by Richard Ford
‘No? You’re not like that anymore? I suppose you wear the armour of a knight well enough. It’s a step in the right direction.’
‘I protect the queen.’
‘Really? You stand beside her as she carries out her duties. You’re as much a proven bodyguard as the tapestries on her wall. Whether you’re capable of protecting anything remains to be seen.’
I rescued a warehouse full of slaves! Hundreds of people would be in bondage if not for me. All right, I put them there in the first place, but I did end up saving them from a fate worse than death, and at particular risk to my physical well being.
But he could never explain that to Lord Marshal Tannick Ryder.
‘What do I have to do to prove I’ve made a man of myself?’
Tannick considered that. ‘There’ll be time aplenty to prove yourself when the Khurtas come. Maybe even before that if I hear right. The queen is in constant danger. Assassins, they say. And I believe there’s a few in her own court wouldn’t mourn her death. She might even have to rely on you to save her. You up to that, boy?’
‘I’ll do my duty,’ Merrick replied.
It wasn’t a lie. Was it? Either way he hoped his father believed him.
‘We’ll see,’ said Tannick. ‘We’ll just see.’ Without another word he turned and walked back into the barracks.
Merrick watched him go as the rain beat down.
EIGHTEEN
It took Rag until nightfall to make up her mind. She had sat on the steps of the Sepulchre of Crowns, looking down the Promenade of Kings for hours before the rain started. Then she made the long walk back as the dark set in, still thinking.
That woman, Kaira, had been all right. She’d seemed straight up enough, given Rag no reason to question if she was telling the truth. When she said she would protect Rag it was like she meant it.
Thing was – you couldn’t be kept safe from the Guild. Not even the Sentinels could protect Rag. The Guild had eyes and ears everywhere. There was no place she could hide where they wouldn’t find her. And if they thought she’d betrayed them it would mean the end of her – and it wouldn’t be quick.
As she walked back to Friedrik’s alehouse, soaked through to the skin, Rag decided that all the wishing in the world would never change anything. She had only wanted a normal life, but it was never going to happen. Best to just make of this one what she could.
Once inside the tavern she saw Friedrik was waiting for her by the hearth. They were all stood around – Harkas, Shirl, Yarrick, Essen. Even Palien was lurking there by the fire. He was eating off a metal plate, his knife scraped along it all shrill and nasty, setting Rag’s teeth on edge.
‘Well?’ said Friedrik eagerly as she entered. ‘Is he there? Did you find him?’
She nodded, and a big fat smile opened up on his face.
‘Can I get dry?’ Rag asked, and Friedrik looked at her all apologetic like.
‘Of course.’ He looked around at the lads standing idly by, his expression changing from glee to annoyance. ‘Shirl, you useless bastard, get her a towel.’
Shirl scurried off and Friedrik ushered Rag nearer the fire. Part of her was grateful of the warmth. The other part didn’t really want to be so close to Palien and his knife, but she reckoned she was safe enough with Friedrik there.
‘Did you see him?’ asked Friedrik when they’d sat down. ‘Did you lay eyes on him?’
‘Yeah, course I did,’ she replied. ‘Good looking fella, never shuts up.’
Of course that was the description she’d been given in the first place; she wouldn’t have known Merrick if she fell over him in the street, but her answer was enough to make Friedrik smile and nod.
‘That’s the bastard! Good girl, Rag. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’
And Rag was pretty sure what would have happened if she had.
Shirl came back with a towel and Rag dried her hair. When she’d finished she saw Palien glaring over at her.
‘How do we know she’s telling the truth?’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’ said Friedrik.
‘How do we know she’s not just making things up? That she didn’t just sit there in the Crown District stuffing her face full of that food your cook made and now she’s stringing us along to cover her tracks?’
Friedrik looked at her questioningly, but didn’t say anything.
Rag looked away and into the fire. ‘Suppose I’ll need to prove it then,’ she said, and just left that in the air. From the corner of her eye she could see Palien looking frustrated, waiting for her to carry on.
‘Well?’ he said when he couldn’t stand the silence no more.
