Swords and Scoundrels

by Julia Knight

  No fire-eaters today, which had Vocho sulking until he saw what it actually was. In the midst of the crowd stood a tall and stocky man, his skin a dark dusty colour like some of the northerners, his springy black hair just turning to grey around the temples, worn long and tied back. Dressed in a flamboyant shirt with ruffled cuffs that almost hid his hands, high boots that shone like stars and, best of all for Vocho, a tabard in green and gold, with an emblem of two crossed swords. A duellist.

  The guild was a myth, and also very, very real. There’d always been a guild in Reyes, so they said, since before the Great Fall, since before the Castans even, since for ever, the only thing apart from the Shrive and the change o’ the clocks to survive intact through all the centuries. Once they’d protected kings and the old empire, until it fell. When the Castans had gone – died or just left, Vocho wasn’t sure – the guild became its own master. Now they protected whoever paid them enough, although there was some promise that they would protect the city for free, if ever it needed it. In the centre of the city, but not part of it, its buildings were set on an island in the great river, overlooking the harbour and separated from Reyes by a narrow strip of land and a short bridge. Every third morning, with the change o’ the clock and the change of the city’s landscape, people would get their bearings by where the guild stood.

  The guild was the last gasp of the old days, with its own rules and codes. Each master duellist was sworn to protect the others, sworn to a code that none would break – none except Jokin, of course, and they told tales of him, of his fall from grace and exile in hushed tones around the fire in the tavern Vocho’s father drank in.

  The guild was funny, Vocho thought, because they didn’t use crossbows and all the other new weapons people were making. An anachro… something, Vocho’s da once called them, but still everyone loved the guild. They recalled the old stories, of the men and women with nothing but their swords and hearts and guts, who’d beaten people from far to the north and south, and lions and dragons and gods. They said that the guild had been the ones to fight against the Great Fall, the last line against the blackness of ignorance that followed, and that this was the only battle they’d lost, but they at least remembered what had caused it even while everyone else forgot. Some things changed, but not the guild, and not the men and women in it. Kingdoms were won or lost by duellists. Vocho knew every one of the stories by heart.

  This duellist had a bundle of wooden swords at his feet and was handing them out to every child old enough to hold one and young enough not to have started sprouting new hairs in funny places. Vocho almost fainted with excitement. Apprentice Day – how had he not remembered? Every year the guild sent a few men into the city looking for recruits, for raw, natural talent. Most unsworn duellists – the lessers and journeymen – were nobles, and their parents paid through the nose for the honour of their children getting a duelling education, which involved rubbish food, longer hours than most labourers worked and a good chance of getting hurt or worse, or so Da said. A few stayed on to become masters, swearing their lives away to the service of the guild, just as they had once sworn their lives to protect the Castan emperors. But those who ran the guild knew that money couldn’t buy talent with a blade or loyalty, and so, one day a year, Apprentice Day.

  Kacha was getting in Vocho’s way so he used his elbows, but too late – the man had given her a sword with a smile and a wink. “Show me how good you are.”

  She gave it a practice swish and dinged Vocho around the back of the head, knocking him to the dust. “Teach you to stop following me around like a dog.”

  “That any good?” she said to the duellist.

  He grinned down at the pair of them. “Not really fair if he’s not got a sword of his own. First rule of duelling, never go for an unarmed man. Or boy.” He pulled Vocho up off his arse. “You going to let her get away with that?”

  “Not ruddy likely!” The boy next to him had a sword, and Vocho wrenched it off him, kicked him in the shins when he howled about it and went after a suddenly fleet Kacha.

  It was a game and not a game; even at six he was dimly aware of that. A game they played most days, him annoying her till she snapped, and then the chase, though it was her chasing him. Jumping bollards, scooting around longshoremen, onto ships, off again, swinging on a rope here or through a man’s legs there, ignoring the good-natured shouts that followed them.

