Horn of the River God: Book I of The Song of Agmar

by Frances Mason

  He could have run around the room for a while, swung from the rafters and jumped from table to table, but there was no point in delaying the inevitable pain. He jumped down from the bar to the floor and spat in Randy’s face. An expected discourtesy among thieves. The dirty bastard did not even bother to wipe it off. Given how grimy he was it was probably the closest he had come to a bath in a year or more. Alex bathed in the caldera once a month, sometimes more, at least in summer, which made him cleaner than most Thedrans, and a lot cleaner than any North Bankers he knew, other than a few classier whores like Rose, who took a steaming hot bath every week. He wondered whether he should kick Randy in the balls too, but that would have really pissed him off, and he was too young to die slowly. As dumb as Randy was, the mangler in chief could probably think of a few ways to torture the teenage freelancer he hated with almost perverse obsessiveness.

  It was not the first time Alex had been thrashed, but it was the worst, or best, depending on whether you were him or one of the enthusiastically vicious manglers. As soon as Randy had knocked him to the floor and kicked him a few times the others closed in and he was being stomped from all directions. He tried to shield the parts of himself he most wished to use again someday, without being too obvious about it. After all, you had to allow a thug some fun. Gives him a sense of his own value. Every man needs a bit of meaning in his life. Becomes vicious if he doesn’t get it.

  When he was so bloody and bruised that he could no longer feel the pain they stopped, and Randy searched him. Fortunately he had hidden most of the gold where these morons would never find it. Randy took the few coins he had hidden in easy to find places on his person.

  “Not much of a thief, Quickfrigger,” Randy said, counting the coins and giving a smaller share to the others. Then he pulled aside a length of Alex’s tangled brown cloak, now stained a darker brown with blood, to find the cloth wrapped sword. Unwrapping it, he said, “This is it.”

  “Are you sure?” one of the others asked. “Doesn’t look like a sword to me.” Alex saw him vaguely through the blood that was stinging his eyes.

  “Looks like it’s made of bone or something,” another said, his hulking body nothing more than a dark shadow blocking the light of a lamp.

  “Why do they want this piece of junk?”

  “Who knows.”

  “An offering to Fulkthra?”

  “Guess so.”

  “With this that’d be an insult to the god.”

  “Gods are strange.”

  “And the men who worship them stranger. Still, who are we to talk, we worship Ilsa, a god with no balls.”

  The all laughed at that. Impious bastards! Didn’t these fools know Ilsa was both sexes and none at the same time? Didn’t make much sense, but that was religion, you had to believe in it, especially when it was ridiculous.

  “But the quickest fingers in the heavens,” said a blood smear that vaguely looked like an ugly man with a huge dirty beard like a nest for sparrows to shit in.

  “Quicker even that young Alex Quickfingers,” said another blurry red something like a face.

  “Quick as his fingers are he can’t dodge my fists,” said a voice that sounded just dumb enough it might belong to Randy. He punched Alex once more in the face. They laughed like clowns with stupid lines fooling around in the middle of a blood soaked revenge tragedy. “Or my boots,” said another, and kicked him in the ribs once more with a grin. The others joined in and this time he did not even try to cover up. At least it did not hurt anymore. Soon he would not feel anything at all.

  When he came to he could see stars. There was a smell worse than a privy after a bout of dysentery. He would not have thought that possible. Had they shat on him? Pissed on him? Shat on him then pissed on the shit? A mongrel with matted fur was licking his face. He heard a snuffling pig nearby. He tried to sit up and pain shot through his body. He groaned and tried to turn his head, but his neck ached too much for it to turn far. He had figured out where he was now though. There were no walls on either side, unless you called heaps of refuse walls. There was only one place that smelled this bad outside of Randy’s carious toothed mouth.

