Jagdish noticed that Gutch was looking a little flushed and, considering the cold, sweatier than usual. “You’d better not be lying to me. You were in there a long time.”
“Sitting on a bench, waiting for a high-status man to finish his tea.” Gutch looked around nervously. There were many people going about their business, most of them avoiding the mud by walking on wooden boardwalks. “I think someone recognized me…Don’t worry, I’m not talking about the masked buffoon, he only wanted to know if we had heard of any sightings of the Black Heart. I told him no. Since Ashok Vadal is not known as a master of disguise, and it is unlikely he’s recently put on a lot of weight, I wasn’t that interesting. Ah…Wait here a moment.”
Gutch turned to the left and went down an alley between two brick buildings. Broken barrels and trash were piled up, and the walls were covered in graffiti. Gutch skipped most of it and went to one design in particular, a yellow hand with a black eye in the palm. It had been painted over what had probably been a blue elephant. The paint had been applied recently enough that it had not weathered away, but Jagdish could decipher none of the messages around it. The letters were so stylized they looked like gibberish to him, but it seemed to mean something to Gutch.
“Oh, this is not good. Not good at all.” The big man hurried back out of the alley and climbed back onto his poor, overburdened horse. “We must hurry, but don’t look like we’re in a hurry.”
“What’s not good? Who recognized you?”
“There was a stone mason in there doing repairs. He looked familiar when I walked in. By the time I came out, he had run off.”
“So what? Another member of your caste recognized you. You said you’ve been here before. I say this not to give offense, but a man of your rotund nature is bound to be remembered.”
“Rotund? I should have just informed on you and collected the reward. Look, I told you I have friends here…” Gutch sucked on his teeth, as if he was taking a moment trying to decide on the right way to phrase it. “I may have not been entirely forthcoming about the nature of my associates. It’s not really one big happy family. There are as many competing gangs outside the Law as there are castes and subcastes within it. Some are friendlier than others…”
“And?”
“Some want to kill me…Oh, don’t give me that look! Like you’ve never hurt anyone’s feelings in your line of work. Just keep walking. I didn’t know this section had changed ownership.”
“You said you expected the Thao to control this part of the city!”
“I’m not talking about the houses. I’m talking about the real owners.”
Chapter 8
It didn’t take long for Jagdish to meet the real owners.
They didn’t even have a chance to make it into a different district. Since most of the city was a disorganized mess crammed into a bunch of small canyons, the roads were neither wide nor straight. Because of the crowds the horses were limited to a slow walk. Running down a worker in a worker district was a great way for a warrior from a distant house to get beaten to death by an angry mob.
The mason who had spotted Gutch must have had friends nearby, because there were already six ruffians blocking the road ahead. They were workers, wearing leather aprons and thick gloves. All of them were carrying hammers, pipes, or chains. things which were legally considered tools rather than weapons, because a worker had to receive a special dispensation to carry a weapon—not that there was a lot of difference between getting your head smashed with a war hammer or a sledge hammer. They were obviously up to no good, and heading directly toward Jagdish and Gutch.
“Cocky bunch. Doesn’t this damned city have any watch patrolling it?”
“If there were warriors here they would look the other way, same as back home, Risaldar.”
“That’s a filthy lie.”
But Gutch had already turned his horse and was heading back the way they’d come, only he pulled up short when he saw more men coming from behind them. When a group of burly, determined sorts are walking with purpose, they stand out from the crowd.
The locals realized what was going on, and began clearing off the streets. Mothers dragged their children away. Everyone got out of the gang’s path. Nobody protested. Nobody asked questions. It was very odd to Jagdish, because these men had no legal authority here, but they were as sure in charge as any man of status.
Jagdish had been a cavalry scout, so he knew how to fight on a horse. “I’ll make us a hole.”
“No! I promise there are more you don’t see, and any watch who do respond will be on their payroll. If we’re arrested we won’t live to see a jail…Oceans,” Gutch swore as he tried to pick another route. “There.” He thumped his horse with his heels.
