by A. W. Exley
Leaving the boys to their task, she walked out the door and along the wooden paving to the inn. A ruddy-faced woman took her order and Allie wandered the deserted room, staring at the paintings hung on the walls. The artist slashed the canvas with blobs of red and green in one picture and she turned her head trying to make sense of the maelstrom of paint.
After several boring minutes, the landlady appeared with a wicker basket covered with a red gingham cloth. Allie thanked her, took the heavy basket and then went in search of Zeb and Jared.
She dropped the basket when she spied two enormous booted feet through the open door. Inside, the blacksmith lay unconscious on the floor next to his anvil. A trickle of blood pooled under his head. Ice settled in the pit of her stomach and chilled her flesh despite the roaring fire. Her eyes darted, seeking any sign of where Zeb and Jared might have gone. Bursting out the back door, she found a small courtyard that led to a barn. One door hung off its hinge and swung partly open.
As she passed through the doors into the dim interior of the barn, she paused to let her eyes adjust. It became obvious she had missed the action, which resulted in a stalemate. She shrugged her jacket from her shoulders and let it slip from her fingers to the ground.
Jared was a few feet inside the door. He stood frozen in time yet coiled for action, about to spring. His sword was drawn and pointed at two men, whom Allie immediately christened Baldy and Grubby. Baldy stood next to the slumped and prone body of Zeb. Grubby crouched down, and held a blade dangerously close to their inert friend’s throat.
Allie assessed the scenario in an instant, and decided to jump right in the middle.
eb!” she cried and moved forward a couple of steps, her action drawing the attention of the men.
“No!” Jared held out his left hand to stop her, halting her at his side.
Baldy cast a predatory look she hadn’t seen since her days on the streets. He crooked his finger in a supposed welcoming gesture. “That’s it missy. Why don’t you just come over here and check on your friend? I’m really not sure if he’s gonna be all right or not.”
He grinned and tried to appear friendly, but given he was missing most of his front teeth and he looked like he had never seen a bath in his entire lifetime, the smile gave an altogether different impression.
Allie ignored Jared’s caution. She squeezed his fingers as she pushed his hand out of the way, hoping he would interpret her brief signal. She had a plan. She edged closer to where Zeb lay.
“That’s right missy,” Grubby crooned, while Baldy started chortling.
As Allie stepped forward, she brushed her right hand against the side of her corset. Silver glinted between her fingers. She extended her arm and then flicked her wrist and the flash became a metallic blur heading for the crouching man. Grubby cried out and clutched at his throat. Blood spurted out from between his fingers.
“The bitch, the little bitch,” he cried, as blood flowed.
Jared seized the opportunity Allie’s distraction provided and punched the taller man hard in the side of the head and sent him slamming to the stable floor. He hit the ground with a resounding thud and lay prone next to Zeb. Jared placed one booted foot on the man’s chest and levelled his katana at his throat.
“Is he going to live?” he asked Allie of Grubby, who was now desperately trying to stem the bleeding with his dirty neckerchief. He pulled the small but lethal throwing star from his flesh and tossed it on the ground at Allie’s feet.
She pulled the dagger from her boot and held it on the man. She gave a shrug. “It’s only a small cut. The stars aren’t big but very sharp. I suspect it’s probably deep, and carotid arteries can be touchy.” The man started groaning on cue. “I’d put pressure on that and pinch if I was you.” She held up thumb and forefinger and made a pinching motion. “It’s possible he could bleed out if he doesn’t get it tended soon.”
The man already looked considerably paler.
“Who sent you?” Jared asked of Baldy lying at his feet.
“I ain’t telling you.” He spat back, rolling his head to the side, to eyeball his friend.
Without so much as a blink of warning, Jared plunged his sword into the man’s upper left arm.
Baldy screamed as the blade hit bone and glanced off before continuing all the way through. It exited his bicep just above the dirt floor. He was pinned until Jared withdrew the katana and pointed the dripping tip at the man’s torso. Both fallen men were now the same pallid shade of grey.