  He had been dumped on the refuse plateau, off the eastern edge of the caldera’s rim, south of North Bank. He could faintly hear the yelling at the distant pier. The refuse carts trundled through the streets of the city’s outer ring day and night shovelling up what had been dumped out of doors and windows. When they had full loads they took them to collection points around the outer city walls. From there the rubbish was shovelled through chutes, dropping to the refuse barges waiting below. The barges would then bring their loads to the eastern edge of the caldera. Winches dragged the flat bottomed barges up and tipped their contents over the lip of the caldera onto the refuse plateau, a pleasure palace for kites and rats, and apparently dogs and pigs.

  Pretty soon he would be buried under the shit and piss and rubbish of thousands of Thedrans. Was that a rat gnawing at his toes? It was not the way he had thought he would die, death by a thousand nibbles. He had thought he would have his throat neatly slit before he was dumped here. Apparently Randy had more imagination than he had given him credit for.

  Maybe the mongrel could help. “Mutt, stop licking and start dragging.”

  The mutt did not listen, or did not care. Alex made it a rule not to feel sorry for himself, but he felt sorry for the dog. He would not be able to lick any more of Alex’s tasty blood once he had been buried alive under a pile of rubbish. Maybe he would drag him out after though. Dogs liked digging. And it would add flavour. For all he knew rubbish was like exotic spices to dogs. They did lick their own bums and other dogs’ shit after all. Alex groaned. The dog growled. Maybe the mongrel would eat his face. Then it barked. He heard footsteps. A head shaped shadow blocked out the stars.

  “What’s it, Killer?” a voice attached to the shadow said, “a body? What you want I should do with that? They would’ve emptied its pockets first, sure as a fish don’t drown.”

  Killer yapped excitedly. Alex groaned, “I’m not dead yet.”

  “Shit! That’s something you don’t see every night of the day. Seen a lot of bodies up here in my time. Never seen a live one afore now, least not as wasn’t walking.”

  “And I’ve never been buried under a pile of rubbish before. Much as I like new experiences I’d rather give this one a miss.”

  “Guess you might. Can you stand upright, or only sideways like?”

  “I’m lying here because it’s the most comfy bed in Thedra.”

  “Out of Thedra.”

  “That’s what I meant.”

  “So you want I should leave you here with your funny words for friends?”

  “Not unless it entertains you.”

  “Well there’s always that. Life’s dark’s always lighter with a laugh. How’s as I help you?”

  “That’d be great. Better be quick. Sounds like the barge’s near the top.”

  “Nah, it’s only half way to heaven while the gods be looking down.” He put a finger to one huge ear, bending it forward, so that it protruded from his head like an oval sign from a fancy tavern as he turned his face toward the rim of the caldera. “Been sifting worth from rot since my top was short as a buried turnip. Know the sound good as my wife’s nagging.”

  Though the scavenger’s dialect did not sound local enough for him to have grown up in North Bank or the rings of Thedra, Alex was not going to argue with a potential saviour. The scavenger dragged him out of the path of the barge tip and continued searching for items he could use or sell. When he had finished he loaded Alex on his handcart, like another piece of junk, clearly less valuable than the rest. Alex winced on top of a painful collection of cracked bowls, broken furniture, ragged rolled up awnings, and tattered cloths, clothes and rugs.

  “Get Hambone, Killer,” the scavenger said to his dog.

  Killer ran across the rubbish tip, yapping and nipping as he chased a huge, hairy pig back to the path. The scavenger tied
one end of a rope around the pig’s neck and the other end to the back of his cart. Killer jumped up and sat on Alex, licking his face some more. At least his breath smelled better than Randy’s. They made a slow painful way across the lip of the caldera to a narrow, zigzagging path down to North Bank. By the time they reached the Knave’s Patch Tavern near the playhouse Alex had recovered enough to sit up. The scavenger was about to turn off down Beggar’s Lane. Alex called out to him to stop. He tried his legs and after a few wobbly steps collapsed against the wall.

  “Could you do something for me?” he called out to the scavenger, who was already hoisting his handcart.

  “I’d sooner as stay out your trouble. Done enough already. Probably too much.”

  Alex nodded, a combination of agreement and thanks. Just as well, he now thought; the man was too dirty to serve his purpose.

