by K. T. Davies
“Right you two, look at me,” I said to the bratlings.
“Touch my babies and I’ll kill you,” the woman snarled and shoved her pups behind her. She was as skinny as a sweep’s brush and chained to a bed frame, but the muck-rake had some stones, I’d give her that.
“Don’t, Blake,” Snapper mumbled.
“Shut up, Bird. Now, you two little gob-stains, turn your peepers me-wards, or I’ll rip off yer ma’s drumsticks and beat you to death with the ragged ends.”
Two pale faces appeared over the woman’s shoulder. I pointed my blood-slicked blade at them for added emphasis. “The next time some mange-faced, buttocksbroker sends you off to do a job, don’t because not every Guild Blade is as sweet tempered as my friend here. Most are like me, and I would as soon drown the pair of you as look at you. You need money? Earn it, all honest like. Go work in the mines or something. Do not dabble in the business of the Midnight Court ever again, understand?”
They nodded in unison from behind the shield of their mother who was still staring daggers at me.
I turned to Bird. “Come on, we need to get down to the docks.” I made to leave the way I’d entered.
“You can use the stairs, you know,” the girl offered helpfully. Snapper sniggered.
“I know.” I sheathed my blade and climbed out of the window as One-Eye gurgled his last and died in a puddle of his own claret.
“You can use the stairs,” Snapper said again. And burst out laughing, again which did nothing to lighten my mood. We were late for a very important transaction and this bollock-faced, piss-drinker was still laughing his cods off at what that snot-faced bog-poppet had said.
“I should have killed them, and then killed you.”
“Careful now. Yer neck don’t look thick enough to carry that swollen noggin.” Bird laughed. “Kill me, indeed? There’s optimistic. You’d best council yer tongue to stay behind yer teeth, lizard, lest I school you in manners.”
“Do your best, but I’d wager Mother might object to such a rash course of action.”
“Ma Blake don’t scare me.”
I had to laugh. “She fucking should. Now stow yer blather. We’re here.” The warehouse looked much like any other save it was furthest from the city. A flat-bottomed skiff rocked gently at its mooring beneath the building.
“They haven’t covered the trapdoor,” I whispered to Snapper and pointed out the gilt-edged ripples reflecting off the water under the warehouse.
He grunted and shook his head. “Amateurs.”
I gave the door three quiet knocks followed by three more a heartbeat later. The door opened, and one of Dashin’s crew beckoned us inside with the shouting end of a handcannon.
“You’re late,” said Dashin. “I was about to leave.” The ogren took a suck of his pel pipe. Embers lit his grey-furred face, and his small, dark eyes shone like warm treacle in the lamplight. There were six of them including Dash. Two of them wielded handcannons the rest carried an assortment of hammers and axes.
“All right, keep your fur on, we’re here now. Is that the stuff?” I chinned at a bale of tightly wrapped bundles which were piled on a pallet. I could smell the pel halfway down the dock, despite it being packed in mint moss. One of the ogren nodded and pulled a bundle from the bale that was marked as ‘animal feed’ which it was, after a fashion.
“What did you think it was, my dirty laundry?” Dashin made a snuffling grunting noise which was as near a laugh as the snaggle-toothed ogren could manage. His crew did likewise.
“No Dash, I didn’t, on account of it not stinking like rancid goat toss.”
He grunted again. “If yer hands were as fast as yer mouth you’d be the deadliest cove in Appleton,”
“You’re too kind.” I drew my knife slowly just in case any of his crew had twitchy trigger fingers “Do you mind if I check the goods?”
“Help yourself,”
I peeled back a piece of the waxed paper and moss wrapping and dug a cube of soft black dough out of the corner of the package. It was moist and crumbly which was a good sign that it was quality merchandise. I wiped the pel off the tip of my knife and rolled it into a ball. It had an overpowering, earthy scent which was all to the good as Mother would mix it with dirt to get the most for her money. She was greedy, but she wasn’t stupid and would cut it enough to enhance her already ludicrously inflated profits while ensuring her ‘clients’ still got wasted. I licked the ball. The intense spice sent a crackle down my spine. The tip of my tongue went numb. Dashin waited expectantly, his furry fingers flexed in anticipation of payment.