Rag reached into the top of her shirt and pulled out the medallion. She took it from around her head and handed it to Friedrik. He looked it over for a while, then smiled before handing it to Palien.
‘Think you owe someone an apology,’ Friedrik said.
‘She’s a fucking street thief,’ said Palien. ‘She could have got this anywhere. It’s no proof.’
Rag was ready to argue, but Friedrik took the medallion from Palien’s fist and handed it back to her.
‘What do you want her to do, bring Ryder’s head back on a stick? This’ll do as proof enough because I fucking say so.’
Palien didn’t look happy but knew when to keep his mouth shut.
‘I didn’t steal it from him, neither,’ Rag said. ‘He gave it me.’
This made both the men stare at her. She let it hang there, enjoying the moment.
‘He what?’ asked Friedrik.
‘He gave it me,’ she said suddenly shivering. ‘We had a good chat. I think he liked me.’
Friedrik turned and shouted over one shoulder, ‘Get some more fucking wood on this fire.’ Then he looked back at Rag.
What was she supposed to say now? That she could lure Merrick out? Get him into the open?
And then what?
This woman Kaira would do her thing but even if she managed to kill Friedrik, the Guild would still know it was Rag who’d betrayed them. There was no way she could ever be safe if she went along with that woman, no matter what she’d promised.
‘Weren’t nothing much,’ she continued, unsure of what to say next.
Before she could go on, Shirl came back with a bundle of wood. He wasn’t three yards from the fire when his foot caught on the rug and he went tumbling forward, spilling the pile on the floor close to Friedrik’s feet.
‘Clumsy bastard,’ said Palien, like Shirl had done it on purpose.
Friedrik didn’t say nothing. He just bent down and picked up one of those logs. At first Rag thought he was going to throw it on the fire, but he didn’t. That little man with the curly hair and the amiable expression turned on Shirl as he picked himself up. Friedrik brought the log down on his back with a dull thump. Shirl squealed, falling back down as Friedrik raised the log once more. Rag watched Friedrik hit him viciously again and again. Each time Shirl gave a squeal of pain. It was like watching a piglet get beaten to death.
Rag was beginning to feel sick. How much longer could she watch this kind of shit? Someone had to stop it. Someone had to put a bloody end to this.
‘I can lure him out into the open,’ she said all of a sudden.
Well, that’s fucking torn it.
Friedrik stopped, log raised up in his hand, Shirl cowering on the ground, whimpering.
‘What?’ asked Friedrik.
‘I can get him to leave the palace. I can probably get him out of the Crown District too.’
So much for not betraying the Guild. Looked like that Kaira woman would be able to trust her after all.
Friedrik smiled, lowering the log and letting it drop. He looked down at Shirl as though he’d just seen him for the first time. ‘What are you doing down there?’ he asked. ‘Go stand somewhere I can’t see you, and stop making that frightful noise.’
Shirl struggled to his feet, hands clutching his sides, face twisted in pain though he didn’t dare say a word in
complaint.
Friedrik turned to Rag. ‘Well, why didn’t you say that in the first place? How are you going to get him out in the open, then?’
She shook her head, thinking fast. Friedrik had talked about this Merrick long and loud and she tried desperately to remember something that might help. He was a drinker, a womaniser, a … gambler.
‘I told him my uncle owned a gambling den. I made out they were amateurs, that anyone with any nouse would be able to fleece them easy. He swallowed it, couldn’t wait to find out where it was. I played all cagey like, told him I’d get my hide whipped if I told. I reckon another couple of visits and I can get him to follow me to Northgate and you can nab him. Hells, I reckon I could get him to follow me to Silverwall if he thought there were enough easy coin waiting.’
Friedrik looked at her, taking in the words. If she was wrong about Merrick, or what she thought she knew about him, this could turn out bad for her. Much worse than a beating with a log.
‘You know every day I’m finding more to like about you, Rag.’ Friedrik smiled, and she smiled back. ‘Don’t you think she has excellent potential, Palien?’
Palien paused, his knife close to his mouth, some meat skewered on the end of it.