  He walked, collapsed, crawled, and staggered into the tavern and across the common room to the proprietor, who had watched his progress between the tables with bland unhelpful curiosity. As he passed between their tables some actors he recognised gagged and leaned away. A man sat in the shadows, hood over his head, long curved ceramic pipe smoking, unsheathed dagger glinting on the table like the eyes in his face. He reached for the knife, and used its tip to clean the food from under his nails. A heavy built labourer grunted something to his friends, then hawked and spat on the floor in Alex’s path without bothering to glance at him. Reaching the bar after what seemed a lifetime of pain he gave the man a silver, extracted with difficulty by bruised fingers from a well concealed pocket.

  “You’re disturbing my customers,” the tavern keeper growled through a thick black beard, and leaned away from him, wrinkling his bulbous red nose.

  “I need lodgings. That should cover it.”

  “Won’t cover the cost of de-lousing the room.”

  Alex knew a shakedown when he heard it. The beds in this place were more likely to give him lice than take them. But he did stink, and he did not possess the strength to go further, or even to try and haggle. He tossed another silver on the bar.

  “That’ll cover the cleaning costs. Any room will do.”

  The tavern keeper yelled to his wife, a hugely fat, matronly woman with beady eyes, squinting their disapproval, to watch the bar. He took a lantern at the end of the bar and led Alex outside and around to the stables. There he showed him to a stall to match his smell. At least the hay was clean, probably cleaner than the beds inside, though a horse in the next stall had found a hole, complements of a broken plank, through which it snorted and munched the bedding, such as it was.

  “Could you send someone to serve me?”

  The tavern owner looked at him sceptically. Alex handed him another coin. He wiped the coin carefully before pocketing it and stepped out of the stall. Alex heard him talking to a groom. “See what he wants, and make sure he pays for everything in advance.”

  “He looks pretty badly beat up. Shouldn’t I get a doctor or witch to look at him.”

  “Keep your mouth shut. I don’t like the look of him. Too much trouble comes to my door without helping every vagrant with enemies.”

  “He gave you a silver. Can’t be too much of a vagrant.”

  “It was a copper.”

  “I saw it. Flashed like silver not copper.”

  “Don’t get smart, boy. Someone wanted him dead, and I won’t lose any sleep if they come to finish off the job. I just hope they get rid of the body after.”

  He stomped out, muttering about the difficulty of making an honest living. Alex reflected he would never again feel guilty about thieving when the honest men of this world were so crooked. He tried to remember the last time he had felt guilty. He decided to put his failure down to a bad memory, complements of several boots in the head.

  He took out half a dozen gold coins and some more silvers and coppers, and watched through the slits of puffed up eyes as the groom entered the stall. He handed the boy three gold coins. The boy sceptically bit one and was surprised when he found it was real. Alex held out the other three.

  “You can have more if you do something for me.”

  He saw a glint in the boy’s eye. Maybe he would just take them. Alex was not in any shape to fight off an attack, even from a boy, and boys in North Bank were a tough lot, hardened by a hard life. But the attack did not come. The glint was just ordinary greed. The boy was neatly dressed and clean, which would serve Alex’s purposes well; better than the scavenger. He would just about pass for the page of a horny knight.

  “Go to the House of Delight and ask for a classy whore named Rosy Redlips. Just flash that gold and say your master, Sir Baldric of Sol, wants you to bring her to his quarters in the city, and that it has to be Rosy or they’ll get nothing, and they’ll fetch her. She’s the favourite of a lot of rich men, so they won’t be surprised, even if nobody remembers his name. If they want some gold in advance give them one coin and say she’ll only get the rest when your master’s completely satisfied.” He waved about the three gold. The boy was not too eager about giving away gold he had only just received, but the sight of three more was enough to keep him focussed. “Don’t let them know where you’re actually going, don’t say anything more to her about it. Head for the High Road first, as if you’re going to cross the bridge into the city to go to some palace in the north east quarter. Make sure no one’s following you. Then double back and bring her here. You’ll get these when you come back.”

