And telling it like that got my heart pumping, and I had the smell of that slasher’s blood in my nose again, and if you’d given me Raud Gríma’s dagger and set me to fight another one, I’d have done it and relished the kill, despite my week of misery over the last one. Name of Gods, what was wrong with me?
Styrlakker must’ve seen it. He said, “Well, it was like that, was it?” And he smiled and stood up and started circling around me. And the mood I was in weren’t conducive to just letting him do that, but I held my ground and stared hard as I could at the blanket hanging on the wall across from me, pretending like I didn’t want to leap at his throat.
“It’s right unexpected, on account of your usual trade,” Styrlakker said, still grinning. “I’d never have guessed you for a fighter, Ginna Alvör.”
The way he kept saying my name was putting my teeth on edge, and I wanted to tell him to shut it, but I just kept still instead.
He stopped circling when he’d nearly come all the way round to the front again, hovering on my left side. He leaned in close-like, and I cut my eyes to him. He was staring into them like he was trying to see something specific.
I frowned, and he leaned back, rocking on his heels like there was nothing unusual about getting within biting distance of a girl just to stare in her eyes.
I looked away, and he stood there saying nowt for a time, ’til after all the anger that’d started my blood flowing died down again. I just gazed at the blanket again, starting to feel tired of all of it.
“I’m going to tell you something, Ginna Alvör, and I want you to keep it secret, on account of it’s not good to spread a panic, right?”
I cut my eyes to him then.
“There’s trouble coming to Helésey in the form of Leika-Konungdis and her dearly departed husband’s army.”
I blinked.
It’s not that it surprised me; in fact, it felt a bit like before when it was like I’d known Ótti would leave me, even though I hadn’t. I hadn’t known the konungdis would return with the army, but of course she would. How could anyone have believed she wouldn’t? Where did we think the army had gone off to? And yet, I hadn’t known, not really. I never gave much thought to the army. It had been six months, after all, without a word about it. Eiflar-Konunger was dead. High Vigja Galmr was dead. That was the end of that. Only it weren’t the end of anything at all, turns out. Eiflar’s wife, his widow, Leika-Konungdis, had apparently only needed a bit of time to pull the reins together again, and lead the army back to the capital. Except…
“Didn’t he toss her out?” I asked. “At the Tyrablót? On account of her sister being a traitor?”
“He did, at that. I don’t expect it’s going to make a load of difference she’s repudiated when they’re storming the harbor,” Styrlakker said.
“But why are they following her?” I asked.
Dag was frowning too, like this was the first time he’d considered the question.
“I don’t know,” Styrlakker said with a grimace. “But I reckon they’ll follow whoever’s royal enough to lead them. I’ll wager she’s not alone, got others with power and money to back her.”
“But…” Another thought had come to me. “She’s never claiming to lead in the name of Tyr, is she?”
“What do you mean?” Dag asked.
“You remember,” I said to both of them. “Galmr and his book and all that. Him and Eiflar and the old konunger, too, they didn’t just tear down the other Gods’ temples. They changed the laws. They made it illegal for women to rule.”
Styrlakker blinked like I’d blown in his face. Didn’t know that, then? I suppose he hadn’t bothered to read the Book of Tyr. Well, even if he had, he mightn’t have noticed the bits that bothered me the most, him not being a woman.
“So if Leika-Konungdis really is leading the army,” I said, “she can’t be doing it in the name of Tyr, can she? And if she’s not, I don’t know how she’d get them all to follow, after the way the old konunger and then Eiflar rallied them all. Didn’t you ever go to a rally?”
“Did you?” Styrlakker asked, eyebrows high.
“Snuck up to them once or twice,” I said. “Just on the outside, to have a listen.”
“Why?” Dag demanded.
“I was just curious. I’m surprised neither of you ever had a listen. They held them in the parks, Dag, and you never went? They’d have let you in through the gates though they’d probably have expected you to enlist.”
“You spied on the rallies?” Styrlakker said, and I was surprised, on account of I’d always taken him for a quicker study’n that.
“Sure enough,” I said.
