Kain was furious.
Not on account of any of them, and that was a very great blessing indeed. But that cold rage was nevertheless palpable as the forefront of a storm, and their Sire's displeasure set all of Raziel's brethren upon edge, made them cautious, made them snappish.
The move hadn't helped, either. From a comfortable manor house leagues outside Freeport, conveniently close to the largest inland road with all its many autumn travelers and merchants who'd not be missed for months, Kain led them towards the city itself, taking circuitous routes through deep woods and places without trails. There had been no explanation - not, of course, that one could be expected - but also none of the usual warnings of threat or discovery. No Sarafan, hunters, hostages to interrogate... nothing. On the old manor's balcony, behind them, a single large raven had watched their departure.
His fledglings followed Kain not into the finer districts near the wharves, where dwelt clean-scented but well-guarded prey - no, Kain led them to the slums, those tangled and decaying warrens infested thick with the scrapings of humanity, to a warehouse which leaned drunkenly against its neighbors, making of the leaking roofs a wide highway. Three of the exterior walls and some few of the interior were good stone; the warehouse would not catch fire easily. A cellar with several half-hidden entrances, once used for smuggling, was certain shelter from the sun. The mouldering structure had even supplied a day's repast - a prostitute and several common street thieves, the former probably serving as the latter's bait each eve. But there, the benefits to abiding in this wretched place ended.
This warehouse and its environs were not unknown to Raziel; he'd resided here for a span of time some decades before, though the place was considerably more dilapidated now. Turel had been with them, then, though Kain's second likely recalled little of that. The place had been small enough for the two fledglings then: now they were five. Worse, Turel was beginning to develop territorial imperative - the urge to claim and defend hunting grounds, as well as all manner of other objects or resources which caught his eye - and as usual, Dumah aped his elders.
While there were no gendarmes here, these streets were neither kind nor easy places. A mob could be just as dangerous as a Sarafan squad; even sufficiently determined highwaymen or a band of addicts might prove more than the youngest among them could handle.
The warehouse was far from ideal. Yet there Kain had left them upon errands unstated, to squabble over the four captured mortals. When he finally returned, Rahab was reading quietly atop a ruined wall, leaving the dregs of his meal to Zephon, who worried violently at the corpse. Dumah was just finishing, Turel still toyed with his mortal. Rahab glanced up, laying a strip of fabric across his place in the pages, and then Raziel could feel it too - an electric crawl over the skin, a sense of pressure, of weight, growing stronger as the flock of darksome bats reformed upon the sagging rooftop.
Moments later, Kain sought his firstborn's mind. Attend me, Raziel.
Raziel immediately climbed to his feet, concealing his trepidation from his brethren even as he sent a wordless acknowledgment in reply. Whispering was still difficult, requiring a degree of concentration and mental discipline that he found hard to sustain. He was also uneasily aware of his own unformed worries at Kain's sudden decision to have them relocate, and aware of how easily his sire could pick them from the underthoughts of his mind.
Still, hesitation would only invite punishment, and in Kain's current temper, that punishment was likely to be severe. Leaving the others behind to their own pursuits, confident that they would not stray with Kain in residence, he climbed upward, picking his way up leaning, half-rotted staircases until he could pull himself upon the roof where his sire awaited.
"As you commanded, sire," he said simply, stopping a few paces away from where Kain stood, looking out upon the jumbled roofs and alleys that made up their environs. Close enough to be to hand, not so close as to have his sire mistake his approach as a precursor to attack, or to be spotted by any stray humans down below. It had taken him a great deal of time to understand such niceties; and having now dealt with it himself in the form of his younger brethren-Dumah especially-he often wondered how Kain had found the patience to beat such courtesies into him instead of simply killing him out of hand.
His Sire seemed not to acknowledge Raziel's presence for a moment - a good sign, for if the younger vampire had misstepped, Kain would have made certain he knew it. Kain's eyes narrowed slightly, gold gaze tense as he took the measure of their surrounds. Down in the twisting and oft-blind alleys, sugar-eaters roamed - those who had managed to buy or steal one of the little paper-wrapped packets of powder wandered in a narcotic haze; those who had not crept with murderous desperation. Through the wider lanes, carts loaded with farmers' harvests were filtering into the city, as did the first dim rays of dawn. A breeze wafted scents indescribable as hovel inhabitants emptied the night's chamberpots into the open sewers that lined the street.
The long mane of Kain's hair made a soft and silken shushing sound against the ridges of his armor as he tilted his head, listening. The voices below were wisely kept to a murmur, save for Dumah's harsh bark of laughter, quickly shushed. Ah, there: muffled cries and a scuffle a street or two away, as yet another mortal fell prey to his own kind, the price of life a few copper coins.
Such a waste of blood.
Kain considered, for a moment, scavenging the kill before the victim bled out entirely, but a glance at his firstborn suggested there was no need. Raziel's skin was faintly flushed and supple with feeding, his stance and the set of his mind were strong - albeit undeniably apprehensive. A pity Kain had no time to beat that trace of weakness from his whelp. "I depart this day to retrieve another of your brothers. Tell me, Raziel, how much of this terrain do you remember?"
*Another* brother? Four was more than enough in Raziel's estimation, though he was hardly fool enough to say so in front of his sire. "I remember our hunting grounds, and most of the places we sought refuge," he said cautiously. "Though I cannot say what still remains, and what has changed." The necessity of keeping his brethren secret and safe, as well as Kain's command, had prevented him from venturing far from their chosen lair. "You wish us to remain here in your absence, sire?" He tried not to let his doubts show in his voice; while there was hunting aplenty amongst the human trash of this place, it was also imperfectly defensible. It would be … difficult … to keep his fractious brethren quiescent enough to keep the neighboring humans from taking notice. All it would take would be one escaped human running to their local priest screeching about the foul and unnatural demons that had attacked him, and the hunters could well find themselves the hunted instead.
Yet surely Kain had already taken this into account. Which meant that there must be other, larger concerns that made such risks necessary.
The corner of Kain's mouth twisted, a subtle gesture but one that exposed the tip of a leonine fang. "I did not bring you here in sport, Raziel. Yes, you are to remain here, permitting none to venture further than this district." Kain turned his eyes back to the chaos of the city without. As he spoke, he placed images into Raziel's minds-eye, crisp and detailed as if freshly observed. "The watertower tunnels remain unsealed, as does the oubliette of clockmakers' square, and the sand warrens." There were thousands of boltholes in the sprawl, but some were better than others.