“You’re just going somewhere there’s fewer witnesses to restrain them!”
“Nobody here reports crimes,” Gutch called back over his shoulder. “Ride!”
Jagdish followed. The men had given up on acting casual and had begun running after them. Rather than fear, Jagdish found that he was angry. He was a warrior. Who were these scum to threaten him?
But that was the pride talking, and he knew it. There were many of them and one of him. A lucky swing with a pipe and Jagdish would never kill those wizards, never clear his name, and his unborn son would grow up in the wrong caste, sent back to his mother’s people, to end up like these slobs.
They made it across the alley, between two factories, their horses nearly crushing some casteless who were trying to stay warm next to a steam vent, and then they were out the other side. Only there was no street, just an open area between two massive brick buildings. It looked like another building had stood here once, but from the crumbling pillars, it had burned down long ago, and later they had turned the space into some sort of junkyard or trash dump. Before them was a maze of broken barrels, piles of rusting metal, and garbage. There were windows far above, and terrible metallic noises were ringing through them. The walls were so tall that they were blocking most of the sunlight. Jagdish was completely lost.
“Ah damn…Wrong way,” Gutch appeared terrified, and he was normally level headed. It made Jagdish wonder what he had done to anger this gang so much. “We’ve got to find a way out.”
Gutch’s poor horse tripped on a wire. It was too tight to maneuver the animals through here quickly. “Abandon the animals and go on foot.” Jagdish smoothly turned his horse back toward the alley, dismounted, and smacked it on the rump so it would run. The alley was narrow enough that it would at least cause their pursuers some trouble.
“We need to hide,” Gutch said as he rolled off, missed his stirrup, and flopped into the mud.
“Which way do we need to go?” he asked. Gutch pointed. Jagdish grabbed him by the collar and dragged him upright. The man really did weigh a ton. “Keep your head, and we’ll be fine.”
“The problem is they want my head!”
There was an echoing crash from down the alley. A man screamed, then Jagdish’s horse screamed. That was a very unpleasant sound.
The two of them ran through the junkyard. Over the years the scrap had been piled higher and higher until there were only tight winding paths through it. It was hard to tell what the rusty stuff even was, since plants had grown over it, died, and then been snowed on. Jagdish tried to keep them going in the direction Gutch had indicated, hoping to find another alley, or a fence low enough to climb over, but the paths kept ending, forcing them to backtrack. Some of the walls of the old factory were still standing, making it even more confusing. He could hear men cursing and barking orders. Their pursers had entered the yard as well.
Everything around them seemed to be sharp. Jagdish caught a jagged edge, ripped his sleeve, and cut his arm. He tripped and bumped into some rotting beams. Unfortunately they fell over with a crash. Somehow the workers above must have heard that over the noise of their workplace, and curious, soot-covered faces appeared in the windows above to see what was going on in their junkyard. Those workers must have
recognized their local gang, and took no pity on the strangers, because they immediately began shouting directions.
“Inhospitable bunch,” Jagdish muttered as crouched down. Gutch was right behind him.
One of the unseen gang members called out. “Might as well give up, Gutch. There’s only one way out and I’m standing in front of it. I never thought you’d be dumb enough to show your face in Neeramphorn again.”
“That’s Bajwa,” Gutch whispered.
“Friend of yours?” Jagdish whispered back.
“Used to be.”
“I’m gonna skin you for what you did to my brother. I’m gonna make a rug out of your hide and render candles from your fat!”
“Well, not very good friends.”
A worker came around the corner ahead of them, carrying a club. “Found th—”
In such tight quarters, Jagdish didn’t bother with his sword. He used his dagger.
Crashing into the man, he smashed one hand over his mouth while the other plunged the blade into his guts, over and over. Jagdish pushed him back, sliding through the snow, until they crashed into an abandoned machine. His hand slipped. The man screamed for help as he fell.
