by James Evans
Long Carp joined Flat Cap and John the Bush in goggling at Chickie.
“Double?” said Flat Cap, his bass voice rumbling, “How are we supposed to do that?”
Hines leant forward from his place next to Chickie.
“What am I, your mother? This is your patch, round ‘ere, get out there and work it.”
“Just remember that you have a loving, supportive team back here at base waiting to feed and water you as soon as you’ve done something worth rewarding,” said Chickie, “or you could try your luck with the Watch, if you’d prefer, or fuck off to some other city.”
There was silence for a few moments. Long Carp could tell that Flat Cap was weighing the odds but eventually he just straightened his cap and stood up. The tension that had kept Long Carp’s heart hammering drained out of the atmosphere like pus from a wound and he stood up as well.
“Better make a start, then,” he said, “John, you ready?”
The little man looked at Long Carp and Flat Cap towering over him, then at Hines and Chickie relaxing opposite him.
“Sure, why not. Beats floating downriver or feeding the pigs.”
The three of them slunk off round the corner and Chickie sat back in his chair.
“That seemed to go well. I think those lads have a bright future ahead of them,” said Chickie, pulling out a pipe from his shirt and fishing around for his tobacco.
“Brighter than Faran’s, that’s for damn sure,” said Hines, “although his pigs are fattening up nicely.”
“Any more of these guys left, or have we spoken to all of them now?” asked Chickie, lighting his pipe with a small fire charm.
“That’s the last of ‘em, I think. They had about thirty working out o’ this place, I reckon, and we’ve spoken to twenty-four so far. Eighteen have come over to our way of thinking, a couple made a run for it and could be anywhere by now.”
Chickie hooked Long Carp’s stool with his foot and pulled it over then, legs stretched out and feet comfortably resting on the stool, he puffed on his pipe contentedly.
“A good day’s work, then. I’ll just finish my pipe then saunter on back to Trike’s to report to Fangfoss. I guess you’ll need to stay here to clear things up and make sure there’s no backsliding. Wouldn’t put it past them to try something tonight or tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah, I’ll handle it,” said Hines, standing up. He stretched his arms and cracked his joints.
“Maybe I’ll pick out one of the whiners this evening and give him a good beating, out in public where everyone can see. That ought to help settle things down a bit.”
Chickie took his pipe out of his mouth and waved it at Hines.
“Just make sure you pick a useless one, someone without friends, and keep these guys,” Chickie waved his pipe at the other North Enders lounging in the sun, “around just in case things go south.”
“Aye, you don’t have to tell me that.”
“No, I guess I don’t. Have we found Faran’s stash, yet?”
Hines looked over at one of the other North Enders, a short, thin man named Lacey, who looked up from his whittling when he heard a question that might be for him.
“Nothing worth ‘aving so far. There’s change in a box under the counter and a bit o’ silver in a draw in the back office. That’s about it so far.”
Chickie frowned.
“That ain’t right, there must be more hidden somewhere. What about the cellars? Anything down there?”
Lacey shook his head.
“A couple of barrels of beer, a stack of wood for the fires, a still where they made some sort of apple brandy from a cheap cider they brought in from the countryside somewhere. Nothing of any real value. One o’ them said they sent the days’ takings to the gaming palace so’s nobody’d be tempted to pinch it.”
Chickie considered this as he puffed on his pipe. Maybe it was true, maybe they just hid their stash well. Or maybe the Flank Siders just didn’t take any real money around here but that didn’t seem likely. The west side wasn’t poorer than the east side, just different. There were plenty of opportunities for men who knew how to exploit them.
“Well, maybe they were just shit at managing business. You’ll have your work cut out turning this mess around,” said Chickie, “and Fangfoss’ll want profits from tomorrow, you know that.”
Hines grunted but didn’t say anything, as if he’d expected the Flank Siders to be difficult and all this was just another way for them to cause him problems.
Chickie finished his pipe and stood up.
