Herald of the Storm s-1

by Richard Ford

  ‘I do,’ she replied, knowing full well the lines of the Mastragalls and Logars had been close for centuries.

  ‘And that even now our fathers stand shoulder to shoulder against enemies of the Free States?’

  ‘Yes, Lord Raelan, of course I do.’

  ‘Then you know our duty is clear.’

  ‘Our duty, Lord Raelan?’

  ‘To join our houses and strengthen the union of the Free States.’

  She paused, taking in his words, unsure if she had heard him correctly. ‘Was that a proposal of marriage, Lord Raelan?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘I know this is not ideal for either of us, but there is no alternative. The Mastragalls will have the strength and support of the Logars and all Valdor. The Free States will remain secure.’

  How romantic. ‘Yes … erm … but …’

  ‘I know this must come as a surprise. But we must remain rational.’

  Yes, rational. Just how I’d always dreamed. ‘I understand, Lord Raelan, but …’

  ‘We cannot tarry on this matter. It is a good match for you, and a practical one for me.’

  Please, stop. My heart flutters and I’m feeling faint from the praise. ‘I must send word to my father first. He must approve the proposal.’ Or rather, I must tell him I’m refusing it … tempting as it is.

  ‘Approve? This match was your father’s idea.’

  That took time to sink in.

  Odaka had told her just the other night that her father would allow her to refuse any proposal she did not agree with, and yet here he was, arranging her wedding. Could she refuse? Should she?

  ‘Lord Raelan, I appreciate your candour. The offer is indeed a most tempting one. I will think on it.’

  With that she turned quickly, trying to avoid seeing his reaction, but she was not quite quick enough. Raelan’s brow was furrowed, whether in anger or confusion she couldn’t tell, but she was not staying to find out.

  Janessa rushed from the vestibule as fast as she could without running. She passed Odaka in the corridor outside and before he could speak she raised a hand to check him. Odaka Du’ur was not put off so easily, though, and he followed her down the corridor.

  ‘Might I ask what your majesty’s answer was?’

  So, Odaka had been complicit in this arrangement all along.

  ‘No you may not,’ she replied, not even attempting to hide her annoyance.

  ‘Your father will want to know as soon as possible.’

  That made her stop. She rounded on Odaka who only looked down at her impassively. ‘You told me my father would allow me to make my own decision. Was that a lie?’

  ‘Of course not. The decision is entirely down to you, though, as I told you before, there are consequences to all your decisions.’

  ‘Yes, you’ve made that perfectly clear. And now the kingdom relies on my decision. Despite what my father expects, I cannot make this choice without thought.’

  With that she moved on down the corridor, relieved that Odaka made no effort to follow.

  She had to think. Her father would allow her to make up her own mind, but had made his own wishes perfectly clear. She could choose her own husband if she wished, but the choice should be made for the good of the Free States.

  What choice was there? Tall, arrogant Raelan — or would the shorter, no less arrogant Leon fit the bill?

  She clearly had no choice at all.

  Once in her chamber, she stared out of the window onto the city … the city that was forbidden to her.

  Only it wasn’t.

  It was forbidden to Princess Janessa Mastragall, a place she would rule over but never venture into … but then, had she always to be a princess?

  Janessa opened the oak chest at the bottom of her bed and rummaged to the bottom. There, rolled into a tight ball, were the plain brown dress and shawl she always kept hidden. She bundled them up, hiding them beneath the skirts of her silken frock, and made her way down through the palace.

  When she passed the Sentinels they stood to attention, but not one of them questioned where she was going. Why would they? Skyhelm was, after all, her home. One day it would be the place from where she governed the Free States. Why would anyone question her?

  She moved down, gradually, to the kitchens, becoming more discreet as she did so. No one would wonder about her wandering the halls of the upper palace, but there was no reason for her to be down in its bowels, where the servants worked and slept. When she was a child at play, no one had questioned her when she ran about the kitchens and servants’ quarters; but now a grown woman, she could not be seen mixing with the servants. But over the years Janessa had become adept at subterfuge.

