by Steve Feasey
‘Who wants to know?’ the man asked, continuing to polish the glass in his hand.
‘Tell her Eleanor is looking for a job.’ She repeated the phrase her father’s friend had made her remember.
The man pursed his lips, called one of the girls over to mind the bar and disappeared through a door at the rear.
She sensed somebody behind her.
‘How you doing, sweetcheeks?’ The voice close to her ear was accompanied by the sour breath of somebody who’d had their fair share of the cheap drink sold in this place. ‘What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in here, huh?’
Tia decided it was best to ignore the man. Unfortunately the drunkard was too far gone to take the hint.
‘Ooh, the strong, silent type. I like that. Why don’t you and I –’
His mistake was reaching out and putting his hand on her waist.
Tia’s father insisted she learn self-defence from a young age, signing her up for classes with an ancient-looking Russian who, on the face of it, didn’t look capable of hurting a fly. What old Bogatyr lacked in vigour, he made up for in technique, skill and knowledge.
Tia shifted her hips, creating space between herself and the man. At the same time she drove the outer edge of her hand backwards, connecting with his most sensitive area. The air left his lungs in one big Ooof! and the man bent forward. As he did so, Tia brought her elbow up sharply and drove it forcefully into his face. There was a satisfying crunch of cartilage and the man staggered backwards. Tia was still in motion. Spinning on one foot, she brought her other leg up and round behind her, catching the man solidly on the side of the head. Her assailant sank to the floor, where he stayed, eyes screwed tightly shut in a purple-red face as he clutched his head with one hand, his groin with the other.
A few people turned to look, but they quickly went back to whatever they’d been doing. Most of the customers weren’t even aware anything had happened. Clearly fights, like underage drinking, were an everyday occurrence at the Dog.
The barman returned. ‘Bella will see you.’ He nodded to a staircase at the far end of the bar. Noticing the flushed look on the young girl’s face, he stepped forward, leaning out over the counter to take in the man as he groaned and spat blood on to the floor. ‘Your work?’ he asked Tia.
‘He grabbed me.’ She gave the barkeep a hard look, as if defying him to take her to task.
‘Hey, no problem,’ he said. ‘The guy’s a pest. Some big shot from the city. Claims he’s high up in the council, and thinks that because he comes in here flashing a few tokens about, he can do what he pleases. Looks like he got his comeuppance. And from one of his own. Nice.’ He signalled to a pair of women, who came over. ‘Get this slimeball out of here. Tell him he’s no longer welcome.’
‘He’s barred?’ one of them asked, raising an eyebrow over her purple-coloured eye. She had a slight lisp and Tia guessed she could only be a few years older than her.
‘Yep. Don’t say it never happens, Bonny.’
Despite his groans and protestations, the two girls dragged the man out by his heels. From the side of the bar a small hunchbacked figure emerged carrying a bucket, from which he flung handfuls of sawdust at the floor to soak up the blood.
‘Thank you, Gram,’ the barman said when the hunchback had finished. ‘As efficient as ever.’ He poured a small glass of some cloudy green liquid, which was snatched up and drunk in one swallow by the bucket wielder who then slunk back into the shadows. The barman turned to Tia again. ‘Just take those stairs and knock at the door of Room 3.’
He picked up the glass and started polishing it again.
Tia rapped her knuckles on the door. She wasn’t surprised when it was a man’s voice that told her to enter. She did so, noting how the curtains were drawn over the window so the room she stepped into was dim and murky.
‘Close the door behind you, please.’
She reluctantly did so.
There were in fact two men in the room: one in a chair facing her, while a tall pale figure sat in the deepest shadows of the furthest corner.
‘Bella?’ Tia said, noting the slight catch in her voice.
‘I think we can dispense with the cloak-and-dagger routine now, don’t you, Ms Cowper?’
‘Tia, please.’
The man facing her paused. ‘I am Silas, and my friend over there is Jax. We have a mutual friend in Eleanor, I understand.’
