The Yarnsworld Collection: A fantasy boxset

by Benedict Patrick

  When it appeared that this was going to be a silent questioning, Arturo spoke. “Em, I’m here for Tomas? Tomas Arroyo?”

  The Honey Badgers showed no recognition at the name, instead continuing to glare at him. He was beginning to get the impression that all of this was a bad idea, and his confidence in his scheme began to waiver.

  “He, uh, he spent some time with me last week. His village was in trouble. Calvario. I said I’d help. We got separated, and I’m trying to find him again. Thought he might know people here.”

  The Honey Badgers looked at each other. The female raised her eyebrows lazily, and then they moved aside to let him past.

  With caution, Arturo stepped forward into this new world. At first glance, Wild Town reminded Arturo very much of any other part of Espadapan, but particularly Barrio Mercado. The main street here was lined with shops, but it appeared that the Wildfolk preferred to do their business outside. Bakers had ovens firing in the street, and butchers had hired small children to fan legs of goat and cattle that hung from hooks outside their buildings, doing what they could to swipe away the flies that the bloody meat attracted.

  Not knowing where to go, Arturo approached the nearest stall, a butcher with an elderly Wildwoman standing at the table outside, decapitating chickens with a cleaver.

  The old lady stared at him as he approached, eyes locked on Arturo’s mask while her blade severed sinew and bone methodically. Her mad, wispy grey hair stuck out from her head, giving the impression of a field of rotten dandelions. She did not seem impressed to see Arturo approach her stall.

  “I’m looking for Tomas Arroyo,” he said.

  Clunk. Another chicken lost its head. The Wildwoman said nothing.

  “He’s from a village a long way from here. Calvario? They’re in trouble. I’m here to help.”

  Clunk.

  Arturo thought for a moment. “You know, I’d love to buy some of this chicken from you, to help loosen your tongue, but here’s the problem - I don’t have any money.”

  Clunk.

  “But my lack of money isn’t the issue here. The issue is that people - Wildfolk - are in trouble, possibly dying, and I want to do something about it. But if you know where Tomas is and aren’t telling me, well then, I guess you may as well be killing them too, right?”

  Clunk. The old woman stopped her butchery, kept her eyes on Arturo, but pointed to a nondescript shack a few doors down from where she was working.

  Arturo looked at it, dubious. “He’s in there?”

  She nodded, finally broke eye contact with him, and went back to her chopping.

  Arturo made his way to the building. It had no door, and there was a foul stink coming from the blackness within. He stepped inside, but then was forced against the wall when a pig ran past him into the street, a small child following close on its trail, laughing as she rushed to catch it. Smiling at the child’s game, Arturo moved further inside.

  The entrance hallway had a few doors off of it, and a small set of stairs went up. There were many Wildfolk moving about in the rooms down here, and the shuffling of feet told Arturo that upstairs was similarly crowded. Most who moved through the hallway paid him little heed, although one Honey Badger glared fiercely at him, and Arturo noticed the man checking the lack of stable band on his arm.

  “Tomas Arroyo?” Arturo said, loudly in the dark. He paused, then repeated the name again.

  The sound of footsteps told Arturo somebody was coming down from above. The tension on Arturo’s face collapsed into his winning grin when Tomas’ shocked face descended from above.

  “Starving Pup?” the Wildman said, and then to Arturo’s surprise the small man jumped down the rest of the staircase, gathering Arturo into a strong hug.

  Taken aback by the sign of affection, Arturo remembered the last piece of human contact he had received, his mother saying goodbye to him as he went to seek his fortune. Arturo returned Tomas’ embrace equally, glad beyond all measure he had been able to locate this man.

  “But, you were dead?” Tomas said, finally, when he let go of Arturo, showing no embarrassment at the display of emotion. The sight of the Wildman’s toothless grin could not help but bring joy to Arturo’s heart.

  “Apparently not,” Arturo grinned back. “Although not for lack of trying. Took me a while to recover, but I’m back on my feet and ready to continue our quest. That’s one thing you can say about life as a Bravador - we learn to take knocks pretty well.”