Kain's hands tightened on the broken railing that meandered along the edge of the rooftop. His nails split the weathered wood as if it were pressed paper. "At what distance can you sense Turel's presence?"
"Turel?" The question took a little thought. Second behind Raziel in age, Turel was reasonably advanced beyond the instinctual drives and foolhardiness of their other, younger brethren, but he had not yet truly come into his own power. Something that, in truth, Raziel had not truly achieved either, though he had naught but his sire to use in comparison.
"A half-mile easily," he answered finally. "A mile with some concentration, assuming he is not injured, or some other manner of interference." Holy magics, for example, could dampen or obfuscate a vampire's darksome aura entirely; as could the power of another, more potent vampire.
Kain growled quietly, a short rumble of temper. A half-mile would provide very little warning, though it was better than none at all. If only he could wait longer, even a few years... but then, if wishes were armies, he'd have taken the entire continent by now. "This structure is well-warded against a variety of threats, including a most unlikely one. Nevertheless, you will heed me now: should you sense another presence, as unlike me as Turel's aura is unlike yours, you shall make certain your brethren take shelter in the cellars here. Do you understand?"
Raziel inclined his head, acknowledging the command. "Yes, sire." Regardless of his own misgivings, Kain's orders were absolute. And yet …. "This presence. It is … another vampire?" For he had never known of any others, save Kain and his brethren. If another existed, one that his sire feared (no, not fear-Kain did not fear any creature, demon or vampire), how was it he had never heard of it?
"In a manner of speaking." Kain watched Raziel for a moment, his ancient gaze as always seeming to strip away those careful layers, the reserve and the caution, leaving Raziel bleeding and bare. "It will not strike at me, not directly. But if you permit your brethren to scatter, or draw heedless attention, it may seek you out." Kain stalked the few steps to his firstborn, lifted a hand, stroked a knuckle lightly up from the hollow of Raziel's throat. "Such a happenstance would displease me. Greatly."
Raziel's golden gaze grew heavy-lidded under that touch, a frisson of threat/pleasure/protection/ running over his skin as he tipped his chin upward fractionally, opening himself to whatever his sire demanded of him, whether pain or pleasure. Under that submission, however, there was a spark of fire at the challenge posed by this unknown threat. Raziel was a single-minded creature by nature; given a purpose, a goal, whether it be a hunt or a cellar full of fledglings to protect, he would pursue it with a focused ferocity that did not admit the possibility of failure. It was a weakness that Kain had exploited more than once in the past, especially when employing stratagems to keep his wayward fledgling in line; yet it was also a strength. If Kain commanded him to a purpose, Raziel would see it done, regardless of the cost. "I shall ensure it does not, my lord."
"Good." Kain permitted himself to savor the softness of his fledgling's skin, the sweetness of that proud and graceful submission. There was nothing of flinching in it, nothing of fear. Only a steel-textured yielding, an openness that delighted, that tempted - as beckoning as a blade forged perfectly to its master's hand.
The thought of losing this to Vorador's covetous grasp was new fuel for the frustrated rage. Tempting, too, to carve release for that emotion as well upon yielding skin... but Kain withdrew his hand. The sooner he left, the sooner he might be back. "I shall return a tenday from now, no more than two." The corner of Kain's mouth twitched. "And, Raziel. See that Turel refrains from disemboweling Dumah again."
And then Kain was gone, vanished with a breath of displaced air, his aura disappearing as if it had never been, leaving a void and an emptiness that ached. In the sudden silence, the hissing of angry fledglings was perfectly audible.
Raziel drew in a deep breath, then released it in a gusty sigh. To keep four fledgling vampires penned for a tenday would be challenge indeed. After one last look from his lofty vantage point, he headed back downwards, to the cellar where his brothers awaited.
Which did not mean that their waiting had been peaceable; Raziel could hear the snarls and scufflings long before he reached their lair. He pulled open the heavy door, slipping inside, and took in the sight before him: Turel and Dumah, locked in combat, grappling upon the stones, fangs bared as they vied for an advantage in which to sink them deep into a vulnerable point. Minor wounds already decorated pale skin, bruises blooming and fading, thin cuts that healed more slowly. And nearby … Raziel's eyes narrowed. Nearby, Zephon was greedily feasting upon the body of Raziel's own kill, now that Turel was too preoccupied to defend it.
"Enough!" he barked, striding forward. Grabbing Turel by the hair, Raziel yanked him forcibly backwards, driving a booted foot into Dumah's chest when the younger vampire tried to pursue the opening given to him. Sent sprawling upon the floor, Dumah rolled again to his feet, little the worse for the wear, while Turel twisted within his elder brother's grip, wrapping hands crushingly-tight about Raziel's wrist and growling.
"Release me! That little sneakthief stole my blade!"
"I stole nothing - I found it!" Dumah snarled hotly, pulling the dagger from his belt. The slim, flame-wave dagger, capped with an emerald the size of a pigeon egg, was a fine prize indeed. And he had found it: in a pocket of his cloak, actually. The route by which the blade had gotten itself *there* was of no concern to him - it was Dumah's now. "And now it'll find your lying tongue, Turel!" Dumah lunged.
Crouched beside the remains of Raziel's meal, Zephon swallowed hurriedly, scrubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. He tilted his head, watching the conflict before him with a fledgling's bright and curiously calculating eyes. Then his attention drifted to the other pair of near-corpses, the ones he'd not yet tasted. Dumah's was too perforated and too close to death, but Turel had taken the woman, and she lay sprawled and semi-conscious in a tangle of her own petticoats. His eyes narrowed in an expression of sudden slyness. On all fours, Zephon sidled like a crab towards the mortal.
Flinging Turel backwards, out of the way, Raziel intercepted Dumah's charge. One pale hand snapped out with unnatural speed, black-taloned fingers plucking the dagger from the younger vampire's grasp. The other seized the front of Dumah's tunic and lifted, Raziel pivoting as he used his younger sibling's own momentum against him and slammed him brutally to the floor. The impact shook dust from the rafters, and would have broken bones in a human. Dumah, however, was hardly so delicate a creature; he did not whimper or wail in pain, but merely lay where he had fallen, blinking dumbly at the ceiling as if trying to recollect how he had come to be there.
Turel snarled and stepped forward, his hand outstretched as if to take his treasure back-then stopped short as Raziel planted the point of it very precisely over his heart.
"Tell me, brother," Raziel said, deceptively mild. "Was it your intention to trade this for your evening's repast?" He tilted his head meaningfully towards where Turel had left his prey; a woman over which Zephon was now crouched, sinking fangs into her pale neck and drinking greedily. "For if so, it appears our newest addition has gotten the better bargain."