‘She said I could come to you, that you would be a good person to know during my time outside the city wall.’
‘That depends on what you intend to do here.’
‘I’m a reporter.’
‘I know.’
‘I want to highlight the mutant plight. Show people inside the Six Cities what’s really going on out here. Make them understand that the Mutes are not the threat they are made out to be by the Principia and –’
‘Why?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Why do you want to do this?’
She frowned. She hadn’t expected to have to explain her reasons. ‘Because it’s wrong. Because it’s unjust. We all survived the Last War. Those topside had the worst of it then, and have continued to have the worst of things ever since. Regardless of what President Melk –’ she spat this last word as if forming it had left a bad taste in her mouth – ‘and his kind say.’
‘And you think your reports will make a difference?’
‘The best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing.’
‘Roosevelt,’ Silas said with a nod. ‘Clever as well as pretty.’ He put his head to one side and frowned, as if contemplating the exchange that had just taken place between them. After a moment, he turned and looked towards the figure in the corner.
Tia was about to say something else when she felt a sudden and unusual sensation of nausea. Her stomach rolled and she involuntarily put a hand out to steady herself. The inside of her head felt strange: light and woozy in a way that made her vision swim. The experience was over almost as soon as it had begun.
‘Are you all right?’
She swallowed. ‘I’m fine. Just a little dizzy. Maybe I need to eat.’
‘A common problem out here in the slums – what with the food shortages.’
He looked across at the room’s other occupant again, and the boy nodded back at him. With that, Silas stood and walked over to her, holding his hand out. ‘Welcome on board, Tia Cowper. It’s good to have you with us.’
Rush
Half expecting to be spotted at any moment, Rush and Brick, having successfully escaped their prison, moved stealthily uphill, following the noise of the crowd. When they reached a copse on a ridge, they took cover behind the trees. Below them, in a clearing, they stared down at the event that had so galvanised the people of Logtown. What they witnessed was a scene of horror.
Men were standing around the edges of a pit dug into the earth, its sides shored up with wooden planks, shouting excitedly at a barbaric and cruel spectacle. A strong smell hung in the air: a pungent mixture of blood and fear and excitement.
Three of the pig-dog creatures – boarnogs, Forkhand had called them – were in the pit. They were thickset beasts, covered in short, wiry bristles, with small black eyes set deep into heads that looked too big for their bodies. Large curved tusks protruded from their bottom jaw, so the overall effect was of an animal more porcine than canine, except they growled like the wild-dog creatures Rush had occasionally seen near the farmhouse where he’d grown up. Two of the trio had taken up positions on either side of a massive creature, some bear-like mutation that was chained to a pole in the centre of the arena. The third was lying on its side, blood pooling around it, its flanks heaving and jerking as it struggled for breath. The bear-thing was far larger than the boarnogs and easily outweighed them, but even with one of them seriously injured, their numerical advantage allowed them to dart in and attack the animal’s blindside, tearing and worrying at it
until it swung about with a claw or brought its huge head round to defend itself. When that happened, the other would dash in from the rear. All of the animals were already bloodied from their injuries, their coats matted to their skin.
Men, most of whom appeared to be extremely drunk, were betting on the outcome of the fight, shouting out the name of the side they thought would win and handing over food tokens or credits to a group of men wearing red scarves who moved among them, acting as bookmakers. Even from where they hid, Rush and Brick could sense the excitement in the spectators. There was a cheer as one of the boarnogs leaped up to sink its teeth into the shoulder of the bear-thing, the victim roaring in pain and bucking around to try to shake its attacker off. Blood ran freely from the wound, the sight of which seemed to ignite a new wave of betting.
Rush could see Kohl standing on a small stage at the edge of the pit. The mayor was holding a cone-shaped instrument up to his mouth and bellowing out to the crowd, commentating enthusiastically on the horrors and whipping them into a frenzy.
Rush fought the need to throw up.
‘Where’s Dotty?’ Brick asked him in a voice that expressed his own outrage at the scene.
