The Yarnsworld Collection: A fantasy boxset

by Benedict Patrick

  Deep, deep within her, a snarl tried to force its way up Yizel’s throat. With practised focus, she held it locked tight, instead keeping her features blank as she wiped the saliva from her eye.

  “The Paw’s right, we should have known,” the other Mouse said. “You can’t run into a watering hole, throw a fistful of coins at a Shaven, and expect things to go well.”

  No, Yizel thought. Things don’t go well for the Shaven.

  A patter of feet heralded the arrival of two more Mice, running frantically down the otherwise empty street.

  “They’re heading for the marketplace. Sinister Crow wants us all to meet there, take them by surprise.” Their eyes fell on the dead Paw at the ground, and they turned white.

  “Wasn’t us. It was the Shaven.”

  The messengers looked at Yizel, and their eyes grew even wider upon recognising her.

  “You hired her? Do you even know who she is?”

  For a brief second, Yizel’s face betrayed her emotions - her mouth opened in dismay as a background face from her past picked her out, even after all these years.

  Should never have accepted coin from a Mouse. Sleeping rough would have been the smarter choice.

  Creeping Scorpion shrugged. “What’s to know? She’s a sword for hire, isn’t she?”

  The messenger shook her head. “Sinister Crow’s not going to be happy. Don’t have time for this, now. Leave the body, we’re heading for the plaza.”

  All four of the Whispering Mice turned and began to run. Creeping Scorpion spun on his heel, glared at Yizel, and motioned with his hand for her to follow.

  Despite her discomfort at being recognised after all this time, Yizel obeyed, following the lure of coin.

  The winding streets of Barrio Mercado were perfect for ambushes, as Yizel and her employers had proved only moments ago when hunting the Paws. However, now the tight confines of the trading district were a threat to them, offering the possibility of attackers around every corner, from every darkened snickleway that made up the network of smaller alleys that criss-crossed the buildings of the barrio.

  Thankfully, they met no opposition, and the mouth of the road flooded into the Queen’s Plaza, which was empty of people. The Mice in front of Yizel cursed and spread out, searching the marketplace for a hint of where the fight had moved to.

  “Find someone hiding, ask them what they saw,” Creeping Scorpion barked at Yizel.

  She looked for the nearest stall that had the possibility of providing shelter, tossed it over, and found two small children hiding underneath.

  Yizel looked at the terror in their faces, and hesitated, instead looking to where Creeping Scorpion was turning over tables only a few feet away. He saw the children in front of Yizel and give her a look of exasperation.

  “Well? Question them.”

  The pair appeared to be siblings, an older brother, and a younger girl. They possibly had a bit of Wild in their blood, judging by their black hair, although their pale skin marked them as more Muridae than anything else.

  “Where did the Bravadori go?” Yizel asked, face emotionless.

  Neither child answered, the sister instead sheltering in her brother’s arms. The boy stared at Yizel, his eyes darting to her bald head.

  She picked him up by the scruff of his shirt and slapped him twice around the face.

  “Where did they go?”

  The boy started to cry, but said nothing else, so she dropped him, and turned again to look at Creeping Scorpion.

  He was staring back at her, aghast. “Shepherdess take you, haven’t you ever spoken to a child before?”

  How she would have loved to draw her knife from her boot and gut him like the trout he was imitating. Instead, she just looked at him. She didn’t dare risk offending if she wanted fed tonight.

  The Bravador threw his hands up in disgust. “Just, just find someone else, okay? Don’t hit any more children.” Instead of going back to overthrowing stalls, he began shouting at some of the other Mice, berating them for losing sight of the main fight.

  Movement a few stalls down caught Yizel’s eye. A barrel inside a fishmonger’s tent was shuddering. Despite the promise of coin, she was beginning to lose patience with this job, and her honour could hardly fall lower than its current value - she would survive the effect that abandoning her employers would have on her credibility.

  If this is another child, I’m done. I’m not getting shouted at for bullying another infant.

  Yizel kicked the barrel over, and saw someone hiding underneath. The cowering man was from the Wild, his darker skin and simple cotton tunic clear giveaways. He wore sandals, and had a machete at his belt. Straight away the Wildman’s eyes were drawn to Yizel’s bald head.

