by A J Dalton
‘Here to sell goatskins?’ the guard frowned. ‘Everyone’s got goatskins. Why would you come so far to sell goatskins?’
Why else would he come to a market? ‘It’s not just for the skins. I heard that there might be maidens who weren’t yet spoken for in a place as big as Saviours’ Paradise. All those in Heroes’ Brook seem to be taken.’ He managed a convincing blush and tone of embarrassment that made one of the guards grin for a moment until he noticed none of his fellows was smiling.
‘Meet anyone on the road?’ the flat-nosed guard asked, beginning to lose interest.
Aspin nodded with wide-eyed innocence. ‘Of course. Lots of people coming for the market.’
‘Anyone unusual? From Godsend? Wearing armour with lots of gold patterns on it perhaps?’
He could read that the guard now believed him and intended to let him through. He was just asking these last questions because he’d been told to and because the man called Skathis was listening. ‘Ha! Everyone from Godsend is unusual, I heard.’
‘’Sright!’ said the woman in the red dress behind Aspin.
Flatnose looked up at the woman and interest flickered in his dull eyes. He waved Aspin through, already forgetting him.
Aspin kept his eyes down and hurried forward. He kept his senses sharp. At the last moment he read that Skathis was coming for him. He dodged left but something heavy caught him across the back of the neck and stopped him in his tracks.
Everything went dark. He felt a rough fabric against his forehead and cheeks and a soporific herb filled his nostrils. They’d hooded him as if he were some untamed animal.
‘Move, you wretches!’ barked a razor-blade voice that could only be Skathis. ‘It’s him! He fits the description. Get that iron around his wrists and ankles. Quickly! He’s dangerous. No! Wrists pulled round behind him, dolt! Foot to the back of his knee. Get him down.’
Two men pinned Aspin to the ground. How could this be happening? He’d only met Jacob since he’d entered the lowlands and the trader wouldn’t yet have had a chance to betray him, even if it were unwittingly. How had these men known to be waiting for him here when he hadn’t even known himself he’d end up coming to Saviours’ Paradise?
‘Here, what are you doing to him?’ cried the voice of the woman in the red dress. ‘He’s only a boy. It doesn’t need all of you like that. No need to be so heavy-handed!’
Skathis ignored her. ‘Got the gag? Pull his head back.’
The material over his face pulled tight and his neck was bent back up off the ground.
‘Now.’
The hood came off. He blinked, disorientated. A fist came out of nowhere and punched him hard in the face. His top lip split and a tooth broke. His jaw hung loose. A balled piece of cloth was crammed into his mouth and he was tied with a gag.
His vision blurred and then focused on the pitiless face of Skathis.
‘Still conscious despite the herbs, eh? Tough little beggar.’ Skathis gave a small nod to a guard standing off to the side. Another punch caught Aspin on cheek and chin and sent him spinning into darkness.
‘Brutes!’
‘You two get him to the punishment chamber and I’ll inform the holy one of our success. And someone shut that woman up.’
Jillan watched in horror from the back of the queue as the Heroes dragged the innocent youth away. He exchanged glances with Ash.
‘You don’t think—’
‘Best not to think – out loud at any rate,’ Ash murmured. ‘All right, follow my lead now. Ready? Jillan, pay attention!’
‘What? Yes, okay.’
‘Stay close now. Let’s go.’
The woodsman drifted forward as the line of people moved left and right to get a better view of the excitement. Jillan stuck close behind him and found that they were steadily getting closer to the gates. There were fewer guards now, and they were struggling to deal in any sort of orderly fashion with the number of people trying to get into the town.
Ash seemed to have an instinct for when anyone ahead of him was going to move left or right, for he would step with perfect timing into any gap they left. Their progress was so smooth and effortless that it was almost as if the crowd was parting before them. They were right up near the gates in next to no time.
‘Stay close. Wait here for a second. Wait. Now we go.’
They stepped forward just as the guard before them leapt to steady a precarious stack of egg trays carried by a young girl. Ash turned side on, apparently to give the guard room, at the same time easing past him.
