On the Matter of the Red Hand Read online

  On the Matter of the Red Hand

  Judicar’s Oath Book 1

  JM Guillen

  Irrational Worlds

  This is a work of wonderful fiction. Really, you are going to dig this. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Except when not.

  On the Matter of the Red Hand

  Copyright of JM Guillen. - © 2012-2015. All rights reserved. Any redistribution or reproduction of part or all of the contents in any form is limited as follows:

  JM Guillen is a supervillain who also dabbles in weird fiction. When not attempting to make his foes rue their actions, he writes. Other than science fiction, fantasy, and horror, he is best known for implementing schemes, plots, and ploys.

  Despite his tendencies to breed hyper intelligent dinosaurs, and play with cloning technology while drunk, his fiction has been well received. Regardless of his non-adherence to dress codes, his contract with Irrational Worlds is valid at this time.

  No allegations regarding the incidents of July 18 have yet been proven. Until the radiation zone is clear, and charges are brought, the author chooses to remain silent on the subject.

  You can visit his website at www.irrationalworlds.com.

  An Irrational Worlds book

  Printed in the United States of America

  BE WARNED!

  This is not a typical work of fiction.

  This is a single strand in The Paean of Sundered Dreams, a vast, multi-chaptered work comprising entirely different realms. Herein, you will find stories of fantasy, of science fiction, and of horror, all working around similar concepts and themes.

  Each story has connections to the others. Each story is an odd reflection of events happening in a different time, in a different world. And each story deals with the same shadow— looming in the incomprehensible distance.

  The unravelling of reality itself.

  If you are interested in more strands of these odd, bent tales, then the following can be found on Amazon.com. Most copies are guaranteed* to be 74% free of mind control sorcery.

  Out now!

  Handmaiden’s Fury

  Rationality Zero

  The Herald of Autumn

  The Wormwood Event

  Coming soon!

  Of the Dark and Desolate Sea

  A Hand against the Wind

  Slave of the Sky Captain

  The Red Marquis

  Year 607 of the Forsaken Age, Month of Nighharvest

  Shrouded week, Seeking

  First Bell Eventide

  I stepped into the shadows, watching the building through the rain. Yellow light shone through the windows, and I could hear raucous laughter. This was dangerous. More than dangerous, this was mad.

  If, by the end of the night, I had been skinned alive in an alley or was drowned in the Er’meander, it would be my own damn fault.

  “We need to be ready.” I looked at my girl, giving her a nod.

  My partner stepped closer, looked back, and cocked her head. She said nothing.

  Together, we slipped through the stormy night. Stepping through shadows, we drew closer to the Scarlet Cellar and the man we sought.

  As with many powerful men, Santiago Il Ladren had many names. There were those who called him “the Red Marquis” or “the Blood Jackal,” and he had well-earned the titles. One wouldn’t guess his repute just by sight. He was a young Esperan man, with their deep black hair and piercing eyes. He had an easy laugh and a languid manner. On the surface, he seemed a typical citizen.

  He was anything but typical.

  Santiago was the guildmaster of the Red Hand, one of the most influential guilds this side of the city. Under his rule, the Red Hand had prospered. He knew a thing or three about public appearance, and wielded reputation and rumor like weapons. The man was well-dressed and articulate, a fixture at city social gatherings. Santiago was charming with women and friendly to children. In the eyes of the world, he was a solid citizen.

  Unless one began to look deeply.

  As guildmaster, Santiago commanded over one hundred guildmen. They were cutpurses, muggers, and assassins. These merciless men would do as he said without question, thought, or remorse. In every way, his guildmen were a tool in Santiago’s hand, bearing his brands and tattoos on their hands and bodies. There weren’t many guilds here in the Warrens, but the Red Hand was well known.

  Known and feared.

  Even these things, however, weren’t that uncommon. Many guilds were similar. No, in the end, it was the stories about Santiago himself that chilled the blood.

  Last winter, a man had been found wandering the streets of the Warrens. His eyes and tongue had been removed, and he had been deafened with iron nails in his ears. Every finger had been cut from him.

  He was still alive. It was just that he had no way to tell anyone what had happened to him. The man made screaming, bleating noises that might have been something like words, but no sense could be made from him. Ultimately, he had been taken in by Wil, my fellow judicar, and I. We had requisitioned the paperwork and sent the man to the ‘sylums, where the Vigilant could watch over him.

  His screams had been worse than death.

  Of course, there was more to the story. The man was one of Santiago’s rivals, a merchant who had aims of starting a guild of his own. His idea had been to hire out strongmen to businesses in the Warrens that needed “protection” from organizations like the Red Hand. Of course, the guild writs had never actually been drawn up. There had been no time. Santiago had seen to the man before he became a problem.

  So the stories went.

  No one would say that it was Santiago who ordered the man maimed, but the streets cannot keep secrets. The streets whisper to anyone who will listen, and most of the whisperings that surrounded Santiago Il Ladren were dark, terrifying things.

  There was once a man who was trying to leave the Red Hand. Red hot iron spheres had been placed in his knee and elbow joints, and then his limbs had been bound around them. Of course the man was the worst kind of cripple afterward, but he had lived.