“Follow me,” Jagdish snapped. He didn’t know where he was going, but a moving target was harder to hit. Gutch only paused long enough to pick up the dropped club.
The workers in the windows above saw one of their caste stabbed by an outsider and howled for blood. Bottles and bricks were hurled downward to shatter against metal.
The gang was all around them, swarming through the yard. Jagdish caught glimpses of them through the gaps. With a roar Gutch flung himself against a lopsided stack of parts, knocking it over onto some workers in the next aisle. It made a terrible crash, and men bellowed in pain.
Jagdish kept moving until he spotted a wooden fence in the distance. Whatever was on the other side had to be better than this. “That way.” And then he nearly got his head taken off by a pry bar.
He hadn’t seen that worker coming. The bar clanged off some wooden beams, flinging snow. Jagdish responded by slashing him across the belly. Only this one was wearing one of those thick leather aprons, so that accomplished nothing. He jabbed for the man’s neck, only he’d already spun around with the bar. Their forearms collided as the worker blocked, and the dagger went flying from Jagdish’s hand. Then from out of nowhere the worker’s elbow connected with the warrior’s skull.
Stumbling back, blinking in surprise, his first coherent thought was workers aren’t supposed to know how to fight. Before Jagdish could get hit again, Gutch flew across the aisle and tackled the worker. They landed so hard it had to be like getting trampled by a bull.
More of them were coming. Gutch struggled to his feet. The man beneath him was flopping around and gasping for breath. Jagdish grabbed Gutch by the arm as he ran past. “Get to that fence!”
One of the workers above got lucky, and a brick hit Jagdish in the arm. He winced. It hurt like a bastard. A bottle whistled past his ear and shattered at his feet. Then they were out of throwing range of the windows, and all he had to worry about was the score of criminals nipping at their heels.
There was an open area between them and the fence, a mere twenty feet not yet filled with junk. It was just dead grass and room to swing. Good. “Keep running,” Jagdish snapped, as he drew his sword and spun about.
The hounds hadn’t expected their rabbit to turn. The first to reach him was a worker wildly whipping a chain about his head. Jagdish went beneath it and Vadal steel cut the worker’s thigh until it clipped bone. He went down flailing.
Jagdish came up and slashed at the next purser. He was a bit far, so the worker was able to squeal and leap back. That one dropped his hammer and ran. That’s right. A worker might learn how to throw a punch, but only warriors know how to face steel.
Unfortunately, there were at least a dozen more where that one came from, and they’d slowed up as they’d come out of the scrapyard and were approaching as a mass. The one he’d cut was crying and thrashing, which was giving the rest pause, but there was courage in numbers. Jagdish knew he was good, but he wasn’t that good.
Risking a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw that Gutch was trying to climb over the wooden fence, but since the fence was tall, and Gutch was very large, it wasn’t pretty.
Escape that way wasn’t looking likely. That meant he just needed to kill enough of these that the rest would leave them be. Jagdish shifted his stance to a defensive one, weight on the balls of his feet. He’d cut and retreat, cut and retreat. Hopefully they’d run out of blood before he ran out of yard and ended up beneath a pile of angry workers.
One of the workers approached slowly. Jagdish shifted the point of his sword in that direction, and the worker flinched. But to his credit, he didn’t run, rather he nodded his head at his wounded comrade. “Can I get him out of the way?”
“Be quick about it.”
Jagdish’s eyes flicked back and forth, watching all of them, as the worker took hold of the wounded man’s coat and dragged him back, leaving a wide red trail in the snow.
Jagdish spoke clearly so all could hear. “You’ll need to put a tight knot around his thigh to stop the bleeding if you want him to live. Trust me, friends, he’s not keeping that leg. Now ask yourselves which parts you’re willing to leave behind before you try me.”
They got ready to charge anyway. Brave bunch.