  As usual, he couldn’t catch Kacha by speed alone – two years older than him meant her legs were longer. Instead he had to outwit her, but she had two years on him in canniness too. Today the game ended with her atop a mast he couldn’t climb – the spar he needed was just out of reach – laughing at him. It burned in his gut, that laugh, brought with it all the little looks he endured at home, and worse. Perfect Kacha, couldn’t you be more like her? Why can’t you tie your laces as well as she does, read as well, be as kind, as obedient, as clever? Why are you so stupid, Vocho, when she’s so smart?

  He swallowed it and taunted her down, said the things he knew would have her fit to burst and off that mast in moments. “So, afraid of me then? Afraid of your little brother?” The real kicker. “Afraid I’ll be better than you? Afraid they won’t want you in the guild?”

  She was down the ropes almost faster than he took his next breath, wooden sword coming for him, and he laughed, knowing that he’d got her riled up.

  Then the game changed, as it always did, all teasing put to the side, and they were brother and sister. Now they were pirates, they were bandits, they were highwaymen who held up laughing sailors and got thrown a few copper pennies. They were duellists. They fought halfway along the dock before the old duellist grabbed them both by the scruff of the neck, and laughed like all his name days had come at once.

  “Knew I’d find me some good uns down by the docks. It’s all the salt in the air, see, hardens the bones and quickens the blood. Now, let’s go and give your parents the good news, eh?”

  So they did, though once the duellist – Eneko he introduced himself as – discovered they were brother and sister he tried to back off. “I’ll take one from you,” he said to Vocho’s da. “But not even the guild would be so cruel as to take two, and your only two at that. I’ll take the girl. She’s the quickest I’ve seen in a long time; she’s got enough heart for two men, and the guts of a few more. The boy will get another chance another year, if he’s still willing, perhaps. He’s a cunning little devil. A bit too cunning perhaps.”

  “But…” Vocho protested. Kacha always got to do the fun stuff, while he only got to watch because he was “too young” or “too stupid” or “too useless”. A look from his father silenced him, but not for long. “But I want to go too!”

  Kacha glared at him from under her blonde curls. “Can’t I go anywhere on my own for once? Da, please! Ma, tell him.”

  Their father had sat down in the rickety chair that was his by the mean fire. Not only did someone want to take his precious Kacha away from him, she wanted to go. It seemed to squeeze all the air out of him, like the balloons down at the market that went all saggy after a bit. For the first time Vocho realised how old he was, noticed that the grey in his hair was no longer a sprinkle but a blanket. The lines in his face seemed gouged there by age and regret. Vocho looked over at Ma, and while she was younger, he saw the same weariness born of long work for too little reward, the toll of too little money and too much pride perhaps.

  Finally, Ma said, “We’ll talk it over. An hour?”

  Eneko inclined his head, winked at Kacha and said, “An hour it is, but no more. I’m to have my recruits in the guildhall by sunset. We like to get them settled before the change o’ the clock.”

  When he’d gone, their parents had talked together in low voices for a while. Neither Kacha nor Vocho dared to interrupt, though Kacha had given Vocho a look that could wither stones. “Why can’t you never let me do nothing on my own? Why do I always have to take you too?”

  There was a lot Vocho wanted to say to that
, but he didn’t have the words for it then.

  A few choice phrases leaped out from their parents’ whispered conversation. Da saying, “They can take the boy off our hands – won’t need to feed him then,” and, “I suppose they’ll send him back when they realise what he’s like.” Vocho gritted his teeth – it wasn’t anything he’d not heard a hundred times. Da tried to put his foot down, but Ma’s face was the one that meant no one argued, not even Da. Vocho never knew what it was she said but Da agreed in the end. Finally they turned to the two of them.

  “Well, then. It’s a chance most don’t get. A chance to get out of this place.” Their father waved a hand at the shack they currently called home. “Chance to better yourselves. Earn a decent living. Honest work too. No matter what the king’s like, the duellists stick to their code and their honour. They’re their own masters even if they work for the king at times. Fearful hard though, I hear. Fearful hard.”

  Kacha stood up straight. “I’m not afraid, Da.”

  “I know you’re not, Kacha, I know.” Da beamed at her, pride oozing from every creased wrinkle, the kind of smile he only ever gave Kacha.

