by Craig Askham
“I know them,” Ironshoulder replied. This was useful information, both for now and for the future. The gods only knew how much time that alleyway between the bakery and the brothel was going to save. If he could prevent Lekan from blowing the whole operation, obviously. If the portal ended up getting closed down for good, knowing about the shortcut wasn’t going to do him much good from a billion or so light years away.
“If you want another shortcut, take a little jog right across the barrack’s training ground and there’s a climbable wall that’ll get you to Holkham Park.” She sounded a little sullen, now. Almost as if she hadn’t just made more money in the last few minutes than she’d probably made in the last few weeks. There was no pleasing some people. “From there, you’re a short jog away from where you want to be. The barracks is a risk, for obvious reasons, but there’s no way your friends will go that way so you should be able to make up some time there. Happy now?”
“Thank you, Sally. Or whatever your real name is.” He reached into his purse for one more coin, and tossed it to her. She caught it deftly, and it disappeared.
“Sally will do fine,” she muttered, and branched off on a path leading away from him. “Good luck, goodbye, and good riddance.”
He waited until she was almost out of sight before he called out to her.
“Perhaps I’ll come back later and tell you all about my legendary sense of humour,” he lied. For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer. He’d already lengthened his stride into a lazy jog by the time her voice floated back to him on the back of a fresh waft of spicy rat.
“You know where to find me, soldier.”
Six
Ironshoulder dropped silently onto the lawn of the barracks. The shortcut had gone exactly as the prostitute had said it would, and he knew he was closer to the portal right now than he would have been if he’d travelled his usual route. A few troublemakers had been brave enough to try and rob him as he crossed the market, detaching themselves from the shadows and ghosting across the otherwise deserted plaza with wicked looking knives by their sides. He’d quickly discouraged them from thinking such thoughts, and instead sent them on their way with other, more pressing concerns to worry about.
So, here he was. A short sprint away from the merchant quarter, across the well-maintained grass that belonged to the king’s finest soldiers. If the Watchman hadn’t already diverted Pej and his charge from their path, there was a chance he could still intercept them before they made it to the portal. Admittedly, this was based on a couple of pretty large assumptions, not least of which was his rather rushed calculation regarding the speed at which he was travelling in comparison to his slower quarry. He was also assuming, of course, that he was going to make it over the wall on the other side of the lawn without getting caught. And if it turned out the Watchman had already diverted the gamer and his guide to the dungeons, then so be it. At least the portal would be safe from imminent discovery, and he’d have more time to gather whatever reinforcements would be deemed necessary to go about their rescue.
He paused on the springy lawn, breathing in its scent. The grass could only have been cut earlier in the day, and it smelt divine. Hidden from view by a statue of some queen or other that was half a head taller than he was, he peered around the stone mound of her breasts and watched the back of one of the dozen sentries he’d already spotted doing their rounds. As soon as he or she was out of sight around the corner of the barrack’s white-washed wall, he set off in a crouched run. Halfway to the wall he realised he’d misjudged it, hearing muffled conversation from the direction the sentry had disappeared in. His first instinct was to pause but he ignored it, instead digging his heels into the yielding turf to change direction. Speeding up, he went hell-for-leather in the direction of another statue, sliding to his knees like he was trying to reach the safety of first base after a particularly poor swipe at a baseball. He wasn’t much of a sportsman, and he had a lot of muscle to shift, but he skidded to a halt just as the same sentry he’d watched disappear came back into view, this time accompanied by whoever owned the second voice.
Ironshoulder climbed to his knees and waited, looking behind him at the trail of ruined grass in his wake. There were lanterns dotted about here and there, but they hopefully weren’t casting enough light for the soldiers to notice anything untoward. The moons seemed brighter here, casting slivers of light to break up the eerie darkness. They still weren’t bright enough to betray him, though. He hoped. Placing a hand carefully on the arm of the statue, he looked around to try and see what had caused the sentry to return with a friend. They were gone, though. Or so he thought, until his well-trained ears picked up a strange slurping noise above the buzzing of insects and, somewhere in the near distance, the trickling of a fountain. He recognised those slurping sounds. The soldiers hadn’t disappeared at all; straining his eyes, he looked deeper into the shadows of the attractive single-storey building that couldn’t have looked any less like the dull, functioning barracks he was used to. There. He waited longer, and slowly started to see movement up against the edge of the wall, almost completely hidden beneath the shadow of the overhanging roof. A hand, fingers splayed, maybe stroking the back of a head. A gasp of surprise, or pleasure, or both, and some more slurping sounds.
Using the statue’s arm to pull himself back to his feet, he glanced up at it for the first time, expecting to see another queen. Maybe even a king. Instead, however, he found himself looking at the mischievous grin of a giant child playing a harp, and what he thought was an arm was actually a disproportionate penis. Letting go as if it suddenly burned, and then feeling stupid for doing so, he held his breath as the thick silver ring on his thumb scraped across the stone phallus.
“Did you hear that?” A female voice, slightly panicky and out of breath.
“Shush. We don’t have long. Keep rubbing it.” A male voice, not even slightly panicky, but just as out of breath.