‘Thanks,’ the guard said distractedly as he caught his breath.
‘No problem,’ Ash mumbled as he led Jillan into the town.
They were on a cobbled street that led straight towards the centre of town and presumably the marketplace. It was wide enough for two wagons to pass each other, although all the traffic was heading into town at that moment. Everything was at a standstill, however, as a wagon had lost a wheel, spilling cages of chickens onto the cobbles and allowing a good number of hysterical birds to escape. A few pedestrians stood and watched the entertainment and a few tried to herd the chickens back towards the red-faced wagon-driver, while other drivers behind him either shouted in anger or rolled up their sleeves to help him get the wheel back on.
‘Who needs the Chaos, eh?’ Ash winked at Jillan. ‘People are more than capable of making trouble for themselves. Come on, let’s head down here.’
Ash led him into a narrow street on the left and down a little. The wooden buildings to either side were mostly two storeys high and leaned over the street so that any rain or garbage coming from above landed well away from front doors. The gutters along the street were near to full with rotting vegetables, fruit, clumps of hair and worse. A mangy-looking dog was eating something unidentifiable and an aggrieved rat was squeaking at it. A naked toddler with snot running from its nose sat on a doorstep whacking at the dead body of a rodent with a stick.
‘By the Saviours, it stinks!’ Jillan gagged, his eyes watering.
‘Oh, you get used to it and it puts hairs on your chest,’ Ash replied merrily. ‘It’s not the richest part of town, to be sure, and it could do with some fresh pitch in places, but it’s where you get the cheapest ale.’
‘We’re here for ale?’ Jillan asked loudly, coming to a stop.
‘What?’ Ash replied as a woman came out of her door with a babe suckling on one of her large bared teats. She smiled at Ash and then pouted as if the babe gave her both pleasure and pain. ‘I … er …’ Ash blinked and dragged his attention back to Jillan. ‘Look, there are a couple of inns down here,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘where we can ask around for this Thomas friend of yours and have people keep an eye out for your parents without drawing the notice of the town’s Heroes. One of the innkeepers is fond of my wood carvings too, and will usually accept them in exchange for a good few flagons, unless you’re carrying silver with which we can buy information or the ale we need to loosen tongues. Well, got much silver about you?’
Jillan shook his head with a frown. ‘What about that boy the Heroes attacked and took away?’
‘What about him?’ Ash replied absently.
‘Well, it was my fault he was taken. Shouldn’t we see what we can do to help him or something?’
Ash stopped with hands on hips. ‘Are you mad? Just what is it you think we can do when the town’s Heroes have got him?’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ Jillan was forced to concede. ‘But we can find out where they’ve taken him, can’t we?’
‘Look,’ Ash said with an air of exaggerated patience, ‘we don’t know for sure that they did think he was you. He may be wanted for theft or something. And if they have got it wrong, they’ll soon realise their mistake and let him go, won’t they? He’ll be fine. Stop worrying about other people, Jillan, when you’d be far better off worrying about yourself. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is, don’t you think? Now come along.’
Jillan followed along, no
t entirely happy with how Ash was deciding everything for them, but not immediately able to gainsay his logic either. Besides, Jillan didn’t have any plan of his own as to how to go about finding Thomas Ironshoe or his parents in a place as big as Saviours’ Paradise. He didn’t know anyone here and he didn’t know how things worked either. Having little choice but to stick with Ash for the time being, therefore, he resolved to make the most of it. Anyway, he was curious about what an inn would actually prove to be like, for he’d never been allowed in one in Godsend. Inns were places where adults talked freely about the sorts of things they usually lowered their voices for when children were around. They were places where people sang and played at dice in front of a bright warm fire on a winter’s night. They were places where men and women drank themselves merry and where forbidden assignations took place. They were dangerous and exciting places.
‘Here we are,’ Ash announced in front of a door at the end of a row.
‘How do you know it’s an inn?’ Jillan asked.
‘All the sign you need is the state of the street just here, no?’