  “Neither am I,” Vocho chimed in, earning a glare from his sister.

  Da gave him a sour look – the only kind Vocho ever got from him, like he was something nasty his father had stepped in, but the words weren’t so bad this time. “Aye, lad, and maybe that’s the problem. Neither of you are afraid of anything, and that’s not bravery; that’s not knowing how bad things can be. You’ll learn, whatever you do, whichever path you take, that’s my thought. Here or in the guild, you’ll learn just how bad things can be. A shame, but there it is.”

  “But the guild, the guild is different,” Ma said. “It’s part of the city, and not, and has its own laws and customs. It’s seen kings and empires come and go, and it stays the same. If things go bad – and they’ve been going bad a while and’ll only get worse, I’m thinking – the guild can protect you better than we can, and the bad things will be maybe not as bad. Do you understand?”

  Vocho didn’t, though he nodded as though he did when Kacha said, “Here it’s no food and how little we got. The threat of the block. Nobles being blood-sucking bastards.” Ma gasped at that but said nothing – Kacha was only repeating what Da said ten times a day. If Vocho had said it, he’d have got the belt, but Kacha was perfect so Da looked at her with a fond eye and an encouraging smile. “With the guild, it’ll be that pol… poli… politics thing.”

  “Ah, you do listen when your old Da talks then. Aye. Down on the docks it’s keeping a roof over your head, your family fed and with you, keeping away from the guards and out of the Shrive. Hard at the best of times, and times are about to be harder, I’m thinking. There’s trouble brewing all over. More and more taken to the Shrive, and blood on the square more days than not. Maybe even war brewing with them heathen Ikaran devils if them sailors are telling the truth. The guild will be all right. They’ll be paid handsome to protect the city, and they’s always all right. Rich people’ll get richer, and we’ll get poorer, that’s always how it goes, and that’s not counting being press-ganged into the actual fighting. But if you’re at that guild, being fed whether I got work or not, with all them rich people’s sons and daughters, making friends, good steady job at the end of it then you’ll be all right. Besides, they’d not arrest a guildsman without fearful good cause. When chance comes knocking, you’d be a fool not to open the door. So that’s why you’re both going.”

  Kacha opened her mouth, no doubt to protest about her stupid younger brother coming too, but she didn’t get the chance.

  “That, and because together you can look out for each other,” their mother said. “There’s still plenty bad out there that ain’t starving down here on the docks. And plenty bad is coming, you mark my words. One or other on their own, they’s on their own. Together you got each other.”

  Kacha still looked ready to argue the point – she always was – but Ma’s word was final.

  “You’re both going. And you’re to look out for each other, always. Now get going and pack what you got to pack. Won’t take but a minute, I reckon.”

  Kacha had stomped off, though Vocho was sure he caught the glimpse of a smile. At least she was going, and she’d dreamed of being a duellist at least as often as Vocho had. All the dock children did. It was that, sailoring – whether freebooting or trading – or a lifetime of drudging on the docks with nothing but gnarled hands and sad eyes to show for it.

  When they’d packed, Da spent the rest of the time until Eneko came back with Kacha on his lap, telling her how great she’d be, what a marvellous duellist she’d make, how proud he was, while Vocho sat in a corner. His corner, where he always sat while Da serenaded perfect Kacha. It was safer in the shadows, unnoticed and out of range of Da’s long belt.

  The goodbye for Kacha was long, heartfelt and full of tears, at least on their parents’ part – Kacha seemed oblivious, excitement leaking out of her in waves.

  His da’s pinching hand on his shoulder stopped Vocho as he was about to follow his sister. “Now, you listen good, boy. I ain’t sad to see you go, and you know it. Maybe the guild can knock some sense into that head of yours, maybe some brains too, though I doubt it. But I know Kacha will look after you, because she’s a good girl – the best.” It didn’t escape Vocho’s notice that he managed to get in a dig even now. “She always does look after you even when you drive her round the twist. But you’re not like her, and more’s the pity. Still, you and her share blood, so I’m asking. I need you to promise me, son to father, that you’ll look after her too. You watch out for her, or I’ll be up that guild sooner’n you can blink so you can feel the lash of my belt, and make no mistake it’ll be the buckle end. And try to stay out of trouble. Try not to be stupid, eh?”