  As the boy turned, Alex added, “And don’t tell your master anything. Like he said, he doesn’t want any trouble.” He tried to wink, but his eyes were too puffy. The boy grinned and ran out into the street.

  When Rosy came in she stared at him in amazement, not recognizing him at first. She looked nervously around the stable and turned to the boy. “I don’t do bestiality. I could introduce you to a girl who does that.”

  “And I thought you were up for anything, queen Rose.”

  Alex handed the three promised gold coins to the boy, who bit each one. Then he gave him a silver and ordered food and drink, for appearances; he doubted he would be able to eat anything tonight. The boy sauntered out with a deeply satisfied expression; he had probably earned a hundred times more than he would usually make from a night of tips.

  Rose was looking more carefully now. “Alex?”

  “The one and only. Gimme a kiss.” He tried a grin but with his eyes and all the rest of him swollen he could not be sure how appealing he looked.

  “Gods, what have they done to you? You look terrible. And the smell! You stink like a chamber pot. Worse than a chamber pot.”

  “Thanks for the honesty, Rose. I’m ok, really. How are you?”

  “They took the necklace.”

  “Well I suppose the wedding’s off then.”

  “It’s not funny, Alex. That bitch, Charlotte, ransacked my room. The guild manglers came up to my quarters and told me it was an unauthorised theft and I was lucky they didn’t want to bruise the goods. They satisfied their violent urges in other ways. Pigs! I can’t take it anymore, Alex.”

  “Leave.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Go to The Temple and ask for sanctuary.”

  “What, and stay in The Temple for the rest of my life?”

  “What about Finusthi’s temple, or the convent? Become one of Love’s Nuns. No one messes with Love’s Nuns. They’re allied to War’s Monks.”

  “Yes, I know, Urysthra and Finusthi are husband and wife. It’s only natural.”

  “Exactly. No mangler would dare come after you there.”

  “We talked about this before, Alex. If I tried they’d kill me. I’d never reach Love’s temple.”

  “They tried to kill me, and look at me, happy as a lute in a lusty lass’s lap.”

  “If you’re a lute, she sat on you and broke you.”

  “Not at all. I can still move, see?” He sat up and winced.

  She put a hand on his chest and gently pushed him back down.
Then she searched through her bag.

  “If you’re thinking of using one of those toys on me, I’m not that kinky.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Alex, I don’t do that sort of thing without a lot more gold than you’ve ever stolen.”

  “I could steal any amount of gold for you, Rose.”

  “That’s very sweet. Now lie still.”

  She took a lot of little boxes and phials out of her bag and started grinding ingredients together with a small mortar and pestle. When they had the consistency of a paste she smeared them all over his face.

  “Get undressed.”

  “I’m not really in the mood, Rose.”

  “Stop being silly, Alex. Just get undressed.”

  He struggled out of most of his clothes, with some assistance, and she rubbed the rest on the most bruised parts of his body.

  “You know, Love’s Nuns are renowned for their healing skills, but I bet you could teach them a thing or two. I’m already feeling better.”

  “That’s just numbness from being hit in the head so much. Would you like me to make you more numb?” She raised the pestle like a miniature club.

  “Not today. You can teach me all about perversion when I recover.”

  “I don’t know anything about perversion. I’m a pure girl.”

  “Pure of heart, anyway,” he said with feeling, and looked away when she stared hard at him, “the rest doesn’t matter.”

  “I wish it mattered less.”

  Regardless Rose’s modesty, her medicines really did make a difference. He could move his jaw more easily, and when he touched the slimy stuff on his face, which smelled as bad as him, he could tell the swelling was going down.

  “You’re a wonder worker.”

  “Leave that alone. You’ll need to leave it for a day, then have a bath. I should have washed you before, but if you die it’ll be your own fault.” Despite her cynical words her eyes were watering. To stop the tears falling she blinked them away and angrily accused him, “You shouldn’t be so cocky, swaggering around North Bank when you know they’re after you. You’re not sneaky enough.”