A cry came from the man in the garden. He lurched, almost falling, then turned and sped across the square. Rayker saw Emeric run from the house after the fleeing figure, Antrobus and Montebray behind him.
‘No, Your Grace!’ shouted Rayker. ‘Antrobus, stop him!’
The alchemist and the chancellor caught hold of the Duke and held him back. They didn’t see the first man rise as Rayker’s back was turned. From his boot, the man pulled a long, thin dagger. Its blade, wicked with gleaming death, plunged towards Emeric’s particular.
Rayker heard the scrape of the man’s boot on the cobbles. Instinctively, he sidestepped and turned. The blade ripped past him. Rayker caught the man’s wrist and twisted. But fighting, and killing if necessary, was the man’s trade. He was fast and skilled. With his other fist he hit Rayker hard in the small of his back. Rayker grunted with the pain of the blow. He felt his grip on his attacker’s knife hand slacken. He took a step back, into the other man, and jerked his head back, catching his assailant in the face. As he felt the gristle of the man’s nose crunch, he turned on his heel and hit his opponent hard. His fist struck the man’s cheekbone, sending him reeling. With a yell of rage and pain, the man launched himself at Rayker, dropping his knife hand low, then bringing it in a practised arc towards Rayker’s stomach.
Rayker avoided fighting whenever he could. It was a reasoned, calm decision. When there was a fight, someone inevitably got hurt, and there was always the chance that someone would be Rayker. He did his job without anger, never seeing himself as an avenger or one who had the right to dispense justice. It made sense not to fight. But there was another reason. In a fight, there was little time to think. He rarely remembered exactly what had happened or why he’d reacted as he did when the fighting was desperate. That meant that things happened that he regretted. Rayker hated regrets.
This was one such battle and as soon as it was over Rayker regretted the way it ended. He faced a man who wanted to kill him and who was quite capable of doing so. Rayker responded to the moment. He saw the knife coming towards him. His right hand flew out to grab the man’s wrist without him thinking about it. He used his attacker’s momentum to turn the blade, letting its arc continue, almost in a circle, until it plunged into the man’s chest. The man’s eyes didn’t go wide, he didn’t show surprise or pain or even disappointment. He just died, and fell.
From the time Jenny yelled her warning to the instant the knife ended the life of Rayker’s attacker, less than a minute had passed. Antrobus and Montebray had moved to aid the particular but Emeric stopped them. He knew his man. But when the assassin fell, the three rushed over. At the same time, Jenny came from the house, a few tiny specks of blood on her face. She saw the still form of the attacker and the knife in his chest. None of it seemed real to her. She could not comprehend that she had witnessed two violent deaths in one day. She was vaguely aware of running footsteps, then saw Pitch run past her, a lantern in his hand. She looked again at the still figure. As Pitch drew near the dead man, the body was lit by an oval of light.
‘Your Grace, Chancellor, you should go back into the house,’ said Rayker. ‘People will be gathering to see what the fuss is about. When word spreads that a man has died here, we’ll have quite a crowd. A curious crowd. Pitch, keep them back while you can. I’ll get some help here to carry the body away.’’
‘Wait!’
The men turned at Jenny’s voice. She came nearer and stood over the body. ‘I know him,’ she said. She looked at Antrobus. ‘That’s the man who tried to kill you in Queerwood.’
Antrobus peered at the man’s face. ‘Are you sure? I didn’t get a chance to look at him in the forest.’
‘That mark on his head. That’s where my father’s staff hit him. It is the same man.’
Rayker glanced at the body, his face thoughtful. ‘Right, all of you, inside, now.’ He looked at Antrobus, then at Jenny. ‘Better get those scratches cleaned.’
People came from every house in the square, carrying torches and lanterns. Pitch’s own lantern stood out like a beacon and, like moths, they converged on the warden. Antrobus took Jenny’s arm and they followed Emeric and Montebray into the house, closing the door as the first of the crowd came close.
‘Stay back!’ bellowed Pitch. ‘Thank you, good people, for comin’ to lend assistance, but it’s all over! This ’ere is the Duke’s man, Rayker.’
Few knew Rayker’s face; all knew his reputation. The crowd hushed and stepped back.