“They’d have thrown you in Grumflein, or sent you to a work camp—and that’s if they didn’t shoot you on the spot,” he said.
“Only if they caught me,” I said. “And they never did.”
The two of them looked at each other and then back at me as though I’d grown another head.
“I don’t understand why neither of you ever spied on them. Didn’t you want to know what they were saying? Weren’t you concerned? They did decide to murder all of us underlings, you know.”
“Ah, sure, but I’d no interest in being the first one they murdered,” Dag said, rolling his eyes.
Styrlakker was back to eyeing me with that hard glitter. “This just confirms my earlier suspicion,” he said. “You’re just the kind of fighter I need.”
I frowned at him.
“You’ve nerves of iron, Ginna,” he said, and it was only a small comfort that he left off my family name that time. He marched round the table on the left side of the room to a chest behind it, which he opened. He yanked out rough wooden box. “I’ve got a gun for you.” He opened it, and sure enough, pulled out a handgun, its gray and copper metal dented and dull. He held it out so’s it was within my reach, but I didn’t take it. My eyes caressed it, though, like it was some rare book with a beautiful cover. I’d seen my share of guns—pistols and rifles, mostly, and I’d even seen machineguns on the soldiers leaving Helésey just a month ’fore the Great Rising. I’d even fired some rifles during the Rising itself, without ever hitting owt of consequence, but I’d never had a handgun of my own.
I hesitated another moment and then took the gun, to find it fit snug in my hand like it was built for me.
“It’s a small caliber,” Styrlakker said. “You’d hardly feel the kick.”
“I’ve no use for it,” I said, raising my eyes to his.
“I’m not offering it to you as a gift, Ginna,” Styrlakker said with a snort. “I’ve a need for armed soldiers about me, more’n ever now.” He leaned in and tapped the bit of scored copper grip panel what showed through my fingers. “And I’d let you keep it on you even when you’re not at work. Imagine the uses you’d have for it in the streets, my girl.”
“I’ve no great skill with a gun.” But another part of me yearned to accept Styrlakker’s offer—the part what liked the smell of the slasher’s blood in my nostrils.
“You’d learn,” Styrlakker said. “I’ve more’n one man’d give you a lesson.” He sighed. “Don’t you want to rid the city of some more slashers, then?”
“I don’t understand why you’d want me killing slashers in the first place,” I said.
“They’re worse than a nuisance, for one. You said so yourself, they go about killing folk and I’ve a mind to put a stop to it, don’t you know,” Styrlakker answered. “It’s past time for a new rule in the city, and slashers’ve no place. But I’ve a larger plan, you must know. With Leika coming, we’ll need every man and woman what’s willing to take up arms, and I’m amassing as many soldiers as I can. But it’s not everyone’s as cold-blooded about killing as you.”
That made my stomach twist again. “I’m not so cold-blooded,” I said.
Styrlakker waved a hand at me. “Sure, you’ve had a few days of remorse, and it’s just as well, without that you’d become a slasher yourself, wouldn’t you.”
“You said i
t was unexpected of me, killing the slasher. But you had that gun all nice and ready for me when I got here.”
Styrlakker frowned and his eyes glittered a bit in the light of the oil lamp nearest him. “She’s sharp,” he said to Dag, who shrugged. Styrlakker turned to me. “So maybe the talk is you’ve always had a temper, Ginna Alvör. Maybe I’ve kept an eye on you for some time now, just to see which way that temper might go. And maybe when I heard about the slasher, I thought I’d find out a bit more detail, on account of it might have just been an accident, you killing him to defend yourself or some such. But I thought maybe not, and I put the pistol aside, in case I was right. And turns out, I was right, wouldn’t you know.”
“I’m no killer. I’m a whore, Styrlakker. I fuck people for a living.”
He never even blinked, though I’d said it harsh-like thinking maybe he’d back off.
“You could change professions. Go from paid for fucking to paid for killing.”
I stood there, looking at him, still holding the pistol. I wanted to say no, but I also wanted to say yes. The no part of me was screaming that working for Styrlakker was a damn fool thing, and no mistake. The yes part was thinking about never going to see Spraki again, money in my pocket, and plenty of dead slashers to boot.