Caught on the horns of his least favorite dilemma, Turel curled his lips in a grimace of a snarl. Seize one prize, and the other would vanish like smoke... or worse yet, both might! And how like Raziel to vaunt his power and his many more years of training over his younger siblings! The injustice of it all was the twist of a thorn in Turel's side.
"Better to bargain poorly than to play the common highwayman," Turel said, in awkward rejoinder. Gathering himself, doing his best to conceal his chagrin, he reached up and closed his fingers around the flat of the blade. Perhaps something could be salvaged from this shambles. "If you aren't going to use my knife, return it to me. I'll need something with which to bind that whelp while I beat him."
Still sucking with a noisy lack of elegance at the prostitute's throat, Zephon looked up, alarmed.
Raziel considered Turel's demand without moving. After a few moments he relaxed, and relinquished the blade to Turel's hand. "As you like," he said, indifferent to Zephon's plight. "Gag him, however, if he squalls too loudly. The humans here are not likely to be curious, but with enough noise, *someone* is bound to take exception." A few screams or cries in the slums were commonplace. The sounds of ongoing torture, less so.
Glancing down at Dumah, he straightened, hauling Kain's third-born up with him. "On your feet, Dumah." He easily slapped aside the younger's vampire's attempted-and still dazed-blow, and cuffed him about the ear. "You'd do well to finish off your human as well, before Rahab begins to have ideas-or before *I* do."
Turel let out the breath he'd been holding. Oh, the humiliation of begging Raziel for his own belongings! Gnashing his teeth, he turned his ire upon a far softer target, heavy frame moving fast. Zephon bolted, scrabbling straight up the rough stone wall and into the rafters with a fledgling's instinctive dexterity. The maneuver, however, only put him some eight feet off the ground - nearly within Turel's standing reach, very much within jumping distance. On his second try, Turel seized hold of Zephon's ankle, and dragged him down to hit the ground in a tangle of limbs. A heavy knee in the center of Zephon's back kept him from scrabbling away. "You're bloated as a tick, newborn," Turel sniffed disdainfully. "And you've kept me from my amusement. Seems to me, you owe a measure of blood and recreation both."
Zephon struggled, thrashed. "An... and what if Dumah goes through your bedroll?" he panted. "I can watch your things, I can..."
Turel leaned back and frowned, eyes narrow in consideration.
Rahab stepped wide around the both of them as he climbed down from his perch, leaving his faint ball of glowing magelight anchored in midair behind - largely because he hadn't actually figured out how to move the magical manifestations, yet. He was more compact of frame than his brothers, though still not slight. Rather, his was a swimmer's build, sleek and strong. "I confess little interest in the dog's breakfast that Dumah left," he said, tucking his book beneath his arm as he headed towards the heavy door. "I'm going someplace quieter. How long must we abide here?"
"As long as our sire wills it," was Raziel's uninformative reply as he watched an irritable Dumah try to decide what was more important-scuffling with Raziel, or finishing his meal. But at Rahab's annoyed grimace, he relented. "At least a tenday. Perhaps longer. Stay close; and be mindful of your surroundings."
Dumah, having finally decided that challenging Raziel was not likely to be nearly as enjoyable as testing Turel, nor garner him anything more than serious injury, finally turned to go hunch protectively over his meal, growling under his breath. The thief-soon to be former, if the bluish cast to his skin was any indication-was hardly any great prize, but it was *his*, and he wasn't about to share with anyone!
Rahab nodded, accepting his brother's cautionary warning without bristling. As a very new fledgling, he'd been placed in Raziel's care more times than he could recall, whilst Kain dealt with Dumah's excesses. Bridled early, he did not bite too fiercely at the bit now. "A tenday? Then what..." he started with a frown, casting forth his awareness. But Kain was scarcely a shadow at the border of Rahab's consciousness - he had to be very distant indeed, and maybe distracted besides. The last time their sire had left them so, he'd returned with... brows drawn together, Rahab glanced towards the youngest among them.
Trapped beneath Turel's weight, Zephon still panted. The older vampire's eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you proposing, neonate?" he growled.
Half-crushed as he was, Zephon's voice was wheezy and breathless. But there was swift calculation in the yellow eyes that flickered between Turel's face and the rest of the room. "... Dumah already helps h-himself to what is yours. Wh-what will you do when you must leave to hunt, and he remains?" Turel's gaze flickered involuntarily over to where Raziel stood, and Zephon twisted a little, baring his throat by the barest inch. "...uh-it is obvious that Raziel does not care about-enforcing what is yours. But I-I could watch. Tell you if the others pilfer …"
Across the room, Raziel nodded soberly as Rahab drew the correct conclusion from Kain's absence. He kept his misgivings to himself, however. Kain would make as many vampires as he willed, and it was not Raziel's place to protest otherwise. Though Zephon and Dumah, especially, were not likely to be happy with the added competition for both blood and their sire's favor, capricious as it might be.
Turel cocked his head. As he drew breath to speak, he paused, eyes abruptly narrowed. Zephon smelled of panic, of desperation... that was to be expected. But not that mealy under-current, the one that suggested deliberate untruth. Turel leaned closer, inhaling deep. "Your first mistake," he rumbled, fisting a sharp-nailed hand in Zephon's red hair, "is in presuming that Raziel need enforce anything for me. Your second..." he dragged the fledgling's head back, "is in believing me fool enough to swallow your lies."
"I don't -!" Zephon gasped, and then shrieked as his elder brother's long fangs found his throat.
Rahab arched a brow at the scene before him, glanced to Dumah where he was slurping away the last of his brigand's life, and then looked back to the eldest of Kain's spawn. "I don't want another," he stated levelly. Several of the brothers he already had weren't turning out very well, to all appearances. Not that his Sire had made mistakes, of course not. But over the passage of years since their raising, something unfortunate had clearly happened to at least two of his brethren. Hn. Perhaps that was the point. Rahab brightened. "Unless... do you think he means to replace one of the defective ones?"
Through the noise of Zephon's cries and their own preoccupation, it seemed the others had not heard Rahab's suggestion-something Raziel was most grateful for. He was in no mood to break up yet *another* battle between his brethren, defective or not! He levelled an quelling stare upon his second-youngest brother, but could not quite hide his sardonic amusement completely.
