Herald of the Storm s-1

by Richard Ford

  Mountain fell backwards, his head hitting the hard stone of the bridge as he collapsed to the ground. He was struggling, desperately clutching his throat, and River watched him wallowing in defeat, realising his father had to be sent a message.

  Somewhere in the distance River could hear the sound of the militia shouting in pursuit.

  Let them come … they would be too late, as they always were.

  As his brother desperately tried to crawl away, River wrapped an arm around his neck, squeezing for all his might. Mountain’s grip was strong as he tried to pull himself free, but he would never be strong enough.

  Steadily Mountain grew weaker, his grip slackening until lack of air caused his legs to buckle. Once his brother had sagged in his arms, River wrenched his neck sideways, giving a furious cry as the neck cracked.

  He looked down at the lifeless body without pity or remorse.

  When the militiamen reached the bridge, they would find nothing there but the broken corpse of a mutilated giant.

  River would be gone.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  There’d been little said once they returned to their house near The Black Hart. They’d killed some fella in the richest district of Steelhaven and didn’t have a pot of piss to show for it. What were they supposed to say?

  Steraglio brooded in a corner. Every now and then he’d give Rag a dirty look; some of the dirtiest looks she’d ever seen, and they spoke all sorts of nasty. It was clear he blamed her for the robbery going tits up and she was sure he’d have shown her just how pissed off he was if Krupps hadn’t been around — though she weren’t Krupps’ favourite person either. He hadn’t spoke a word to her since they’d got back, not even looked in her direction.

  Not that she minded. That night had shown her a side of him she hadn’t known about, didn’t like, and she was sure as shit didn’t want to see again. But then they’d all three of them been in on it, stabbing and kicking and punching the poor bastard till he was nothing more than a sack of bloody meat on the floor. Even Burney — big, dumb, brain-like-a-fried-egg Burney — had joined in when the killing started.

  Rag wanted nothing more than to get out, to leave this place behind her, but she hadn’t. She’d stayed and suffered the shitty atmosphere and the shittier looks. Where would she have gone, anyway? Sitting in a house full of bloody awful tension, but with a roof over your head and food in your belly, was better than sitting in the rain with no roof and no food. Besides, there was still the question of the Guild. She hadn’t asked where they were on that: whether or not she still had a chance. She’d have to ask sooner or later. That was the whole reason she’d gone through with this in the first place. She wasn’t going anywhere until she’d at least managed to find out where she stood.

  ‘Who wants supper?’ Burney said, as they all sat around the small downstairs room.

  ‘How can you think of food at a time like this?’ Steraglio replied.

  ‘A time like what? Besides, doesn’t matter what sort of time it is, we’ve got to eat.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter what time …? I’ll tell you what time it is: it’s time we were thinking about getting the fuck away from here. If the Greencoats don’t catch up with us then the Guild soon will. Too many people know it was us that did the job, so they’ll know it was us did the fucking murdering. When they find out where we live, they’ll come round here and hang us — if we’re lucky.’

  The Guild? Why would the Guild come round? They’d already told her the Guild had sanctioned this. They had sanctioned this, hadn’t they?

  ‘How would anyone know where we are?’ Burney said, his brow creasing in confusion.

  ‘Because — you fucking idiot — people do. Coles was our man on the inside, gave us the job in the first place. He knows where we live. Westley — our Greencoated friend who works the gate to the Crown District — he knows our names and where we live. Everyone that goes in the Hart, they all know where we live too. But then it’s not easy for us to be discreet when we’ve got a big lumbering fuckwit like you in our crew!’

  Burney’s brow furrowed even more. ‘Bollocks! It weren’t my fault everything went to shit. I wasn’t the one what untied him. And I got cut.’ He pointed to the crude bandage on his upper arm still stained with blood.

  ‘No, it wasn’t you that untied him, was it.’ Steraglio looked at Rag, almost unable to contain himself.

  ‘All right, that’s enough,’ said Krupps.

  Steraglio and Burney obviously wanted to continue their row but thought better of it. Krupps had settled into a black mood since the robbery. They clearly feared to provoke him.

