Steelhaven 02 - The Shattered Crown

by Richard Ford

  It didn’t take her long to find him, and when she did part of her wished she’d not come down here at all. He was still chained to that same post next to the pit. His head lolled forward, his clothes torn, his hair matted with blood.

  Rag moved towards him, wary of what she’d find. She was half scared he’d be dead, half scared he was still alive. Maybe it would be a mercy if he weren’t breathing.

  Gently she placed the candles down by his legs and crept forward, stooping low. His chest was moving in a shallow rhythm, breath coming all ragged.

  ‘Nobul?’ she said.

  At first he didn’t move and she thought maybe he hadn’t heard, but then he slowly lifted his head. His face was a mess, blood crusted on his nose and lips, one eyeball all red where the other was white, and one of his ears had the bottom torn off.

  She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do.

  And then he smiled.

  Blood was all stuck to his teeth and gums and it looked like someone had used his face to hammer in a nail, but still he smiled at her.

  Rag shook her head, feeling the tears coming at what they’d done to the man who’d saved her life those weeks back.

  ‘Sorry,’ was all she could think to say. Not that it was her fault, but part of her still felt responsible. She should have tried to get him out of here when she had the chance. But then how could she have?

  ‘Ain’t your fault,’ he said.

  ‘I should have tried to help you.’

  Nobul shook his head. ‘This is nothing to do with you, lass. Why would you risk yourself for me?’

  She moved closer. ‘It’s me, Rag. Don’t you recognise me?’

  He looked at her, his eyes tracing the features of her face. ‘Don’t reckon I do. Should I?’

  ‘Few weeks back you got me out of the shit. Bloke was gonna kill me and you came along with your Greencoat pals and did for him.’

  As she spoke she saw recognition dawn on his face. His eyes widened, then he smiled again like they were old friends meeting up after a long time apart.

  ‘You’re the girl that disappeared. Took that fella’s head with you too, if there’s any truth to the rumour.’

  Rag was hit with a sudden bite of shame. Yes, she’d taken that head – it was her ticket into the Guild. How different would things have been if she’d just left it there?

  ‘I … There were reasons for that. It weren’t as strange as it might have seemed.’

  ‘Well,’ said Nobul. ‘I reckon you did what you did because you had to. And it wasn’t like that bastard didn’t deserve it.’

  ‘Yeah, he did. But this has all turned to shit. I’m not one of them,’ she gestured back up the cellar door, hoping Nobul would get the gist of who she meant. ‘I don’t even want to be here.’

  ‘You and me both,’ said Nobul. ‘But we can’t always get what we want. Take my advice, lass, and run away. Far away. As far as you can get and don’t look back.’

  That was always an option. But then, where would she run? She’d just be on the streets again, only in a city she didn’t know.

  ‘I can’t go. There’s things I have to do here first. People I have to see about. Responsibilities.’

  But was there? Yes, she’d made a pact with that woman Kaira, saying she’d bring Friedrik to her. Then again, she didn’t owe that woman nothing.

  There was other people, though – Chirpy, Migs, Tidge – people she cared about, people she was liable for. They had to be looked after and she’d promised herself she would.

  ‘Nothing wrong with responsibility,’ Nobul said. ‘You just got to pick the right people to be responsible for. Those people worth it?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘They are.’

  ‘You gotta think about yourself as well though, lass. You’re a survivor and no mistake, but sooner or later you’re gonna have to look out for yourself.’

  She nodded at that. He was right: she did have to look out for herself. And she might have to do some more pretty shameful things to survive. But she had to live with herself too, and that would always be the hardest part.

  Rag had done some things she struggled to live with. From now on she was gonna try to make sure she made it easy for herself.

  She moved to the post Nobul was leaning up against and checked the chains that bound him. His wrists were manacled. There had to be a key somewhere.

  ‘I’ll be back soon,’ she said, standing up and heading back to the stairs, leaving the candles beside him.