"I would not be so cavalier about encouraging our sire to cull 'defective' vampires, Rahab. For who is to say that Kain's assessment not might someday find you or I lacking as well, and subject us to the same fate?" He did not *think* Kain was displeased with what he had wrought so far, even with some of his kin's … eccentricities. But attempting to predict the actions of his sire was a fool's game. Kain would do as he willed.
Still, he could not quite disagree with Rahab's assessment. He could only hope that it would change, given enough time. "This is only a temporary confinement," he added, reaching out to smooth a palm down the back of Rahab's neck, enjoying the silken feel of the younger vampire's skin, the fragile line of his spine exposed and vulnerable to his greater strength. "In time Kain shall return, and we shall move again. With any luck, it shall be a place where we need not be quite so forcibly intimate with each other."
Rahab ducked his head at the correction, and nodded. He'd not thought of that, though he saw now that he should have. Though, to be sure, the intimation that Kain could turn against his firstborn and most-favored was nothing short of absurd. Raziel was the golden child, the treasured one, trusted with all manner of tasks, and the only one among them for whom Kain's undivided attention was not an invariably agonizing experience.
In a way, Rahab understood Turel's streak of jealousy very well indeed.
And then Raziel's hand descended on him, stroking over his nape-length hair and the back of his neck, lingering over the subtle ridge of each vertebrae, and all higher thoughts went skittering away like a handful of dropped coins. Rahab exhaled slowly, savoring this very fundamental chemical acknowledgement - the yielding sense of shelter and of threat, as if all his worries about the move, his brethren, his books, and Kain's purpose had receded. It was not so intense as the experience of submitting before his sire, but the sensation was very much a kindred one. Rahab's eyes, palatinate blue and utterly unlike his siblings', slid shut as he pressed subtly back into that sedating touch. It was like taking refuge in a tiger's embrace. "Not all of the intimacies possible here need be forced, brother."
"There is truth enough in that," Raziel agreed, pleased at both Rahab's obedience and his responsiveness. Then a particularly piercing shriek from Zephon-abruptly cut short-reverberated against sensitive ears, and he grimaced slightly. "It seems that remaining here would not be conducive to them, however." He tilted his head, thinking. "You have never before been to Freeport, correct? It might be wise to learn the byways and other secrets of your new environs." Kain had warned them not to venture too far; but Raziel was certain he did not mean that they should mew themselves within these walls like frightened rabbits. Even if Raziel attempted to enforce such an edict, the end result was likely to be blood on the walls-and not of the human variety.
Rahab nodded in the affirmative, thoroughly pleased and quite proud, though he endeavored to keep his expression tightly controlled. Left to his own devices, he did not tend to roam far in hunt or exploration, preferred the quiet places, or the deep ones. Such places, of course, were typically poor in prey. Raziel's excursions, on the other hand, were wide-ranging affairs which often reaped good rewards. They were always, at the least, opportunities to learn more, and with the added inducement of being trusted with secreted places... how could Rahab refuse?
As Rahab hurried to mount the cellar steps, Turel glanced up, caught his eldest brother's leveled gaze. With the briefest of snarls, he paused to cut a long strip of fabric from the hem of Zephon's cloak, and roughly gagged the flailing fledgling with it. "Get over here, Dumah, and hold his arms," he ordered brusquely. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, just as Zephon had done a minute before, Dumah obeyed eagerly. His quarrel was forgotten and his meal was now a corpse; perhaps he could take his own entertainment once Turel was finished.
The warehouse was dim, even the shafts of morning sunlight that filtered through the holes in the roof were muted and faint. Outside, the day was cloudy enough to begin with, and the pall of burning coal that inevitably hung over a city this size dimmed it further. Bits of loose rubble and trash clinked as Rahab made a book-sized hollow in the debris that choked one corner. Checking the oilskin wrapping one last time, he tucked his text in and covered it over, proof against his brothers' idle malice, and then returned to meet Raziel as he emerged from the stairwell. Too excited to contain himself entirely, Rahab shifted his weight from one foot to the other, awaiting Raziel's lead.
Having satisfied himself that Turel would be content to remain within the warehouse, at least for the moment, Raziel mounted the stairs and rejoined Rahab, light-sensitive eyes narrowed against the feeble morning sun. The time of day was not ideal for concealment; daylight might not burn vampires to ash as the humans believed, but it would weaken them. Fledglings were especially susceptible, their strength sapped by the advance of the day. For now they would be able to shrug off the sun's effects; but Raziel would have to ensure they found shelter during the hours the sun was at its height, for Rahab's sake if not his own.
Added to that were the difficulties posed in moving unseen, especially since none of Kain's progeny had yet learned his ability to weave illusions; not even Raziel could yet don a human mask and pass unnoticed amongst his prey. In the lightly populated lands about the manor it had hardly mattered, the surrounding forest and marshland alike providing ample concealment for any roving vampire possessed of a modicum of woodcraft. But to move within the teeming masses of a city such as Freeport-and hunt without being seen-required far more care, and a wholly different set of skills.
Yet for all the disadvantages to venturing out during the day, there were benefits as well. The human population of the city was mired in its own concerns, their own daily routines. For the most part they would be oblivious to the undead predators moving in their midst, so long as said vampires did not draw attention to themselves. It was also a perfect time to watch and learn the patterns of their prey; the movements of the Watch, and the church, the ebb and flow of merchants and sailors. Choosing one's prey within the bounds of the city was a matter of patience and swift action-and the knowledge of what humans could disappear without causing undue consternation amongst their fellows. All these things, Rahab would need to learn. Given his nature, however, Raziel felt certain his younger brother would be an apt pupil.
"Follow me," he murmured, and moved down the narrow gap between the two ramshackle warehouses that flanked their own refuge. It was more gutter than alley, in all honesty, piled high with reeking offal. But it led seaward, towards the docks, and Raziel moved with the assurance of memory, picking a meandering course amongst the low roads of Freeport, from gutter to drainpipe to labyrinthine cellars, connected by smugglers' tunnels and other byways.
Rahab watched carefully his elder's every action, and copied them as best he was able, drawing the hood of his cloak up to shade his face. He kept his hands loosely fisted as he walked to conceal sharp nails - though his were scarcely different from a human's. That much, he knew to do from the times he'd accompanied his brethren to raid caravans. As they navigated the derelict places of the slums, the two vampires nevertheless passed within touching distance of a dozen mortals or more - sugar addicts, waifs and orphans, the diseased and the infirm. They drew no attention from the trashpickers and drunkards at all, or only brief and huddled glances - a fact that was nothing short of astounding. Rahab found himself glancing back with incredulity at a cripple who blankly extended his battered cup to the vampires, just as he did towards every other passing figure.