“Don’t make a decision now,” Styrlakker said, taking the gun from me and locking it up again. “Think it over.”
I glanced at Dag, but his expression stayed the same, which is to say he looked like someone’d pinched his arse. I suppose he hadn’t expected the job offer anymore’n I had.
“Don’t take too long about it though, Ginna,” Styrlakker continued. “There’s plans in the works. Things are going to change soon. You’ll have to be one of mine before long or I’ll not take you on after.”
“How long?” I asked.
“I’ll give you three days.”
I nodded, and Styrlakker waved at the both of us. Dag headed out and I followed him.
~~~
I parted ways with Dag once we’d come back to Mosstown. Turning Styrlakker’s offer over and over in my head as I did, I made my way home through the bustle of what amounted to daytime. “Daytime” was only a matter of whether the lamps were lit or not that told you what time of day it was. Without old Nokki Leifr’s ancient gold watch, I don’t know how anyone’d have any idea of the time and how to keep track of when to light the lamps or turn them off. Used to be the underlings’d break the lights on the ceiling wherever they settled so’s they could have darkness at night—otherwise the lights stayed on all the time. After the city fell, none of the lights worked anyhow. Either way, the shantytowns are only lit with oil lamps and everyone gives a bit into a fund for the oil, so everyone agrees to turn them off for half the day to save on the expense. Mostly when it’s dark, everyone sleeps, on account of not wanting to have to buy oil for their own lamps. But when it’s light, everyone’s out and moving about, someone’s fixing this shanty’s roof, someone’s trading some bread they made with flour filched from Frigga-knows-where, and there’s always people arguing and kids running every which way. Makes going through town in the daytime a good deal slower’n at night, sure enough.
Sometimes I’ll not mind the delay, having to stop every couple of minutes or so to chat with someone or other what wants to pass along a message to Amma or wants to tell me about some new fabric they heard come into port or whatnot, and maybe I could see if there’s someone interested in a trade next time I’m up that way. This time, though, I’d something to take care of, now that I was out of bed. And it didn’t help that mostly people weren’t interested in messages for Amma or the latest goods in port, so much as asking, so very concerned-like, how I was doing, and all that. It got so’s by the time I was home I’d no interest in going back out again, but I couldn’t give in to that or Amma’d likely dig up someone far worse’n Dag to drag me out of bed again. I didn’t even let myself sit down once I got in, but gathered up what I’d come back for and started to head out. But I checked the larder ’fore I left and there weren’t much in it, just a bit of the dried fish I’d brung home the week before, wouldn’t you know. So I added a stop at Gram’s to my plan for the day.
Which brought to mind Styrlakker’s offer all over again. Me, Styrlakker’s toady. I could buy my fish and meat from Gram square-like, and never have to lift my skirt again.
Although I’d probably miss Gram that way. I always liked him.
For the first time in a week I felt myself get fair pleased about seeing him, and all of a sudden I felt lighter. I’d no need for Styrlakker’s job. I was happy enough doing what I’d been doing, after all. Sure, there were clients I didn’t prefer, but no job’s without its cutters. I didn’t have to become a toady. I didn’t have to kill anyone else. I’d no wish to. It never made me happy, doing it the first time. Going to see Gram made me happy. I’d just keep doing what I was doing, and tell Styrlakker I weren’t interested in his gun or his money.
After that crossing through the crowd weren’t so bad, and I smiled when people stopped me, nice as apples. Soon as I was clear of Mosstown I picked up my pace and it didn’t seem like much time’d gone by ’fore I was topside, in the Hársektor, climbing the stairs of the building where I’d hid my books. Just a breath or two later I was pulling everything out of the hiding spot, and out of the sack I carried, then putting everything together in a waxed cardboard box, in case it rained. Couple of books first, then the folded leather vest with the dagger tucked inside, and the mask wrapped round the dagger’s sheath. Then the other book and the sack itself. I pushed the box into the hole, then shifted a long, mostly flat piece of marble—heavy as death—over the opening and stood back. You’d never know any of it was there, I reckoned. I was right satisfied with it.