“Right. Time to head east. Till tomorrow, Hines.”
“Aye, till tomorrow.”
Chickie banged out his pipe on the bench and strode off, disappearing quickly into the shadows of the alleys.
Hines stood up as well and gestured at Lacey.
“Let’s go through the cellars again, make sure we haven’t missed anything. You lot keep an eye out for trouble,” he said, nodding at the other North Enders, “check round the back as well, make sure everything’s ship-shape.”
They nodded seriously but didn’t move until Hines kicked away the stool that the nearest man was resting his feet on.
“Bloody get on with it,” he said, a touch of anger showing in his voice. They got on.
Back at Trike’s the atmosphere in the room that Fangfoss used for his meetings was busy with excitement and activity.
News of the day’s events and of Marrinek’s activities at the Lighthouse had shot through the gang faster than a greased pig through a crowd and now everyone wanted to know what would happen next.
The common room downstairs was even more full and rowdy than normal as the enforcers came through, dumping the pooled share of their weekly take on the table before heading back downstairs to drink and gossip and gamble. Chickie was checking the money as it came in, ticking off the deposits against a list he kept in a small black notebook.
“That’s everyone,” he announced, as the last of the money was counted and stacked in a small chest, “except Hines, who won’t be producing anything till at least next week, and Old Ned, who hasn’t showed up.”
Fangfoss frowned at Chickie.
“That’s unusual. Ned’s a scruffy bugger but he’s reliable, always pays his dues. Send someone down to the Crown to roust him out; can’t let things slide, even for Ned.”
Chickie nodded and closed the lid on the chest.
“Pretty good week, though, considering. We’re down a bit overall but with Hitton out of the picture we’re doing all right and that ain’t counting what we’ll pick up from the Flanks.” He stood up and walked over to the door but as he stretched out his hand the door opened and Old Ned almost fell into the room. He grasped at Chickie’s arm to hold himself upright then staggered over to the table where Fangfoss was sitting and collapsed into a chair. The room was silent for several seconds before Fangfoss spoke.
“You know I like a big entrance, a bit of drama and some blood, a nice pratfall or maybe a joke, but you’ve taken it to extremes, Ned. What the hell happened to you?”
Ned coughed and closed his eyes briefly as he clutched his ribs. Then he raised his head and looked at Fangfoss through his good eye.
“Paltiel dragged me in for questioning, boss, wanted to know about your new best friend, Bay.”
Fangfoss sat up at the news.
“Bay?” he said sharply, “Why was she interested in him?”
“It was about what happened at the Goat. She wanted to know who did it and where they could find him. I kept quiet for a while but…” he trailed off, waving a hand at his smashed-up face.
Fangfoss grimaced. Paltiel had a reputation for getting information from people, even people like Ned who knew better than to talk to the Watch or answer their questions.
“What did you tell her?” asked Fangfoss in a weary voice.
“Pretty much everything,” said Ned, resigned to his fate but choosing honesty because it seemed like the only option, “although she only asked ab
out Bay and the Goat, nothing else. They gave me a beating in the cell then she did something else, felt like she was squeezing my mind, and when she asked questions I couldn’t not answer. I told her Bay was at The Jewel, ‘cos that’s where Trant sent him when he first arrived in town; don’t know if he’s still there, though.”
“And did you come straight here after they let you go?”
“Almost. Stopped at The Crown to get this for you.” He pulled a small purse from his pocket and tossed it to Chickie, who checked the contents then made a mark in his notebook.
“Good man,” said Fangfoss, nodding.
“Do you want to warn Bay?” said Chickie as he added Ned’s silver to the chest.
“Warn him? Sure, why not. Send someone round to The Jewel but if the Watch are already there, so be it.”
Chickie nodded and stepped out of the room to find a messenger.