  Eyes fixed on her scalp, he spoke. “I-I’ve come to seek help. My home town is being attacked by bandits.” The Wildman’s eyes moved to the rapier in Yizel’s hand. “Are you… are you a Bravador?”

  Despite herself, Yizel froze. It had been a very long time since anyone had mistaken her for someone with honour.

  Her eyes narrowed. Was the Wildman mocking her? “First time in the city?”

  The Wildman nodded. By his clothing, he was clearly one of the more traditional Wildfolk, but they were not uncommon to find in Espadapan. Still, the more traditional natives stuck to Wild Town, although Yizel did not understand why in the Queen’s name anyone in their right minds would do so. She was considered the lowest form of scum Espadapan had to offer, and even she would do what she could to avoid having to spend any longer than necessary in that forsaken part of the city.

  She looked at the outsider, her face serious. “Bravadori wear masks. Am I wearing a mask?”

  The man shook his head, wide-eyed.

  “Then there’s your answer.”

  “But… but my people, they are suffering.”

  Yizel looked at him again, lying there, hand outstretched. There was a kind of purity in his face, the raw innocence of someone who had grown up in a remote community of people who help and care for each other.

  “Go home,” she told him, turning her back. “You’ll not find anyone here who gives a damn.”

  “Shaven!” Creeping Scorpion shouted at Yizel from across the plaza. From the movement of the other Mice, dashing towards the park, it appeared someone had caught the scent again.

  Shouldn’t be much more work before I earn my keep, Yizel thought, breaking into a sprint to catch up. If they don’t dock me for killing that idiot.

  She had a bad feeling that dead Paw was going to sap this whole venture of its profits, but desperate hope - or at least the faint memory of what hope was - kept her plodding forward.

  Barrio Palacio was where the Whispering Mice made their nest, and as such Yizel was not normally welcome on those paved streets. As they ran, more Mice flocked to their group, and more than one of these newcomers sneered at the sight of her, but whether that was just their reaction upon seeing a Shaven joining them in battle, or if it was the result of any deeper recognition, she was not sure. For her part, Yizel felt uneasy with so much attention from some of her least favourite people in the city.

  A terrible job is still a job. Just think about the money, and a warm bed tonight. And try not to die while earning it.

  They made their way into the park, running silently now, not wanting to warn the Paws they were coming. Yizel could hear fighting close by, and readied herself to join. The green undergrowth gave way to an open clearing, and she saw five Lion’s Paws squaring off against about the same number of Mice. Yizel and the Mice she was following almost tripled the amount of fighters on their side. It would be easy to get a win with such an imbalance of numbers. Yizel relaxed. There was more chance of getting paid if things went well for her employers.

  The Paws quickly scurried backwards, forming a small wall of blades, but it would not be enough - the Mice here could easily surround them, forcing a surrender before things turned needlessly bloody.

  Yizel, alongside the rest of t
he Mice, her blade held in a hanging guard, tip pointing towards the ground, advanced upon the Paws. As she moved forward, she caught some movement in the corner of her eye. There, in the bushes. They were being watched. She kept most of her focus on the Paws, as they were the ones with blades pointed at her, but she could not ignore the masked face that peered out from the undergrowth.

  Another Bravador, certainly, but whose side is he on? A spy for one of the other stables, perhaps?

  Suddenly, the outnumbered Paws began to cheer.

  Great Mouse’s arse. That can’t be good.

  The small wall of Paws parted, confirming Yizel’s fears - they were also getting reinforcements. It was time for the advancing Mice to hesitate, waiting to see what they were up against before deciding their next move.

  Only three men appeared from behind the Paws, but even so, Yizel’s heart sank. Like every Bravador and former Bravador in Espadapan, she knew the middle figure well, his hypnotic mask, deep laugh and overall size a clear giveaway.

  Crazy Raccoon. We’re fucked. No way I’m getting paid now.

  This is what living is all about.

  Crazy Raccoon stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the gathered Bravadori that were shuffling away from him, swords lowering. They were scared of him.

