131 Days [Book 4]_About the Blood

by Keith C. Blackmore

“Only one I ever had.”

  “Who gave you that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re an orphan?”

  “Aye that.”

  “Sunjan?”

  Pig Knot nodded.

  “Many of them about,” she said and looked in the same direction as he.

  “Well, I’m one.”

  “I’m Vesula. Well met, young Pig Knot.”

  “Well met, good Vesula.”

  She didn’t smile, but Pig Knot sensed she was somehow pleased. She returned to work, and the unseen chopping resumed.

  In no real hurry, Pig Knot lingered, his cart parked before Vesula’s stand, and enjoyed the morning calm.

  Which lasted only a short while.

  Women, men, and even a few children visited Vesula’s stall. They crowded the counter, heedless of order. To prevent being toppled, Pig Knot moved himself to the right, just before Vesula’s cart. She didn’t seem to mind him there. The customers noticed him, their reactions differing. Some ignored him outright while some cocked their brows, taking quick peeks at his legs and then his face––always the legs first, it seemed––before going about their business. A couple of men gave him grim nods, as if knowing exactly what was on Pig Knot’s mind.

  The children, however, were the worst.

  They watched him with wide eyes, without shame. Some even smiled wickedly at his condition. One, a tall boy perhaps somewhere in his teen years, actually made a face at Pig Knot, grinned at his companions, and made a face at Pig Knot again.

  “Stop that, you little maggot,” growled a blacksmith type who’d stopped for a quick bite and a drink. “All of you.”

  The children scowled back at him.

  The blacksmith raised a thick forearm, and they scattered, bolting into the open streets.

  “My thanks,” Pig Knot said to the fellow, a gruff-looking individual with scarred hands. He was tall, but everyone seemed tall to Pig Knot lately.

  “Get on, cripple,” the man said. “Do your begging someplace else.”

  That stabbed Pig Knot to the core, silencing him of a reply. The blacksmith left him with a dangerous glare and walked away, munching aggressively on an apple until other people crowded up to Vesula’s counter, blocking the view. Some of them scrutinized Pig Knot, no doubt wondering when he was going to hold out his hand.

  His face turned hot.

  He looked away from where Vesula was serving people, some shred of dignity keeping him in place while Sunjans bustled by and went about their lives. He wasn’t sure if it was the cripple or the beggar reference that cut him deeper, deeper than any physical pain, truth be known. Though crippled he might be, he decided he wasn’t a beggar, and being called one scalded him.

  The blacksmith’s warning spurred Pig Knot to move. No longer comfortable, he rolled away from Vesula’s stall, deciding to erase the embarrassing memory with a little exercise. Slapping the stone under his wheels, he bent forward and pushed, feeling the burn in his arms and the sting of the Sunjan’s words.

  Cripple, Pig Knot fumed. Perhaps, but he wasn’t a beggar and didn’t intend to be one. He intended to die first—fast or slow, it didn’t matter. That begged the question: when did he want to perish? He had come to the city to enjoy his last purse of coin to the fullest and then perhaps get stabbed in an alleyway. Plenty of cutthroats skulked about the city. His problem was, he supposed, staying near the arena. Most thieves didn’t like to work so close to the games, for fear of being caught by mobs of people inspired to fight back after witnessing a rousing afternoon of combat… or being set upon by trained gladiators or the Street Watch.

  Thus far, he’d very much enjoyed the last couple of nights but had yet to manage the dying bit. He’d have to work on that part. Then there was Pig Knot’s physical size. Despite having had his legs hacked off, his upper body was still impressive, his physique hard and defined. It suddenly occurred to him that only a truly bold person––or a gang––would consider robbing and killing him.

  The southeast section of the city contained the kind of maggots he needed. Most Sunjans looked warily upon the place, and the well-off citizens to the north avoided the area entirely.

  Do your begging someplace else, a voice warned him.

  Wise advice.

  *

  People bustled in conflicting currents, ahead, back, and from side to side. Farmers herded livestock to market, and Pig Knot rolled around a wagon filled with chickens. The smell alone stopped him cold. He narrowly avoided a series of freshly spattered cow kisses and vowed to be more careful with his hands and wheels. Several times, people halted in midstep, staring sheer poison at him for blocking the path. Pig Knot kept close to the various storefronts, stalls, alehouses and taverns, and the occasional house. He coasted by actual beggars and understood their plight perhaps a little better.