“Who sent you?” He repeated the question.
“I dunno what you’re talking about.” Baldy groaned and clutched his right hand over the hole in his left arm. His fingers curled around his flesh to make a temporary tourniquet.
“Try an eye,” Allie suggested. “That usually makes them more talkative. Just don’t go too deep, you want to probe his brain metaphorically, not literally.”
Jared moved the sword tip up the man’s torso inch by slow inch, until it hovered over his left eye.
The prone man started babbling, going cross-eyed trying to focus on the unwavering tip. “Le Foy. He’s put the word out.”
“Le Foy?” Allie repeated. She said the name aloud, not sure if she heard correctly.
“Yeah. The Whisperers want the boy. Me mate and I thought we’d try for the purse.” Baldy gritted his teeth.
Allie’s eyes widened and she let out a low whistle of disbelief. Her mind raced with implications. “Let them go, Jared.”
He shot her a puzzled look but kept his sword at the man’s throat.
“Let them go,” she repeated. “We have all we need to know.”
Jared stared at the man for a moment longer before withdrawing his sword. “I suggest you both leave. Quickly.” His quiet tone acted as a powerful motivator.
Baldy scrabbled to his feet and, taking the kerchief from around his neck, retied it around his upper arm to stem the blood flow from the wound. He leant down and helped his mate to his feet. The little man glared at Allie before the two turned tail and exited the barn as fast as they could muster. Allie could hear them swearing and muttering as they went.
Jared walked to the door to make sure they were leaving before returning to where Allie knelt next to Zeb.
She placed two fingers on his throat and felt his pulse. “He’s okay,” she said. “He’s just breathing a little shallow. What happened?”
“The smith jumped me from behind. While I was struggling with him, those two grabbed Zeb. We toppled over and he hit his head on the anvil.” Jared knelt next to her and lifted Zeb’s head in his hands as he felt the back of his skull. “Well, at least he doesn’t seem to have taken a blow. They held something over his face, what do you think?”
“Chloroform?” She thought she detected an odour when she first leaned down. A faint sweetness lingered around Zeb.
Jared moved a little closer to his friend and sniffed. “Hmmm,” he murmured. “No telling how long he is going to be off dreaming then.”
Allie stared at their unconscious friend. “At least he isn’t injured, just out to it.”
Jared’s eyes flicked to where the two men had disappeared out the door. “What was that all about? And who is Le Foy, it sounds like you know him?”
Allie gave him a startled look. “Not here.” Her eyes darted around their surroundings, as though the very walls were listening. “You only talk of them outside. Let’s move Zeb first.”
Jared picked up a piece of cloth from the ground and wiped his blade clean of all traces of blood before returning it to the scabbard at his side. He gave Allie’s throwing star the same careful treatment, turning it between his fingers as he wiped the metal clean. He handed the star back to her.
“Nice move, by the way,” he said with a touch of admiration.
“Always pays to be prepared.” Taking the tiny metal disc, she returned it to the small, concealed pocket at the side of her corset. She hitched up her skirt and slid her dagger back into its sheath.
J
ared watched as she returned her weapons to their respective places.
“You don’t carry those stars at school do you?”
Allie gave him an absentminded look. “Oh, I don’t know, I can hardly remember everything I have hidden around my person.”
Jared’s eyes widened for a moment, before he shook his head. “Right then, let’s get moving and get sleeping beauty out of here.”
They left Zeb lying amongst the hay as they headed back out front and considered their next move.
Allie retrieved their lunch and checked that the blacksmith still breathed. Outside, she stared at Thumper, as immobile as a bronze statue. “What do we do with this?”
“Zeb said it had a default setting to follow the horses, so I’m hoping if we walk off, it will follow. Or it could hightail back to school like a frightened rabbit.”