  In the shadows of the kitchen stores she stepped out of her silken dress and donned the drab clothes she had kept hidden in her chamber for so long. Pulling the shawl over her distinctive head of red curls, she stepped into the kitchen. Within the hubbub of cooks preparing vegetables, meat and fowl for Skyhelm’s guests, no one gave Janessa a second glance. She strolled towards the side door, picking up two empty pails, and walked out into the yard beyond.

  A massive wall surrounded the palace, each of its gates guarded by Skyhelm’s Sentinels, but they thought nothing of a young girl leaving the palace grounds to fetch milk for the kitchens. Getting back into the palace was never quite as easy, but leaving was always the same. It had been many days since she had done this, days since she had taken her freedom in the city, but right now this was what she needed.

  With the shawl drawn over her head, she never got a second glance from the guards at the east gate as she walked right by. Once outside she placed the pails down and ran. She was free — free from the cloying opulence of the palace, free from Odaka and Raelan. Free from her duty and responsibility.

  On the streets of Steelhaven she was no longer Princess Janessa.

  She was no one.

  Once outside the Crown District she splashed through the muck of the streets, quickly coating her shiny shoes in filth. Turning a corner she dodged a carthorse that was pulling a dray stacked high with neeps, laughing as the driver cursed her for a menace.

  The sights and sounds of the city filled her head — people talking, laughing, shouting … living. No longer was she bound to the cloistered corridors. Out here she was unfettered, liberated from the shadow of her responsibilities.

  Janessa could only envy these people, envy their freedom to choose their paths, their freedom to choose their lives and their loves.

  Before long she reached her destination. It was a quiet tree-lined square, a single statue at its centre depicting Craetus, one of the ancient Sword Kings, his great battle blade held aloft.

  Janessa was breathing heavily, feeling the blood coursing through her veins. With a smile on her face and her cheeks flushed, she sat on an iron bench, taking in the quiet, listening to the babble of street vendors beyond the square mixed with the tweetings of the few birds that remained in the bare branches.

  As she sat she felt the first of the autumn chill, pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders and glanced up to the parapet of Skyhelm, still visible on the distant skyline. She wondered what Odaka and Nordaine would do if they went to her chamber and found her missing. Would they question Graye? Would they think her kidnapped? Would they unleash the Sentinels to find her?

  Let them panic. Let them fear for her. She needed this. She deserved this. If she was to be forced into a marriage not of her choosing, then the least they could do was allow her an afternoon’s respite before …

  He was standing behind her.

  She hadn’t heard him approach, but then she never did. He always came from nowhere, moving up on her like a shadow.

  Janessa looked up and smiled. He did not smile back, but then he never did.

  He sat beside her on the bench, and they stared at one another. As always, Janessa reached up and lightly traced the latticework of scars that marred one side of his beautiful face. At least they had not been added to since she ha
d last seen him.

  When she had first come here, when she had first stolen from the palace all those years ago, running away from some long forgotten rebuke, she had come to this place. As she cried to herself, wanting nothing more than to run away from this city and her family, he had come to her, and silently comforted her. Over the years, when she was hurt or lonely, she had come here, and he would be waiting.

  That first time he had come to her he had borne but a single scar on his face. Every time they met afterwards there would be more scars, more marks, but she never asked their origin and he never told.

  It was enough that they were there for one another. River, he had called himself, and she thought it apt, for when he spoke in his soft voice she could picture a lonely brook that sang its own wistful tune. At first he had been reluctant to talk to her, but now it was as though he could not wait to unburden himself, as he spoke of his hopes and his dreams for freedom, for a new life — always for a new life, as though the one he had was almost too much for him to bear.

  So desperate had she been to keep him, so desperate to retain her secret love, she had never told him her real name, and on seeing a bird perched in a nearby tree had told him it was Jay. She had not wanted to lie, but it had seemed apt at the time. Gods, perhaps River was not even his name, but it mattered little to her. All that mattered was that they at least had some time together.

