Black Arrow

by J. P. Ashman

  ‘Well thank you,’ Lefey said, hands now on hips. ‘You’ve finally told me something I believe.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean I know anything about your sailors,’ Emms said quickly, too quickly she realised when Lefey smiled all the more.

  ‘Go on, off with you,’ Lefey said, shocking Emms, and her partner it seemed, for the other sailor rounded on Lefey.

  ‘What’re ye doing?’ the woman said, reaching out and pulling on Lefey’s shoulder so she’d look at her. ‘Ye heard Master Hitchmogh, we’re to drag her to the captain if needs be.’

  Emms’ stomach lurched and her eyes widened. Instinct kicked in and she tried to flee. A vice-like grip stopped her, pulling her forcefully round. It was all she could do not to fall to the ground, hands covering her head in anticipation of a thumping pain that never came.

  ‘I said you could go and I meant it,’ Lefey said, shrugging off her shipmate. ‘There’s no need to run off like a bloody child. Now get out of here, I’m done with you.’ Lefey released Emms, and the other sailor cursed and turned back to look up the street once more, hands playing with the hilts of her knives.

  Emms didn’t need telling twice. She turned and walked as quickly as her tired legs would carry her, off down the road and around the first corner, a million thoughts and fears filling her head.

  ‘Well?’ Mannino asked Lefey as she entered the rented room.

  ‘She’s being followed.’ Lefey’s eyes flicked to Hitchmogh, who stood in the shadows, pipe glowing now and then.

  ‘Very good, very good.’ Mannino nodded, eyes drifting off to the side. They flicked back, piercing as ever. ‘Get back to it, Lefey, and keep us posted.’

  ‘Captain,’ Lefey said, rocking back at the abruptness of her captain before leaving the room.

  ‘I told her to drag the wench back here,’ Hitchmogh said around his pipe’s mouthpiece.

  ‘And luckily for you, man, the girl had the sense to use her initiative.’

  Hitchmogh grunted.

  ‘Lefey knows what she is doing, you said as much yourself. She is from the Tri Isles, after all.’

  ‘Aye, so am I, remember.’ The words were bitter in Hitchmogh’s mouth.

  ‘Neither of us could forget.’ Mannino leaned back and closed his eyes. ‘And if it weren’t for that terrible fact, we’d likely have our men back already, using none other than your own heavy handed tactics. No?’

  Another grunt from the corner.

  Mannino smiled. ‘I thought as much. Now leave me be, will you, Master Hitchmogh?’

  ‘If ye wish, Cap’n,’ Hitchmogh said, repairing to his own rented room.

  ‘Emms!’ The word caught in Quin’s throat and his heart thumped. His gut spun and twisted and lurched this way and that. She was more beautiful than his most recent memories allowed.

  ‘Hello, Quinnell,’ Emms said, offering a weak smile. ‘I’ve not seen you in the tavern for a couple of days…’ She trailed off, her hands working around themselves as she struggled to maintain eye contact.

  ‘Well…’ Quin offered a smile of his own, his lips pulled in; sad.

  ‘Well…’ Emms returned, along with another, similar smile. Her eyes never stopped scanning the dark streets. They stood before one another, an awkward silence filling the void between, broken only by a dog barking in the distance, then another.

  ‘Are you well?’ Quin searched eyes he knew; eyes that strayed left when she answered yes.

  Quin frowned. ‘I know a lie when I see one, especially on a face I know so well.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Emms said, trying to move past him. He caught her arm, firm but gentle.

  ‘Tell me?’ Quin pleaded, forcing a returned look.

  ‘I can’t, not now.’

  ‘Emms.’ He turned her towards him. ‘You can still trust me, with anything.’

  ‘I know,’ she whispered, the sincerest smile yet showing through.

  ‘So tell me. Maybe I can help? That’s all I want to be able to do.’

  Her eyes flicked about the empty street once more.

  ‘Are you in trouble?’ Quin asked, concerned, grip tightening.

  ‘I’m not, no,’ she said flatly.

  ‘But someone else is?’

  A nod.

  ‘Who? Your brother?’

  ‘No, Quin. Listen, it’s nice to see—’

  ‘Oh no you don’t, Emms. Not that easily.’ He held on to her, stopped her walking away. ‘Let me help. Please.’