It was almost as if... as if there were so many humans crowded here, that anything humanoid in appearance was assumed to be a member of that race, without thought or careful study. It seemed impossible, suicidally foolish, and yet...
The younger vampire was acutely conscious too of the differences between the way he moved, and Raziel's confident grace. Rahab darted, moving in the shadows when there were any to be had, pausing to break up his outline, stepping high to avoid shushing his feet through the debris. His sibling *strode*, as if neither concealment nor secrecy mattered one whit. Rahab did his best to follow suit, but even still there were other differences - in agility and in strength. Once out of the sight of men, Raziel leaped easily atop a broken chest-high line of masonry; Rahab had to dirty his palms in scrambling up, and once he misjudged the depth of a puddle, wetting his boot uncomfortably with the acidic liquid.
Then they turned a corner and the sight made Rahab catch his breath, a reflexive and very unnecessary gasp. The short alley emptied out onto a road. Oh, they'd crossed lanes and byways before, under the eyes of handfuls of mortals even, but this... the road was paved in cobbles, and was wide enough to turn a coal cart and horses entirely around. Both sides were thick with merchants. The babble was dense in the crisp autumn air, the sound was like a waterfall's roar; men and women of every description passed so thick before them that Rahab could only just glimpse a dim and beckoning alley, similar to this one, on the other side of the conflugence. So many colors and creatures and sudden movement and, and...
A mortal suddenly appeared near them, a ragged man with a small flat basket, and Rahab startled badly, jerking back with a muted hiss. But the human was paying him little heed. "A pretty, me Lord? A pretty for your catamite? A mantle to keep 'im warm while 'ee waits?" the vendor approached Raziel with a gap-toothed smile, too broad and too inviting, flourishing his wares broadly while leaving his right hand unencumbered. The basket held but a few tin bangles, some wilting posies, several lengths of dyed fabric. "Or a packet mebee? A flighty one, 'ee is, a little something would go far to sweeten 'im. Best prices in all..."
Raziel bit back a snarl at the human's insinuating tone. "Nothing of yours is of interest to me," he snapped. "Begone!" How dare this filthy mayfly creature cast such aspersions upon Kain's own progeny! Rahab was destined to be the foundation of a new Empire, as were they all-an immortal heir to a power this human could not even imagine. For this man to insinuate that he was little better a pox-ridden whore, a piece of bought flesh; it would be only justice if he allowed Rahab to feast upon the man's life in recompense!
The human cringed, a practiced cowering that nonetheless allowed him to sidle closer. "No harm intended, me lord, no harm. Jus' trying to get by, is all …" Bowing low over his basket, he backed off to one side, clearing their path. Yet he still hovered close enough to offend both vampires with his stench, and as Raziel brushed past, a filthy hand darted out, snake-quick, to cut the lacings of the coin-purse at his belt.
The crowd ahead was a very great distraction, but Rahab's senses were not a human's. Small, quick movements and subtle sounds were preternaturally bright to him, drew his attention inescapably. Rahab could not miss that furtive theft, the quiet clink of coins. "Hold!" he barked, darting to seize the petty thief. With a cry of his own, the mortal dropped his basket and fled, only to be jerked back by the grip on his ragged shoulder-cape. The man was bigger than Rahab, with several stone and a hand's-height over him - closing his ill-gotten coins in his fist, the pickpocket swung at his captor.
Rahab caught the blow in the palm of his hand, as if warding off a child's assault. The human twisted, desperation lending a surprising amount of strength, trying to run-and Raziel's hand closed about that wrist, wrenching it up and twisting it painfully backwards, where the thief could not see the black talons that adorned pale fingers.
"A thief as well as a fool, I see," he snarled.
"Lemme go," the man panted, twisting wildly as he attempted to pull away from that inexorable grip. "I didn't mean nuthin'-I swear, me lord, no need for the Watch …" He cried out as the grip on his wrist tightened, forcing him to kneel on the filthy cobbles.
Raziel caught Rahab's abortive movement out of the corner of his eye as the fledgling stepped forward, suddenly intent upon the pinned prey before him. It was instinct more the true hunger, he knew-Rahab had fed well only a short time previous. Hold, Rahab, Raziel Whispered, concentrating upon the mental touch upon the younger vampire's mind, forcing his order past the ever-present bloodthirst and burgeoning territorial instincts. We cannot kill the creature-not here and now. Observe our surroundings. What do you see?
Rahab recoiled, blinking at the realization that he'd meant to take the unclaimed and proffered mortal right where the creature knelt. He'd not had to tamp down that instinct very often; when hunting on the roads, Kain and his spawn typically subdued small caravans or merchant groups in their entirety, so the fledglings were free to gorge immediately after fighting. "I..." Rahab swallowed, eyes darting to the wide street and all the humans that walked it. But none seemed interested in the disturbance from the dim alley.
Rahab lifted his eyes, scanned the wooden rooftops around them. The buildings here were of marginally better construction than the ones deeper in the slums, some with bars on the windows, or shutters. A rat scurried along one wooden cornice which still bore traces of faded paint, single-mindedly fleeing the vampires below. A child's avid gaze peered from the corner of one window, an interested and thoroughly entertained spectator. A far more furtive movement behind a bin of refuse drew his attention - a mouldering pile of fabric and beer fumes shifted, sprouted a hand, which nervously gripped a makeshift dagger, simply a small bar of metal with a sharpened edge. Rahab's mouth drew into a grim line. The background commotion from the crowd ahead was so great that he still could not hear the second thief's heartbeat or breath, even knowing that he was there. We are being watched, the younger vampire replied, handling the mental communication with a level of skill impressive for his age, albeit more tenuous than Raziel's.
Yes, was the simple reply, the mental touch tinged with approbation. Raziel did not need to look to know what Rahab had found; both experience and the prickling of instinct told him all he needed to know. iPathetic creatures such as these, weak as they are, rarely run alone. They oft run in packs with others of their own kind, for protection, and also to pull down larger prey than one thief might be able to handle alone. Upon occasion they may also serve a master, a human who has risen to command a larger territory and demand tribute from his lessers. Even so, we could kill this mortal easily, and his comrades, should they be fool enough to come for us. The threat they pose is in the attention such a brawl would bring; in this place, we cannot afford such scrutiny. In the dark hours of the night, they could have brought down their prey with none the wiser. The thief would have simply been another nameless victim to disappear into the city's stews. But during the day, the risks were simply too great.