I stared at it for longer’n you’d think was right, but I was that happy with it, and finally turned round to make my way back south to Sudbattir, heading for Gram’s. Most of the southern-most section of Sudbattir is Ekkill’s territory, wouldn’t you know, but I’d no call to go so far south. Gram’s shop is several streets north of where Ekkill’s toadies start patrolling, in more or less neutral territory, on account of the streets are that damaged there ain’t much left to fight over. So when I come within a few blocks of Gram’s street it made me nervous, seeing smoke rising into the air. It weren’t blue smoke, neither, but dark smoke like what used to fill the sky for weeks during and after the Rising. At first it made my feet slow, and I thought of turning back and finding the nearest shaft down, but then the closer I got the more certain I was that it was coming from Gram’s shop itself. That made my feet move faster.
By the time I come upon it I was near running, much as you can run with all the rubble everywhere. Sure enough, it was Gram’s shop, or what’d been left of it, burning like it was a great festival bonfire. “Gram!” I called. The fire was so loud. No matter where he was, he’d never hear me.
I hopped from one foot to the other, asking myself sharp-like if I thought he was inside. But I had no answer to give on that, other’n not seeing him outside. I looked around with eyes wide, trying to see him, then trying to see if there was water to try and douse the flames. It was hot, like nothing I’d felt since the burnings during the Rising.
Finally I found an old dented, rusted fender what had maybe two pints of water sitting in it. I looked from the water to the blaze and wanted to scream. That water’d not put out one flame on that fire. But Gram might be inside, and in fact I thought he probably was. He’d be out here watching, at least, if he weren’t trying to put the fire out ’til he burned off his own hands, more’n likely. He’d not have left his shop.
It was pure suicide, what I was thinking of doing. Hadn’t I seen people trapped in burning buildings enough times during the Rising? Hadn’t I seen people run inside, never to come out?
But it was Gram. I couldn’t just stand out here and watch the whole thing collapse and burn up over him.
And I thought, maybe, because of Luka… maybe it mi
ght go different-like for me.
So I ground my teeth together, grabbed the fender, and dumped the water over myself.
I sopped what was left of it with the sleeve of the cardie and pressed it to my nose and mouth, then it was, Run fast as you can, Ginna, and don’t stop to count the tiles in the floor or nothing. Inside, it felt hotter’n anything I ever felt. I’ve no words for it, but I could feel the steam rising off of me from the water I’d wetted myself with. My eyes stung something awful and I wiped the sleeve on them to try and relieve them. The inside of the shop was orange with the flames, and I could hear some bad creaking inside the roar of the fire. Beams, no doubt, fixing to burst.
I pushed myself farther in though my legs wanted only one thing and that was to go back the way I come. I never bothered calling his name, ’cause no way would Gram’ve heard me. I just run through the front of the store and through the doorway to the back—it was a piece of luck it was open, for I’d no doubts about how hot everything’d be to the touch. I come to where Gram’s bed was and his living space. Luka’s Chains, there he was, like heap of trash on the floor.
My heart about leapt through my mouth at the sight, for I was both relieved to find him, but desperate ’cause I knew he was such a big man. What chance did I have of moving him? But I set my jaw and crouched down, thinking, Ginna-my-girl, if ever you were to use what strength you have, this is it. I rolled him on his side and tucked my shoulder against his chest, then hoisted him over me like a sack of flour. He was right heavier’n any sack of flour, though. I let loose a moan as my legs started to buckle, but it turned into a roar. I’d not drop him. I’d not fall. I would get us both out of that burning nightmare.
Course soon’s I started to head out the ceiling took to breaking. I froze and my legs started to bend under Gram’s weight again. It occurred to me that this was probably the sort of thing Luka’d like as a joke, no doubt. The Flaming God. God of chaos.
“Oh great Luka, father of the Serpent,” I prayed. “I’m still your’n, oh Great One. I’ll still do your work, if you see fit to let me live through this.”
After the Fall (Raud Grima Book 2) Page 7