  She looked to him. ‘He’s gone too far, Quin. I don’t know what’s happening fully, but it’s too much. It won’t end well, I know it.’ It all came flooding out, her concern, no, her fear.

  ‘Who?’ Quin asked, confused.

  ‘Badham.’

  The name thudded into Quin like an arrow strike. His gut churned in a different way and his face flushed, he could feel it. Emms did too.

  ‘No,’ Quin said, in denial, although it was barely more than a whisper, accompanied by tears and slow nodding from Emms.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, hands now holding his.

  Quin turned to pull away, but she held on tight.

  ‘I didn’t plan it. You have to believe that—’

  It was Quin’s turn to say ‘don’t’, head shaking, eyes filling with tears to match Emms’ own. ‘Don’t.’ He pulled harder but she held on with a firmness Quin hadn’t felt from her before.

  ‘I’m scared, Quin.’ It was genuine and that sobered him a little. ‘Scared of what he’s done,’ she went on, ‘scared of what he’ll do next, or what they’ll do, to him.’

  ‘He’s a bloody ganger, Emms,’ Quin said, doing his best not to shout. He wiped his wet cheeks with his sleeve. ‘What did you expect?

  ‘Three take me,’ he said when she didn’t reply. He looked away from her, unable to stomach the sad look she was giving him. ‘The Scales can have me,’ he muttered.

  ‘Don’t say such things!’

  ‘Words, and that’s all I ever have, isn’t it?’ He started as he caught her eyes and the fear behind them. There was a pause. Emms’ grip softened and Quin’s heartbeat slowed, calmed as she held his gaze.

  ‘What’s he done?’ he asked quietly.

  She offered a slight smile. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What’s he done, Emms?’

  She took a deep breath before explaining all.

  Quin cursed and his eyes closed as he took it all in.

  ‘Oh Emms,’ he said, her hands held within his own.

  ‘Perhaps it will pass. Perhaps it’ll all blow over, as they say.’

  Quin, despite the situation, laughed, and when he opened his eyes, he saw by Emms’ expression that she believed what she’d said about as much as he did.

  Chapter 11 – Threats

  ‘I’m not jousting,’ Amis de Valmont said, head in hands as he sat in the deep-set window seat nestled in the nine-foot thick walls of the chateau. He was looking out over the colourful bell tents and pennants hanging around the arena, erected outside the curtain wall, on the opposite side from the town. ‘I don’t even have any retainers to assist me. Nor lance or jousting plate.’

  ‘You’re no fun, de Valmont.’ Flavell lay across her four-poster bed, twirling the curls of her fair hair around her fingers.

  ‘And you’re in trouble if I’m found in your room. People will talk.’

  ‘Let them. I don’t care. Nothing has happened between us, despite you wanting it to.’

  Amis spun on her, eyes wide.

  ‘Come now, de Valmont,’ she giggled, ‘do you not think they know your desires, from the way you watch me?’

  ‘It’s my job to watch you,’ he said, eyes back on the goings on outside.

  ‘It is. It’s also your job to ensure I have an audience with Croal de Geelan. I haven’t seen him since the ball, three days ago.’

  ‘I hear he’s busy.’

  ‘I don’t need someone with your skills to tell me that, de Valmont.’

  ‘Stop addressing me so. We’ve travelle
d for weeks with you calling me Amis. I think that will suffice, mademoiselle.’

  ‘We’re not on the road now, de Valmont.’ Flavell smirked at the huffed sound that came from the window. ‘I don’t think these people will find it proper, a lady of my standing calling her chaperone by his given name, do you? We’re to make a good impression you and I, and I intend that to be the case. You should be glad I don’t make you walk several paces behind me.’

  ‘There he is.’

  Flavell frowned. ‘There’s who?’

  The Queen’s seneschal, Croal de Geelan, of course. Your intended husband, whether he knows it or not.’

  Flavell rushed from bed to window. She leaned heavily on Amis’ shoulders to peer over him and down into the outer bailey. ‘He’s even more handsome in his armour.’

  The shoulders sagged. Flavell laughed.

  After they watched the armoured seneschal mount a blue and white caparisoned destrier and ride for the colourful camp beyond the curtain walls, Flavell moved away from the window. ‘Are you coming?’ she asked, without looking back.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘To enter you into tomorrow’s tourney before it’s too late. I think it’s the best way for me to meet him.’