The younger mutant scanned the ridge until he spotted what appeared to be a number of wooden cages a stone’s throw away from where they stood. ‘Over there, I think. Let’s go. Maybe we can get her out while everyone is distracted.’
The smell was the first thing to hit them: the harsh stench of animal faeces liberally mixed with a wet, mildewy odour. There must have been about thirty or forty cages, some stacked two or three high. Not all were occupied, but those that were housed the saddest, most miserable creatures Rush had ever laid eyes on.
Most of the cages contained boarnogs, who had with few exceptions been scarred or mangled in some way. Many had teeth or parts of their ears missing, and one or two appeared to only have one working eye.
‘Wait,’ Rush said to Brick, halting him just in time for them to avoid being seen by a man who was also lurching towards the holding area. Ducking down behind a couple of empty cages, they watched as the drunkard turned his back on them and began to relieve himself up against one of the enclosures. At the sight of him the caged pig-dogs began attacking the walls of their cage, smashing against the bars in an effort to get at him.
These creatures hate the men here, Rush thought to himself.
There was a terrible roar from the direction of the pit, which was echoed by an eruption of noise from the crowd. The man cursed, quickly finished what he was doing and hurried away to find out what he’d missed.
‘We have a result!’ Kohl shouted out, the megaphone amplifying his voice so it could be heard over the cheers. ‘The boarnogs are victorious!’ There was another cheer. ‘Gentlemen, if you please, a little hush. We have a night of murderous mayhem for your entertainment this evening. The bar is still open and serving drinks, so fill your glasses, folks, because up next we have a new challenger! A specimen brought here from beyond the mountains. A creature we have not encountered before! It’s our next fight, so get a drink and hurry back.’
Rush knew he had mere moments if he was to get Dotty free. He hurried from his hiding place, hissing her name and frantically looking around him into the cages’ dark interiors. Spinning about when he heard the rogwan’s familiar hurgh, he almost cried aloud as her face appeared at the bars of a cage a short distance away. The doors to the crates were secured by thick wooden rivets pushed through a clasp. Rush pulled out the one holding Dotty’s cage door, almost falling over backwards when the rogwan leaped out at him and licked his face with her rough black tongue.
‘Quick, Brick!’ he said, beckoning the big guy over. ‘Get Dotty out of here. Take her down to the ferry. Not the one we came on, the one on the other side.’ They had to get out of there before it was too late.
‘What about Rush?’
‘I’ll be along right behind you. Now go!’
‘These animals,’ Brick said, patting his leg so Dotty would come to him, ‘they don’t belong here with these bad people.’
‘You’re right. But if we’re going to do anything about that, I need you to take Dotty now, OK?’ He shrugged the backpack off his shoulder and handed it to his friend.
‘Rush got a plan?’
‘Don’t I always?’
Brick gave him a nod, and without another word set off down the road leading out of Logtown with Dotty at his heels.
Rush watched them go for a moment before turning to face the cages again. ‘OK, boarnogs,’ he said to them. ‘Let’s see how much you really hate these loggers, shall we?’ He focused on those wooden rivets, concentrating his mind and connecting with as many of them as he could . . .
Rush was shouting as he ran full-tilt down the hill, his arms windmilling to keep him upright. Blood flowed from a cut on his right thigh, but he appeared not to notice. There was a shout from the top of the hill as somebody spotted him, and five or six men set off in pursuit.
Brick and Dotty were waiting on the quay, watching, their attention half on Rush, half on the mayhem unravelling behind him. They had the boat to themselves. A ferryman had been on duty, but he’d taken one look at the rogwan and Brick as they pounded up the jetty towards him and wisely decided to abandon ship.
On the hill, boarnogs were running everywhere, attacking anyone foolish enough to get in their way. Men were crying out in panic. A huge specimen could be seen under a tree, angrily eyeing the men who’d scrambled up into its boughs to escape. When one man lost his grip and fell, the boarnog set about him, goring at his body with its tusks until his screams abruptly stopped.