  For whatever reason, he glanced over his shoulder and saw a curious thing.

  Some children from Vesula’s stall, four of them, were following him. Even more interesting, they made no attempt to conceal the fact.

  Pig Knot halted.

  They stopped as well, no more than twenty strides back. People passed before them, concealing them at times, but he glimpsed the boys through the moving bodies, seeing their youthful faces, their shabby clothing, and their size. They were big lads. What knotted Pig Knot’s brow, however, were the smiles upon their faces, cruel and eager.

  The tallest boy, the one warned back at the stall, stood with his friends at his flanks, eyeing Pig Knot with decidedly evil thoughts. The once gladiator scowled back, wondering what the youngsters thought they were about. They all looked halfway to adulthood in age, but that wasn’t what truly caught his attention. There was an air about them, a feral posturing he remembered from his own youth.

  He spied a nearby alley. Pretending to ignore them, Pig Knot turned his wheels and disappeared between two buildings. Old crates and garbage littered the sides, but he paid no mind to the refuse. A pungent stink of piss fouled his nose just before his wheels splashed through a puddle that wasn’t rainwater. He reached the alley’s end and saw it connected to another street several strides ahead. On impulse, he glanced back.

  The boys appeared at the alley mouth.

  A smile spread across Pig Knot’s face. The four pups looked as though they were hunting rats.

  He intended to show them they were hunting far worse.

  Slapping stone, he turned himself around, crashing into a half-crumped wooden crate. By the time he got his cart free of the mess, the boys were walking toward him. Pig Knot checked his surroundings, placed his back to a wall, and faced the approaching pack. On a whim, he pulled his shirt off and wedged it between his thigh and the cart’s side.

  “You lads want something?” he called out.

  The tall one, his hair falling about his eyes as if he’d pulled his head out of a dusty chimney, smiled yellow teeth. He had rat’s eyes. The others were no longer so sly, and appeared increasingly cautious. The group stopped a good ten paces away and studied the man with no legs. Two boys glanced back at the alley mouth, as if fearful of being caught doing something very wrong.

  “You’ve got coin, cripple?” the tall one asked, trying hard to deepen his voice.

  “And if I do?” Pig Knot asked, genuinely amused. He drew himself up on his cart, placing his muscular torso on display. Legless he might have been, but his upper body was far from crippled.

  The boys filled the width of the alley and crept forward. A fat one hung to the tall one’s right while a lad with a face as pale as a pearl was on the left. A fourth boy brought up the rear. The fat one actually seemed much too happy, in Pig Knot’s opinion. The pale one kept looking back toward the main street, but his face was drawn and hungry looking—not for food but for violence.

  The tall one jerked a knife free of his shirt.

  Pig Knot scowled. These rats weren’t about to be easily scared away. He expected to be preyed upon sooner or later, but not by… youths.r />
  “When I was your age, we grabbed the food from the carts,” he said. “Or tugged coin ever so gently from pockets. We never used knives.”

  The fat one pulled another knife, as did the boy with the complexion of a ghost. The fourth boy stayed in the rear, but Pig Knot knew he probably had a weapon as well.

  “Give us your coin,” the tall one whispered bravely. “And we’ll leave you with your life.”

  “Maybe even your topper,” the ghost said and broke into giggles, trading looks with the other pack members.

  “Boy,” Pig Knot warned, “I don’t like it when children pull steel on me. Point that knife at me, and I promise you… you’ll hurt for it.”

  The smiles disappeared. The boys didn’t like the threat.

  The tall one lifted his chin, and his face darkened. “You give us what you got, and we’ll let you live.”

  The pack was only six or seven paces away. They could rush him, but they hesitated to do so, becoming very much aware of Pig Knot’s size.

