by Richard Ford
Janessa paused on the threshold, looking across the vast hall to the throne. Like the rest of the room it was hewn from bare stone, cold and impartial, as should be a king’s judgements. Or a queen’s.
She walked into the hall, her Sentinels following her every step as she made her way towards the throne. Some day soon she would have to sit on that seat and rule a nation. Or she could marry and hand the responsibility over. Oh that the choice were that easy.
As a child she had played in this place, hiding behind the stone columns, climbing into the huge stone chair. Of course it had been forbidden, but the young Janessa, the flame-haired wolf, hadn’t cared.
Now that it might be her duty to sit on that throne, it scared her for the first time.
‘Magnificent, isn’t it?’
Janessa turned at the voice but not before the Sentinels, who spun round noisily, hands quick to grasp their swords.
Baroness Isabelle stood in the archway that led to the hall, a guileless smile on her face. She strolled across the threshold. ‘Please, don’t be alarmed: I am quite harmless.’
The Sentinels seemed to relax a touch, but Janessa wasn’t sure just how harmless this woman really was. Nevertheless, she gave them a nod and they moved their hands from their swords.
‘I have not yet had a chance to offer my condolences,’ said Isabelle. ‘Your father was a great king, and Lord Raelan would have made a worthy successor.’
‘I appreciate the sentiment,’ said Janessa.
‘You should know I share your sadness. My husband was so recently butchered by the very horde that threatens our lands. I know how hard it can be, especially when our duty weighs as heavy as our grief. But we must think to the future.’ Ah, here it comes. ‘The people need something to rally to. They need someone to follow. A ruler who deserves their fealty. Who deserves to sit upon that seat.’ She gestured to the stone chair.
‘Of course,’ Janessa replied. ‘And I will give them that.’
‘You will? You think you can give the Free States, and all its people, stability? We face destruction. A merciless enemy. You think you can face it down all alone? You are but a girl, untried and untested.’
‘I am stronger than I look.’
Isabelle smiled. ‘You will need to be.’
This was starting to grate. Janessa had allowed this woman to speak her mind, but it was clear what she wanted. Leon was the only feasible candidate, and his mother could smell the power, could taste it — of that there was no doubt.
Isabelle moved in close. ‘I know you have men around you. Men you think you can trust. But whom can you really rely on? A queen needs a husband. Someone to keep her safe. Your life has already been threatened twice. If you married, the alliance would double the strength of this palace, this city. Eyes are already looking towards Steelhaven from the other provinces. A display of strength is needed. An alliance that will fortify the Free States-’
‘Yes, I have heard all this before,’ Janessa snapped. It stopped Isabelle in her tracks, but the woman’s expression did not falter. ‘And now one suitor is gone he must be replaced. You are here to tell me Leon is the best choice?’
‘He is the only choice,’ said Isabelle. ‘Not a perfect choice, I’ll admit. I am his mother, but even I know the boy has faults. He was indulged, spoiled, but you are a clever girl. You can bring him to heel.’
What was she? A trainer of hounds now? She did not want a man that needed training, she wanted …
… she wanted River.
‘And is Leon so easy to manipulate?’
Isabelle raised an eyebrow. ‘He requires some work, that is all. That is not to say he doesn’t have his virtues.’
‘I’m sure. I will think on it, my lady.’
‘Think fast. The Free States face destruction and you must marry. The choice is clear. Do not wait too long, or your wedding day might be amidst the rubble of this city.’
Without waiting for a reply, Isabelle turned and strode from the throne room. Janessa watched her go, thinking about her words and their implications.
To save her city, her country, she would have to wed to form a strong and lasting alliance. And there was only one suitable choice — Leon Magrida.
The thought repulsed her. She had so recently been in River’s arms. A man she loved and who loved her in return without question or demand. She would never have the same with Leon. She had considered marrying Raelan, but then the young lord of Valdor had been a strong and capable man.
Leon was as far from that as one could get.
The throne room and all it represented suddenly felt oppressive. Janessa had to get out. She walked from the chamber closely followed by her Sentinels. She would have preferred solitude, preferred to run far from here, but the days when that might be possible were gone.
As Janessa made her way through the palace she recognised there would be no such thing as solitude ever again. She worked her way up through the stairways, increasing her pace as she did so, feeling the walls moving in, feeling her breath coming in short gasps. Her Sentinels were diligent in their duty, following close, not letting her out of their sight.
When she finally reached the summit of the tower to look out over the city, they were not far behind.
Janessa placed a hand on the parapet, staring out to the north. She could not see Dancer’s Hill but knew that some time soon Raelan would be buried there.
Now there was only Leon Magrida.
If a man like Raelan had betrayed her, what depths might Leon be capable of sinking to? How could she marry such a man — even for the good of her people? And when she was in love with someone else?
Again she stared out across the rooftops of the city. Was River somewhere out there waiting for her? Was he dead? Had he decided to escape the city without her?
Exhausted and confused, doubt began to creep into her mind about any man, any suitor. Any lover.
Whom could she trust? Whose advice could she take?