‘Get it going!’ Rush shouted out to Brick. ‘Start turning the winch! Don’t wait for me – I’ll make it!’
The clanging sound of the winch as it drew in the chain began to fill the air. Dotty darted to the back of the ferry, shifting from paw to paw, her eyes fixed on Rush. When the noise of the winch was accompanied by his feet on the wooden jetty, she shook her head and hurghed as if urging him on. The boat was perhaps a body length away from the dock when he leaped. He landed in a heap on the deck next to the rogwan, who set about him with delight.
‘You set them free!’ Brick shouted. He was grinning from ear to ear, all the while whipping the handle of the winch round and round, dragging the craft through the water.
Rush watched as the men pursuing them came to the bottom of the hill, hurrying towards the quay. He wasn’t particularly surprised to see Forkhand among them. A bloody and limping Kohl was bringing up the rear. The men began shouting threats in their direction. Rush was going to give them a hand gesture he thought would leave them in no doubt about what he thought of them, when he saw Forkhand grab for the crossbow hanging around his shoulders.
‘Brick, can you make this thing go any faster?’ Rush asked. They were halfway across the river, but suddenly that didn’t seem nearly far enough.
Forkhand raised the loaded weapon, resting the front end between the upturned prongs of his trident, and took aim.
Rush hurled himself at his friend. ‘Get down, Brick! Get down!’
They hit the deck as the crossbow bolt thudded into the housing for the winch where Brick had been standing seconds before.
‘You OK?’ Rush asked.
‘Uh-huh.’
The ferry gave a little jerk. Rush looked up to see three things: Forkhand reloading the weapon, two men pulling on a rope attached to the back of the vessel, and another man pulling the cover off a wooden canoe. The craft lurched again and began, very slowly, to move back towards the islet.
Rush called out to Brick, ‘Winch again. It’s you against them. If I tell you to stop, you drop for cover. Got it?’ He scurried over to the backpack and began pulling the contents out.
Two men got into the canoe, the one in the front paddling out into the current while the other sat armed with a bow. He notched an arrow to the string, but sat with the weapon in his lap, clearly waiting until he felt he was within range. Rush could
see what would happen: either they would be dragged back to shore by the men on the rope, where they would be killed by Forkhand, or the men in the canoe would get close enough to do the job.
Finding what he had been looking for in the bag, Rush peered up just as Forkhand lifted his weapon and took aim again. ‘Down!’ he shouted, and the ferry rocked alarmingly as Brick did as he was told. There was a pause, and Rush thought the shot might have flown harmlessly over their heads. When he dared to peer out over the top of the large pile of cut timber he was sheltering behind, there was a thunk! as the bolt lodged into the wood inches away, sending sharp splinters into his face.
‘We’re dead,’ Brick moaned, climbing back up to continue to operate the winch.
‘Not yet, we’re not,’ Rush said as he got to his feet, allowing the sling to hang down from one hand. The stone he dropped, almost casually, out of the same hand landed perfectly in the small square of leather between the long thongs, and he twirled the entire thing about his head, the weapon making a low whoosh that grew louder with each revolution. On the third turn he leaned into the throw and released one of the thongs so the stone flew out at terrific speed, streaking through the air like a bullet. There was an audible crack! as the projectile connected with its target, followed by the sound of the crossbow clattering to the ground. For a moment Forkhand seemed unaware he’d been hit. He stood as a rivulet of blood flowed down his face from the centre of his forehead. Then his eyes rolled up towards the heavens and he collapsed.
Brick looked over at his friend. The whooshing noise had already started again, and this time it was the man paddling the canoe who took the hit, this one to the side of the head. The blow had exactly the same net effect as the previous one had on Forkhand: the man gave a cry and collapsed over to one side, unsettling the craft so both men were tipped out. There was a scream and the water appeared to boil as the eelsnakes set about their unexpected meal.
‘Let go of that,’ Rush shouted out to the men hauling on the wet rope, ‘or you’re next.’