“Hold on.” A short, stocky man shouted as he made his way through the crowd. “Timo, get that man to the surgeon. Should anyone ask, it was an unfortunate industrial accident.” He was dressed better than the others, with a fine coat, and on his chest was a purple flower. Like most warriors, Jagdish had never bothered to learn the worker castes’ symbols. “As for you, stranger, one small act of mercy deserves another. We can end this without further unpleasantness.”
“What are you supposed to be?”
“He’s an apothecary, among other things,” Gutch shouted, as he tried one more futile leap to try and catch the top of the fence, and failed miserably. “Like a lying, backstabbing cheater!”
“Such slander coming from the likes of you, Gutch? My brother died atop the Dome because of you.”
“Your brother was an idiot!”
“I’ll deal with you in a moment!” he shouted back. “Now, listen to me carefully, warrior. I am Bajwa and I run this town. You’re obviously a bodyguard of some skill, but this treacherous pig is not worth dying for. You stabbed one of my boys to death and crippled another, but I’ll keep your horses and call that a fair trade. There’s only one way your employer is getting out of here. But you? You can just walk away.”
Jagdish didn’t budge. “Then I wouldn’t be much of a bodyguard.”
“A man who actually knows the value of a contract is a rare thing. What’s this fool paying? I’ll beat it, because I could use a swordsman like you.”
“It’s sad so many of my caste can be bought so cheaply that you take it for granted.” Jagdish studied the faces of the workers waiting to kill him. Whatever Bajwa was paying, it was motivation enough. “I’m sorry, but you can’t have him. I need him first. If you want Gutch, you have to go through me.”
“Thank you!” Gutch shouted.
Bajwa ran one hand through his sparse hair, frustrated. “You know why men of honor are so rare these days? They all die pointlessly for no good reason. Kill him, boys.”
The gang began their approach.
“A Protector!” The one who had been sent to drag off their wounded man came running back through the junkyard looking like there was a sea demon on his heels. “A Protector’s coming!”
These criminals had no problem fighting Jagdish, but when they heard one of the ultimate servants of the Law was on his way, their eyes widened in terror.
“I probably can’t beat all of you, but I swear I’ll last long enough for him to see you strike me down,” Jagdish declared. “Then you can try and explain it to the Law.”
“We’re not done, warrior,” Bajwa snarled. Then he raised his voice. “Fortune favors you again, Gutch.”
“Your sister favored me once too, Bajwa! Now run like the cur you are.”
“Let’s go, boys. We’ll catch Gutch and his friend later.” The gang leader spun one finger in the air. The workers immediately began to disperse. Jagdish hadn’t even noticed that there were side doors into the brick buildings, but they would have done them no good. It wasn’t until the gang pounded on them with an oddly cadenced knock that they were unlocked from the other side.
If the Protector went looking for them, the criminals would probably just blend in with the regular workers. From what he’d seen earlier, the locals would cover for them. The Protector would never know that they hadn’t been there, innocently lifting heavy things or whatever pointless business it was workers did all day.
Sadly, Jagdish and Gutch weren’t getting out that way, and none of the locals would lie for outsiders. Even though they could claim to just be the victims of a robbery, they couldn’t afford the attention of a Protector. They needed to get out of here fast. He sheathed his sword and ran to the fence.
Gutch was red faced and out of breath from trying to grab the top.
“Can’t you just crash through?”
“I tried. I bounced off!”
Jagdish looked it over. Gutch could boost him to the top, but there was no way he’d be able to pull up the giant. That left one option. Jagdish sighed as got on his hands and knees. If only his family could see the lengths he was going through to save their name…“Stand on me. Hurry.” Gutch didn’t hesitate, and immediately planted one big boot on his back. “Ooof.” It had to be what getting stepped on by an elephant was like. Jagdish wanted to curse Gutch for being so damned large, but there wasn’t time. It was painful, but it worked, and this time Gutch caught the top of the fence and struggled up. He swung one meaty arm down. Jagdish grabbed his hand and was hoisted up as if he weighed nothing.
House of Assassins Page 8