  Amis cursed and turned, head shaking. ‘You can’t be serious?’

  ‘Go easy on him, when you get to him, won’t you?’

  ‘Go easy on him? I’ve never tilted in my life!’

  ‘Still,’ Flavell said, full lips pursed and green eyes as wide as ever, ‘I don’t want him injured before I’ve had a chance to capture his heart.’

  Amis sat back against the stone of the window and tapped the back of his head against it. ‘You’re in a fairy tale, mademoiselle. You truly are.’

  Flavell beamed and hopped up and down. ‘And the Seneschal d’Easson is my knight in shining armour!’

  ‘And me?’

  Flavell laughed. ‘You’re the evil beast he’s to rescue me from.’ She left the room before Amis could respond.

  ‘Very clever,’ Amis said before rising and dutifully following Flavell from the room.

  ***

  A long shadow cast across Quin in the alley he walked down, followed by another. His polecats dived into the nearest cranny, peeking back out a moment later. Unsure what to do next, Quin froze. All he wanted to do was run, but his legs refused to co-operate. He’d expected something like this since talking to Emms the night before. Since finding out she was… his stomach turned.

  ‘Who is it? What do you want?’

  ‘Well, which is it?’ a woman said, from behind.

  Arrik hissed from his hiding place and Quin tensed all the more.

  ‘What do you want?’ Quin repeated.

  ‘So, me name ain’t important, as long as ye know what it is I want?’

  Licking dry lips, Quin merely nodded.

  ‘Fair one,’ the woman said, stepping closer.

  Quin failed to turn, despite wanting to. ‘Did Badham send you?’

  ‘Badham?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maybe he did.’

  ‘We talked, Emms and I. There was nothing in it… not anymore.’ There was a pause after the words, no reply, and Quin felt a warm breath on the back of his neck, which sent a shudder down to his toes.

  ‘She’s a pretty lass is Emms. So, I guess I couldn’t blame ye if there were something still going on, Quin.’

  Heart thumping in his chest, breaths coming quicker, Quin heard Arrik hiss again, long and throatily this time. Swallowing down bile, he finally managed to find the resolve to turn and face the woman talking to him.

  ‘Ah, nice of you to join us,’ she said, smiling.

  Quin took an involuntary step back when he saw the stocky woman was flanked by two hard looking men.

  ‘I don’t recognise any of you,’ Quin managed, frowning.

  ‘And should you? Know everyone on the isles, do you?’

  ‘Well no,’ Quin admitted, ‘but I know most of those under Badham’s command.’

  It was the woman’s turn to frown. She looked to her companions then back to Quin. ‘Command?’

  Quin’s frown deepened further, brow creasing with it. ‘Yes, his soldiers.’

  ‘Soldiers?’ One of the flanking men laughed. ‘What soldiers?’

  Head pulling to the left, Quin now looked side on at the trio, his fear abating but a little. ‘Badham’s gangers call themselves soldiers. But if you…

  ‘You’re not here by his command, are you?’

  The woman smiled and shook her head. ‘I’m here by another’s.’

  Quin let his shoulders relax a little, along with the rest of his tense body. ‘Whose?’ he asked, the relief that they weren’t Hillside gangers flooding him to the point where he didn’t care who else they could be.

  ‘Captain Mannino’s.’

  Quin took another step back, eyes wide and mouth open.

  ‘I’m Lefey,’ the woman said, holding out her hand, ‘and our dear captain needs your help.’

  Mouth snapping shut, Quin failed to take the hand, but managed to find the courage to turn and run.

  Arrik and Guse hopped about with their mouths open, teeth bared and tails puffed up as their ‘dad’ was tackled to the ground by Lefey.

  ‘That wasn’t a request,’ she said into Quin’s ear, her weight pressing on him. ‘We’ve been waiting since last night to corner you, and the captain’s sick of waiting, so I’d do as I say, Quin. And if you want to see Emms safe from those fuckers she’s knocking about with like a doe-eyed girl, you’ll bloody well grow a set of ’morl’s usuals and help us. Now, do we have an accord, Master Pallister?’