  It made Rag nervous. She’d thought Krupps wasn’t so bad. She’d thought he had a sweet spot for her too, which always helped. Now she didn’t know what to think.

  ‘Going on about it isn’t going to change anything. This whole thing’s gone to shit — but there’s always a way out.’ Krupps went back to staring at the ceiling, his handsome features framed by what little light was coming in through the window.

  Rag suddenly felt she had to get out. What was she doing here anyway? There was nothing she could do to contribute, and she’d been cooped up inside since the failed robbery … if you could call it a robbery. If she slipped out, disappeared for a while, would any of them notice? Steraglio probably would; he’d have no one to glare at.

  While the other lads sat in silence, Rag slipped towards the door. Just a few hours out in the fresh air. Then she’d come back and Krupps would have a plan.

  She stopped when someone on the other side of the door knocked three times in quick succession.

  They all looked up, held like rats in the beam of a lantern. Burney looked at Steraglio, Steraglio looked at Krupps and Krupps looked to the door.

  No one looked at Rag.

  Krupps nodded at Burney to answer it, and Rag saw Steraglio going for his knife. As the big fella went to the door, Krupps eyed the room for possible ways of escape. Rag suddenly felt ill and frightened. She wanted to be out the window and over the roof, but something made her stay. It was like her shoes were nailed to the floor, rooting her to the spot.

  ‘Who is it?’ Burney asked, his hand hovering near the door’s deadbolt.

  ‘It’s Coles,’ said a voice from the other side.

  The lads seemed to relax a bit, so Rag did likewise.

  Burney slid back the deadbolts at the top and bottom of the door and pulled it open.

  Coles came flying into the room, knocking Burney backwards and over a chair. He was followed through the door by three … no, four of the biggest blokes Rag had ever seen. One of them set about Burney before he could get back up, smacking him again and again with a club covered in metal studs. Another went for Steraglio, who dropped his knife and held up his hands in surrender. It didn’t stop him taking a mighty whack to the arm and squealing like a girl.

  Krupps just backed away, all slow and steady, affecting a smile. ‘What can we do for you, lads?’ he said, as the big blokes bore down on him.

  One of them looked around the room impassively, his face lumpy and scarred like it had been whacked in by a woodsman’s axe.

  ‘Someone wants a word with you lot. I think you know what for.’

  None of them protested.

  ‘It weren’t my fault, lads,’ said Coles, rising to his feet. He was a thin bloke, teeth all crooked and brown, his thinning hair lank and swept across his head in greasy clumps. ‘They knew who’d done it straight away. I swear I didn’t tell them nothing.’

  ‘Other than where to find us,’ said Krupps, but he didn’t look angry, and Rag reckoned he’d have done the same in Coles’ shoes.

  ‘Right, let’s go then,’ said the biggest thug.

  Two of them picked up Burney, whose head was bleeding freely. As Steraglio and Krupps were hustled to the door Rag tried to meld into the corner, hoping in the confusion they might miss her.

  Unfortunately, they didn’t.

  A gesture with the big, studded club indicated
that she should follow.

  They were led through the streets. Weren’t no Greencoats this end of the city. Never around when they could be of use. The four of them, along with Coles, were ushered along, wrangled like livestock through the shadowy alleyways.

  Several times Rag thought about doing a runner and not stopping till she was back at the Bull. What had she been thinking leaving her boys behind? Who did she think she was trying to get into the Guild, trying to make it big? She was a small-time picker off the streets. She should have known her place, should have kept her nose out. Now she was in shit deeper than she’d ever been, and with the Guild there weren’t no getting out of it, at least not with all the fingers and toes you started with.

  They got to a doorway leading into a big old warehouse. More fellas waited for them, their faces mysterious and frightening in the uncertain light of lanterns and candles. On a crate in the centre sat a bloke smaller than the rest, mop of curly hair on his head, picking at his fingernails with a little knife. The five of them were all lined up in front of him, Burney now swaying dumbly as his head bled, Coles looking all nervous and fidgety.

  The curly-haired fella looked up and smiled, like they was all there for a party, like he was dead pleased to see everyone.

  ‘Hello there,’ he said, white teeth shining in the lantern light. ‘Glad you could all make it.’ One of the thugs closed the big door behind them, and Rag began to feel like she couldn’t breathe, like all the air had left the room. ‘Do any of you know who I am?’