Taking up the reins, they walked their mounts around to the barn entrance, glancing behind them to see what the metal creature would do. Once they put several feet between them Thumper gave a hiss, and then followed. When it stood behind the horses, the whirring noise stopped and it appeared inactive again.
Allie gave a sigh of relief. “That solves one problem, but how are we going to get Zeb up there? He used a ladder to get down.”
Jared scratched his chin, eyeing up the distance between the ground and Thumper’s saddle. “Would be handy if it could kneel.”
A clunk and a whirr sounded from within the beast’s stomach, the knee joints bent and soon Thumper knelt on the ground in front of them.
Allie and Jared exchanged surprised looks. “I wonder what else it can do?” she said.
“Given Zeb was muttering about defensive capabilities, we should probably be careful of our word choice around it.”
Walking into the barn, Jared bent down, put his arms around Zeb and then hoisted him up to his feet. “You know for an academic he’s not exactly a light weight.”
Allie grabbed his ankles and with the unconscious scientist slung between them, they carried him out to the courtyard. Jared lifted Zeb up and over the broad back of the kneeling beast, the thin student looking like a noodle laid over a table top.
Allie cast a look around the deserted stables. “I see no one came to investigate the shouting, not that there is much sign of life in this little town.”
“The smith must have known the other two. Perhaps they were going to split the purse.” Jared left the sleeping Zeb to check his gelding.
Allie tightened the girth on the sidesaddle and checked it was sitting level. She then looked around for a mounting block.
“I’ll put you up,” Jared offered. He patted the mare’s neck and then laced his fingers for Allie.
“We seem to be making a habit of this.” She got a wry smile as she placed a foot on the platform he made and he tossed her onto the saddle. Jared muttered softly to Soiron as Allie organised herself and her skirts. Once he saw her settled, he handed up the picnic basket, before vaulting into his own saddle. They headed out to the road at a sedate walk, followed by Thumper several paces behind.
Jared kept an eye on the precious cargo, to ensure he didn’t slump to one side, while Allie scouted up ahead. They headed back through the village. The densely packed mews gave way to quaint cottages with flower gardens and then open fields and trees. They continued along in silence and Allie could only speculate what was going through Jared’s mind. Zeb stirred occasionally but showed no signs of waking from his forcibly induced slumber. She swore Thumper paused, each time his load made a noise.
They found a sheltered spot under a large oak tree set back off the road and far enough from the village they were satisfied no one followed. Allie helped Jared slide Zeb down and he settled his friend in the dappled shade while Allie hitched the horses to a low branch. She dumped the picnic basket on the ground next to Zeb and chose a patch of sun for herself. She took off her jacket and spread it out before dropping on top.
Jared sat facing her, the picnic basket between them. “I suggest you start talking now,” he said to Allie.
She poked around at the basket contents, pulling her thoughts together as she picked out an apple. “What do you know of the underworld structure?”
“Not a lot, only rumours and what Marshall has told me. The underworld is ruled by four guilds. The Runners, who traffic in stolen goods, the Grim Reapers, who deal in weapons and war.” He held up a hand, counting off fingers as he recited what he knew. “Then there are the Whisperers.” He frowned over that one. “I guess they are spies? And the fourth guild is the Skin Dancers, the assassins. So the four divisions are like trade distinctions, although I never understood the Whisperers.”
Allie nodded. “You’re close, but it’s more complex and layered. It has a hierarchy as well as a trade split. Each guild is ruled by an overlord, who is like a duke. Think of the old feudal system, where the duke controlled the lives of all the serfs beneath him. The lord’s word is the ultimate law. That is how the overlords control their guilds.” A shudder ran down her spine. Only a fool with a death wish would defy an overlord. The guilds were creative. Death wasn’t the worst punishment for disobedience. “Instead of overseeing a physical territory, each overlord has a sphere of influence.”
Jared let her talk as he helped himself to the picnic basket.