  At the mention of the word Bravador, Tomas’ face darkened. “Those people were evil,” the Wildman said. “They had no reason to do that to you. Those were not the Bravadori I had come here to the city to find.”

  Arturo nodded, knowing exactly how Tomas felt. “Apparently in Espadapan, the filth rises to the top.”

  “They’re all like this, Starving Pup. All Bravadori I have met in my weeks here are selfish, all take delight in making those they see as beneath them suffer. There are none here worthy of the Queen’s Blessing. None I have met, except for you. And you… Forgive me, but one man is not strong enough to overcome the horrors of the city, and I cannot believe one man will be enough to deal with Procopio and his bandits.”

  As soon as he had spoken, Tomas looked fearful, as if he felt he had said too much, as if he had offended the Bravador standing in front of him. To reassure him, Arturo put his hand on the Wildman’s shoulder.

  “Tomas, we will disagree on some points, but I will agree with you on one thing - one man is not enough. We need more for this mission. We need skilled fighters out there who are not afraid to put themselves on the line to help others.”

  Once again, Arturo give his grin to Tomas, and was rewarded by seeing the Wildman’s face brighten at the sight of it.

  “Thankfully, Tomas, I know just the person who can help us out.”

  For the last decade or so, Yizel had done all she could to bury her emotions deep down.

  Fuck that little Bravador, she thought, picturing the broken body of Starving Pup. He had brought all the feelings rushing back to her.

  It was not the fact he had been beaten and broken. It was not even the fact he had relied so much on her in the week it took him to recover. It was his speech in the Proving Grounds, when he had tried to appeal to the sense of honour that supposedly drove all Bravadori. Ironically, the only one it seemed to have appealed to was Yizel, a Shaven, the worst type of person one could find in Espadapan. A murderer. He had convinced her that she could help people, that she could do something with her life other than kill, drink and screw.

  And then, just as Yizel was starting to feel like a real person again, the Crazy Raccoon came along to remind her of the piece of shit she actually was.

  When Starving Pup had been recovering, Yizel used most of the coin she found on him to pay for his room and poultices to cure his worst wounds, but she also spent a generous amount of it on drink.

  My own medicine.

  She snarled as she walked Barrio Muelle, hoping for work. With Starving Pup’s coin drained, so was her own source of survival. Despite hating the Bravadori, they were Yizel’s main source of employment, the only people who would hire a Shaven to do anything. Like a fly to dung, she stuck close to them, hoping to be hired to do a job they felt not worthy of doing themselves. Often this consisted of guard duty, contracts the Bravador stables signed up for, but did not fancy actually completing in person.

  The Prickly Storks ran the wharfs, and they were often a good source of work. Ship captains knew the reputation of the Bravadori, and the rich ones would be happy to pay for Bravadori to guard their vessels while conducting their business. Most from outside the city did not know the difference between Bravadori and Shaven, so the Storks often turned to Yizel and her ilk to do the dirty work for them.

  Not many ships in the harbour today, Yizel thought, darkly. Espadapan was the only Muridae port this side of the sea, so all traders from the Grasslands came to dock here. Every so often the Leone also sent vessels, but they seldom ch
ose to cross the waters, and were a rare sight in the city.

  Only two ships were docked now, and Yizel recognised one as Alfrond’s Pride, owned by a local merchant organisation. The Storks would not risk hiring a Shaven to protect that vessel - the captain would know their reputation - but it could be that Yizel could find work with the ship from the Grasslands, Isabella’s Gift. She made her way to it, ignoring the sting of the salt spray as the waves broke upon the harbour walls.

  As she approached the boat, loud voices made her pause. Before her, where the boat’s main gangplank met the wharf, she saw two Storks and an unfortunate Grasslands sailor who was stuck between them.

  “I donno, ratty here seems to think he’s better than us,” one of the Storks was saying.

  “Yeah, that’s just what I was thinking,” the other responded. “Got that air about him, don’t he?”

  “That’s right. Airs like that get me angry.”

  The sailor was doing what he could to avoid eye contact with the two, trying to continue with his business, which appeared to be carrying barrels back to his ship.