  She climbed out, squinting in the light. In the tavern the fire was burning bright, one of the lads must have chucked a load of logs on it while she was down in the cellar.

  There were still a dozen of Friedrik’s ‘guests’ lounging around, and Yarrick and Essen were busy tidying, with Shirl and Harkas looking on.

  Rag walked up and grabbed the broom from Essen’s hand. ‘You lads might as well get off,’ she said. ‘I’ll finish up here, no point us all hanging round, is there?’

  Yarrick looked at Essen, then back at Rag. ‘But Friedrik said—’

  ‘Friedrik told me to look after this lot, not you. It’s all right. Not much left to do round here.’ The lads looked at each other like they wanted to go, but thought they might take a beating like Shirl had got. ‘What? You lot not got places to be?’

  Again Yarrick looked to Essen and this time they both shrugged at one another.

  ‘Cheers, Rag,’ said Essen. ‘Owe you one.’

  With a wink they set off for the door. Seeing them leave, Shirl struggled to his feet and followed. Only Harkas remained.

  Rag tried to ignore him, carrying on with the sweeping like he wasn’t there, but she could see he was staring at her while she worked. Did he know that she was up to no good?

  She stopped and looked up at him. Despite his grim expression, she smiled. ‘You can go as well you know. Not gonna be any trouble now is there? Look at them.’ She gestured around at the bodies heaped around the tavern in various states of undress.

  Harkas kept staring at her, and for all her fear she stared back, that smile still on her face. For a moment, it looked like Harkas was going to speak, but then, without a word, he walked out of the tavern.

  Rag let out a sigh as the door closed behind him, then she propped the broom up against the bar.

  Now where’s this bloody key?

  If Friedrik had it on him, and there was every chance he did, she’d have no chance of getting Nobul out. But maybe he’d left it with one of this lot.

  Rag padded quietly around the room. Most of the bodies lying in the shadows she didn’t recognise. Men and women were tangled together in a mass of flesh, the stink of sex and booze wafting off them. Some of the searching was easy, since there was clothes discarded all over the place, but no matter how many pairs of britches she rifled though, there was still no key. Just when she was starting to think she’d have to search through every slumbering body she saw a face she recognised.

  He was lying in the corner, a wine bottle in his hand. She remembered him from when they’d first brought Nobul into the tavern. His mouth was shut, but Rag knew inside that snoring gob of his the front teeth were missing. It was this one that had chained Nobul up in the first place. Her heart started to beat a bit faster.

  She knelt beside him, taking a quick look around the room to make sure no one was watching, then reached for his belt. He was breathing even enough, snoring heavily, and from the look of the half empty bottle of wine beside him he wasn’t gonna wake any time soon. There was a knife at his belt and beside it a pouch for coins. Deftly Rag unbuckled the pouch and fished inside. She let the few coppers in there slip through her fingers until she found what she was looking for. When she pulled the key out she almost shouted with glee.

  As she stood, the bloke snorted in his sleep, the bottle slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floorboards. It rolled along, spilling its load as it went, and Rag froze where she stood, waiting for everyone to leap up and catch her in the a
ct.

  No one moved.

  Rag made her way back to the cellar as quiet as she could, her heart cracking along at a gallop. Something was telling her this was madness. That she’d given her loyalty to the Guild. That this was betrayal, plain and simple, and she’d suffer for it in the end. But Rag had already betrayed Friedrik. What difference would this make?

  When she made her way down into the cellar, one of the candles had gone out. By the light of the remaining one she moved behind Nobul and slid the key into the lock of his manacles. There was a satisfying click as they opened up.

  The chains fell to the floor and Rag moved round to the front. Nobul was still sitting there, head lolling.

  ‘You need to run now,’ he whispered, before she could give him a shake to see if he was conscious.

  ‘I need to run?’ she said. ‘Think you’re the one should be doing the running, mate.’