“The structure is similar to the military. An overlord has lieutenants beneath him and so it carries down to the street level, where you have street enforcers. They’re like sergeants, who oversee all the soldiers.” Allie took a mouthful of apple. “When I was on the streets, I lived with a Runner gang. Our street enforcer was a man called Fredericks and his second was Christian.”
“Which is how you know the lieutenant.” He dropped his gaze to the picnic basket and assembled a sandwich with layers of cold beef and cheese between two large slabs of bread. “I can’t imagine you as a Runner. You strike me as more of a Dancer.” He took a large bite.
Allie shivered at the mention of the assassins. “Kill for money?” She shook her head at the idea; she may have different morals to the nobles but she wouldn’t kill for profit or simply because she was told to.
He swallowed. “I mean there’s something lethal and graceful about you.”
Allie wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or not, so let the comment pass. “The Grim Reapers, or the Reapers, are the war lords. They deal in arms, weapons, and war. Their symbol is the death’s head.”
“Because they deal in more death than the assassins.”
Allie stared hard at Jared, impressed. “Yes, most people don’t understand and think the assassins more lethal, but they kill singularly whereas the Reapers kill in multiples of hundreds. The Reapers will supply anything to anyone who has the cash. It would make sense if they were after Zeb’s invention.”
Jared considered her words. “I would be surprised if they could lay their hands on it. Zeb and his father have only built one. And it’s sitting in the middle of the KRAC base in Edinburgh. Assuming they could get in, they would never get out with it. But the men back in town said the Whisperers wanted Zeb.”
“Calling them a spy guild is probably the easiest description. They trade in information, and knowledge is very powerful. They say that the right words, in the right ears, have the power to bring down governments.” Allie chewed her bottom lip. “Why would they want Zeb?”
“If you steal the weapon you have one weapon. But if you steal the person who knows how to make the weapon—”
Realisation hit Allie. “Then you can make as many weapons as you want. The Whisperers want to get their hands on the knowledge in Zeb’s head and the ability to make as many weapons as they want, or to control who can make the weapon.”
She fell silent. So much about the current predicament gnawed through her. “He’s only seventeen. Kidnapping him breaks the covenant.”
Jared held her gaze. “They must want the rocket badly.”
They both ate in silence, thinking on the prospect of open war between the gui
lds and the nobility. If children were no longer off limits, St Matthews became a smorgasbord of kidnap and blackmailing opportunities.
Jared swallowed his mouthful and turned his attention back to her. “How do you know Le Foy? You recognised his name.”
What to tell? What to hide?
Allie lay back on the soft grass and stared up at the sky. She closed her eyes and her vision turned red behind her eyelids, fittingly, as she remembered the last time she saw Daniel Le Foy.
6th February, 1833
Today is my thirteenth birthday but there’s no party or presents, no cake and certainly no celebration.
It is also the last day of my life.
A magistrate has decided that today, I am to be hanged until dead. The presence in the cell with me, of the man supposed to offer protection on the streets, gives no comfort whatsoever. The two of us are to hang together for a burglary he bungled. He struck and killed the servant who stumbled upon us in his master’s bedroom and I am held as culpable as him.
I can’t decide if it is the cold leeching through the damp stone walls or the sickening fear making me shake uncontrollably. The only advantage to having Fredericks by my side is he stopped the other male inmates from trying to rape me during the unending darkness.
I huddle in my corner, trying not to touch the freezing grey walls. I’m so desperately tired. I want to close my eyes and lean against something. I want something to hold. I wrap my arms around my knees and hug them tight to my chin, trying to feel something, trying to give comfort to myself. Fredericks slumps against the wall, uncaring of the cold. He is defeated, he knows the end is near and he has no words to offer me, a mere street brat.
Closing my eyes, I race through my memory to my last happy birthday. I was turning ten and my family gathered, my father, mother and grandfather. I can clearly remember light, warmth, laughter, and love. Mother’s musical laughter turns into the jangling of the jailor’s keys and my eyes fly open. Metal grates upon itself, the lock is turned and the heavy door swings inward.