  One of the Storks - one with a mask decorated with boar’s tusks - stepped onto the gangplank leading to the ship, blocking the sailor’s path.

  Yizel looked about for more sailors. Her familiarity with scenes like this told her they would come flocking to support their companion. A Bravador’s Knack was nothing against large numbers. Then a realisation hit her - these Storks had been hired to guard the boat. The rest of the crew were probably already catatonic in the nearest bar. The Grasslander was alone.

  “You can’t touch me,” the foreigner finally said, realising he was going nowhere until the Storks let him past. “Captain is sick of you swordsmen pushing us about. Soon as I let him know what’s been happening, he’ll never hire you lot again, and will see no other vessels from the Grasslands do either.”

  Yizel admired the man’s guts, but she could tell by the face of the lead Stork that this was the wrong way to deal with the bullies. The boar-masked Bravador was properly angry now, and she knew he would stop at nothing to show the Grasslander who was in charge.

  It was at this moment the Storks noticed Yizel.

  She was a bit surprised when their eyes fell upon her and stopped. Shaven were normally a part of the background scenery of Espadapan, faces in the crowd to be ignored unless you needed someone to do the dirty work.

  So, of course, they want me to do the dirty work.

  “Hey, Shaven,” the smaller Stork shouted, throwing something in her direction. “Get over here.”

  She caught the thrown object, and looked at it - it was a copper coin. Food for a night, when otherwise she would have none. Without thinking, Yizel stepped forward.

  “See this Grasslander here?” the boar-masked Stork asked.

  Yizel looked at the sailor without locking eyes with him, and nodded.

  “We want you to rough him up a bit. Make him regret talking back to us.”

  “You can’t do that!” the Grasslander shouted, panic rising, dropping his keg to the harbour stone. He turned to Yizel, confusion on his face. “Miss, you can’t do that. I’ve done nothing wrong. These men, they’re just looking to cause trouble. Please, head on, don’t get involved.”

  “Ah, poor Grasslander,” the smaller Stork said, his smile returning, “this is the first Shaven you’ve met, right? See, the thing about Shaven? They don’t give a shit. Unless you’ve got coin to bribe ‘em with,” he said, flicking another copper piece in Yizel’s direction, “then you’re fucked.”

  The coin flew true, but this time it bounced off of Yizel’s arm, which she failed to raise to catch it.

  The Storks laughed at her.

  “Plough your mother, Shaven. I know you’re useless, but really? Can’t catch a copper? Just pick the shiny up and kindly make today the worst day of this handsome fellow’s life.”

  Yizel stared at the coin on the ground. She wanted it, she knew the difference it would make for her.

  But just a small difference. Just a day, just a night. And the world wouldn’t change. Would get worse, really - this poor bastard could be dead, or broken. All for one small coin.

  “Shaven? You drunk or something?”

  Yizel looked up at the Stork, and said nothing.

  “Beat. The. Shit. Kick him till he bleeds.”

  The Grasslander was rabbit-still, waiting for her to respond.

  Who have you protected today?

  “Do your own dirty work,” Yizel eventually said, breaking eye contact at the last second.

  The lead Stork gave a bark of a laugh, looking back at his colleague in shock. “Hear that, Little Bull? This Shaven’s too good for our coin.”

  The smaller Stork, equally outraged, narrowed his eyes. “And why don’t she need to get paid, Handsome Boar? Want to know what I think? I think she’s had her eyes on this lovely boat here.” The masked man stepped forward, leaving the gangplank unguarded. Not looking at Yizel, the Grasslander saw his opening and ran up it, back to safety.

  The Storks ignored him, fixing Yizel with indignant faces.

  “What do we do to Shaven who make us look bad, Little Bull?”

  “Don’t know. Never met one stupid enough to try it. Going to be fun finding out.”

  Despite what the Storks believed, Yizel was not an idiot. Seeing the opportunity still available to her, she turned and ran.

  Yizel did not know if the Storks pursued her for long. Probably not, since they had a job to do back at the docks.