“Course,” said Fangfoss to Ned, “might be that our warning arrives too late and Paltiel’ll have him in chains before our messenger arrives. That’d be a shame, losing our new ‘partner’ so soon after acquiring him, but Bay’s a big lad, I reckon we can trust him to look after himself.”
“Mind if I go, boss?” said Old Ned, “I need food and sleep and maybe a couple of shots of brandy to dull the pain.”
“Sure, get out of here. And I ‘preciate you bringing your dues round in person. Most wouldn’t have bothered or would have sent an excuse, and I value reliability.”
Ned nodded at him, unsure if his reputation for reliability was really worth the pain he’d suffered getting here from The Crown, then he stood up and shuffled back downstairs, holding the door for Chickie as he went out.
“Runner’s gone, boss.”
“Get over there, Chickie, and keep an eye on what happens. I want to know if the Watch take Bay and what sort of fight he puts up. I’ll want to know if he ain’t there, too.”
“Right you are, boss. Sure you don’t want to come along? Could be fireworks if Bay’s as tough as he seems.”
Fangfoss pretended to consider it then shook his head.
“Think I’ll just stay here, thanks. Never did like walking the streets if I could avoid it.”
“Right. I’ll be back as soon as things quieten down,” said Chickie, slipping out the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LADY ADRAVA RODE away from The Farm without a backward glance, leaving behind both her home and the alias - Aspene - that she had used for the last year and a half. The horse, a chestnut mare called String, was strong and Adrava let her run for several miles along the almost empty roads that led away from the seminary. When they reached the main road to Esterengel she slowed to a moderate pace that was more in keeping with her image as a low-ranking cleric; it would not be seemly for her to gallop everywhere and in any case, she had a long way to go.
String seemed happy to go at a fast trot and they soon settled into a mile-eating pace which would see them well west of Esterengel before nightfall. Adrava intended to reach Catshed as quickly as possible but not at the expense of her horse so she took care to walk, water and rest String whenever it was necessary.
The main road ran straight through Esterengel and although it was probably the fastest route to the west she didn’t want to take the chance, however slim, that she might be recognised. Instead she skirted the city, cutting south a few miles short of the outermost slums and taking String on a roundabout tour of the towns, small villages and farms that surrounded the city.
Stopping only once to buy bread and cheese and a skin of watered wine from a small inn in one of the larger villages, Adrava made good time and by mid-evening, with the sun still well above the horizon, she was a good distance beyond Esterengel and approaching a small town. The evening was warm and there was no sign of rain so she decided to camp in the wilderness rather than risk being recognised in the town and so she turned off the road onto a small track and made her way south, looking for a secluded spot where she could spend the night.
She found a small clearing a short distance from the track and, she estimated, maybe a mile or two beyond the western edge of the town. She hitched String to a tree at the edge of the clearing and removed the saddle and bags. Once String was settled, Adrava gathered firewood and settled down herself, lighting a fire using a small charm.
Warmed by the fire and wrapped in a blanket, Adrava turned out the contents of her saddlebags, which she had not yet had time to inspect. She spread out her second blanket and tipped out the saddlebags. It seemed that Cardinal Jendryng had been very generous, a trait that she had not previously seen in him, although maybe Lady Drocia’s patronage had helped in that regard.
The bags turned out to contain many of the things she might herself have chosen to pack had she had time to plan and consider. There were a pair of powered arm bracers made of leather and iron which she strapped on with considerable relief; travelling without armour was, she now found, something of a worry. The shock cannon in a holster of supple calfskin was something she hadn’t expected but which she was delighted to find - she fitted it to her belt where it would be easily reached but also hidden by her tunic. She spent a few minutes fiddling with the sliders - it wasn’t clear from the markings which control did what - and checking that she could reach and holster it quickly and discretely.
A small pot of honey and several other minor luxuries went straight back in the bag; nice to have but not things with which she needed to do anything now. Likewise the dagger and fire charm, which would serve as useful backups in case she lost her own.