  Vocho looked up at the man he idolised and who always seemed to prefer Kacha, always listened to her, applauded her, admired her, told Vocho to be more like her and cuffed and lashed him when he couldn’t manage it. A long-birthed coil of jealousy stirred in his gut, but, as always, he squashed it and wouldn’t let it show.

  “I will, Da, I promise.”

  “Good lad, Vocho. Good lad.”

  It was the first time he could recall his father ever saying that to him – and the last.

  Chapter Eight

  It was more than a week after they had left Cospel’s when Vocho looked down from the low ridge and saw Reyes for the first time since the city had spat him out. It’d been a long week too, with Dom chattering all the way, Kacha silent and thoughtful, and Cospel’s gloomy face bringing up the rear. Even now Dom didn’t stop talking.

  “Doesn’t look like much from the outside, does it?” he said. “Not like Ikaras and its glass spires, all red in the dawn. Or Barring and its gardens, even Entos – did you know you can see its waterwheels from three leagues away?”

  Kacha shared a secret grin with Vocho and rolled her eyes. Dom might be a fountain of knowledge, but it would help if he ever shut up about it.

  “Have you ever been?” he asked them. “To any of the other provinces, I mean, the other cities?”

  “Had a job in Ikaras once,” Kacha said with a distracted frown. “Delivery of something or other, had to make sure it got there safe. Was only there a day. That was enough – all that sunlight reflecting on glass gave me a headache. Surprised it didn’t all get broken in the Fall.”

  “A headache?” Dom looked aghast. “That glass is the most sophisticated… The whole city is run on that glass, did you know that? Something to do with the sun, they tell me.”

  “The sun?”

  Dom shrugged and peered down the hill towards Reyes. “Well, yes. Before the Great Fall, the family that owned Ikaras province were known for their love of astronomy. They figured out a little gadget that told you where you were on the open ocean only using stars and magnets or something. Saved countless sailors. That survived the Fall too, that and the glass. No one really knows how the glass wor
ks, of course, not any more, though there’s some interesting theories at the university. Bit like Reyes and its clockwork really, or used to be. Engineers in this province, so I’m told. I understand the prelate found out how it all worked, with a little help from Ikaras.”

  “Something like that.” Vocho wasn’t really paying much attention; he was too busy looking at Reyes. Always seemed strange from the outside¸ when he’d spent so long on the inside.

  It lay sprawled under the setting southern sun like a cat. Dun-coloured walls, houses topped with red and black roofs, the odd green cloud as some tree made it through a crack between buildings towards the sky. The great river that wound slow and brown across the plains and into the city, the river that ran all the old clockwork – the ancient mechanisms that had been rediscovered, relearned and changed everything. Vocho could have sworn he heard the ticking from here. Reyes, city of wonders, just like all the other cities of wonder along this coast. All different and all the same, barely understood relics of a different time, a different people, so old that people just accepted what they were without a second thought. But mostly Reyes was home, familiar, even a bit boring perhaps.

  The fields below Vocho and the others were dry and turning brown, even this early in the year. Little plumes of dust moved along the road hiding horses, wagons, whole caravans. Beyond the road lay the city, and beyond that lay the sea. A natural harbour off the main river channel butted up to the city, deep enough for the greatest ships, protected from the storms the north trade winds brought in the autumn by a high bluff of crumbling cliffs. To the south were the wetlands and delta of the Reyes river, haven of birds and mosquitoes and the shivering sickness. In the centre of the city, its top just visible from here on a high rocky island in the river, the guild watched over everything, while across a bridge, hidden from here but lurking always in the heart and mind of Reyes folk, was the Shrive, squat and grey and full of dread and old spilled blood. The two buildings that never changed with the clock, too ancient even for that. Eneko swore that the guild records went back even before the Castans had come and built their empire here.