But the swing was never completed.
The sharp tip of a dagger sprouted through his left arm. He shrieked and released his grip on her neck. The girl stepped forward and plunged another dagger into his right armpit.
With a howl of agony he dropped the club which she deftly caught and swung at his face. The blow struck with such force that it smashed several teeth from his mouth and sent them skittering into grimy shadows. A second blow knocked him off his feet and he landed solidly on his back. He lay still, breath fizzing through the bloody ooze that trickled from his mouth.
Aedan pulled the shawl and wig from his head, spat, and turned to see the other men falling under a similar wrath.
Dun had instructed the boys to avoid killing unless their lives were threatened. But this gang had a dark name; it had been given special mention. “These men are widely rumoured to be guilty of the worst crimes,” Dun had said. “At even a suggestion of ruthless intent, you are to use your daggers. That is an order. Today you are fully authorised by the City of Castath to administer capital punishment for capital crimes.”
Aedan had let the man take his neck because he needed to know the truth before acting. He could have stabbed for the chest, but he wanted the noose to have the final word.
The boys carried both daggers and clubs strapped against their kirtles and hidden by thin cloaks. After what the gang leader had said, Aedan was not surprised to see that every member of his team had used daggers.
One of the gang members looked to be dead, or nearly so, and the rest were either unconscious or lay gurgling and twisting in mortal agony. Hadley was still punching the man that lay beneath him, his face contorted with rage. No one interfered.
“Call the soldiers,” Aedan said.
Peashot jogged down the alley and returned with a heavily armed patrol. At their head was Cameron, the polite old captain who had spoken to Aedan on the day of his arrival, almost four years back, and who well-remembered the young lad who had once asked his name at the city gate.
Aedan gave a short account. When he was finished, Cameron stepped over to the leader and planted a savage kick in the man’s neck.
“Been wanting to do that for a long time. Lots of us have heard of this Mole-Alley gang – earned a hanging ten times over. They confessed to a capital crime then attempted to repeat it. Their deal’s done, at last. Commander’s waiting at the gallows with the judge. I can guarantee you this lot will be swinging tonight, dead or alive. Any of you hurt?”
“No,” said Aedan, turning to look around. The revulsion still burned in him as he remembered the leader’s depraved boast. It almost pushed him to march over and put his daggers to work again. It was the first time in months he was glad to be serving the law.
The others were silent. None of them had ever had to clean their blades before. There had been laughter in the wake of the first two encounters as the soldiers had bound the gangs of thieves and dragged them off to prison, but there was no laughter now.
“That’s three gangs,” said Cameron. “You boys are doing what we soldiers could never do. Even in disguise we look like soldiers, we smell like soldiers, and gangs have sharp noses.”
Aedan turned to his companions. “One more?” he said.
“What do you have in mind?” asked Hadley.
Aedan was silent for a moment. “Let’s team up with one of the other groups and take the Earl’s-quarter gang.
“But that’s a huge gang!” Lorrimer exclaimed. “One of the most powerful in the city.”
“And one of the busiest. If they land in jail, everyone will hear about it. It will do more than taking a dozen smaller ones.”
“I think Lorrimer’s right,” said Vayle. “Aren’t they too big for us?”
“I doubt we’ll see the whole lot, but the soldiers will have to be nearby for this one.”
“How? The spotters cover at least five blocks. If soldiers are anywhere near, it will be like hunting deer and taking a brass band along for company.”
Aedan’s eyes took on a glazed, distant look. “I have an idea,” he said, “though it’s not going to be comfortable for the soldiers.”
The farmer who usually delivered the feed and hay to the royal stables was nowhere to be seen on the big cart, and apparently his children were making the delivery for him. It was not uncommon; many things were out of order during this time. In spite of the crowded conditions in the city, this was not a busy street, for it was a delivery track strewn with manure and its narrowness meant that pedestrians never fared well.
Night had settled and a lantern swung near the driver, a young, nervous-looking boy. This time, Peashot did not have to act nervous – he was strung as tight as a harp. A bulging purse was secured to his belt and he tapped it constantly while his eyes scanned the road.
The cart was at the darkest point of the lane, approaching an intersection where a lone boy idled, when a wheel slipped off the axle. The girls, who had been singing songs, began to cry as they understood their isolation, and the boys tried in vain to lift the wagon and replace the wheel. Peashot and Kian hopped down, walked across to the much bigger boy, and asked if he would find some men to help. Peashot dug a silver chim out of his money bag and handed it over, promising another if help were found.
The boy was no idler but a spotter. He would report the situation in detail – a group of children making a farmer’s deliveries, a few boys but no adults around, and at least one large money bag. Before long the narrow space began to reverberate with the tramping of heavy feet. About twenty strong men arrived, showing an eagerness that did not accord with the mending of a wagon wheel.
The spotter indicated Peashot and spoke quietly. A wiry man barked a few sharp orders, and two of the group ran a hundred paces down the lane where they stopped and faced away, standing guard.