  “Let me be clear,” the once gladiator said in an all-too-calm voice. “I’ll break the nose of the first punce who swings at me. If I catch an arm, I’ll snap it in two. If I catch a knife, I’ll use it. You look like you’ve done this before, but you’ve made a mistake this day. I don’t frighten easy. I’m certainly not frightened by youngsters… thinking their knives… make them men. My legs might’ve caught your attention, but you won’t notice them.”

  On that note, Pig Knot put his fist through the side of a nearby crate. The sound got the boys’ attention, even whipping the head of the fourth boy around. Pig Knot pulled away a jagged shard and brandished it with unscathed knuckles.

  “When I shove this… up your dog blossoms.” Pig Knot glared at the gang leader.

  Despite the threat, the tall lad didn’t back down. The boy was a brazen one, and ready for the dirtiest of work.

  “Jurnos?” the fat one asked.

  Jurnos––the tall one––slowly shook his head and lowered his knife, and Pig Knot thought the situation was all but finished.

  The tall boy lunged, a steel coil snapping forward, the knife slicing for an eye.

  Pig Knot slapped the blade away, grabbed the lad’s filthy shirt, and heaved Jurnos into the crate he’d punched. Wood crackled. Pig Knot lost his balance with the effort and fell from his cart. Jurnos quickly recovered and scrambled onto the legless man. He tried to cut Pig Knot, but the once gladiator punched the boy in the face, crossing his eyes. Jurnos collapsed against the alley wall.

  The three others tensed, eyes and ears and, most of all, mouths opened wide. Their blossoms drawn tighter than three knots on a string.

  Pig Knot righted himself and tossed his wooden shard. He picked up Jurnos’s knife, and grabbed the pack leader’s shirt. Muscles visibly flexing, he dragged the boy from the crate’s ruins, got behind him, and held the blade to the youngster’s throat.

  Pig Knot gave the other three his most dangerous look.

  The boys broke, raising dust clouds as they fled the alley.

  Letting his breath go, Pig Knot chuckled.

  Jurnos stirred.

  Pig Knot straightened his arm, serious once again, and cocked the knife. “Stay still, you little maggot shite,” he whispered against the boy’s temple. “Stay still. Anger me, and I’ll cut you. Truly anger me, and you’ll wake up without a kog in Saimon’s hell.”

  A defiant Jurnos showed teeth red with blood but didn’t move.

  “You made a mistake today,” Pig Knot whispered. “Remember that. And remember you were this close,” he held the knife to the boy’s face, “to losing your life.”

  Jurnos fumed, lips tight with rage.

  For an instant, Pig Knot thought it best to kill the lad and be done with it. The youngster had that look, that feel of evil encased in flesh, but the once gladiator hadn’t gone that far yet, not enough to kill boys, even though Jurnos was perhaps fourteen or fifteen.

  He released the lad and shoved. “Get on,” Pig Knot said, nodding at the alley entrance.

  Jurnos crawled a few paces before standing. When he did, he checked the distance, and his fury came loose.

  “I’ll find you,” the boy swore, red-faced and venomous. “You legless pile of horse shite. You think I made a mistake? You made the mistake, you stupid-assed bastard. You did. I’ll find you. I’ll find you, and I won’t hesitate next time. I’ll gut you and leave you bleeding in the ditches…”

  Jurnos emphasized his words with a pair of quick, underhanded stabs at the air.

  Pig Knot didn’t appreciate the rant, not after his very generous act of mercy. He pulled back his cart while keeping an eye on the boy. He kept the knife, as he had nothing close to a weapon and had to admit the blade wasn’t a bad one.

  “You’re dead, cripple,” the boy whispered and pointed. “You’re dead. I’ll open you up and leave you for the rats to nest in. I’ll leave you in the streets so everyone can see my work. You’re not the first. I’ve killed six men already. Six men.”

  “All while they’re sleeping, no doubt.”

  That enraged the lad.

  “I’ll kill you! Seddon above, I’ll kill you!” When Jurnos saw Pig Knot was unmoved, he changed his tune. “Tell you what, give me that blade, and I’ll consider killing you quick when I find you. Quick. One stab to the throat.”

  “You want this?” Pig Knot asked, holding up the weapon.

  The boy tensed, suspicious.

  “Here,” Pig Knot said and shuffled forward.

  Jurnos backed away.

