“He’s a king.”
“He’ll do what he promised?”
“How the fuck should I know?”
Stephan was breathing hard, chest heaving, nostrils flaring, glaring hard at the door, listening to the chorus beyond. It was a sound that got you moving. Unfortunately, we’d be moving in the wrong direction. “Just be ready with those shields.”
“Sure,” I banged a fist against mine, “to protect me.”
“Yar,” Karl grunted, “can’t have such a dainty young lass getting knocked about in the squash.” Whether he meant me or Stephan wasn’t clear.
I glared Sir Alaric up and down. “You strapped, old-timer?”
“By the hound, I ain’t going out there.” Sir Alaric took a pull off a wine bottle, offered a tepid flourish, then bowed. “Apologies. I’m just here to see you on your way and lock the door after.”
Karl grumbled something garbled but clearly and wholly negative.
“And what if it goes south?” I asked.
“If?” Sir Alaric shook his head, frowned, took another pull.
“Yeah. My thoughts, exactly. But you gonna be here to unlock it?”
“Rest assured,” Sir Alaric saluted, “I shan’t abandon my post except under the most dire of circumstances.”
“Fantastic.” I grabbed Stephan by the shoulder, shook him from his funk. “You ready?”
“Aye.” Stephan blinked. “Yes.”
“Good.” I lit my torch on a candle then slid out the door. Stephan followed, hand on my shoulder, Karl trudging after. A screamed epithet echoed off the Schloss’s walls. Followed by curses. Then the best part. Rocks.
“PLEASE!” Stephan raised his arms. “HOLD!”
“Sticks and stones, brother,” I warned.
Stephan stood between Karl and me, our shields angled and raised, offering a slim opening through which Stephan might work his magic. Or get smashed in the face by a well-aimed missile.
The mob bent, morphed, twisted, coming around like some vast slow, yare-less war-hulk towards us, dripping bitter malice, a tall thin skeleton-looking bastard clambering to its prow.
“Get fucked!” Skeleton cocked his arm back then slung it forward, a rock whistling in its wake.
A blast as my arm absorbed what shock the shield didn’t.
“Back up,” I hissed to Stephan. “It’s going sideways.”
“No.” Stephan shouldered through our shields. “Please! Wait! Listen!”
“Jesus Christ—” I made to maneuver ahead without lighting him afire.
“Hold!” Stephan marched forth. “I beg of you, hold! Listen!”
Rioters armed with rocks quelled an instant.
Skeleton stomped his boot, pointing, drool coursing down his chin, “Liar!”
“He hasn’t said shit, yet.” I met Skeleton’s eye. “Give him a square shake.” Then take aim. But I didn’t say it as dripping sarcasm was often lost on mobs.
“Brothers! Sisters!” Stephan bellowed into the void. “Put aside your missiles. Please!”
“We ain’t your brothers,” Skeleton spat. “Ain’t your sisters, ain’t your anything, you pampered dandy!”
“Aye, it’s true. My name is Stephan Krait. And indeed, I was born the son of a lord. But I, too, have known injustice.” He pulled back his sleeve, revealing the caustic stump where his right arm ended. “And have suffered for it. I have made it my life’s work to quell it!”
The mob settled at that, not wholly, and not Skeleton. “Then what in Hades you doing on their side?!”
Stephan pressed on. “I know what it is to lose. To starve. To—”
“Nooo!” Skeleton balled his fists. “He lies!”
“King Eckhardt offers the sire of the lad wergild. Housing and shelter as well.”
“And what about his cursed murderer!”
“He is to be punished,” Stephan announced. “Flogged. Publicly.”
A chatter riffled through the crowd.
“And what of them who gone missing?” someone yelled.
“Aye, what’s to be done for them?”
“Brother?” Stephan asked without turning.
“You got me,” I whispered.
Stephan swallowed. “I’ll speak personally to King Eckhardt about this—”
“Can you not see?” Skeleton screamed. “The son of a lord. What cares he for us? Can you not—”
Stephan trudged forth, marching across open ground until he was before the mob, until he was within it, eye-to-eye with Skeleton. Metaphorically, at least. Skeleton leered over him like a wizened scarecrow, his huge melon ungainly as an apple on a toothpick.