“Well?” he asked.
I shrugged. “It’s not bad.”
The ogren bared his fangs. “Not bad? That’s the best pel outside of Shen.”
I gave a wry smile. “No, it isn’t, but it’ll do.” In truth, it was damn fine, but it didn’t pay to tell him that. I took out the pouch of rubies and tossed it to him.
He weighed the bag before opening it taking out a random ruby which he popped into his mouth. He sucked the stone thoughtfully before spitting it into his hand. “They’re good,” he said. “Although, this pouch feels a bit light.”
“Best count ’em then, if you don’t trust Mother Blake has played you fair.”
He eyed me suspiciously. “It ain’t Mother Blake I’m doubting.”
“Oh. shit,” said the lookout.
“What?” Dashin and I said in near unison.
“Greenshanks. A whole squad of ’em.”
I pushed the lookout aside and peered through the hole in the door. “Fuck.” A dozen city guard were marching purposefully along the dock towards where we were. Two of them were carrying firelances. “This isn’t a random patrol.”
Dashin spat. “Oh, you don’t say? How the fuck did they get here, eh? Which clumsy clods did they follow, I wonder?”
“This isn’t the time to argue over who’s to blame. We’re all professionals, and we’re all in the shit.”
Dashin grumbled but stuffed the pouch into his shirt. His boys made ready, and I quietly opened the trapdoor as the sound of marching feet grew louder.
“In the name of Empirifex Durstan the Seventh,” someone shouted. “I order you to come out with your hands up.” I’d moved away from the door to open the trapdoor which proved to be a fateful decision as about a second later, a shot from a firelance tore through it.
Dashin rocked on his heels and looked down at the fist-sized hole in his chest. “Oh, bollocks,” he said before pitching onto his face. The smell of burning fur and blood filled the air. The Ogren’s crew bellowed curses. As all hell erupted, I dropped through the trapdoor into the boat moored below. Snapper didn’t follow me. “Snapper, hurry the fuck up,” I hissed. Another shot burned through the darkness and smashed into the warehouse.
Bird crouched by the open trapdoor. “I told you, I can’t swim.”
“You don’t have to you great pillock. Jump in the boat and we’ll row. Salvation’s sake, come on.” He hesitated long enough for another shot to rock the building. The smell of smoke tickled my nostrils.
Ogren are not renowned for their intellectual prowess, but they are loyal to their sworn kin even those of a criminal disposition which makes them wonderful enforcers. Having seen their leader callously gunned down the remaining ogren decided to take on the greenshanks. Two blasts thundered from the warehouse. One of the guards on the dockside screamed as his leg exploded below the knee, spraying his comrades in blood, flesh, and bone. In shock, he tried to stand on a leg that wasn’t there and toppled into the river. Perhaps persuaded by the flames or the heated exchange of cannon fire, Snapper dropped into the boat and almost sank us as he landed. He grabbed onto the rowlocks like his life depended on them.
“Where’s the pel?” I asked and slapped his hands away so that I could use the oars.
He gulped. “I thought you had it.”
“What? Where did you think I put it, up my arse?” I would have sent him back for it, but just then one o
f the ogren staggered back into the trapdoor slamming it down. A moment later thick, black blood oozed between the planks anointing Bird and me and driving the water rats that had begun to gather into a frenzy. I took hold of the oars and rowed.
The ogren put up a spirited defense, but it was a lost cause as more greenshanks were running down the boardwalk and the warehouse was merrily ablaze. Standing to one side, away from the massed ranks was the captain of the watch. With him was a woman wearing a heavy cloak with the hood pulled down over her face, alas for her she hadn’t thought to cover her bare legs or the red welts where the chain had bitten into her ankle. “I don’t fucking believe it,” I said as my inadvertent slip about where we were going came back to haunt me. Snapper turned and saw her too but said nothing.