  Coles looked along the line, then tentatively put his hand up. ‘Erm, yes, sir. I do, sir. You’re Mister Friedrik, sir.’

  ‘Indeed I am,’ said Friedrik, looking pleased that someone recognised him. ‘I’m Mister Friedrik. And you’re Coles, I know that. So who are the rest of you?’ He looked along the line expectantly.

  The lads told him their names: Steraglio, Burney, Krupps; then it came to Rag. She looked up at the man, trying her hardest to hold back the tears. Should she play on that maybe? Should she hope he wouldn’t hurt a little girl, especially one that was blubbing her eyes out?

  No. Even though Rag was scared to death she wouldn’t do that. She weren’t no coward …

  ‘Rag,’ she whispered. Either Friedrik had excellent hearing, or he didn’t care what her name was.

  ‘So, I guess you all know why you’re here?’

  There was a pause as the five of them waited to see who’d be the first to speak. It was Coles that broke the silence, and not in a good way.

  ‘It wasn’t me, Mister Friedrik,’ he said, dropping to his knees. ‘I never wanted to. It was his idea.’ He gestured along the line at no one in particular. ‘They said they’d kill me unless I went along with it. I’ve got two kids, Mister Friedrik. Only bairns, they rely on me. Their mother’s sick. I had no choice. Please, Mister Friedrik …’

  As Coles carried on with his begging, Friedrik glanced wearily to one of his men. The big bastard walked forward and smashed Coles over the head with that studded club. Rag could hear the crunch as it split his skull open, and he fell forward. She glanced to where Coles lay, a bloody mess, his eyes staring blankly. As much as she’d wanted him to shut up, she had to admit that had been a harsh way to do it.

  ‘Now,’ Friedrik continued as though nothing had happened. ‘This is all very vexing for me.’ He heaved himself off the box and began to pace in front of them. ‘I’m as eager to encourage business ventures as the next man. I don’t mind a bit of healthy competition. If someone wants to make a name for themselves then I say “good luck” to them. But you see, we had an arrangement with poor old Barnus. You could even say we were friends. So when someone comes in and shits all over the deals I’ve made, I have to make an example. I’m sure you understand.’ The lads nodded, but Rag was too scared to move. ‘Now, I’m nothing if not a reasonable man, so here’s the deal: I’m always looking for new blood. You’ve shown yourselves to be a bunch of forward-thinking go-getters. Shit, you must all have balls of steel to have done what you did without permission from me. So I’m willing to make a vacancy available in my organisation. Only one, though. So whichever one of you can bring me the heads of the other three gets to join my club. Feel free to start any time.’

  Rag hadn’t quite registered what had been said before Burney took a step forward. ‘You can fuck off,’ he shouted, blood streaming down his face, and looking thoroughly dazed. ‘If you think we’ll just-’

  He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Steraglio pulled a knife from his sleeve and stuck it into his neck. As he drew it out a stream of blood shot from Burney’s throat. He had enough time to clap a hand to the spurting hole before he collapsed with a bubbling grunt.

  Steraglio turned, but Krupps was already moving, grabbing the wrist that held the knife and punching forward. They both went over, Steraglio pulling Krupps on top of him. Everyone just watched them.

  The pair of them rolled around on the filthy floor, all the while that knife held desperately between them. Krupps got in a head butt, Steraglio bit into Krupps’ arm, and they both moaned and groaned and whined as they scratched and clawed at each other on the warehouse floor. It was vicious, like two wild dogs scrapping over a bone, and Rag felt herself growing sicker every moment.

  Krupps’ strength eventually won out. He managed to roll Steraglio on his back, both hands on the knife, twisting it to point down at Steraglio’s throat. And now it moved so slowly, closer and closer, and Rag could see the panic in Steraglio’s eyes.

  ‘Wait,’ he said, his voice high and desperate. ‘Krupps, wait. Please, just fucking wait.’

  Krupps didn’t. He pushed and pushed and the knife finally pierced Steraglio’s neck. Rag could see the blood, a trickle at first as Steraglio began to gag, then a flood from his neck and from his mouth as, with a final effort, Krupps shoved the knife in all the way to the hilt.