Even Graye had betrayed her in the end, a friend she had confided in for most of her life. And Odaka had been her father’s man, not hers. Could she really trust him?
‘Bring me the regent,’ she said to one of her guards, who bowed dutifully and left to carry out her order.
As she surveyed her city, waiting for Odaka, she became more resolute. This was her city, her people. There was only one person she could trust in all the world. Only one person she had ever really needed.
When finally Odaka arrived, bowing before her, she had made up her mind completely.
‘You will advance the preparations for my coronation,’ she said, continuing before Odaka had time to argue. ‘I will not be leaving the city. I will stay with the people of Steelhaven and face what they face. Suffer what they suffer. There will be no marriage. No alliance. My father united the Free States and I will secure that union, but not at the behest of a king. I will be queen of this city and rule it as my father would have.’
Odaka only stared at her.
For fleeting moments she wondered what he might say, almost wanting him to argue, to talk her down, but he did not.
‘As you command, majesty,’ he said finally. Bowing low and turning to leave.
And as he did so, Janessa could have sworn she saw him smile.
FORTY-ONE
He was holding her down, his weight crushing her, squeezing the air from her lungs. She could smell his breath on her face, hot and sickly like meat left out in the sun. As he fumbled between her legs she wanted to scream, wanted to lash out, but she couldn’t move. It wasn’t fear that paralysed her, just a deadness in her limbs. Her eyes were wide, she could see his face leering down, his tongue stuck out like a slug, swollen and wet. He grabbed the inside of her thigh and squeezed. It was just to inflict pain, just to hurt her. Tears were coming now, flooding out across her face, but it didn’t stop him. His breath was getting more fevered, more ragged, and he was moving between her legs, his body heaving and writhing for position. As she moved her head,
frantic and desperate, she finally managed to shake off the hand that clamped her mouth shut, but the scream wouldn’t come, lost in her throat as he …
Rag opened her eyes, heart pounding.
She could still smell him, still see him on top of her, but it was only a ghost.
A dead man?
The room was small but airy. A window was open somewhere: she could feel the breeze as it cooled the place; and a bird chirruped nearby.
Rag raised a hand to her face, wincing as she touched her eye, feeling the sting of her swollen flesh. Maybe raising her head would be a good idea, give her a look at her surroundings, see what was what. As she lifted it off the pillow, the room spun, her head feeling like a barrel of oil on top of her shoulders.
All right, maybe not such a good idea after all.
Where was she anyway? Some kind of infirmary? Someone’s home?
It wouldn’t do to give in to blind panic at a time like this, but Rag was most definitely on the brink. She knew she had to move, had to get out of here and quick. If she remembered right, Krupps had taken a right beating and it was the Greencoats what gave it. If they’d questioned him, he might well have told them everything; about the murder and the part Rag had played in it. She wasn’t about to hang around: a trip to the gallows weren’t inviting.
She willed herself to move, raising her head once more, feeling the room spin again but ignoring it. It was only dizziness — it couldn’t hurt her … but it appeared it was going to make her throw up.
The desire to lie back down was almost overwhelming but Rag fought it — fought it like she’d fought Krupps in that back alley, all desperate and like her life depended on it. This time, though, she managed to win out, holding down the sick.
There was a door — she could see it sitting there all spinny and blurry in her vision. All she had to do was get up, start walking and she’d be out before anyone knew it.
Rag braced her hands on the edge of the bed and pushed off, ready to land deftly and get the hells out of here. As her feet touched the floor her knees gave way, collapsing beneath her like dried twigs. She clawed at the sheets, gritting her teeth against the nausea and the dizziness and trying her hardest to get up but it was too hard, just too hard.
Tears began to well in her eyes.
No bloody tears, she thought. How am I ever going to get into the Guild if I cry like a baby every time something goes wrong?
The door opened with a creak and a young lad walked in. He was blonde and fresh faced, with a jug in his hand, probably water, probably for her, and he looked at her floundering there for a second. It was clear he had no idea what to do, and Rag didn’t really have advice for him, so she couldn’t really complain that he was just standing there, looking at her hanging from the bed sheets.
Without a word to her he ran off. She could hear him calling for someone at the top of his voice, telling whoever it was that the girl was awake.
That was it then: all over. They’d come back now and put her to the question and as soon as she could walk, which didn’t feel like it would be any time soon, they’d give her a short rope and a long drop.
Footsteps, quick and heavy — here it came. As he walked in she recognised him straight away, despite the blur of her vision. When he’d picked her up back in the alley she thought she knew his face. Now that she could see him proper, Rag was sure she knew who it was.
He was a big bastard: thick neck, short hair, face that had seen plenty of action. No wonder Markus had been so frightened of him. Rag barely knew the bloke and she was already scared.
When he picked her up, though, when he helped her off the floor and placed her back on the bed he was almost gentle, those eyes that could have looked so hard if he’d wanted only seemed to look concerned. It reminded her of when she’d seen him on Dancer’s Hill putting Markus in the ground. He hadn’t seemed so fierce then neither.
‘You shouldn’t try to move,’ he said in a deep voice that could so easily have sounded menacing if he’d chose. ‘You’ve taken a bit of a beating.’