  “Here,” Pig Knot said, continuing to move toward him. “Come closer, and I’ll give your knife back. I’ve got no legs. You said so yourself. So why are you afraid?”

  “Not afraid of you,” Jurnos said, but he retreated all the same.

  “You’re the worst kind of coward.” Pig Knot smiled. “One that talks loud from a distance but whimpers when face-to-face.”

  He propelled himself toward the youngster, who ran for the alley mouth. An instant later, the boy disappeared around the corner.

  “Thought so,” Pig Knot grumbled with some measure of satisfaction.

  Shaking his head, he returned to his cart and climbed aboard. He left his shirt off, not wanting to wear it right away. However, he pulled on his damp loincloth, not wanting to frighten anyone. He realized then he’d facd the youngsters while naked. Perhaps that was the reason the other three held back when Jurnos lunged. Thoughts of the lad soured his mood. He wasn’t sure if he would’ve killed the boy or not, but he wasn’t opposed to delivering a right and proper beating. Young street rat. Nothing worse or more annoying.

  Sensing nothing good would come from the encounter, Pig Knot hung back from the teeming traffic of the main street. Not one person had come to his aid while he faced the street rats. Sunja, he thought. You haven’t changed.

  Wanting something powerful to drink, Pig Knot wheeled himself into the hot daylight and stayed close to the road’s edges, enduring that sweaty, smelly mob. Figuring that distance was the best option, he decided to leave what he believed was Jurnos’s territory. Southeast might not be in his future at all. He’d go east, perhaps near the great lower lake, where the city’s naturally occurring spring water pooled. At current speed, he thought it would take him half a day to get there.

  Children.

  He wanted to die—that was a given—but the thought of being knifed and robbed by a pack of budding street rats turned his guts rancid.

  25

  Sunja smothered Pig Knot with trapped heat, smells, and parasitic crowds. The sun bore down on his meaty frame as he maneuvered his little cart through the bustling streets. Feeling that fearsome heat, he put his shirt back on. Sweat quickly soaked the cloth. He frequently looked over his shoulder, scanning the tangles of people for Jurnos or any of his pack. The boy’s face and fury bothered him enough to make him doubt releasing the teenager had been the right thing to do.

  “Six men,” the boy had said. He’d kill
ed six men. The troubling thing was it didn’t sound like a lie.

  Pig Knot avoided the alleys and the backstreets, not trusting them. He didn’t stop for anything to eat, wanting to be well into the eastern part of the city before nightfall. A wagon with pigs wrinkled his nose, and people clogged the street sides in order to get around the animals. The congestion caused tense moments for the once gladiator as a deluge of waistlines and hopping children flowed by him. Hundreds of voices melded into gibberish. Pig Knot struggled to see everything at once. Hidden hands concerned him the most, as they might belong to youths looking to sink a blade into him. Annoyed faces loomed overhead, some surprised at seeing him, others quickly glancing away. Pig Knot reached a set of wooden stairs and parked himself alongside, placing his back against a wall. Yells peppered the air, calling on the farmer and drivers to get the animals out of the street. An old man with a cane climbed the nearby stairs, the wood creaking with his effort. When the crowds finally eased up some, Pig Knot wheeled himself out and away.

  He didn’t see Jurnos or his lads.

  Either the boys had left him alone, or they’d become more careful at hiding.

  Enduring looks of pity and contempt in equal amounts, along with one or two smiles that seemed oddly out of place, Pig Knot continued east.

  By early evening, he stopped before a small tavern that looked somewhat respectable. A single-story affair made of dark-stained timbers, it had none of the festive trappings of the fighting season adorning the front. Two tables were positioned on a raised deck on either side of the main entrance. Three men were drinking at one of those tables. Shuttered windows were thrown open to allow the smell of smoke and cooking roasts to waft into the street.

  After the day Pig Knot had endured, a good meal would improve his spirits.

  Two broad steps stopped him, so he parked his cart alongside them and dismounted. He landed with a grimace, glad that he avoided crushing his plums. He hoisted himself up and over the steps, drawing the passing interest of the three men. They spared him only a glance before returning to their conversation, muttering about the ongoing war and the politics of Marrn and Vathia.