‘She’s a veritable fucking prodigy,’ he said, before popping it in.
‘Glad you think so. You won’t mind giving her some coin then, will you? I haven’t got any on me and it’s obvious she deserves a reward. Don’t you agree?’
Palien stopped mid chew and shot Rag a hateful glance, but it fell from his face as Friedrik turned expectantly. Plastering a smile to his lips, Palien dipped into the coinpurse at his side and produced two gold crowns.
‘Don’t spend it all at once,’ he said as he slapped them on the table next to Rag. Gently she slid the coins into her hand, keeping her eyes on Palien, just in case he got any ideas with that knife of his.
‘What are all these logs doing on the floor?’ said Friedrik as though he’d forgotten all about beating Shirl to shit.
Rag cringed. Shirl was bound to get another kicking if Friedrik went off on one again. Mercifully, before that could happen the door to the alehouse opened.
Two figures struggled in through the door, soaked from the rain. They were dragging a body in between them, someone big and heavy, hands bound behind them and a sack over their head. Harkas slammed the door shut and moved forward to help with the body.
‘Ah,’ Friedrik said. ‘Our guest has arrived. Although rather late, I think.’
Both the men carrying the load looked up like they was sorry. Rag could understand that; she wouldn’t have wanted to keep Friedrik waiting either.
‘We was gonna bring him last night,’ said one of the men with no front teeth. ‘But he was still knocked out and he’s a right lump. The two of us would have struggled to carry him all the way without being seen.’
‘Never mind,’ Friedrik replied. ‘You’re here now. Yarrick, open up the cellar, there’s a good chap.’
As Yarrick scuttled off, Rag marvelled yet again at Friedrik’s sudden change of mood. It was always like this – one minute wondering if he was gonna stab you in the eye, next if he was gonna plant a kiss on your cheek.
The men dragged the body after Yarrick. Rag could see that whoever was under the sack was moving, but none too fast. Friedrik strolled after them, glancing at Rag over his shoulder.
‘Come along,’ he said. ‘You won’t want to miss this.’
Rag was pretty sure she would want to miss this. She’d been here a dozen times before. It was like Friedrik wanted to show off to her – like she’d be impressed by his cruelty. She knew better than to refuse, however, and followed him as they dragged the body out to the back of the alehouse.
A trapdoor led down some squeaky stairs into the dark. As Rag followed Friedrik down, someone lit a lantern that illuminated the cellar. The place was massive, at least a hundred feet long. In the middle was a pit six feet deep and twenty wide – a dirty hole for dirty deeds. Though Rag hadn’t yet witnessed what went on down here every now and again, she knew it was a nasty business. There were fights in that pit; that much was obvious, and Rag had an inkling that not everyone who went in came out alive.
They dragged the body over to one of the wooden props and undid the rope binding its wrists. Then the one with the missing teeth chained its hands to the prop. They all stood back, just looking.
For an awful moment Rag wondered if this was Merrick Ryder – if they’d actually managed to catch him – and in moments Friedrik and Palien would find out she’d been lying all along.
When Friedrik pulled the sack from over the body’s head, Rag didn’t have time to be relieved it wasn’t him, because she recognised the face that glared up at them.
He looked at the men surrounding him, his face a battered mess, one eye swollen and half closed, lips and nose rimmed with dry crusty blood. Rag knew him despite the sorry state of his face. Lincon, he’d said his name was. She remembered how nice he’d been to her after Krupps had almost killed her. He kept her safe, gave her water for her parched mouth. She still felt guilty that she’d cut off some bastard’s head and then run from those Greencoats before she’d had a chance to thank him.
Well, there was no way she was gonna thank him now.
‘Nobul Jacks,’ said Friedrik like he was greeting an old mate. ‘How good of you to join us. I think you already know why you’re here.’
Nobul? Hadn’t he called himself Lincon before? Either way, it didn’t matter – it was definitely him; Markus’ old man.
Palien leaned forward, though not too close, like at any minute Nobul would savage him with his teeth. ‘Not so fucking clever now, are you?’ he said, sneering all the while.
