The Mark of Morax
Gio Ford was one of the youngest of Morax’s men.
He had the face of a shrew and, coincidentally, the heart of one.
A bully and petty thief since childhood, he had set the snake bracelet on his wrist in a moment of elated, devil-may-care bravado, and he had regretted it every day since, and every day he had pretended not to regret it, lest the full truth of what he had done since should overcome him.
He sat in a bustling bar with his girl, a warm-skinned, red-faced young woman called Maeve. His mood was bright, reckless with relief.
‘They saw Morax go down with his ship,’ he said. ‘He’s dead. Dead and gone. That bit of my life’s over.’
‘But who was he?’ said Maeve. ‘And what was it for?’ She was younger than him; still young enough to find the details of evil thrilling. ‘What did he want the little Immortal for? He’s just a baby, isn’t he? There must have been a reason, Gio?’
Gio looked at the bracelet on his wrist. It had not moved once since the boat had sunk.
‘Morax used to say, The payment for talk is death. He used to say he could hear us through the snake. But he’s dead now – he can’t stop me.’
‘Go on then! What do you know, Gio?’
‘I heard him, once, talking to Petroc the centaur. I listened up against the door.’
‘And?’ The girl leaned eagerly closer, but Gio’s face, remembering, was very white.
‘He had a plan for the Immortal. Maeve, it terrified the lights out of me. He said he’d discovered a way—’
The snake on his wrist twitched. Its head snapped up like a sprung trap, and it plunged its jaws into Gio’s skin.