Shoulder to shoulder, Karl and I scrambled after. Precipice, a word that came suddenly to mind, and here we were lemmings scrambling pell-mell for it.
“You saw me this very morn?” Stephan asked. “Saw my brother?” He pointed to me as I skidded to a halt by his side. The scaffold and wheel stood somber and giant, mere echoes midst the burning silence. “You saw us here?”
“And what good would it do? Walter’s still dead. And we’re still starving.”
“Times are hard,” Stephan admitted.
“And about to get harder.” Skeleton lurched forth and seized Stephan by the throat, or made to, anyways. Karl thrust his torch forth, freezing the emaciated giant in place while I stepped in and slammed him with my shield, knocking him onto his arse across the cold hard ground.
“Stop.” Stephan raised his hand.
Karl lowered his torch. I scowled but restrained myself from putting the boots to him. Just like Jesus taught.
“Please.” Stephan offered Skeleton his hand. “What is your name, good sir?”
“Fuck you,” Skeleton rasped.
“What you said was just.” Stephan pursed his lips. “I was not successful in saving the lad’s life. Nay. I was too late. But I will say I risked my own life for his. I say this not because I fancy myself something of a hero. Heroes succeed. Triumph. I say it only because I wish you to see the truth of who I am.” He laid a hand on my shoulder, quelling me trembling back. “I risked my life and would do so again,” he turned to the mob, “for any of you.”
I huddled behind my shield, keeping an eye on the mob, their hands behind threadbare cloaks, gripping hidden weapons. Karl was doing the same. If the mob decided to do what mobs do, it’d make little difference. A few seconds, maybe. A couple steps. A fair many would fall, yeah, but we’d be amongst them.
A chatter of accordance spattered through the mob.
“Who here thinks me a liar?” Stephan’s voice rang out.
Silence only, but for the crackle of flame coursing through the night.
Skeleton scrambled on his arse backward, disappearing into the mob.
“I pledge this to you!” Stephan called out. “I shall parley with your king. I shall voice your concerns,” he laid a hand to his heart, “which are now my concerns! And I shall dwell amongst you, bearing your travails, if you should have me.”
Murmuring then at that.
“You mean it?” A woman shouldered through the mob. She was small, bedraggled, malnourished, but there was the glint of iron in her eye. “Truly now?” Her eyes narrowed. “You’ll speak with him? You’ll stand for us? With us?”
“Yes,” Stephan said, “I shall.”
It’s a funny thing, reading a crowd, a mob. There’s little difference between the two, really, only intent, and intent’s not always a thing you can measure, only sense. Some blokes’ll kill you in a blink with a good-natured grin. Some can’t mask the ire, have to let it pour free in horrific glee. But what can be masked by a loner is oft times impossible with a crowd, and that’s what Stephan had quelled them back into.
He strode through them unafraid, grasping hands, introducing himself, nodding, talking, smiling. A few even patted me on the shoulder. A fair rousing moment, truth be told, but it was a sad state of affairs when he and I were the most popular blokes in town.
…tried to escape the conflagration, w
e slew them, one and all. The flames that throughout the night had scorched timber under aegis of dawn took to consuming the carcasses of pagan infidels.
Hochmeister Gaunt assures us a place in Heaven, seated at the right hand of…
—War-Journal of Prince Ulrich of Haeskenburg
Chapter 10.
I PULLED OPEN the door to see Abraham lying shivering abed, blankets up to his eyeballs, translucent as a drowned maggot. The hearth-flame seemed to cast little if no heat. But there were a roof and walls and shuttered windows, and it was dry. A thimble-sized pot of soup cooking. More than something to be said for that. Ruth hovered over him, laying a folded cloth across his forehead, pressing down with her palm, holding it there, her lips pursed in chronic consternation. Joshua and Sarah sat side-by-side at a small table. Joshua read a book while Sarah lay head down, cradled in her arms.
I eased the door closed, wincing as it creaked.
Ruth looked up, eyes glistening, filled with a mix of hope and horror. When she saw my face she abandoned the hope.
“You were expecting my brother.” I straightened.
“What—” Ruth cleared her throat, fought to swallow, glaring all the while toward the window, “what became of that boy? The one from the yard?”