Nobul stared back, hate burning in his eyes.
‘Did you think you could just finish off two of my best collectors and there’d be no repercussions?’ Friedrik asked. ‘That we’d never be able to find you? We’re the Guild, Nobul. We have eyes everywhere. Young Anton’s been one of ours since he was a boy. He’s been waiting for the opportunity to draw you out for weeks.’
Rag could see Nobul’s brow furrow at the mention of ‘Anton’. Whoever he was she reckoned he’d be in deep shit if Nobul ever got out of here, but that didn’t look too likely right now.
‘Now, I know what you’re thinking,’ Friedrik continued. ‘You’ll be tortured to death, body dumped in the Storway never to be seen again? Right?’ He cupped an ear as though Nobul might give him an answer. ‘Wrong. I’ve got something much more entertaining in mind. Big strong chap like you, bulging at the shoulders, good in a fight, if rumour is to be believed. Why would I waste an opportunity like that?’
Still Nobul didn’t answer and Palien gave him a sharp kick to the legs.
‘Be grateful, bastard,’ Palien said. ‘I’d have gutted you and thrown you to the fucking fish.’
‘Careful,’ said Friedrik. ‘Mister Jacks has a tough few days ahead of him. What days he has left, that is. We wouldn’t want to see him injured before he’s had a chance to perform.’
With that Friedrik shot Nobul a grin, then signalled for the rest of them to follow him back upstairs.
Rag was about to join them when Nobul caught her eye. He looked at her from beneath a dark brow and she couldn’t tell whether he recognised her. She would have spoken but couldn’t think what to say.
Hello, remember me? You saved my life once. Any chance I can return the favour?
With the tiniest gesture Nobul shook his head. Rag backed away. Maybe he did recognise her after all.
‘Come along, Rag,’ Friedrik called from the top of the stairs. ‘Don’t want to be down there all alone with the dangerous animal, do you?’
She hurried up the stairs after him.
Yarrick slammed the trapdoor closed behind them as Palien and Friedrik went to sit back beside the fire to discuss their plans. Rag didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to have any part of this. She was already in well above her head. Nobul,
or Lincon, or whatever his name was had helped her once, but what in the hells was she supposed to do for him now? He was caught, landed like a bloody fish. If she crept down there later and let him free no amount of smart chat and bullshit would cover her tracks. She owed him, but there weren’t a damn thing she could do.
Rag followed Yarrick into the kitchen where she heard hard and fast breathing from one corner. Essen and Harkas stood over fat Shirl. His shirt was off, rolls of fat bulging over his hairy waist. The lads were staring down at his back and from the look on Essen’s face what they saw weren’t too good. She walked closer, watching them.
‘He’s made a right mess of him,’ said Essen. ‘What do we do with him?’
Yarrick shook his head. ‘He needs a surgeon or an apothecary.’
‘Who’s got the money for that?’
Shirl looked up, his face a sweating red mass. ‘Friedrik’s got coin.’
‘Like he’s gonna pay for you,’ said Yarrick. ‘Why don’t you go and ask him, see if he doesn’t just finish you with another log.’
‘It … hurts,’ said Shirl. He looked in a bad way and it was obvious he’d only get worse if no one helped.
Rag fished in her pocket, feeling for the two crowns that Friedrik had made Palien pay her.
‘Here,’ she said, taking out one of the coins. ‘This’ll do, won’t it?’
Yarrick, Shirl and Essen all looked at her as she held that coin out like it was some wondrous treasure. Even Harkas eyed her funny, like there was some trick to it.
‘What do you mean?’ said Essen.
‘What do you think I mean? Take the fucking money and get him sorted out.’
Yarrick and Essen glanced at one another, then back at Rag.
‘Why?’ Shirl asked in between laboured breaths.
Rag stared at them like they had heads full of sawdust. ‘We’re a crew, ain’t we? We all got to look out for one another.’
Yarrick shook his head. ‘Yeah, but you’re …’
‘What?’ she said, getting annoyed that they were questioning her generosity. ‘Friedrik’s little pet? Fuck off, Yarrick, and take the money.’