  ‘No,’ Nobul said, using the post to pull himself to his feet, lifting his big bulk from the ground like a mountain rising up from the earth. ‘You need to run. Because when I get myself together, I’m gonna go up those stairs and kill every fucker in this building.’ He turned to her then, and fixed her with a look she’d remember till her last breath. ‘If you’re still here, you’ll probably end up dead with them.’

  Rag looked at him and saw that he didn’t look half dead no more. There was an evil light in his eyes, the nastiest twinkle she’d ever seen. She knew he meant what he said.

  Without another word she turned and ran for the stairs. She didn’t care about making noise now, just about running. When she got up the top it crossed her mind to warn the people left inside – to tell them there was a madman on his way and they should get themselves out.

  But they’d made their own beds. They’d come along at Friedrik’s say-so and they’d drunk his wine, watched his fights and fucked his whores.

  Now they’d just have to take what was coming.

  TWENTY-NINE

  He was hurting. Not like in the old days, when the hurt was good and it fed his rage. This was a new hurt. Deeper. Like a fire down inside, and the only thing that would put it out would be the killing.

  Nobul hadn’t wanted to frighten Rag, she’d saved him after all, but there was no way she’d want to see what was coming. And he might well have kept his promise and done her along with everyone else he could find. Best if she was far away from here.

  There was a dim light coming from the hatch in the ceiling and Nobul took a step towards it. There was a numbness running through his whole body – even the dog bites had stopped hurting. He was hungry and thirsty and he’d spent too long in a dark hole not moving a muscle. A voice inside told him he needed help from an apothecary, but there was work to be done first. It would be messy work. The kind most men would shy away from. The kind Nobul Jacks was born for.

  Each step he took towards the light became more assured. Every inch he drew closer to the hatch he was filled more and more with a sense of purpose.

  Time to forget the pain. Time to forget your aches.

  You know what fucking time it is.

  The stairs creaked a little under his weight. His hand gripped the chain still manacled to his right hand and he twisted it around his fist so it wouldn’t make a noise. Best not let anyone up there know he was coming for them. Might ruin the surprise.

  At the top he could hear someone whistling. Nobul crept up and peered over the lip of the hatch. There, silhouetted in a doorway, was a naked man taking a piss out onto the dark street. Where his clothes were was a mystery, but he wouldn’t need them anyway. Not where he was going.

  As Nobul pulled himself out of the cellar, he wondered if this man had watched him in that pit with the dogs. Wondered if he’d had a good old laugh. Cheered with the baying crowd or spat on him as he fought for his life. As he threw the chain over the man’s head and tightened it around his throat, Nobul realised he didn’t give a fuck either way.

  Credit to the bloke – he gave a good old struggle for his life, but in Nobul’s grip he had no chance. At first the man clawed at the chain about his neck, his feet kicking out as he tried to get purchase, but Nobul only tightened his hold, lifting the man off the ground. Then he did that little dance hanged men do when they’re trying to run from the noose. When he could sense the end was near, he forgot about the chain and tried to reach Nobul’s face, clawing for an eye. It did him no good.

  The man went slack. Nobul held him there a while, just to make sure he wasn’t faking it, and then lowered the naked corpse to the floor.

  For a moment he stared out through the open door. It was dark, the chill of the night blowing in like the breath of winter. He could walk away now, take his freedom. There would be time for vengeance later. It was the sensible thing to do.

  But when have you ever done the sensible thing?

  Nobul closed the door. He turned the key that was still in the lock, then took it out and tossed it into the cellar.

  Carefully Nobul opened an internal door. Wouldn’t want to spook anyone. Wouldn’t want to let the whole place know he was coming.

  A wave of warm air hit him as he entered a tavern. A fire crackled in one corner, and there was a bar covered in empty tankards and bottles.

  He walked across the room, past the slumbering bodies that lay all around. Someone stirred as he walked by but didn’t wake. When he reached the other side of the room, Nobul slid the deadbolts across the door, then picked up a chair and wedged it under the handle as tight as he could make it.