  ‘Hello, River,’ she whispered with a smile.

  ‘Hello, Jay.’ He did not smile back, but she could see in his eyes that he was grateful she had come.

  Then, beneath the shadow of an old, leafless elm, they kissed.

  TWENTY-THREE

  For the past few nights Rag had slept on a hard pallet bed. It weren’t all that comfortable, but it was a damn sight better than sleeping on a tavern roof. She had to admit, though — the company weren’t quite as good as her previous crew. Burney snored like a braying donkey and Rag found herself staring through the dark at the plaster peeling off the ceiling for hours on end. How Krupps and Steraglio managed to sleep through it she had no idea, but they were out like snuffed candles while she just got to lie there, listening to the racket.

  The three men shared a room in a tiny house two doors down from The Black Hart. Krupps had said it would be best if she moved in as well, with her being one of their crew now. Rag had wondered if it was a good idea, sharing with three grown men and all. She was young, but under no illusions about what might happen to her if one of them took a fancy. Eventually though, her yearning to join the Guild had won out. If this was what it took, this was what she’d do.

  Steraglio stared at her from time to time. He thought he was doing it when she wouldn’t notice, but she could see him out of the corner of her eye sometimes. He scared her — not that she’d ever admit it. She tried to stay out of his way, or have one of the other blokes around. Burney was big and scary looking but gentle enough. Krupps, with his handsome face and cheeky smile, put her at ease. Quick with a wink and a grin, he’d taken to calling her ‘Sweets’, which Rag really liked. People had rarely made the effort to be nice to her. As time passed she found herself liking Krupps more and more.

  Despite the cramped sleeping arrangements, Rag had no complaints. She was beginning to feel like part of the gang. Sometimes Krupps and Burney would even ask her opinion on things — nothing too important, but it made her feel more like she was an equal — one of the boys.

  But the best thing was that she no longer had to thieve for coppers to pay for food. The house had a pantry and Krupps made breakfast — eggs and either ham or spiced sausage — every day. With bread and cheese around noon and some kind of broth in the evening, Rag had never eaten so well. A few times she’d stuffed herself so stupid she’d nearly cried with the pain and joy of it.

  She didn’t forget those she’d left behind. She missed Chirpy and Migs and Tidge, even Fender if she thought about it really hard, but they were the past now. She had a new crew, a real crew, not just young lads chancing it on the street corners.

  Even so, as the days went by and nothing happened, she was beginning to wonder about things. All they seemed to do was sit around and drink. Occasionally Steraglio would open a book, occasionally Krupps would disappear from the house for a while, but other than that they didn’t seem to do much at all. Not that Rag was complaining. It wasn’t her place. They must surely know what they were doing.

  After a few days though, they were suddenly in business.

  ‘Okay, Sweets,’ Krupps said. Rag had just woken up and come down the stairs. They were all sitting there, waiting for her. ‘It’s time to get some work done.’

  Krupps was dressed up like a dandy, in clothes Rag had never seen before. He wore a shirt with billowing sleeves, a satin waistcoat and matching britches. Over a chair was a coat made from the same material. He’d slicked back his hair with some kind of balm and he smelled almost sickly sweet. Steraglio was similarly dressed, though he still smelled of stale socks. Burney looked the same as ever, sweaty and heavy.

  ‘Where we off?’ Rag asked, picking the sleep from her eyes.

  ‘You’ll find that out soon enough,’ Krupps replied. ‘Now put this on.’

  With that he picked up a pile of bright blue silk and threw it in her direction. It wasn’t until Rag caught it and held it up she realised it was a frock.

  Rag had never worn a dress before, and she was damned if she was about to start now. Especially one that would make her look like a Verdant Street whore.

  ‘You lot must be joking if you think I’m putting this on.’

  ‘We’re not joking, Sweets. And you’ll need to brush that hair of yours as well.’

  She stared at them in turn. Their faces confirmed this was no joke.