  Cheek pressed against the hard-packed earth of the street, Quin offered his best attempt at a nod. And when Lefey climbed off him and pulled him to his feet, polecats bouncing about, hissing as they went, Quin voiced his accord. After all, the thought of freeing Emms from that bastard, Badham, was all they’d needed to say, although a very real fear made up the rest.

  ***

  A floorboard creaked. The sound was slight, ever so slight, but Mannino heard it. There was no point in opening his eyes, for he knew full well there was no light. The wooden shutters on the windows blocked out any that might come from the street lamps outside, and he’d snuffed out the beeswax candles in his room hours ago. Of course, the creak could have been the building settling, as buildings do, but…

  Mannino surged up and threw himself off the bed. He struck the floor hard and grunted, before rolling away from the mahogany legs of the grand bed.

  I should have stayed somewhere less ostentatious, he managed to think, before his roll crashed him into two more legs, albeit human ones.

  A man cursed and those legs moved, stumbled. A grunt followed the stumble. Mannino picked up on it and lashed out with his fist. He grunted himself when his punch connected with something hard.

  Heart racing, Mannino scrambled across the floor, clattering into some piece of furniture and sending it crashing over. Panic took him. It was rare, but not impossible. Was it the gangers? Were they on to him and his men? He didn’t have time to think any more as his ears picked up the scuffing of someone crawling towards him at speed.

  A louder curse this time – Altolnan in nature – as Mannino’s kicking feet met his unknown assailant.

  Before anything else happened, a shout erupted from the room outside his. A heartbeat later and a strip of feint light stretched out from beneath the door, enough to allow Mannino’s eyes to use it for reference, to use the sudden ambient light to realise where it was he was lying, and kicking. He grinned.

  The large, shadowy figure fell back as Mannino grabbed and hurled the chamber pot at whoever it was. Cursing, the man rushed for the shuttered window as more voices came from the room beyond.

  ‘Hurry!’ Mannino shouted, surging to his feet and giving chase.

  The door burst open and light flooded the room as the cloaked intruder literally threw himself through the wooden shutters and out of
the first story opening.

  Hitchmogh, two sailors at his back, and Mannino, looked out of the splintered opening and down to the street below. All four gaped as they saw the intruder, who’d landed amongst the remnants of the wooden shutters, climb to his feet and make off down the road, towards the docks, seemingly unhurt.

  ‘Tough bastard that,’ one of the sailors said, the other nodding.

  ‘You hurt?’ Hitchmogh asked Mannino, whilst motioning for the other two to leave. They swiftly obeyed.

  ‘No, man. No.’ Mannino moved back to and sat on the edge of his bed, heart racing, hands shaking in the shadows. ‘It was luck though, Master Hitchmogh. Luck and nothing more.’

  ‘What happened?’ Hitchmogh retrieved his pipe from his pouch, packed and lit it.

  ‘A floorboard happened, and if it hadn’t, I’d likely be lying on this bed, soaked through with my own blood.’

  Hitchmogh glanced at the window again. ‘He moved quick, and quiet, for a big man.’

  ‘I thought him one of the Hillside gangers at first,’ Mannino said, but Hitchmogh was shaking his head as his captain spoke.

  ‘Whereas I’d say assassin.’

  Mannino looked to Hitchmogh and nodded, face ashen. ‘It shook me up,’ Mannino admitted, ‘and I don’t mind saying it, man.’

  ‘Well, it bloody would.’ Hitchmogh took a long draw on his pipe and began to pace, leaving a white cloud in his wake. ‘Who’d want you dead?’

  Mannino laughed, the sound bitter. ‘The shorter list would be of those who don’t want me dead, and you know it.’

  ‘Aye, I do, but it sounds shit when people say such things.’ Hitchmogh grinned, despite Mannino’s scowl. ‘And anyway, it’d likely be a list of who wants us dead, not just you.’

  Mannino merely nodded at that.

  Hitchmogh stopped pacing. He looked to Mannino, face falling. ‘What if they know we’re here? What if I’ve not done enough to hide myself?’

  Looking to his old friend, Mannino offered another laugh, albeit a single shoulder-bobbing, breathy one. ‘If that was so, Master Hitchmogh, it wouldn’t be assassins in the night we’d have to worry about, but the Adjunct’s Guard… the whole bloody lot of them.’