The Whispered communication had taken only moments; and now, Raziel returned his attention to his victim. "A reminder, I think, that you would be wise to choose different prey next time-and to refrain from insulting your betters," he mused coldly. A moment's consideration, and then his grip tightened inexorably, crushing with inhuman strength. A sharp twist, and the thief cried out in shock and pain as his wrist folded, bones fracturing under that relentless grip. Satisfied that a lesson had been dealt-though not necessarily to the thief-Raziel released his captive, and kicked him brutally back out into the street. "Now begone, before I regret my mercy!"
The minor commotion caused a few nearby heads to turn; but when it became apparent that it had been caused by a nobleman dealing out his own justice to a back alley thief, interest swiftly turned into indifference, and those observers returned to their own preoccupations.
The sharp-choked cry and the dull splinter of bone raised a shiver up Rahab's spine, a subtle tensing - such screams heralded weakened prey, meant easy food, and it was no simple matter to resist that allure and keep his mind upon the lessons proffered.
Rahab watched, eyes narrowed, as the pickpocket fled mewling into the crowd. Behind him, the second thief did the same, scuttling back the way they'd come, his terror scenting the air. Neither vampire had set hand upon the second man - it had merely taken one small, carefully calculated and calibrated act to inspire fear. With guardsmen and merchants, typically several deaths were required before the survivors tried to flee, in Rahab's experience. How had his brother known the difference, to change his tactics and choose a course with such ease? It was nothing short of incredible.
Rahab nodded slowly, ducking to recover the small pouch of coins. He knotted the broken drawcord to repair it, and proffered the purse to his elder. Is it... is it possible to know whether these ones do serve such a master? he asked, thinking of his own Master. There'd been times when one of his kin, Dumah especially, had tangled with a group of mortals too strong for him, and had come crawling back to his brethren wounded and downcast. Kain had been swift, those times, to chastise the unfortunate fledgling... but then had delivered equally swift vengeance upon the humans responsible.
"It is possible, yes," Raziel answered aloud, now that there were no mortal ears nearby to hear. He was pleased at Rahab's facility with the vampiric mindspeech that was their birthright, but there was no need for the younger vampire to exhaust himself unnecessarily with its constant use. "It would require time, and careful observation, as well as patience." At least if they wished to discover the mortal's identity without cutting a bloody swathe through his underlings. The markers of their ascension into vampiric unlife-the golden-slitted eyes and pallid skin, the fangs, the claw-tipped fingers-also ensured that more subtle interrogations would be impossible to achieve.
Raziel tilted his head, considering his brother. "Do you wish to hunt for the thief's master, if he indeed exists?" It was an interesting idea, if one that would require a great deal more consideration before they might pursue it. For the moment, however, Raziel was simply interested in understanding what stratagems the fledgling might have in mind, and why.
Rahab gaped. He glanced up before speaking, found that the child at the window had fled as well - another detail he'd not noticed in the heat of the moment, but should have. "Hunt for? Uhm." He frowned, trying to make sense of the social order Raziel described. "If there is one... will he not come to us straightaway? When one of us is outmatched, Kain's attention oft befalls those we failed to slay. So when these sneak thieves come whinging back to their Lord..." but then, was a broken wrist cause enough to seek vengeance against the two vampires? Maybe it was, for humans. How would this master track them, with so many other scents and footprints to confuse the vampires' trail? Perhaps he and Raziel *should* seek the man out first, in order that their battle might be on more favorable terms...
Hrm. Rahab's assumptions were inaccurate, but not completely unwarranted, given his limited experience. It was true that if they posed a threat to the local thief-lord, he would undoubtedly seek to hunt down and eliminate that threat. However …
"Think upon the situation for a moment," Raziel replied evenly. "Should the thief decide to importune his master with tales of his failure, what will he say? That he was seized in the midst of a theft by a merchant, or perhaps a nobleman, or perhaps a guard. And that instead of being summarily killed, or given over to the Watch, the man instead did him injury whilst retrieving his property. Think upon the thief-master's position. Even if he were inclined to seek vengeance for the crippling of his vassal, how is he to find this unknown person in a city full of humans? And should he, by chance or by skill, find the man responsible, what then? Does he then risk his position and his own wealth, all in order to take vengeance upon a nobleman who wields far more influence than he? All for the sake of one insignificant thief?" He paused, letting Rahab absorb the information.
"Kain kills those that we do not for many reasons, not the least of which is to protect the secret of our existence. We are only five, in a world full of mortals." Raziel waved a hand at the busy street before them in illustration. "Five, Rahab. Our strength will avail us little if we allow them to swarm us like devourer ants. But the humans-they do not have that concern. To the thief-master, a thief such as this one is only something to be used-and something easily replaced."
Oh. Rahab was silent a moment, letting those words sink in, turning them over. Most mortals, then, were not at all like Rahab or his brethren - not even in their intensity of regard for one another. What a gift it was, to have been elevated above these disposable multitudes, to be utterly unique in all the world!
And yet, he saw too how precarious this position could be. One betraying move, and all these wretches would fall upon the 'monsters' in their midst. "Then, so long as mortals are numbered like grains of sand, we must become as numerous as the stars," he mused, following Raziel's gesture at the passing crowd, and rapidly re-evaluating the wisdom of Kain's present purpose. "And until then... we must take care always to be clever, watchful, and patient." He looked to Raziel, trying to decide if he was reaching the right conclusions. If Kain continued to raise fledglings... it would be a long time before they were twenty, let alone twenty thousand. Rahab's brow furrowed. "Are we to raise fledglings?"
"Perhaps. If Kain wills it." The thought had occurred to Raziel before; but Kain had shown no signs of teaching any of his progeny the secret of passing on his dark gift, and so he had set the idea aside. Perhaps in time, when they had better proven their worth ….
"Enough-let us move on. I do not intend to spend the entire day moldering within this festering alley," he told Rahab, discarding his idle musings for more immediate action. Tugging the cloak firmly about his shoulders, he headed out into the busy street, striding with his customary assurance and trusting Rahab to follow. They would not continue on the main thoroughfare long; the possibility of a chance bump or stranger's hail revealing them was far too great. But if a vampire must walk amongst humans, he had found, it was best to act as if he had every right to do so, moving with the ebb and flow of the people about them.
It was truly difficult to ignore the temptation posed by the potent scents about them-spices and perfumes, sweat and baked goods, and wafting through it all, the sweet iron tang of living human blood. Raziel kept a watchful eye upon the younger vampire as they made their way towards another, narrower street that led towards the wharves; Rahab was not nearly so foolish or impetuous as Dumah, nor quite as young as Zephon, but he was a fledgling still, and instinct was often a difficult thing to master.