Rayker gave Pitch a wry look. ‘Thank you, Pitch, though I’d prefer you didn’t cry my name too loud. Your lantern.’
Pitch handed Rayker the lantern. ‘You’d have been recognised by now and your name would be on everyone’s tongue before the next dog barks, anyway. Better to admit it and stop the wondering,’ replied the warden. He turned back to the crowd.
‘You, Matthew! You still ’ave your dinner bib on! Go back to your sausages before they get cold! And Mistress Crawley, you ’aven’t even put on your slippers. You’d give your young ’uns what for if they came out with naked feet!’ Pitch shouted and cajoled, shepherding the crowd back to their homes.
Rayker knelt beside the dead man. Quickly, he searched the body. Apart from two marks, three silver nobles and a few copper pennies in his purse, he had nothing on him. He stood, just as two men came into the square. They saw Rayker and made their way to him.
‘Crook, Laylor, you know Pitch.’ The men gave the warden a nod of greeting. ‘Get these people back into their houses. Pitch, stay here!’ Rayker ordered. He pointed at the dead man. ‘Do you know him? Have you seen him in the square recently?’
Pitch shook his head. ‘Can’t say I do.’ He knelt and raised the lantern, its light falling full on the dead man’s face. ‘By the stars!’ he exclaimed. He reached down and took an amulet from the man’s neck. ‘I do know ’im! That’s Horn. ’Aven’t seen ’im for nigh on ten years, but I swear that’s ’im. He always wore this.’ He handed the amulet to Rayker, then shook his head. ‘Horn was from the north, a mercenary who joined the palace guard. Something happened and he suddenly said he needed to find a job where the pay was better. He claimed a place as peaceful as Vale was never going to be profitable enough for him. He asked to be released. The capt’n didn’t want to let him go, but he did. Horn was a bit wild, but a good man to lift a mug with, and a better man in a fight.’ He looked at Rayker. ‘He try to kill you?’
Rayker nodded.
‘Shame he took the wrong coin this time.’ Pitch scratched his cheek. ‘Horn was good, which meant he charged a good sum for his services. Whoever hired him has money.’
Rayker looked at Antrobus’s house. ‘Aye. Enough to have more like Horn. You look to your back, Pitch. I don’t want to find you lying on the stones. Or anyone else.’
Pitch’s eyes followed Rayker’s to the house. He saw the shattered window and the splintered door frame.
‘Don’t worry, Rayker,’ he said. ‘It’ll be my bones before theirs – and I intend to live a very long time.
Chapter 10
Horn’s Legacy
‘Oh, Jenny, you have to tell me everything!’
Jenny groaned and tried to burrow deeper into the bedclothes to escape the poking and the shaking.
‘Go away, Emily,’ she mumbled into her pillow.
‘Don’t be mean!’ Emily squealed, pulling away the blankets. ‘You have to tell me! It’s all over Vale. I went down to get hot water and it’s all Rumpkin’s girls were talking about. Agnes said you killed a man! Oh, Jenny, you’re so selfish! How could you do that without me!’
Jenny opened her eyes and sat up. She stared at her friend.
‘Without you?’ she said in disbelief. ‘Emily, it was horrible! I had nightmares! Oh!’ She wrenched the bedclothes from Emily’s grip and threw them over her head again.
‘Oh, Jenny, don’t sulk. I just meant that I should have been there to help you,’ said Emily contritely. Then her voice brightened. ‘But was it really so horri
ble?’
With a sigh, Jenny pulled back the bedclothes and let her head fall back on to the pillow. It had been truly horrible, worse than she could tell her friend. She remembered her panic and fear, and of feeling trapped and alone; she remembered the terror when Nate grabbed her; but most of all, she remembered the smell of bubbling flesh dissolving and Nate’s screams of agony. Her sleep had been full of those memories. But Emily was ... Emily. Jenny looked at her friend. Her eyes were bright and shining and Jenny knew Emily could not imagine it as being anything other than a thrilling adventure.
‘Yes, it was horrible. Truly terrible and frightening,’ Jenny said solemnly. She took Emily’s hand. ‘Part of me is glad you weren’t there, but a part of me wishes you had been,’ she said earnestly.