  And so they should be. All in Espadapan have learnt to fear Crazy Raccoon.

  With a grin on his face, Crazy Raccoon jumped forward, threatening action. The Whispering Mice almost fell over themselves to move away from him. One dropped her sword, and Crazy Raccoon barked a laugh at her, causing her face to redden under her mask.

  Even though they outnumber us, they know we can’t be beaten. They know I could take them all.

  He strode forward, well away from the safety of his bodyguards’ swords. They shuffled nervously up beside him, and Crazy Raccoon could sense their unease. Standing in the middle of the clearing now, they were exposed, not protected at all from their enemies. It would be simple for the larger force of Mice to push forward and overwhelm them before the rest of the Lion’s Paws could respond.

  Except, we are not a normal group of Bravadori. We have me. And these Mice know I cannot be beaten.

  Crazy Raccoon grinned, showing his broken teeth to the men and women who cowered before him.

  One or two of the Mice - the younger ones, those with less experience - took small glances at their colleagues, and began to slowly advance.

  Crazy Raccoon raised an eyebrow at this.

  “Some courage amongst the rodents? I applaud that, really I do.” He reached for his rapier, and drew it with a hiss. “I mean, I’m still going to gut you like a baby prairie dog, but I do applaud you.”

  Gasps accompanied the drawing of his blade, and one of Crazy Raccoon’s minders coughed.

  Irritated, Crazy Raccoon glanced to the man. ‘The boss told you to keep your blade in its sheath,’ the guard’s eyes said.

  Crazy Raccoon sneered, and broke contact with his handler. He took a further step forward, swiping his blade in the air.

  “Who’s ready to die today? Who is brave enough to cross metal with Crazy Raccoon?”

  “That is enough, my friend,” came the voice from behind.

  Crazy Raccoon’s fire dimmed, but he kept his eyes locked on the Mice before him. They continued to cower, but their attention wavered from Crazy Raccoon, distracted by the reinforcements of Lion’s Paws that now entered the fray. Reinforcements that included the Paws’ leader, Galloping Turtle. Their stable master, and Crazy Raccoon’s boss.

  Galloping Turtle put his hand on Crazy Raccoon’s shoulder. The stable master was older than most of the Bravadori there, which spoke volumes about his abilities. As matched his name, he wore a larger domino mask, decorated in turtle shells. Many of those shell pieces were smashed, and the rumour was that each of the smashed shells represented Bravadori who had surrendered their masks and their honour to Galloping Turtle in single combat.

  Galloping Turtle squeezed Crazy Raccoon’s shoulder. “Put that sword back so we can all feel safe.”

  Those fingers pinched Crazy Raccoon’s skin much tighter than was needed. Galloping Turtle was not happy with Crazy Raccoon, probably for disobeying orders.

  But I am Crazy Raccoon. He keeps me around to disobey orders, to strike fear into the hearts of everyone else.

  “You know who this man is,” Galloping Turtle said, addressing the Mice, indicating back to Crazy Raccoon. “You know what he is capable of.”

  Galloping Turtle paused for a moment, allowing the Mice time to think. Crazy Raccoon gave a grin as he saw their thoughts mapped out in their eyes, widening with fear at the memories of the stories they had heard, contemplating what might lie in their immediate future.

  The Paws’ leader continued. “We have surrounded you now, and we have the Raccoon. It would be nothing for me to unleash him on you and to extract the debt you owe us.”

  Crazy Raccoon’s skin crawled slightly at the idea of being ‘unleashed’, of the suggestion that Galloping Turtle controlled him, but he let it slide. It would not do for the enemy to see them arguing. A conversation best kept behind closed doors.

  Galloping Turtle went on, “But, I do not wish for that amount of bloodshed tonight. Yes, we hold all the Whispering Mice accountable for the slight to our honour, but only one man needs to pay that debt.”

  He was silent for a moment more. Then, shouting this time, his face snarling with anger, he said, “Where is Preening Owl? Bring me the Bravador who would insult us so.”

  The Mice stood still for a moment, then began to murmur.

  Crazy Raccoon’s eyes narrowed. He could tell there was a lot of debate amongst the Mice, and they were doing their best to not give away who Preening Owl was.