  Wouldn’t want anyone running off before the revelry had ended, would he? And Nobul knew damn well how much this lot liked a bit of revelry.

  Before he could decide where to start, Nobul’s eye fell on someone sleeping next to the bar. His head was leaning to one side, and he was breathing noisily.

  As Nobul recognised him he felt his heart begin to beat faster. Shivers of excitement crept down the back of his neck.

  He’d made this bastard a promise. Time to keep it.

  In his right hand he twisted the chain tighter round his fist, while his left reached out for the bastard’s shirt. As he pulled him off the floor, Toothless opened his eyes, letting out a bark of protest. Nobul slammed him back against the bar and held him there, giving his eyes a chance to focus.

  Toothless looked confused, angry, then scared as he looked into Nobul’s blooded face.

  ‘Wakey wakey,’ said Nobul.

  Toothless opened his mouth to reply – to beg, or perhaps to snarl his defiance. Nobul smashed his chain-wrapped fist into Toothless’ open mouth. The man squealed as the side of his face erupted in a gout of blood, what rotten teeth he had left flying out of his head.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Nobul growled, smashing his fist into Toothless’ face again before he could answer. ‘Can’t remember, fucker?’ Nobul hit him again and Toothless sagged against the bar. ‘I told you I was gonna kill you.’ He picked his victim up in one fist, bringing his face close. ‘And I always keep my promises.’

  Nobul let Toothless sag, his head lolling back on the bar. The bastard brought up his hands weakly, pleading for mercy. Nobul brought his fist down, smashing Toothless’ head into the bar top. Again and again he pounded that head, pulping it, cracking it, breaking it. Each blow rang out across the tavern, and behind him Nobul could hear people waking to the sound of murder.

  Good! Let them watch this. Let them see what was in store.

  Long after Toothless had stopped moving, Nobul let the body slip to the floor. He should have been satisfied at that. Seeing this bastard dead should have been enough.

  But it wasn’t.

  A woman screamed. There was a commotion, furniture scraping on the floor, someone running for the exit.

  Let them run.

  He turned to see a naked man coming at him, arm raised, a long black piece of iron in his hand. There was time to see the fear in the man’s bleary eyes before Nobul stepped forward with a crushing head butt. It stopped the man in his tra
cks, the metal falling from his hand. Another butt of the head and the man fell at his feet.

  Nobul stooped to pick up the metal. It was a poker, still warm to the touch, and it felt good in his hand. He raised it, smashing the solid iron into the man’s head where he lay. A scream went up from a woman. Nobul turned and walked towards her. She carried on screaming, rooted to the spot.

  Was she another witness to the dogfight? Did he fucking care?

  He smashed the chained fist into her mouth and she fell back stunned. Another punch to the side of her head and he felt her skull crack.

  People were running from him now, some cowering, desperate to hide. But there was nowhere to hide, not from him.

  Nobul turned to the front door. Half-dressed figures were fumbling at the chair and the deadbolts he’d secured there, frantically trying to get it open. Nobul was across the tavern in a bound, raising the poker. A few nights before they’d been laughing and jeering and waiting for him to die. Now they were just a screaming mass of bodies, ripe for the kill.

  Blood splashed his face as he struck. He could taste it on his lips, warm and familiar. He punched out with his fist, the chain biting into his knuckles, and it felt good. It stoked the fire, teased his hunger, and there was only one thing that would see him full.

  It didn’t take long before there was nothing but corpses lying before the door. Broken and torn.

  He span on his heel, hungry for more, and scanned the rest of the tavern. As he walked across the room he heard a whimper from beneath a table and flung it out of the way. Someone cowered beneath it, his face tear-streaked and screwed up in terror.

  ‘Please,’ said the man, holding up his hands for clemency.

  Nobul stared down, remembering something through the mist, suddenly thinking there was one other bastard who had it coming.