Emily threw her arms around Jenny’s neck and hugged her, then kissed her cheek. Jenny had an impulse to throw her arms around Emily, but she refrained. Emily sat back and looked down at her.
‘You were so brave,’ Emily said. She gazed at Jenny with silent admiration. Then her eyes gleamed. ‘And you saw Rayker kill the man who tried to kill the Duke! All in one night!’ she said breathlessly.
It seemed everyone was assuming that it was Duke who was the assassin’s target. That would suit the Duke, Jenny thought. She looked at her friend and couldn’t help smiling. To Emily it was all a huge romantic adventure.
‘Only after I finished dodging the pistol ball that nearly took my head off,’ Jenny said, casually. Emily’s green eyes grew as big as duck ponds.
‘Jenny, you must tell me all about it! Please!’ cried Emily, her eyes shining.
‘After we get dressed,’ laughed Jenny, slipping out of bed. ‘Who’s first with the hot water?’
They washed and dressed and went down to join the others for breakfast. Emily had insisted that she recount her adventure over breakfast, in front of everyone. Jenny was reluctant; reliving events with Emily was one thing, doing it in front of the others quite another. Besides, she knew that it would be hard to tell it without appearing to boast and she knew she had no reason to do that. Emily was persistent, though, and so over porridge Jenny retold the day’s events, trying to skip over as much as she could. The other four lodgers kept their heads bent over their bowls, pretending not to have any interest in Jenny’s story, though she did notice that they ate without saying a word and one, a slightly plump dark-haired young woman called Mary, blanched and excused herself as Jenny described Nate’s death. As she came to the part where visitors arrived at Antrobus’s, another of the girls, Frida, asked whether it was true that the Duke was quite handsome. Her question earned her disapproving looks from her companions.
The chancellor had wanted to hide the fact that Emeric had been present the previous night. It was highly irregular for the Duke to go to anyone’s house. When he wanted to talk to any of his subjects, they came to him. Something so unusual as going to Antrobus’s house might be interpreted by those plotting against the city that Emeric was more worried than he publicly admitted – and that Antrobus was more important than Vale’s enemies realised. It could escalate the situation and increase the danger to the alchemist. Antrobus, on the other hand, argued that the danger could hardly get greater. More importantly, he pointed out, Emeric had doubtless been seen. To deny that he had been there when he clearly had would be proof that they were all hiding something. Rayker said it was a pity that Emeric had been spotted but he had and Antrobus was probably right. In the end, Emeric had also agreed with Antrobus.
When the others heard that Jenny had not only met the Duke, but had shared such an adventure with him, they almost turned green with envy (though Mary rather had a head start on her friends) and tried harder to pretend they weren’t listening. Only Frida acknowledged Jenny; she ignored the glares of her friends and gave Jenny a small but friendly smile.
The few small cuts on Jenny’s face did make the shattering of the glass and the whistle of the pistol ball more vivid to everyone. However, she admitted that by flinching when the window smashed, she saw only the very end of the struggle with the man Horn, when Rayker turned the man’s own knife against him.
Emily wondered aloud who the man was and why he would want to kill the Duke.
‘Pitch said his name was Horn. He served with him in the palace guard years ago. Pitch recognised him from a necklace the man wore,’ said Jenny.
‘Well, ’e got no less’n ’e deserved,’ proclaimed Rumpkin, who had been listening at the door. She came in to clear the porridge bowls. Although Jenny had barely touched her breakfast (which happens when you have to do so much talking), Rumpkin started to take the bowl, then stopped. She hadn’t made up her mind about how what had happened should affect the way she treated Jenny. On the one hand, having a lodger that people wanted to do away with could be a considerable inconvenience. On the other hand, someone who knew the Duke personally, and was now likely to be on good terms with him, might prove to have its advantages. While trying to make up her mind, she saw that Frida had also not finished. The young woman was just staring at her bowl as if she had never seen porridge before. Rumpkin reached over and took Frida’s bowl.