Rag appreciated his concern, but the fact she was still in trouble certainly wasn’t lost on her. Any moment now it would start. How did you know Krupps? Were you with him that night? Did you join in the stabbing and the butchering too?
She braced herself for it, knew it was coming.
The young lad walked in behind him and the big fella turned around. ‘You just left her lying on the floor?’
The lad looked up like he had no idea what his own name was. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I’m not surgeon trained.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Denny.’ The big bloke turned back to her then, lifting a hand to her cheek as though checking it for fever. ‘My name’s Lincon,’ he said, all soft like. ‘What’s yours?’
‘Rag.’ She was caught so off guard she’d said it before she could stop herself. Until she’d tried to speak, Rag hadn’t realised how weak she was, how parched.
‘Go get some water,’ said Lincon, over one shoulder, and it was enough to send the young lad, Denny, scuttling off to fetch it. ‘You’re safe now, Rag. No one’s gonna hurt you.’
Rag didn’t know this bloke other than what she’d gathered from Markus. By all accounts he’d been a cold, hard bastard who’d treated that lad like shit, but when he told her she was safe, that no one was gonna hurt her again, she trusted his word like she’d never trusted no one.
Weren’t they going to question her? Hadn’t Krupps told them everything by now?
‘Where’s …?’ She could barely bring herself to say his name. What he’d done … what he’d tried to do. ‘Where’s …?’
‘Don’t you worry yourself about that no more,’ Lincon said. ‘He won’t hurt you again. He won’t hurt no one again; the serjeant’s seen to that all right.’
‘He’s …?’
‘As a doornail, love.’
Denny came in with the water and Lincon held up a cup for him to pour. Then he cradled Rag’s pounding head and lifted the cup to her lips.
As she drank, she could only look into his face, seeing those cold, steel eyes. She’d thought he was a monster, but he was giving her water, caring for her like she was his own.
No one had ever cared for Rag when she was sick before. She’d always been the one to act mother, always taken care of Chirpy, Migs and Tidge when they’d caught a fever or got a cut or a graze. It made her nervous, made her wary, but still she let him hold her head up and pour that drink right into her mouth. When the cup was empty he laid her head back down on the pillow.
‘Where is he now?’ she asked. Now she had some wet on her lips it was easier to speak.
‘As I said, he’s dead, love. You don’t need to worry.’
‘No, I mean his body. Where’s his body?’
Lincon looked around uncertain, like he didn’t really know how to answer.
‘Until someone comes to take him off for a burial he’s … erm … in our cellar. It’s cool down there, see.’
Rag closed her eyes. Nothing else to say. That was all she needed for now. Lincon sat with her for a while longer, at least as long as it took her to fall asleep.
When she woke later it was dark. What moonlight there was in the room showed she was alone again, and this time Rag knew she had to get up, had to use her legs no matter what.
She sat up in the dark and, holding her breath, slid off the bed and placed a foot on the floor, only breathing out when she managed to put some weight on it without collapsing. Both feet and she realised she could stand, a little shaky but not as bad as she had been.
Somewhere along the line she’d lost her shoes, but that was the least of her worries. Her head throbbed and in the dark she was going to struggle to find Krupps’ body.
Rag opened the door to the room and peered out. The corridor beyond was just as dark as her room. It was like this place was deserted. Typical Greencoats — never around when something was going on.
She stepped out, closing the door behind her, and mov
ed along the corridor. It wasn’t long before she heard the sound of someone snoring. As she got closer she saw it was the young lad who’d come into her room earlier, Denny was it? He was slumped in a chair, arms folded, and at his side was sheathed a short blade.
Just what she needed.
Her eyes flitted from Denny’s face to the sword handle as she reached out, willing him to stay asleep. She grasped the handle, pulling it upwards, feeling it slide easy in the sheath, blowing out one long breath as the blade came free. Denny snored on as he was disarmed, and Rag allowed herself a smile as she tucked the blade under her arm and padded away down the corridor. He’d most likely be in the shit later for losing it, but right now Rag’s need was the greater.
‘We’re not taking him!’ The voice bellowed from a room to Rag’s left, and she barely had time to slam herself against the wall, hugging the shadows for dear life, as a door opened, illuminating the corridor. A tall man in a robe walked out, followed by a grizzled brute with one eye and half an arm. They was both clearly pissed off about something.
‘You’re the District Sexton; it’s your fucking job! What am I supposed to do with him?’ growled the one-eyed man.
‘Burn him in the courtyard for all I care, but unless you can afford the fee the city graveyards are full. And as I’ve said, the fee’s gone up.’
‘Since when?’ He was clearly growing angrier.
‘Since the recent influx of refugees from the four corners of the Free States. Most of them won’t last the winter. Not to mention the bodies that’ll be coming in from the north soon enough. The burial yards are full as it is. If you can’t afford it, you’ll just have to dump him in the Storway. Either way — you killed him, so he’s your responsibility.’
With that the robed man stomped off.
‘Twat,’ mumbled the grizzled brute, as he set off in the opposite direction.
Neither of them even noticed Rag was there.