This gang was cautious and well organised. One of them stood apart. He was tall and deep-striding, and the other members parted before him as he walked into a shadowy section of the road and watched. Aedan marked him. Though he gave no orders, his mere presence dominated the gang. This, surely, was the mastermind who led the city’s most cunning group of outlaws. They were not murderers but they were thieves, and dauntingly successful ones.
Peashot stood atop the wagon, pointing down at the wheel. He did not want to provide an easy target for a snatch and run.
Six men came up, three on either side of the wagon, squeezing past the mules, eyeing the boxes under the seat.
“What you got in there boy?” the wiry man asked.
“Nothing,” said Peashot.
“Well then you won’t mind if we take them along with us.”
“They are my father’s.”
“Not anymore. And that there money bag – you’d best hand that over.”
One of the men began to climb up to the driver’s seat. Peashot unhooked the money bag and slung it at the gangster’s head, knocking him down and scattering coins all over the road so that they tinkled and called in sweet voices to greedy ears.
As soon as the attention was off Peashot, the three boys and seven girls dashed off the front of the cart. They demonstrated surprising agility as they ran along a beam separating the mules, and sprinted away, screaming. Even the girls dodged between the gang members with uncanny ease, passing them and making good their escape.
A large girl, who might have answered to the name of Warton, was not that light on her feet. Someone tried to stop her. Instead of screaming for help, she raised two club-like fists and punched her way free. Her assailant landed on his back with a thump and a rapidly swelling eye. Five of the children went straight, five turned into the adjoining alley.
But then they stopped and spun around.
“Scatter!” It was the tall man in the shadows whom Aedan had singled out earlier. The man was hardly visible, but his voice moved the gang like the touch of a whip.
They turned and ran towards the exits the children were blocking. These children were behaving strangely though. The
y seemed to be sowing seed, seed that bounced and skittered over the cobbles with hundreds of metallic tings, unlike coins – thinner, sharper.
The gangsters thundered towards them and did not slow down at the sight of this puny barricades of children, and the apparently senseless littering meant nothing to them. They made no effort to avoid the little bits of metal. This gang would rush past like wind and vanish into the shadows beyond, organised, silent and strong. But there was neither organisation nor silence in what now took place.
The little bits of metal were caltrops – sharp, four-pointed bladelike stars with one point always raised to the sky.
Howls of pain filled the air as the upward-facing blades slipped through boot soles and sank deep into flesh and bone. Some of the blades even emerged on the other side. The shrieking thieves collapsed onto more steel points – the caltrops were everywhere now – but none of them could stand again until they had pulled the spikes from their feet.
At the same time, the wagon burst open like a termite-infested log. Soldiers threw off hay-covered panels and poured out front and sides. They cut off the third escape and worked their way forward, knocking down any thieves still on their feet.
The soldiers clanked about as if they were running with pots strapped to their boots, and this was, in fact, not far from the reality. The steel plates under their soles did make the cobbles slippery, but it saved them from the more immediate concern of a road with teeth.
No gang could put up much of a fight under the circumstances. The children kept throwing the little four pointed horrors under the feet of any gangster who was attempting to make a stand.
Aedan had not forgotten about the two who had taken up sentry positions further down the road behind him. They were still there – he could see their outlines – but then they turned and jogged away, only now there were three. He assumed the third was the leader who had slipped past.
Twenty-two men were arrested, many of them well-known members of the criminal elite. Cameron was actually laughing with delight. Most of the soldiers had seen the whole performance through spy-holes; they were grinning as they led their wincing prisoners away.
The boys took off their disguises and lit lamps while they cleared the road of caltrops.
“What gave you this idea?” Peashot asked Aedan.
“Remember when we were making our first swords – the day I went to the forge barefoot? I was a cripple and the rest of you were fine.”
Peashot grinned. “Might have given you a good idea, but I’m still going to remember that as one of the stupidest things you ever did.”
It took some time to clean the street and it was late when they made their way back to the academy. As they trudged homeward, the mood was lightened by the memory of thieves hobbling about and howling and sitting down, and then springing up howling again. It was a quiet group, though, with much on their minds, and the laughter was punctuated with long silences.
Aedan excused himself, saying he needed to fetch a new shirt from Osric’s house, but he really just wanted to be alone for a while.
None of the boys had noticed the stealthy figures trailing them through the darkness. When Aedan split off, he drew the followers, and they closed the distance quickly.
It was the second dull scrape he’d heard. Soft, easily ignored. There were many cats that scavenged in this part of town.
Since Malik had successfully tailed him in his first year at the academy, Aedan had been vigilant, constantly checking his surroundings. But tonight his thoughts were unusually heavy and sluggish. Another scrape, this time closer. When he turned, it was too late.
The clonk of a wooden batten rang through his skull. He sprawled forward and tried to roll to his feet, but two men were on him before he could recover himself. They took an arm each, yanked him up, and dragged him against a wall.
A third man approached with a deep stride. Aedan, in spite of his dizziness, recognised him immediately. It was the man who had called the warning, the one he’d assumed to be the mastermind. But now he began to hear the chimes of recognition from elsewhere, from before the last gang roundup, long before. And then the man stepped into a beam of light from an overhead window.