When I finally pulled the boat ashore, the fire had spread, and a dozen warehouses were beginning to light up along the west bank. The shooting had stopped which meant the ogren were either dead or captured, and the smell of pel sweetened the smoky air. “We’ll go north then round to the West Gate,” I said to Bird who was hunched in the stern. “I wouldn’t want to be that bawd when Mother gets her hands on her.”
Snapper looked up. “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, ‘what do I mean’? The bitch dobbed us in to the greenshanks and now she’s going to have to pay the piper.”
“She only did it for her kids.”
“And?” I grinned. “Hey, they aren’t yours, are they?”
“Don’t be soft. But you saw them, saw the state they were in.”
“No different to any other unlucky brood. Although, that boy had a sweet touch with the lift. Could have had a future in the Guild with skill like that.”
“They don’t have a future if you tell Mother, she’ll kill ’em all.” Bird spoke quietly, his voice raw with emotion I’d never dreamed he was capable of feeling let alone able to express.
“Rather them than us, or do you want to take the blame for this like a proper hero?”
“I ain’t no hero, too much blood on these hands to wash away with one good deed. But why do we have to tell her it was the woman who turned barley? Why not say we don’t know?”
“Because we do know, and if Mother suspects we’re not telling her the full truth, she’ll drag it out of us, and then kill us for lying. Someone has to take the blame for this. You know that.”
Snapper sighed. “It just don’t seem fair.”
I shrugged. “It isn’t, but you should know that too.”
He grunted. “Maybe. Maybe I’m just getting too old for this game.”
We pulled in at a disused boatyard where the rotting bones of a dozen old hulks lay on their sides, slowly submerging into the water. The boat shed was still just about standing, hiding our arrival from prying eyes as the curious gathered to watch the docks burn. Feral eyes brightened in the darkness, watching me as I dragged Bird and the boat ashore.
“That was close,” I said to Bird as he scrambled from the boat and onto dry land, his face turned to the blaze upriver. “I said, that was close. Are you listening, Bird?”
“Yeah. Sorry. The whole dock’s gone up.”
“Good, it’ll keep ’em busy. Come on.” I set off ahead. I was used to him lagging behind, but something about his odd mood and uncharacteristic sentimentality had put me on my uppers so that when I felt the slight rush of air as he made his move and heard the scratch of gravel as he launched himself towards me, I was able to react. I ducked as I turned and rather than having my neck snapped with one swift twist, took an elbow to the face that lit up the night.
Instant death avoided, I was still being choked by Snapper who’s iron-hard fingers were locked around my throat.
“You’re right.” He spoke quietly and without passion. “Mother needs to blame someone. Sorry,” he said as he tried to wrestle me into a better killing position.
His grip was so strong that had I been human I would have been dead in seconds, but I wasn’t, I was half thoasa. The traitorous bastard was going to have to work to kill me. I had to keep hold of him with one hand to stop him twisting my neck like a cork in a bottle, but I let go with my left and punched him in the gut.
It was like hitting a wet sandbag. He huffed, but his grip didn’t loosen. I felt my eyes begin to bulge from their sockets as I sank to my knees. The world furred at the edges as I fumbled for my sword. I managed to half draw it as consciousness began to slip from my grasp. Snapper bore down on me, tried to drive me into the ground. I sawed the blade across the ligament that ran on the inside of his knee and heard it snap a heartbeat before he dropped. As he went down, I pulled free and drew a mouthful of smoky, pel laced air into my starving lungs.
He was a tough bastard. Most men would have just laid in the dirt and screamed, but not Snapper. He put his weight on his sound leg and might very well have managed to stand had I not kicked him in the face and sent him sprawling. “Was she worth it, Bird?” I croaked and drew my other blade. He tried to crawl away, doggedly, stupidly tried to fight his way through the ensnaring coils of fishing net, rusted nails, and old planks that were scattered across the yard. I kept pace with him. “That fucking wench didn’t give two shits about you, didn’t even know your fucking name and yet here you are.” He rolled over; his small eyes were bright, and a tear tracked down the side of his flattened nose.