A roll of charming tools was a thoughtful inclusion and might be useful but her skills in this area were limited. She didn’t have the patience for anything but the most rudimentary of charms and she doubted that she would find much use for the tools. Still, nice to have, just in case.
Finally, she unwrapped a small leather case and opened it to find a charmed monocle. Intrigued, she set it in her eye and focussed power into the charm to see what it would do. Immediately the darkened forest around her became visible and she found that she could see clearly through one eye even as the sun dipped fully behind the horizon. She had heard of such things but never had one to use before and she spent several delightful minutes experimenting before re-wrapping it in its case. She was about to put it away when she realised that simply hanging it around her neck on the attached necklace would be a better idea.
Her investigations complete, she ate half the loaf of bread and a good chunk of cheese, washing it all down with a generous mouthful of the rather sour wine. Then she stoked up the fire a little, checked on String and wrapped herself in her blankets before settling down for the night.
The next day, Adrava was up at first light and on her way within minutes, aiming to get many miles behind her while the light and the weather held. She ate as she rode, walking String frequently so as not to tire her and in this way she made rapid progress. Her early start allowed her to make good use of the road before it became busy with the day’s traffic and by late afternoon she judged that she had was now approaching the western edge of the Empire. This part of the province was unceasingly rural with farms and small villages covering the hills and plains. Occasional small towns - mostly just large villages - were distinctly provincial and although they buzzed with people the focus was on farming and trade; Adrava was unlikely to be recognised this far from the city.
She was tired after two long days of riding, an activity she was unused to after months of virtual isolation at The Farm, and so she decided to try her luck at a roadside inn in a small village. Her clerical garb should deter most people who might otherwise be tempted to pay close attention to a woman travelling alone and, with luck, it would be enough to get her a small room to herself.
She guided String into the inn’s stable yard and handed the reins to a boy who came running over, tipping his hat in respect for her office. She gave careful instructions for String’s care and then, taking the saddlebags with her, went in search of the innkeep
er.
The inn’s common room was about half full, mostly of locals - farm hands, foresters, a blacksmith and his apprentice - but there were also a few travellers making their way home from the big city. The innkeeper, a large, no-nonsense woman in her mid-fifties, looked Adrava up and down, clearly not believing that she was a cleric.
“I’m just a student, really,” she said, hurriedly, weaving her apparent youth into the cover and sucking at her lower lip to emphasise her vulnerability, “not yet an ordained priest. I’m travelling home to see my mother, who is very ill,” said Adrava giving her name as “Gwycia”. It seemed to work and the innkeeper warmed to her a little, coming over all matronly despite being at least thirty years her junior.
“A pretty young girl like you shouldn’t be travelling alone, miss, not all the way out here. It’s not safe on the roads, especially at dusk. Can’t have in you the dormitory, either, not with the crowd we’ve got staying here tonight, but we’ve got a small room we keep for special visitors. It’s extra but it’s all I’ve got and I’ll throw in a spot of dinner. I’ve always said it was good luck to have a priest in the building,” said the innkeeper. She chattered on, rabbiting away about nothing of any real interest while she steered Adrava through the inn, eventually depositing her at a tiny room with scarcely enough room to stand beside the bed.
“You’ll be wanting a bath, no doubt, so I’ll have the maids prepare one for you and find you something to wear if you’d like your clothes washed. I always find the smell of horse gets stuck in my nose, after a while, can’t wait to get rid of it.” She smiled and disappeared down the corridor, clucking as she went. Adrava removed her arm guards, slipping them into her saddle bags, then laid her knife on the bed beside the bags. She took her shock cannon from its holster on her belt and was still holding the short charm in her hand, half hidden by her sleeve, when the maid arrived carrying a heavy woollen dressing gown and some towels. Adrava followed her to the bath house where a warm bath was waiting and allowed the maid to help her undress, slipping the shock cannon into the bath water before climbing in herself. The maid disappeared, promising to return her clothes, washed and dried, before morning.