“What becomes of all of us.” I licked my lips. “Eventually”
It was silent outside. Finally.
“Won’t they—”
“They’re all back in their tents, hunkered down with sore throats and raw souls.” Hopefully. I nodded toward Abraham. “How’s he doing?” But I already knew.
Ruth’s pale visage darkened. “His fever’s not yet broken. And I … I fear that it shan’t.” She didn’t like me, and I didn’t blame her. I’d killed her son Isaac back in Asylum. “Oy vey. It’s best he’s not disturbed.” It hadn’t been my fault. Or it had. Nigh on completely. But he’d been part of a cabal set against me, put me in a tight position, given me one of two choices. Him or me. I’d chosen me. “You should go.”
“You need rest.” I set an armload of blankets on the foot of the bed.
“I’m fine.”
Ruth put me in mind of a sparrow, its bones so thin, so weak, so brittle.
“It’s late.” I could see she was cracking, fissures forming, moving in lightning-patterned jags even as I watched. Course, some of that might’ve been on account of me. “Lady Mary said she’d be along soon. To spell you.” I lifted a blanket, offered it to the kids. “What are you reading?”
“The Talmud.” Joshua tilted the book up.
“Still?” They’d been reading it aboard the Ulysses. The entire voyage.
“It’s all we have,” Joshua yawned.
“How many times’ve you read it?” I asked.
Joshua glanced at Sarah, still asleep, then started counting silently on his fingers.
“What they do is of no concern of yours.” Hands balled into fists, Ruth marched over and ripped the blanket from my hands. “Just stay away from them,” she growled. “Don’t go near them. Don’t talk to them. Don’t even look at them.”
“You hate me.” I took a step back, hands raised. “I get it. Hell. I deserve it.” I glanced at her children. “But you don’t hate them, yeah? So what do they need?” My voice echoed dead in the close room. “What’s Abe need?”
I could see the gears turning in her head, swallowing some retort no doubt lodged like a dry pine cone halfway down her craw.
“Tell me what you need and I’ll go,” I said.
“Joshie?” Sarah rubbed her eyes. “Mother, what…?” She stifled a yawn. “Oh. Mister Luther. Hello.” Presumably, her parents hadn’t told her that I’d murdered one of her brothers. And had a hand in the demise of another.
“Milady.” I offered a bow.
“Go back to sleep, love.” Ruth was kneeling by Sarah’s side in an instant, rubbing her back, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. “Close your eyes. Dream.” She tucked the edges in around Sarah, hands shaking all the while. “We need more wood.” She licked her cracked lips. “We need clean water. A bucket. As well as some linen. Strips would be fine. To… To clean him.”
“Of course.” I raised an eyebrow at the children. “Them?”
“Please,” Ruth gathered herself up, “don’t speak of them. Don’t speak to them. Don’t…” She nearly collapsed to a knee but caught herself, straightened, brushing a stray coil of hair from her eyes.
Sarah latched onto her. “Mother?”
“I’m fine, dearest,” Ruth said.
Joshua latched on as well.
“Yeah…” I took a breath, nodded, swallowed. “Wood. Clean water. Linen.” I turned to leave.
“Krait…” Abraham shifted in bed, his voice a low ghost moan.
“Abe?” I marched over. “What is it?”
He beckoned with a single finger, managing somehow to make it look exhausting.
“Sorry it took so long to check in with you.” I knelt by his side. “Been a long day.”
Tears brimming in her eyes, Ruth bit her knuckle.
“Where…?” Abraham struggled to sit up and failed, collapsing back in a gasping heap. “Where are we?”
“Haeskenburg.”
“On the Abraxas?” Abraham asked quietly.
“Yeah,” I said. “That Haeskenburg.”
“Oh, my word. Yes. Yes.” Abraham pinched the bridge of his nose. “Were you able to ascertain Lemuel’s whereabouts?”
“Sorry, Abe. We tried. He’s gone. Or dead. Or both.”
“Dead…” Abraham echoed. “Ahem. Ruth, m-my dear, some soup, please, if you would?”
Ruth sniffed, smiled, wiped her eyes. “Of course.”
“Relax.” I held up a hand. “I’ll get it.”