‘I suppose.’ Jillan nodded, catching a stronger whiff of urine and vomit here than elsewhere in the street.
‘Don’t worry. It’ll be better inside. Let me do the talking in here though, agreed?’
The inn was one big room with tables and benches set out, a serving bar in one corner and a narrow staircase leading to the floor above. The windows were small, making the place gloomy even though it was early afternoon and even though there were a few candles burning feebly on several tables. In contrast to the street outside, however, the place was relatively crowded. A group of four traders talked loudly and toasted each other enthusiastically as if they were old friends who hadn’t met in a long time. A hopeful-looking but largely ignored youth sat in one corner strumming tunelessly on a lute. Several old men sat alone, nursing their drinks and surreptitiously eyeing up a bored harlot. Two men were arguing about the price of some goods or other, and a spare surly looking fellow sat cleaning his fingernails with the tip of his knife while idly watching everyone else.
A serving girl moved as lazily through the place as the flies did, but it was the owner himself who came bustling over as Ash and Jillan found a small table for themselves against the wall and near the stairs. The owner was a smallish man – a good head shorter than Ash – but he had thick arms and a barrel chest. He did not return Ash’s ever-present smile, but there was no obvious enmity in his voice when he spoke.
‘Last two carvings sold no trouble. Can even let you have a drink on the house, woodsman.’
‘It’s good to see you too, Tapmaster Brimful. How have you been?’
‘None of your nonsense now or I’ll have my bladesman put you out,’ the innkeeper said with a curt gesture towards the surly man cleaning his nails. ‘I take it you have no coin.’
‘Not as yet, but—’
‘Then you’ll show me what you’ve got; we’ll agree a price; you’ll have a drink on the house and then be on your way before you can go upsetting my customers like you did last time.’
‘Now, hang on, that wasn’t my fault! That muttonhead—’
‘I don’t want to hear it!’ the innkeeper cut in harshly. ‘Just think yourself lucky I’m prepared to tolerate one of the Unclean under my roof, especially when the holy Saint’s in town. Don’t go abusing my generous nature by causing me any trouble, hear?’
Ash’s smile faltered, but he managed a stiff nod of agreement.
‘The Saint’s here?’ Jillan asked faintly, but the two men ignored him.
‘So what is it that you have brought me?’ the innkeeper urged. ‘Did you remember to carve benevolent spirits of the trees and nature like I told you? The Saviours forgive the People of this town, but such depictions are always popular. Or animal totems? Or a wooden phallus or two for fertility?’
Ash searched in his leather bag and pulled out a number of objects wrapped in cloth. The first was a carving of the black wolf, its skin stained with charcoal.
‘Fine. Well observed. It’ll sell. Make it look wilder next time, though, with more teeth showing.’
The next was a beautiful maiden with hair like a waterfall.
‘I think I’m in love. Do you see such women in your mind, woodsman? You must get lonely out there, eh?’
The third was a fairly ordinary toadstool.
‘What on earth is that? People can get the real thing whenever they like. Ridiculous. Leave it here as a candleholder and I’ll give you a second drink.’
And the last was a strange confusion and tangle of snakes, stemmed flowers, eels, curling ivy, salamanders and buzzing bees. They’d been rendered so faithfully that the mass looked to be moving in the candlelight.
The innkeeper took an involuntary step backwards. ‘By the Saviours, what have you done, woodsman?’ he breathed. ‘There’s no doubting your skill but why use it for this? It’s wrong. I don’t know how or why, but it’s wrong. Cover it up, quickly, before someone else sees it and word gets out to Minister Baxal or something.’ His words tumbled over themselves just as the chaos of life in the carving had done. The innkeeper was left panting and with a sheen of perspiration on his brow.
‘S-sorry,’ Ash mumbled. ‘I don’t know what made me carve it. I wasn’t really thinking of anything at the time.’
‘Well, I don’t want to see anything so monstrous again, if you please,’ the innkeeper insisted, his breathing coming more easily now that the carving had disappeared back into Ash’s bag. ‘So, let’s see. For the wolf and the maid, four silvers. A flagon for the toadstool. And one on the house.’