  The man must be here, Crazy Raccoon realised. He must be in the clearing right now.

  Crazy Raccoon pointed with his finger, tracing it across the faces of the dozen or so Mice before him. He skipped straight over any of the women. Most of the masks did not suggest a bird, but that was not uncommon for Bravadori - sometimes their masks mirrored their chosen names, sometimes they were more of an account of their wearer’s accomplishments.

  However, on this occasion, when Crazy Raccoon’s finger fell upon the face of a Bravador whose mask was decorated with white feathers, he knew he had found his prey. Preening Owl was pale, his sword was lowered, and the rest of the Mice had their eyes locked on him. This was their man.

  “What’s it going to be, Preening Owl?” Galloping Turtle rasped, causing the young man to look directly at him. “Your brothers and sisters won’t give you up - the honour of the Whispering Mice is too well known for me to expect them to force you here in front of me - but I’ll bet Alfrond’s tongue they won’t stop you if you choose to step forward all by yourself.”

  Another pause. Preening Owl, a young man, judging from the smoothness of his skin, was now looking at his companions. The rest of the Mice’s faces had gone rigid, giving him little support for this decision.

  Galloping Turtle continued, “They will fight for you, if you force them to. You are one of them. But, Preening Owl, listen to me well - you will lose. You will lose because we outnumber you. You will lose because we have the Raccoon. And, Preening Owl, you will lose because you deserve to, because you insulted one of my Lion’s Paws in the Queen’s name.

  “When you lose - when all of you lose - many of you will never forget this fight. Our blades will leave marks that you will always have to see, and Preening Owl, believe me, you will feel shame every time you see the scars your cowardice forced upon your brothers and sisters.

  “Some of you might even die. There are many of us here. We are skilled, but when blades cross, nothing is guaranteed. You know I cannot control the Raccoon. And,” he continued, a glint of malice lacing these next words, “you will not be the first who has fallen tonight. I believe we have already lost one of our number to your blades. Brother Spider. Many here will fight all the fiercer to honour his name.”

/>   Crazy Raccoon’s eyebrows rose at this.

  Someone died? Crazy Raccoon’s gut bubbled, and he gripped the hilt of his sword. Half-masked Mice killed a Paw? I’ll kill them all. Kill them all.

  Many of the other Paws were feeling the same surge of anger, drawing their blades, and shouting oaths at the Mice.

  Preening Owl did the only thing he could do. He walked forward, sheathing his sword, saving his brothers and sisters. The young Bravador stood before Galloping Turtle, white, shaking, but doing his best to seem stoic.

  Galloping Turtle patted the boy on the shoulder. “Well done, lad, well done. That was a brave choice. The only choice, for a true Bravador.”

  Galloping Turtle stood side by side with Preening Owl, staring at the assembled Mice briefly. Then he turned back to the boy.

  “So, Preening Owl, why don’t you tell all of us what this is about?”

  Preening Owl’s head darted to the leader of the Paws, then began to stammer, looking back to the rest of the Mice for support.

  Galloping Turtle cut him off. “You have insulted the Lion’s Paws. More specifically, you have insulted one of our number. Battered Bear?”

  There was a grumbling from the ranks of the Paws, and the fighters parted to allow Battered Bear to walk forward.

  She suited her name well. Battered Bear was not pretty to look at. She was built for war, and had a stature many men would be envious of.

  Crazy Raccoon hid the snort of laughter he wanted to let loose as she stepped forward. No wonder that idiot made fun of her - woman’s a beast. Still, he should know better than to cross the Paws.

  Battered Bear did not seem particularly happy about being brought out in front of the rest of the Bravadori. She did not look Preening Owl in the eye.

  “Battered Bear, this man has insulted you?”

  “So they tell me.” Battered Bear looked at Galloping Turtle as she spoke, but Crazy Raccoon could tell she was uneasy.

  Don’t blame her. Who’d want to stand in front of us all and admit that someone called her a monster?

  “They’ve told me the story too. Preening Owl, you were overheard in the Proving Grounds speaking about this respected member of my stable.”