Jenny noticed that Frida didn’t move. She just sat, staring at the spot where her bowl had been. Her face was completely blank. The others had finished and they rose from the table. They were obviously still annoyed with her for talking to Jenny, for they looked at her peevishly and left. Frida didn’t appear to notice they had gone. Then, calmly and with great control, she pushed back her chair, stood and walked stiffly from the room. Jenny watched and wondered at Frida’s strange demeanour.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Emily.
‘That’ll be cold, now. It’s bad enough hot but cold ... ugh!’ she said, wrinkling her nose at Jenny’s porridge.
Jenny had to agree. With a quick ‘Thank you’ to Rumpkin, she and Emily left. Rumpkin looked at the bowl of cold porridge and shrugged, then sat down and began to eat it.
‘Not bad,’ she muttered. ‘Don’t know what Mistress Princess is on about.’
The pair climbed the stairs to their room.
‘Will you come with me to the workshop?’ Jenny asked.
‘You’re going back there? What if the body is still ... there?’ Emily was aghast.
‘Of course it isn’t. The chancellor had people ... take care of it.’
‘But why do you want to go back there so soon? I’m not sure I’d want to,’ said Emily, who suddenly found the events of the previous day rather less exciting.
‘You don’t have to come. It’s just that I left a book there.’
‘You want to go for a book?’
‘Yes – and if you don’t come and I get attacked and killed, you can be sure I won’t tell you about it tomorrow.’
‘Oh, well, in that case, I’ll come. If there’s a chance of that happening, I don’t want to miss it!’
The early morning still had the nip of winter, so they fetched their coats. Emily, naturally, had a few adjustments to make to her clothes before she felt ready to appear in public. Finally, she went to her desk and grabbed her purse. A piece of paper under it fluttered to the floor. Emily stooped and hastily retrieved it. She cast a quick glance at Jenny, who pretended she hadn’t seen – though Emily knew full well she had.
‘It’s just an invitation I was writing last night,’ said Emily, her explanation rather undermined by the guilty expression on her face.
‘What is?’ said Jenny innocently.
‘The let– the paper.’
‘Oh,’ said Jenny, feigning indifference. ‘Well, of course. What else could it be?’
Emily blushed and her mouth tightened. Then she looked at Jenny with a sheepish but slightly smug smile.
‘It is an invitation. Of sorts. It’s a letter. A scribbled draft of one. To Master Antrobus. The young one,’ she added quickly. ‘Telling him that should he feel inclined to invite me to walk in the gardens on Sunday, I would feel inclined to accept.’
Jenny stared at
her friend. It wasn’t the forwardness of the letter that worried her. After all, why shouldn’t a woman be as forward as a man? It was that John Antrobus was ... ‘But he’s old!’ she exclaimed.
‘He’s not that old – and I’m not that young!’ Emily declared. ‘I’m older than you! I’ll be sixteen this year.’
‘Well, by the time you get ready, we’ll both be old,’ said Jenny.
Emily slipped the letter into her pocket, still wondering whether it had the right balance of encouragement and coolness. She decided that perhaps it did have a bit too much encouragement and too little coolness. She’d look over it again later.
They were about to leave when there was a knock on the door. Jenny opened it to find Frida, the same rigid expression on her face.
Tall, big-boned and well developed, Frida had a face with sharp-edged features that made her look older than the other lodgers, though in truth she was only a year older than Emily. She wasn’t pretty, but Jenny thought she was striking. Her long blonde hair was normally plaited and then coiled at the back of her head. Now, it fell untidily to her waist. Jenny guessed she had been in the middle of doing her hair when something prompted her to knock on their door.
‘Sorry, I see you’re going out,’ Frida said stiffly. ‘I’ll come back later.’
Jenny sensed that behind her cold calmness, Frida was upset.
‘No, please, come in. We’re not in a hurry,’ she said, stepping back to allow Frida into the room.
The young woman hesitated, then walked uncertainly into the room. ‘I would like to ask you something,’ she said. She paused, as if waiting for Jenny to give her permission to ask. Jenny just nodded.
‘The man that Rayker ... killed ... are you sure his name was Horn?’
‘Pitch, our square warden, was sure it was,’ Jenny replied.
‘And you say that this man, Pitch, knew Horn?’
‘Yes. Not well, but they had served together some years ago.’
‘In the palace guard?’
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