‘They’re worth twice that,’ Ash said hopelessly.
‘Well, try your luck with others then. Take it or leave it, but I may not have four silvers to spare later. Come on, that’ll be enough to buy your monthly supplies, as long as you don’t go spending it all on ale.’
‘Throw in another drink for the rareness of the maid’s beauty?’
The innkeeper hesitated, then relented. He spat in his palm and shook Ash’s hand. ‘That’s three ales then. You want the first now?’
Ash kept hold of the man’s hand. ‘Actually, I was hoping for some information as well. Nothing much, just some local news – why the holy one is here so late in the year, where I might find a man called Thomas, things like that.’
The innkeeper pulled his hand free and wiped it on his apron. ‘I have a business to run. I don’t have time for idle gossip, woodsman. Besides, such talk only seems to attract trouble, if you catch my drift.’
Ash gave him a pained expression. ‘You’re right of course, good Tapmaster, but if I can find this man Thomas, he might put some coin my way, coin that I will of course look to spend or invest with those who have helped me previously.’
The innkeeper hesitated, like everyone in Saviours’ Paradise never too quick to pass up the chance of extra coin. ‘Why don’t you invite my bladesman to join you? He’s more familiar with those who come and go. I’ll get that ale for you, and a light beer for the boy. This is Spiro.’
At a signal from the innkeeper, Spiro brought a chair over to Ash and Jillan and sat down with a nod. He had tanned skin and the sort of dark looks which were more common in the eastern region of the Empire, the region that saw the most unrest, and where a man lived by his wits and strength. Spiro was probably not a man to be trifled with. He waited in silence.
‘Er … may I offer you a drink?’ Ash ventured.
‘That would be welcome,’ Spiro said with a lilt that was not local. ‘What is it you want?’
‘They say the holy one is here. It is an unexpected blessing for the town.’
Spiro stilled and his eyes flicked appraisingly over Ash and Jillan for a second time. ‘Indeed. It demonstrates the benevolence and righteousness of the blessed Saviours that they ensure benefit for the People even when trouble is afoot.’
‘Praise the Saviours! Does this trouble originate in Saviours’ Paradise then that the h
oly one should come here?’
‘Indeed it does not, from what I hear. There has been foul murder in Godsend. The killer is said to be on his way here, perhaps wearing unusual leathers.’ Spiro’s eyes drifted to Jillan. ‘I’m sorry but I did not catch your names.’
The innkeeper returned and placed two foaming flagons and a half measure on the table. Jillan resisted the temptation to adjust the cloak that concealed his armour. He kept his expression as natural and neutral as he was able, but he was not sure how convincing he was. If only the bladesman would stop watching him like that.
Ash raised his flagon, acknowledged Spiro and Jillan with it and then took several large swallows before wiping the foam off his top lip. ‘Ah, that’s good! I am Ash and—’
‘I have heard of you.’
‘—a-and this is my cousin Owain from Heroes’ Brook.’
‘An unusual name, Owain,’ Spiro observed, still watching Jillan.
Ash laughed. ‘His parents have always had aspirations for the boy. He’s come to meet the daughter of a good family here in Saviours’ Paradise. They have great hopes for him, and Owain has great hopes of the daughter, eh, Owain?’
Jillan nodded mutely. He coughed and said weakly, ‘I don’t feel so good.’
‘You do look a bit green. He’s due to meet the girl for the first time in a few hours,’ Ash confided to the bladesman. ‘Why don’t you get some air while I talk to Spiro here? In fact, take a turn round the market and I’ll see you back here later.’
‘Y-yes, I think that might be a good idea,’ Jillan said and excused himself.
The woodsman’s a drunk and a waste of space, whispered the taint. Did you see the pathetic way he all but begged the innkeeper to buy his carvings? The woodsman’s Unclean. He has neither friends nor influence here in Saviours’ Paradise, but he’s desperate to be accepted. Once he’s into his cups, he’ll betray you to Spiro for the price of an ale. Forget him!