleaning.” He eased himself into a chair, creaking with the effort. “You may take the state of my home as proof that their talents lie elsewhere.”

“So, you do this sort of thing often?” Lenk asked, glaring sidelong at Khaliv. “Kidnapping people, poisoning them, and pulling… some kind of—”

“Demon.”

Lenk stopped at that word. Speaking. Chewing. Breathing.

“That was a demon.”

It was just one word, an unimpressive five letters, spoken very shortly and simply. But short words were not always simple words. Some words should never be spoken simply. Because some words should never be heard, for the creatures that understood them were far from simple.

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