“I have tried very hard not to despise you,” Clauman said, “but you are determined to earn my hatred.”
Aedan did not speak. He stared at his father’s tall figure with growing dread.
“Do you know what you did tonight?”
Aedan guessed in an instant. He looked down, suddenly ashamed, despite the voice of reason protesting that he should not be.
“Yes, you know don’t you? With all your supposed knowledge I would have expected you to learn where my interests lay and respect them. Nearly three years ago you defied me. You overturned one of my projects and brought about the loss of many of my collectors. Then you cowered away in your little academy safehouse. Tonight, you robbed me of half my best men.”
“I didn’t know it was your gang.”
“Because you did not bother yourself to find out!” Clauman shouted, stepping forward. Aedan saw the veins swelling in his father’s neck and heard the heavy breathing. But Clauman contained himself and stopped short. A calculating look came into his eyes that worried Aedan even more.
“It’s time for you to pay back, and this is how you will do it. My operations thrive on information – layouts, numbers, schedules, and of course, security measures. You will find a way of providing me with those. If you betray me again, I’ll turn all my attention to destroying you.”
Aedan was trembling. He knew his father was no more than a man, yet his words brought back all the fears of childhood. That same demon began to claw at him again, prying his heart open and hurling mockery into the depths of his being. It told him that he was a broken, beaten pulp, and if he did not shrink away and hide he would be crushed. His legs began to tremble and he felt his back slipping against the stone wall.
“Step aside,” Clauman ordered his two men. They let Aedan go, and he sagged to the ground. “Answer me,” Clauman said, glaring at his son.
Aedan’s mouth was dry and his voice would not come as he tried to form words.
Clauman smiled. “I understand that language. I will expect you to contact me within a week. Find something that will begin to pay back the losses you brought about.” He turned and strode away, his men jogging to keep up.
Aedan saw them dwindle away. The danger was gone, but something else was gone too, something he needed. He was not sure what it was, but its absence made him realise that he had escaped nothing by his silence. He felt a sudden weight settle on him and he understood what he had lost.
Freedom.
He had faced his jailor and not even made an attempt to gain the key.
Every muscle felt like it was made of shivering lard, but he pushed himself up, filled his lungs and shouted, though it came out more like a shriek.
“No!”
The three figures stopped moving. They turned and began to walk back. There was no mistaking the way his father strode now. The arms were pushed slightly out over balled fists. Every movement betrayed a pounding, swinging fury. Clauman did not even break stride. He hit Aedan in the stomach and hammered him to the ground.
“You dare to speak to me like that? I didn’t think you needed to be reminded of your place, but I am happy to do the necessary.” He kicked, causing Aedan to skid back against the wall where he coughed and gasped for breath.
“Do you understand, or must I carry on?”
Aedan understood. The message was sharp and clear. But another message began to rumble in his mind. It was the message he had understood as that colossal voice had spoken his name the second time. It was a message so pure with its kindness, and so terrifying with its power, that the lies had crawled out from their hidings and melted before it.
From where Aedan sprawled in the stink and grime, he looked up between the buildings into the great depths of the night, at stars beyond the reach of the highest mountains. Some
one whose voice had made even those distant stars tremble with awe knew his name.
The same warmth grew in him.
Though he still drew thin, scraping breaths of air, he pushed himself to his feet.
A weight he could not see was pressing him down, but he would not bow under it again. He looked at his father and, as he did so, a covering began to slip. He glimpsed the man behind the horror that had stalked his past. As with Rork, as with Iver, there was no monster, only a man who had behaved monstrously. And as before, it made him seem smaller, not bigger.
Clauman laughed a hard laugh. “Want to stand up to me do you?” He hit again, but this time the blows did not fall as cleanly as before. Aedan was blocking and ducking. Though there were openings for retaliation, he took none of them.
Clauman was breathing hard when his son stumbled and dropped under a furious rain of punches. But this time Aedan rolled quickly and got to his feet again.
“How about we hold him?” asked one of the gangsters, stepping up to Aedan – but he stepped too close.
It was a movement like the strike of a python. The base of Aedan’s palm crunched into the thief’s nose, knocking him over backwards. A knee followed, driving into the groin, doubling the man over, bringing his head in line for Aedan’s elbow. A short swing, a solid blow. Before the man knew what was happening to him, he was sagging. He dropped with a soft moan.
It was one of Dun’s standard sequences.
The other gangster had been approaching, but now kept his distance.
Clauman watched his son for a long time before speaking. “Why didn’t you strike me?” he asked.
“I don’t want to,” Aedan said.
“Still a coward then.”
“No. Because I forgave you. And it took more courage to do that than hating you. Hating and hitting are easy.”
“Call it what you want, but it seems that my blows have finally turned you into a man.”
Aedan could hardly believe the words. “A man? You made me into a cowering worm! It was something very different to your treatment that got me to my feet. It’s as different from the way you treated me as rain is from drought.”
Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) Page 71