“Promise me, Blake. Promise that you won’t tell Mother.”
“What? No.”
“Blame me. That’ll do her, that’ll give Mother enough.”
I shook my head.
“Promise me.”
I drove both blades through his chest and into his blood box, felt that big, old muscle tighten around the steel, then everything relaxed.
Mother flicked the ball into the cup for the thousandth time, give or take, as she digested my pretty tale of the evening’s woes. “So, this ‘One-Eye’ fingered Snapper as the barley-backed turntongue, and then you killed the pair of them?” Mother was staring at me like she was trying to decipher a puzzle. Luckily for me, I had a face that was hard to read.
“Aye. Stupid bastards got caught in their own trap. You just can’t trust the greenshanks to keep their word.”
She snorted. “You can if you pay them enough.” The ball popped out of the cup and then back in again without her moving her hand. “I never thought Snapper had it in him. Always thought he was as thick as a bucket of bull spunk.”
I shrugged. “Some people, eh?”
“A pity you didn’t bring him back for me to deal with.”
“He wasn’t in a surrendering mood.”
“I can’t even make an example of his kin given as how they’re all dead.”
“I didn’t even know he had kin.”
“I just said he doesn’t, didn’t I?” Mother snapped and flicked the ball in my direction. She sneered. “I’d have roasted his brats and his bitch alive. Fucking plague. A pox on the plague I say.” Her lips thinned to a slit. “I don’t know why you look so pleased with yourself. Half the fucking docks are on fire, and I’m down a shipment of pel.” She pointed a bony finger at me just in case I didn’t know to whom she was talking. “You’re the only stall-whimper left alive from this shit-besmeared venture.”
“Aye, lucky me.”
“Therefore, you owe me for that lost shipment. Now go get cleaned up, while I consider what you can do to repay me for this most egregious loss.”
I inclined my head and got the hell out of there. Over the years I’ve learned that discretion is always the better part of living to breathe another day when one comes into conflict with the sharp end of Mother’s temper. I wasn’t happy that I was being made to pay for the lost shipment, but she hadn’t had me fitted for a wooden overcoat either, so I considered this engagement to be a victory.
To me, most humans look alike. Male, female, old or young, give or take a few variants, they’re hard to distinguish one from another by looks alone, however, when it comes to smell, everyone is unique, even that mos
t generic of species. For a creature like me with a finely-honed sense of taste and smell, the world is woven from a million threads of scent, creating a tapestry as sumptuous and intricate as a Guldistani carpet. Some are bright, some are subtle, some are as dazzling as the noonday suns, others are as foul as the contents of a cesspit. They all weave together to make a rich, olfactory tapestry, but I can pick out a single thread in the pattern or as in this case, three and follow them to their root.
The inn where I found them was still in Old Town, but it was clean and even had a small garden where guests could take their meals beneath the shade of one of the few remaining apple trees for which the town was named. The tree was dying because the calthracite burners drenched the town in grey filth, choking the vitality out of everything that needed clean air to thrive, but hung with lanterns and garlands of silk leaves it had a certain charm.
I waited until the miscreants bedded down for the night, before breaking into their rooms. I sat on the roof above their window, listened to them enjoy the strew and dumplings their reward had bought them, listened to the foolish songs the wench sang before they settled down to snoring.
I woke the woman with a hand over her mouth. Her kinchin coves slumbered in a cot of their own at the end of her bed.
“You shouldn’t be surprised by this,” I said to a pair of wide eyes glaring fearfully at me from above the blade of my hand. “Did you think you could turn barley and there’d be no come back from it?” Tears flowed. “No point crying, wench. You’re the architect of your own misery. You sold us out to the greenshanks.” Her body tensed beneath me. She would fight. Some didn’t. When faced with death in tooth and claw most gave up, but I could tell that this bitch would not go gently.
I sat back, let her go. She gasped and recoiled and drew the sheet about her as though it were a shield that was proof against yellow-eyed monsters that appeared in the night. I went to the window, closed the shutters and cast a spell of light which bloomed in my hand like a miniature sun.