  Back upstairs it took an age to get the dress on but eventually she managed after she’d worked out the difference between front and back. The matching shoes, thankfully, had flat soles — no way she could have walked with the pointy heels the street girls sometimes wore. Her hair proved a challenge, knotted and tangled as it was, but she finally got a comb through it, and came back downstairs.

  Krupps smiled. ‘Sweets! You look-’

  ‘Not a fucking word,’ she snapped, feeling totally stupid.

  ‘Might have to work on the manners,’ said Steraglio.

  ‘Is someone going to tell me what all this is for?’ Rag gestured down at the dress, which hung off her like some gaudy sheet.

  ‘All in good time, Sweets. For now, just get used to looking like a right little lady.’

  Fuck that, she wanted to say, and fuck this dress, but she kept her mouth shut. She’d complained enough already.

  ‘Right then, let’s go,’ said Krupps, opening the door to the house.

  As Rag and Steraglio followed him out she asked if Burney was coming too.

  ‘This needs a bit of subtlety, Sweets. Burney’s no good at that so we’ll be leaving him out for the moment.’

  Sounded fair enough. Burney was as subtle as a warhorse.

  They moved south across the city, towards its centre, and Rag soon realised where they were going. She needed to keep her mouth shut, not harass them with questions, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  ‘We’re going to the Crown District,’ she said finally.

  ‘Very good,’ Steraglio replied. ‘But do you think you can concentrate on looking pretty in that dress and doing less talking?’

  Rag wanted to tell him to fuck off, but thought better of it — Krupps wouldn’t always be around to protect her. She wanted to know how they were going to get in, since the Crown District was walled off from the rest of the city, but she guessed she’d find out soon enough.

  At one of the wrought iron gates that allowed entry to the district, Krupps signalled for them to stop.

  ‘Right, let me do the talking. Once we’re in, try to look as natural as possible. Like we belong.’ He glanced at Rag, as though she might find that a struggle. ‘Well … just do your best.’

  With t
hat he walked up to the gate. There were three Greencoats standing around idly, but as they approached the men stood to attention. Rag thought the game was up then and there. How would they ever get in? This had been a stupid idea; she looked about as much a toff as she did a cow at calf.

  ‘All right, mate?’ said one of the Greencoats, reaching forward to shake Krupps by the hand.

  ‘How’ve you been, Westley?’ Krupps replied.

  If Rag was one thing she was quick — quick to see trouble and quick to see coin. As the men shook hands, even though it happened in an instant, she saw a gold crown pass from Krupps’ palm to the Greencoat’s.

  ‘Mustn’t grumble, my old mate,’ Westley replied, moving to one side and signalling to the other two Greencoats. The iron gate squeaked as they pulled it open, allowing entry to a part of the city Rag had never been in before. This was the Crown District, home to the wealthy and the privileged, and to more riches than Rag could possibly imagine … and she could imagine a lot.

  Krupps grinned as he strolled in, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Rag paused on the threshold, knowing it was wrong, knowing she was forbidden from going inside. She just didn’t belong in there — but a firm shove from Steraglio soon changed her mind, and she stumbled through the gate after Krupps.

  Once inside, Rag could only marvel at the buildings, their clean, stone-clad fronts, their gleaming windows … the fact that they even had windows. Here and there the pathways were lined with trimmed grass verges decorated with flowers. Even though the blooms were losing their lustre with the approaching autumn, to Rag they still looked beautiful. Here and there stood a bush, expertly trimmed to resemble a bird or a fawn. How long had they taken to craft? And something was strange … It took Rag some time before she realised that this part of the city didn’t stink of rotting food or steaming turds.

  The streets did not teem with the great unwashed: there was hardly a soul about. Rag marvelled at so much space for so few people. Those she did see seemed to glide, with a grace far removed from the stomping, shifty gait of those in Dockside or Northgate. It was like these people didn’t have a care in the world; wandering aimlessly in their immaculately tailored garb, smelling of perfume and exotic oils … and that was just the men.