  They didn’t all live. Another time, it was said that Santiago Il Ladren had a man partially flayed and then left him chained to a rooftop to die of thirst. The man was rambling and covered in black flies before he begged for death.

  It wasn’t only Santiago, of course, who had whisperings about him. It was also dangerous work for his Red Hands. Only a few weeks ago, I had tended to one of Santiago’s men, a fellow by the name of Isaac Whiin. The young man had his tongue removed. Partially flayed, he had been nailed to the door of a local inn, one of the haunts of the Red Hand.

  Santiago was merciless, and so were his enemies.

  None of this could be proven. No one would speak a word against him. Of course, if there was a lick of evidence, we judicars would have him in chains to be exiled to the outer bounds. No, Santiago was an exceedingly clever man. These stories were either just that—only stories—or had been covered up and were improvable.

  But the streets knew. The streets remembered.

  As I stood outside the Scarlet Cellar, the sky started to rain harder. I pulled my greatcloak around myself, peering into the alehouse’s windows.

  It looked like a busy night.

  The Scarlet Cellar wasn’t owned by Santiago or the guild, not directly. Rather it was owned by men that Santiago owned, men who were indebted to him or men that feared him. I was certain that somewhere in the city ledgers a written guarantus would prove the thought correct: a small, harmless consortium of men owned the Cellar and profited from it.

  On paper, at least.

  It wasn’t a
n official guildhouse for the Red Hand, but it was close enough. Any given night, the guild had gambling and drinks going in the Cellar, and it would go until late. It was a rough, rowdy crowd, and Santiago provided everything except flesh for sale.

  As far as we knew.

  We judicars almost never had to intervene in business there. There were fights, and there were drunks, to be sure. Every ale-house in the Warrens has its share of rough evenings. But when things got rough, Santiago had his men at the ready. At every door there were great, barrel chested brutes, men with muscles like corded iron and eyes like sharp flint. I had no doubt that with little more than a nod these men could make any problems vanish into the labyrinthine streets of the Warrens.

  Santiago took care of business. As I watched a slender man step into the Cellar, I almost stumbled from a swift wave of nausea and dizziness. It slammed into me like a burning wind in my mind. I took a breath, trying to steady myself.

  Breathe. Focus.

  My pretty partner looked up at me, her black eyes shining. “Thom?”

  “I’m fine.” I gave her a wan smile.

  I wasn’t fine.

  It had been hours since I had taken the serum she had brought, but I was still trembling. It burned and boiled like liquid fire in my veins, like molten gold. I leaned my hand against the light post and took a deep breath.

  “Any moment, now. I’ll be fine.”

  I blinked. It was not passing. The vision swam dizzily in my head. It was little more than a flicker in my mind, over in an instant. Yet for me, that instant stretched and time stopped, drifting.

  Then, like a series of swift punches to the gut, images stormed through my mind:

  I sit across from a king. He wears no crown, but somehow I know what he is. We are playing a hand of rout somewhere in a darkened room. People watch from the shadows.

  “The Red Hand.” He smiles at me as he plays the card.

  I squint at it. That’s not a card from a rout deck, yet I know better than to complain.

  He is a dangerous man.

  I look at my hand. I have no sets. There is a card with a raven on it and another with a small boy looking up from the card. I am confused. My cards are as strange as his.

  I play the raven and look into the king’s smiling eyes. He looks at the card. I can tell he doesn’t like the card, but he says nothing.

  “The Smiling Lady.” He plays a card with a beautiful, dark-haired woman on it.

  She seems familiar somehow.

  “She’s one of my favorites.” He caresses the card, smiling as he plays it.

  I shrug. “I have nothing.” I lay down a Stave. As I do, a man steps behind the king, his face shrouded in twilight. A blade hangs on his hip. Deftly, the man reaches down onto the table and snatches the Smiling Lady from the table.

  In the darkness, I hear the hissing of a viper. Fear stabs through me like a knife. I step back, thinking to avoid the snake, but there are strange shadows around me. Looking into them, I feel dizzy, almost drunken.

  The king doesn’t notice that the man took the card. His eyes are on me. Then he glances down.

  “Where did she go?” His voice is a rising panic. He is looking at his cards as if she will be there. He quickly lays down four others:

  A Fox.

  A Sword.

  A Spider.

  A Golden Coin.

  One by one, the mysterious man snatches them up, right in front of the king’s face. Yet the king does not see him.

  Accidentally, the stranger drops one of the cards.

  “She bit me!” He seems shocked.

  I glance down. The card he dropped was “The Spider.”

  The stranger reaches for the card, but then stops.

  “She’ll bite you too. Be careful.”

  Somehow, even though I can’t see his face, I know he’s talking to me.

  I see the stranger shuffle the cards into another deck. The card on top of the deck has a blade made of ice upon it. Another has an old, darkened road upon it, while yet another has a silver door.

  The stranger keeps fading into and out of the shadows. If I can’t catch him, he will become the shadows and be forever beyond my reach. I sweat in the grip of unknown fear.