Rahab swallowed hard, eyeing the river of humanity. But Raziel never hesitated, and the younger vampire tugged his own cloak closer and hurried to catch up. It was like plunging into a whirlpool - such sounds and such sights! Southern traders clothed in layers of gauzy silks, heavy aromatic oils, cages of birds sporting colors Rahab had never seen in nature, the faintly sickening scent of cooking meat and smoldering spices, a matron carrying a yapping terrier... and so much more, all in the first few steps. Desperate, Rahab fixed his attention and his gaze squarely on the center of Raziel's back, determined to concentrate on nothing but following in his brother's footsteps.
A warhorse screamed its panic, catching the dry scent of undead. The man holding its corded bridle cursed viciously, dragging the animal's head back down, though it took his full weight to do so. "Blast your whore of a mother to the seventh generation, boy-" A heavy hand descended to Rahab's shoulder, even as he belatedly attempted to scramble away. Unthinking, Rahab looked up, his hood falling back, fully exposing his features.
But the horseman merely blinked as if startled, then frowned. "-out of the way!" and propelled Rahab roughly from his path. Trembling with anger and more fright than he cared to admit, Rahab raced to catch up with his brother, drawing his hood up more carefully, and this time making sure to take note of his immediate surroundings as well.
The minor altercation had not escaped Raziel's attention-but he had chosen to do nothing, gambling that Rahab would escape without notice. He had not been entirely correct in that last assumption; the younger vampire *had* been noticed, but the paleness of his complexion as well as the lapis blue of his eyes were apparently still close enough to human to pass. Still, he made sure to keep the periphery of his sight upon the horseman, alert for any other signs of alarm, until the man and his beast were swallowed up by the crowd.
Finally they reached the side street Raziel had been aiming for; a dark and winding offshoot, overhung with patched and flapping laundry and sandwiched in between two soot-stained shops-a blacksmith and a bootmaker, if their crude signs were to be believed. "You were wise to keep your composure back there," he said quietly to Rahab as he stepped over a pair of bodies huddled together underneath the corner's overhang. No doubt either unconscious or dead; either way, it was no concern of his. "You did well."
Rahab nodded faintly, releasing a slow breath. In years past, he'd most likely have responded to the mortal's touch and attention with instinctive violence, but now... was this wisdom? Perhaps so. He picked his way over the bodies, bent briefly to examine them, and found they had but one heartbeat between the two. One dead, one alive... Rahab glanced up, found that the crowd of the broad street was still close and visible, and accordingly left the bodies behind to hurry after Raziel.
The swinging laundry overhead cast a network of flickering shadows, a cool and welcoming respite from the morning's light. The stone and wooden walls were coated with decades of soot, and the slightest brush against them marked clothing or hand. "I have never seen so many humans pressed in together so," Rahab said, as they turned a corner, and the sound of the marketplace avenue diminished.
"Tis a warren indeed," Raziel agreed. Their progress was swift, now that were fewer bodies to impede them, and he picked his way over cracked and uneven cobblestones with the assurance of a nocturnal creature. A huddle of rag-pickers stared at the cloaked forms as they passed, but offered no challenge; it was obvious they posed no threat to the humans' meager gleanings. "Freeport has been a trade and fisher port for centuries, and so the city itself is old-but not all parts of it are equally so. Cities burn, they are taken in war, or abandoned in plague, only to be rebuilt, old stones scavenged for new structures built upon the remnants of those fallen. Human cities such as these oft lie upon a bed of corpses; if one were to dig deep, they would find layers of brick and mortar, and even deeper, the carved stone of ancient shrines and catacombs-all long forgotten by those that live here now." He glanced sidelong at the younger vampire. "Immortality-and a good memory-can oft turn such things to our benefit."
They made another turn, and a gap between the tall buildings allowed the wind to whistle through, bringing with it the scent of the sea: salt and rotting seaweed, fish and tar.
Rahab watched their squalid surroundings with more interest, and more appreciation, thinking on the curiosities and knowledge that must be buried beneath their feet. Just as Raziel had implied, here were places where inferno-baked brick was used as the foundation of newer structures; there, spots where the dirt-and-cobble path dipped and rose over strange ridges, half-buried, like old walls. The two vampires passed through a tunnel, an arched thing of marble engraved in places with a language Rahab did not know, an oddly fine strip of architecture yawning derelict in a wasteland of lesser construction. So engrossed was he that Rahab did not think to draw breath for many minutes, and when he did, the smell startled him.
The younger vampire peered about, looking for the source of the salt and humidity. "Are... we near tanneries?" he asked, though even as he spoke, he knew that couldn't be right. There was little of the uric taint that usually fouled the air about such complexes.
"Tanneries? No," Raziel said distractedly as he paused at the intersection of two roads and an alley, attempting to remember which of the options before them was the route he remembered from a decade before. Several of the buildings had changed, and the more ephemeral landmarks had vanished entirely. But given the direction they had come, the shoreline should lie to the south and west … ah. The street itself had changed its course, no doubt when the buildings had been rebuilt, either due to disaster or some nobleman's edict.
Marking the change in his memory, he set off down the new street, following the scent of the sea as it grew stronger. "We approach the docks," he told Rahab. "There are many opportunities there for a patient hunter; and a secret place that has sheltered Kain and myself in the past." He only hoped that the smugglers' caves were not currently in use; the entrance was well-hidden, and had been lost for centuries, but it was not impossible that it could have been rediscovered by some movement of the earth or other mischance.
Another turning, and they were there-the warehouses to either side abruptly giving way to open air and the sea. A small forest of ships, from the great masted schooners bobbing at anchor to the tiny swift boats that ferried news and supplies, all bobbed upon the waves, their timbers creaking and groaning. Gulls hung effortlessly in the air, adding their raucous cries to the din of the docks below: the clangor of steel, the lowing of livestock providing counterpoint to the bellowings of sailors and merchants and fisherfolk. Before them was a dizzying multitude of activity, far greater than the boulevard they had crossed before, all punctuated by shouts of anger and happiness, of deals being struck and a thousand meetings and partings.
And beyond it, the ocean-glittering, vast … and every bit as deadly to a vampire as a sea of fire.