  Steraglio continued to struggle, spitting blood as it bubbled out through his mouth, but Krupps just kept the knife there, waiting for his ‘friend’ to die. When he’d finally stopped moving, Krupps pulled out the knife and struggled to his feet, breathing hard. He looked at Friedrik, who stared back, unmoved.

  ‘As I said, there’s only one vacancy.’

  Friedrik didn’t look her way, but Rag knew what he meant.

  She backed away as Krupps turned towards her. He was still breathing hard, but his face was determined. All they’d been through, all his kind words and playful winks, meant absolutely nothing.

  He was going to kill her.

  She turned and ran, getting to the door before anyone else could move. As she grabbed the handle Rag hoped against hope no one had locked it, feeling blind relief when it opened. The waning light of evening lanced in, filling her with hope as she sped out into the alleyway and ran for her life.

  She splashed through a puddle, almost falling, a glance over her shoulder revealing Krupps on her heels. His face didn’t look angry though; he wasn’t raging or slavering at the mouth. He was calm, almost businesslike — as though chasing down girls and murdering them were a daily pastime. It made him even more terrifying.

  The alley turned one way, then another. She needed to find another living soul, anyone. An ‘innocent’ girl, chased by a knife-wielding maniac. It would take one heartless bastard not to help her.

  Another bend in the alley and she almost ran straight into a wall.

  Fucking dead end!

  She looked round desperately, seeing a rotted plank of wood and picking it up. Krupps was on the way, she could hear his footfalls splashing through the puddles. As he turned the corner she swung at him, the wood hitting his face, shattering into rotten splinters and sending him sprawling.

  The knife spun away into the dirt and she went for it, reaching out, feeling her heart racing, her fingers ready to close around the hilt. But Krupps’ fingers closed around her ankle first.

  She was pulled off her feet, splashing into the wet. The knife was there, so close, but she couldn’t reach it.
Krupps pulled her to him, moving on top of her, crushing her under his weight. He planted a fist in her face, the shock of it knocking out her breath and any words that she might have said. Another punch and she’d gone dizzy, the alleyway spinning, Krupps’ face moving in circles.

  ‘Sorry, Sweets,’ he said, that handsome face looking down at her with no emotion. ‘I didn’t want it to end like this.’ He reached past her, picking up the knife, mud-smeared but still keen.

  Rag wanted to say something, wanted to beg for her life like Coles had done, but it hadn’t done him no good, and it wouldn’t do her none neither. She could only hope it wouldn’t hurt too much.

  A flash of green.

  Krupps looked up, and she could see those impassive features turn to panic. Something hit him. Hit him hard enough that he fell off her, splashing into a puddle.

  There was a commotion, and blokes in green all over them. One of them was going at Krupps like he was born for it, hitting him, smashing him, fist pumping up and down like he wasn’t ever going to stop.

  Someone put his arms round her and lifted her up. Her head was still spinning and all of a sudden she got groggier, like she was tired out. Her clothes were wet and something was dribbling down her face.

  ‘You’re okay,’ said a deep voice. ‘You’re safe now.’

  Rag couldn’t place the fella, but she was sure she’d seen him before. And even though she couldn’t remember where she knew him from, when he said she was safe, she knew he meant it.

  THIRTY-NINE

  He was drunk again, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. As Merrick staggered down the street he almost slipped on the oily cobbles. He’d barely had a chance to curse the whalers and their carelessness before he threw up on the dock. Someone, most likely some hairy-arsed sailor, was laughing at him as he heaved, but Merrick paid him no heed.

  He felt a lot better when he’d finished, though his head still spun. He looked around with a satisfied grin, pleased to see the looks of disgust on the faces of passers-by. As he wiped his mouth he looked out over the dock. The sun was shining and it was a mild afternoon for the time of year. Sooner or later, most likely sooner, it would start to get cold, the harsh sea winds blowing up from the Midral and whipping through Steelhaven’s streets like a howling devil. It was nothing compared to what was coming from the north though, but with any luck he’d be leagues across the sea by the time the Khurtas arrived. If they even got here.