  More than just the Smiling Lady is in danger. The blight cooks inside the floating ones. They aren’t sleeping.

  I look at my hand. I only have one good card to play- the Cavalier. The stranger knows I have him, however, and I briefly worry about putting him in play.

  But there is no choice.

  I catch a glimpse of a tattoo on the back of the stranger’s hand. It’s a stylized key— a skeleton key, I realize.

  That wasn’t there a moment ago— I am certain.

  I shook my head, and took a breath. This was rare. I did not usually have the vision come on so strongly. Usually it came on once, only once, right after I took the serum. After that—

  It was already happening. The images faded in my mind, like wisps of dreams. I focused, trying to hold onto the first points.

  I knew they might save my life.

  We are playing a hand of rout somewhere in a darkened room. People watch from the shadows.

  My partner bounced up next to me. “Thom?” She looked up at me curiously, her eyes shining.

  “I’m fine, Scoundrel.” I reached for her and scratched her head. As I leaned down to her, the raven jumped up onto my shoulder, steadying herself with her wings.

  “Good bird. Good girl.”

  I smiled at her and scratched her head again. “Yes. You are my good girl.” As I spoke, I made two rapid hand signs. Good bird. Quiet.

  The molten gold in my veins was cooling. The city stopped trembling around me.

  I could breathe again.

  After long moments, I squared my shoulders, making certain my partner was steady. I gave her a quick glance. “Let’s go see a bad man.”

  “Bad man.” I could hear reproach in her tone. “Bad. Bad.”

  The serum was the only thing I had to go on just now. The visions it brought were always the same— strange, dreamlike scenes that were to lead us to some criminal perpetrator, our “Jack,” in judicar parlance. It was never easy to understand the visions, but in this case, I felt as if I had the beginnings at least.

  I sit across from a king.

  “The Red Hand.” He smiles at me as he plays the card.

  It could only be Santiago. I had no idea what crimes he had committed, but at least I had the start of a thread. For a few days the serum would guide me, give me nudges and hints from my dreaming mind. I didn’t know where the vision would lead me or what I was supposed to do, but that didn’t matter. I was a judicar. I was the hand of the law.

  I was oathed to serve.

  Still, I wasn’t a fool. I had told Wil, my best friend and fellow judicar, where I was going this evening. We were at an outdoor café over near Dockward Square, sharing a quick tea and coffe.

  “That’s an entire bucket of stupid.” At first, he had thought I might be teasing. “Lost gods, I’d say two buckets. You should let me tag along.”

  “I’ll have my girl.” I had scratched Scoundrel’s head and given him a wry grin. “I’ll go in with a missive on her leg and send her if I need help. Stay where she can find you.”

  “I don’t like it.” He had sipped his coffe.

  “I knew you wouldn’t. That’s why we’re talking about it now.”

  He gave me a long look. “Don’t think just being a judicar will keep you safe, Thom.”

  “It doesn’t.” I gave him a grim smile. “I have the serum, my stave, my raven, and you, if things get tight.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  I had nothing to say to that. When dealing with Santiago, one couldn’t be too careful.

  Wil was absolutely right.

  2

  “Do you have a writ?”

  I smiled at the lean, crooked-toothed man. “A judicar doesn’t need a writ unless there is something to hide. Is there some
thing to hide, Grith?” I leaned on my black ironwood stave and fixed him with my best placid stare. I tried to ignore the two hulking men behind him.

  “Ya’ don’t scare me, blackbird.” He spat on the ground. “Haven’t done anything wrong, have I? We’ve only got good, upstandin’ business here.”

  I fought to not laugh in his face. “Liar.”

  He looked at me, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

  Grith’s fingers were in extortion, blackmail, mostly the buying and selling of secrets. There had been an incident about a year ago when some guild minister’s wife had been coming Warrenside for some quiet fun. The Red Hand had found out about her tastes, which were more than slightly perverse, and there had been a cost for their silence.

  She had refused to pay. In fact, she had made a noisy affair of the whole thing, which had, overall, been a mistake.

  The woman had been found, hanged, in a garret room by the Azure guildhouse. She had a single bloody handprint in the center of her chest.

  Of course, we couldn’t pin Grith’s name to the affair, but I knew. He knew that I knew and so often had a sideward smile for me. It was made all the more difficult in that selling secrets wasn’t technically a crime, not by the codices.

  “Quit wasting my time.” I sighed. “I could get a writ if I wanted, Grith. I’d really rather that I not need one, not when I only want to bring Santiago some information.”

  “Senír Il Ladren—”

  I held up a hand. “You don’t understand, Grith. I don’t care. I don’t care what Santiago wants to be called or what you are hiding.” I fixed my eye on Scoundrel. “I can send my good girl here back to the Offices of the Just, and she’ll have me a writ in a nonce.” I smiled. “’Course, if she brings me a writ, she’ll likely bring five other judicars, and we’ll all spend our night looking for whatever it is you’re trying so hard to hide.” I nodded toward the Scarlet Cellar. “Bad for business.”