'Docks,' to Rahab's mind, meant those bustling ramps along rivers, where raw skins, timber, and furs were sent downstream in payment for salt and spices and cotton thread, all poled laboriously upriver. This... this was not the same, was like nothing Rahab had imagined. Fish - not in lines or heaps but rather piled into entire hillsides of gleaming, slippery bodies, were being unloaded and processed. But beyond them, beyond the goats and the geese and the mortals and the outsized rafts... was nothing but blue.
It was as if the summer sky itself had been inverted and splayed out across the ground, though rather than being lit by a single sun, it shone forth with the light of a thousand, thousand stars - flickering, vanishing, everywhere and forever, world without end. Clouds scudded its distant plane, and there was no hint of a further shore. It did not roll slowly, in the way of a river, but instead seemed to pulse: drawing back, seeming to draw breath, and then pressing forward in foaming battle-lines.
Rahab's own breath departed him in a quiet sigh, and he stepped out past his brother, vying for a better view. He could smell water, humidity - but also salts and a thickness reminiscent of blood. Is it glass? Or... stuff of alchemy? he Whispered, reluctant to speak lest the act interrupt the slow sucking tempo of saltwater over rock, ancient and corroding, the cradle of life itself.
Indulging the younger vampire, Raziel replied, It is all water, Rahab. Brackish stuff that even humans cannot drink, but water nonetheless. Freeport lies upon the edge of the southern ocean, which extends even to the very edges of the world. Tilting his head, he added a cautionary warning. Do not let its strangeness cozen you, Rahab. This water is every bit as dangerous to us as any other. He would not have dared bring Rahab to the wharves, had the vampire been any younger; but now, at least, he hoped that could trust Rahab to heed his warnings.
After allowing his brother a few moments in which to take in the scene before him, Raziel turned, heading towards the northern edge of the wharves. "This way, Rahab." For the most part, they stayed well ashore, far from those dangerous waves. Their route also took them through the shadows thrown by the massive storehouses and other great buildings that lined the waterfront, which provided them welcome shelter from the strengthening sun. They passed an area dedicated to shipbuilding, humans banging away and scurrying up and down scaffolding; all of it bracketing great curved timbers, an unfinished creation that resembled nothing so much as the skeleton of some great sea-creature.
Ocean... Rahab had read the word before, hadn't really understood it. How could he have ever imagined something like this? There must be fish in it, and also plants - if those green and black tangled mats of stuff that resembled rope, bubbles, and scrolls by turns could be called such. But his gaze fell upon things far stranger: smooth-skinned gray fishes with flat tails and blood that smelled something like an otter's and something like a man's; great bulbous black things with maws half the size of their bodies; long-coiled mounds of whipcord flesh armored with scales like dinner plates; all manner of oddities drawn up from the heart of the sea. Rahab trailed along behind his brother, scarcely watching his step in his entrancement.
The next line of ships they passed were being built or torn down, and Rahab watched workmen balance themselves effortlessly upon scaffolding that quivered with each wave. Other ships were being assembled on shore, in cradles made of yet more timber. A motion caught his eye, and there, in the water... two men splashed their way toward a light, half-finished vessel, newly lowered to the water. As always, watching the swimmers raised in Rahab a kind of blind jealousy, such as men might feel when they contemplate birds in effortless flight.
Ahead, the land grew rockier in a long, jagged spit; the taverns, flophouses, brothels, and warehouses grew smaller and poorer where they clustered on the shore, eventually vanishing altogether where the rock thrust up like a basilisk's teeth. Rowboats vied for space at battered docks, ferrying cargo to and from great, four-masted schooners which anchored in the bay. Some of the smallboats carried lean men with a desperate gleam in their eyes, who stumbled with rolling gaits as they stepped onto land but nevertheless made their way eagerly up into the city. Returning to their ships, the rowboats carried tight-packed clusters of men, women, and children - some dressed as middle merchants, some as paupers, but all weighted down with trunks and haversacks.
The activity offered a wealth of possibilities for two vampires, even in daylight. Even a fledgling, were he clever and careful enough, could snatch a sailor or some other wharf-rat in order to sate his hunger. And given the press gangs, thievery, and other dangers that lurked for sailors eager to spend their brief liberty upon shore in drunken debauchery, it was almost expected for a few men to disappear from time to time-whether of their own volition or otherwise.
Ducking behind a low, ramshackle building adorned with nets and strange, hooked fishing implements, Raziel watched the ebb and flow of activity, marking the ships that seemed to be readying for departure, and those that seemed newly arrived. There was one, in particular-an unprepossessing bark, its timbers laden with barnacles and green slime, its sails ragged and worn. Its crew had wasted no time in escaping to shore, but there were a few sailors that had remained-and now they were engaging in a quiet bit of enterprise, hauling small crates to shore with a furtive air and secreting them in a rocky hollow some distance from even the shabbiest of piers.
Raziel squinted into the sky, and grimaced. It would soon be sun-high; not an ideal proposition for stalking human prey. Still … he glanced at Rahab. "What do you think? Shall we do a bit of hunting?" Raziel was still well-fed from his earlier repast; but a fledgling's hunger was endless, as he well knew.
"Wha -" Rahab had followed his brother closely, but without a great deal of attention. His eyes had begun to tear from the brightness, from the sunlight reflected across the water - so much water! - but with every step, there were half a hundred new things to look upon out across the bay. But that last word captured his focus most neatly. Rahab blinked pinkish fluid from his eyes. "Hunting?"
The younger vampire stepped back into the shadows alongside Raziel, watching as a reeling man stumbled by, his weight draped between a pair of common tarts. "Yes," he said definitively, unaware that Raziel's question had been a rhetorical one. This alley, more alcove than pathway, dead-ended against a towering ridge of pitted black rock. The overhanging patchwork roof of the conjoined assembly of shacks provided a fair degree of shade. But not, he thought, enough to conceal any noisy taking of prey. On the other hand, perhaps he was wrong. Rahab leaned out from their concealment, glanced over their surroundings. "Can we feed here?" he asked, noticing a flurry of activity, apparently relating to the approach of one of the dockmaster's attendants, to judge by the book he carried and the guards around him. When Rahab looked back to the humans nearest, something was missing. It took a moment for him to determine what - a small stack of crates piled along the jagged shore, there but moments before, had vanished. But to where? There was nothing for a quarter-furlong, save for more steep slopes of that dark, pocked stone... and the hypnotic pulse of water, slow as a giant's heartbeat.
"Not here, no," Raziel said, watching the official's approach. He had noticed the vanished crates as well-and a dark, anticipatory smile ghosted over his lips. "This way …."
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Full story (very, very NC-17!) available here: archive of our own . org /works/180073/chapters/264780 (no spaces)