“Why did we put in here?” Abraham asked. “Perhaps we might sail further—”
“It was here or drown.” I kept my voice low as I ladled soup. “My vote was for drown.” I shrugged. “I was outvoted.”
“Oy gevalt. You should have woken me.”
“If the angry mob couldn’t, we figured you’d earned a stretch.”
“Even so.”
“Next time then,” I conceded.
“What happened?”
“The Ulysses shit the bed.” I handed Ruth the soup. Her hands were still shaking. “Got it? You sure? Good.” Seemed she’d brook no other way. “She was sinking. I’ve got Avar and Chadwicke on it. Gonna dry dock her soon as possible. Tomorrow hopefully. Heavy repairs.” It was the smart move. Smart unless Slade Raachwald had tracked us upriver. Smart unless Slade saw her. Recognized her. Acted accordingly. Then we’d all be begging to drown.
Abraham blinked. “What is this place?”
“The Schloss von Haesken.” I winked. “Nothing but the best, yeah? Pulled some strings with an old justiciar I know.” I didn’t tell him those strings were tied to an anvil balanced precariously above our collective heads.
“Hmm…” Abraham closed his eyes. “King Eckhardt is said to be a fair man, yes?”
“Yeah. Maybe.” I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Abraham forced air out. Breathing was a chore for him. A chore to watch. “And how is the remainder of our … situation?”
Ruth’s eyes welled. “Everything is fine, my love—”
“The Ulysses is an apt metaphor,” I cut in. No sense in lying. Not here. Not now. “We’re in it and in it deep.”
“You never were a liar, Krait.” Abraham smiled wanly. “You might elicit too much joy in the delivering of harsh truths, but,” he fought dry-mouth to swallow, tonguing the words out, “no liar.”
“I’ve no joy in this.”
Ruth cast me a glare and proffered a shaking spoon to Abraham’s lips. “Eat.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Abraham sipped tepidly at the soup.
“You should go,” Ruth said without turning my way. “Now. Please.” She pointed with the spoon. “He needs … he needs his rest.”
Abraham patted her hand and mumbled something I co
uldn’t quite hear.
Ruth cocked her head toward his greyish lips, listening, eyes quivering in withheld tears. “Yes, my dear, of … of course.”
“Krait.”
“What is it, Abe?” I asked.
“Forgive me.” Abraham dabbed his lips with the corner of his blanket. “And coin? How are we situated with coin?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Did you—”
“I’m sell-swording for King Eckhardt.” I shrugged. “Food. Lodging. Get us back on our feet. The lumber we need for the Ulysses. I just finished taking my oath. We’re serving a warrant come dawn. And we’ve some gear to hawk if we can find anyone willing. Courtesy of our friends from Asylum.”
“My dear,” Abraham nodded a mite to Ruth, “can you fetch me pen and paper?”
“I—” She looked around the small room, hoping it might somehow materialize. She came finally to me.
“I’ll add it to the list.”
“Rest, my love. There’s no need—” Ruth clutched his hand. “If you could simply clear this cough.”
“No, no.” Abraham took her hands and kissed them. “Of course, my dear, of course. I don’t intend to leave you soon. But I have trade contacts here besides Lemuel. Hanseatic men. Merchants. Men who owe me. I think it time I called them in.”
“These, contacts?” I raised a magnificent eyebrow. “They wouldn’t happen to be Jews, would they?”
“Err? Yes, mostly.” Abraham struggled to turn my way. “Why?”
Ruth glared hard my way, shaking her head. Fiercely.
“You know why,” I answered anyways.
…conquest after conquest. It was a heady lust that burgeoned within even whence thirst had been quenched and hunger slaked.
But hence, there came the clan-holt.
—War-Journal of Prince Ulrich of Haeskenburg
Chapter 11.
WE WERE SERVING a murder warrant.
“Used to be they condemned criminals here, a generation past.” Sir Alaric glared up through the cold dawn rain, shielding his eyes with a gloved hand, breath steaming, the ruins of the old keep looming like walls of a steep canyon, a legion of dark windows, empty eyes, watching down. Brown vines and dead vegetation encrusted a massive breaking-wheel propped up in the center of the courtyard. Not unlike the one in the Schloss.
The Last Benediction in Steel Page 6