  I’ll pay for that, eventually, I’m sure. Aren’t too many Shaven in the city, and if they want to find me it’ll be easy enough to do so. Just spend some time in the plaza. Everyone in the Wildlands ends up in the Queen’s Plaza at some point in their life.

  Staying true to her own words, Yizel was making her way back there now, the copper coin the Storks threw at her still held tight in her hand.

  Got to make this last, she thought, looking at her feet on the cobblestones instead of the tempting tavern-light from the many warm doorways that lined the road to the plaza. Got to find somewhere to make this last, maybe keep me warm for a week instead of one drunken night.

  The plaza was busy, with a performing troupe in the centre of it, working with human-sized marionettes. Yizel could not quite figure out why the performers were working with the puppets instead of just acting their play out with real people. From what she could see, they weren’t doing anything particularly outlandish, just talking and crying a bit. Some story about the destruction of Bajapena. The puppets were dressed in the finery of nobles, lamenting the destruction of their city as the Shepherdess’ army drew near. Then, like an ill omen on the horizon, from the back of the crowds a black figure rose, casting a dark net over the audience. People screamed at first, but then their cries turned to shouts of delight as they realised the figure was just another puppet, held high on long rods, the Black Shepherdess and her dark army sweeping across the inhabitants of the plaza, bringing ruin to the land. Despite herself, Yizel shivered as the marionette passed above her, momentarily blotting out the sun.

  Her heart stopped, however, when she felt a hand rest on her shoulder.

  Fearing a dagger in the back, Yizel grabbed the hand and twisted it, turning around at the same time, her free hand reaching for her own dagger at her belt.

  “Queen’s tits, stop, stop! It’s me, Starving Pup.”

  The darkness lifted as the puppet’s cloak descended to the main stage, where the performers carried out the destruction of Espadapan’s sister city. Yizel spat, and shoved the young man away from her.

  “What kind of idiot are you?” she said, angry. “Can’t you figure out why that’s a stupid way of greeting someone?”

  He smiled - she hated the white teeth of his grin, the unearned confidence of it - and scratched the back of his head. “It has just occurred to me, yes.”

  Sheathing her knife, she studied him closer, noting the Wildman that stood behind him, watching them b
oth intently.

  Seeing Yizel looking at the Wildman, Starving Pup ushered him forward. “This is Tomas. Tomas Arroyo. Tomas, this is the person I told you about.”

  Starving Pup looked at her, uncertainty now in his brown eyes. “Um, I just realised, I never had the chance to ask your name.”

  Yizel should have been used to this Bravador catching her off guard, but she was not expecting that question. “Most Bravadori are happy with calling me Shaven,” she said.

  “I don’t imagine that’s your given name. Or your preference.” The boy remained uncertain. “But if you want, I could keep calling you that.”

  She looked away. “Yizel. Call me Yizel.”

  He smiled again, and her nose wrinkled in response.

  “Yizel, I’d like to introduce you to Tomas. He needs our help.”

  She raised an eyebrow at this, and then recognised the Wildman as the one who had followed Starving Pup into the Proving Grounds on that fateful day.

  “It’s his village with bandit problems?”

  “Yes. You’ve heard of our quest?”

  She nodded.

  “We’d like you to join us. We need good swords.”

  Yizel’s head swam, and she did what she could to steady herself. The boy could not know what he was asking. “You… you want to hire me?”

  Again, Starving Pup was uncertain. “We don’t have much money. Not in the city, anyway.” He looked to the Wildman for confirmation, and Tomas nodded.

  “The people of Calvario are generous, mistress, in our own fashion. We would reward you as much as we could, when you come to us. As a protector of our village, you would want for nothing.”

  Starving Pup stepped forward, lowering his voice. “I… we hoped… I thought there might be more out there like me, those who wanted to… to make a difference. To help people.”

  Yizel could not look either of them in the face. She wanted what they were offering so badly, had never hoped for a chance like this again, but they were ignorant. “You don’t understand. People hire Shaven to guard things nobody else would waste their time with, or when they want someone roughed up. We don’t get asked to save lives. That’s Bravador work.”