Ironshoulder shook his head at the impish child, letting out his breath slowly. There was quiet for a few moments, and then the kissing began again, followed immediately by a groan. He set off across the lawn once again, anxious to be long gone by the time the slurping noises turned into squelching ones. Thirty fraught seconds later, he was pressed up against the tall stone wall that marked the boundary of the property. Twenty feet high was a conservative estimation, but it seemed as climbable as Sally Slapcabbage had promised thanks to the slapdash skills of whoever had built it. Reaching up for a jutting stone that made for a perfect handhold, he gripped it tight and hauled his bulk off the ground. The going was slow, precarious in places, but eventually he managed to swing a leg over the top of the wall. The rest of him followed, and he sat atop the uneven construction as if it was a horse, one leg dangling either side whilst he caught his breath. Suddenly aware that he was sticking out like the silhouette of a sore thumb in his elevated position, he swung his trailing leg over the wall and dangled by his fingertips until he worked up enough courage to let himself drop. The fall seemed to take forever, certainly long enough for his stomach to say a quick hello to his mouth, but he landed deftly on both feet and bent at the knees to absorb the impact on his joints.
“Givrok?” The voice sounded surprised, and familiar. Pej Vahdat.
“That sonofabitch. His arse is so fired.” That one was Lekan, he guessed.
“Shut your mouth,” Pej hissed.
Ironshoulder looked around, grateful that something finally seemed to be going his way today. There they were, thirty feet ahead of him, halted midstride and turned around to regard him. Obviously, his landing hadn’t been quite as deft as he’d thought. The Stillwater guide had also done very well indeed to have identified him from such a distance in the pale moonlight.
“Where’s the Watchman?” he demanded, turning to look left in the direction the pair of them had to have come from. The streets were wide here in the merchant quarter, so as to allow at least three horse-drawn carts to pass each other with relative ease. Th
ere were no lanterns lit yet, possibly wouldn’t be at all, as the merchant quarter didn’t have much need for them once the traders and businessmen had gone home for the evening. If it hadn’t been for the moons poking their noses in, and a small smattering of lights still on in some of the upper windows of warehouses where former Watchmen supposedly set up watch to guard their employers’ wares, the whole area would have been pitch black. Ironshoulder didn’t worry about the fat old Watchmen who’d been put out to pasture; it was late enough for them to be guarding nothing but the backs of their eyelids. Of the current Watchman, who seemed a long way off retiring to the easy life, there was no sign. That didn’t mean too much, Ironshoulder knew; he could be watching them from mere feet away, and they wouldn’t know it until he popped up to say boo.
“I’ve seen no Watchman,” Pej replied. “We weren’t followed, Givrok.”
“You bloody were,” he shot back immediately, looking further down the road at the hulking dark building that was the mirror warehouse, but managing to curb the temptation to point a giveaway finger at it. “Seems like I got here just in time.”
“What a hero,” the guide murmured. “I’m starting to think my friend Lekan has the right idea about you, Mr. Ironshoulder.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, there was a dull thud, not unlike wood on bone. Pej stiffened suddenly, gasped, and then wobbled at the knee. Seconds later, his legs gave way underneath him and he folded in on himself. Ironshoulder didn’t need to be close enough to see his eyes to know that they’d just rolled up in his head. As the guide’s face struck the cobbles and the force of his fall dragged Lekan to his knees, a dark figure took their place. Instinctively, Ironshoulder pressed his back up against the wall.
“City Watch,” the figure said in a calm voice, almost conversational in tone. Something about him didn’t look right in the gloom. He had a body and two legs, but seemingly only one arm. It took a few seconds for the Stillwater agent to figure out the other arm was extended in his direction, and the arm was either severely misshapen or it was pointing a weapon at him. There was no sign of the cudgel that had cracked Pej across the skull, which Ironshoulder would have fancied his chances against, but if the shadowy weapon was the crossbow he suspected it was, he didn’t fancy those chances one little bit. “I’d very much appreciate a few quiet words with our mutual friend here, stranger. You also, if I’m honest, but I suspect it will be something of a struggle to get you to come quietly.”
“On the contrary,” said Ironshoulder. “It seems I have no choice other than to come quietly. You have me at quite the disadvantage, officer.”
The Watchman grabbed Lekan’s collar and hauled him to his feet, keeping his eyes and his weapon on Ironshoulder the whole time. The Stillwater agent moved slowly into a more comfortable position against the wall, careful not to do anything that might tempt the other man to unload that crossbow in his direction. Feigning nonchalance, he lifted his left foot and placed the sole of his boot against the wall. All he needed now was an e-cigarette, and he’d be the very definition of cool. Or maybe just a hat with a brim that he could push away from his eyes, considering an e-cigarette would be quite difficult to get hold of on this side of the portal. Be cool. Keep him away from the warehouse. Don’t kill him, unless you want to end up wearing that wig.
“I won’t underestimate you, soldier,” said the Watchman. “Somehow you passed me on the way here, which makes me wary of you.” He pulled Lekan close to his body, snaking his free arm around his neck like a human shield. “And curious.” The addendum was accompanied by a grim smile.
“You know what they say, officer. Curiosity killed the cat.”
The Watchman pursed his lips, and nodded as if he was in total agreement.
“No.” There was steel in his voice now, maybe a hint of anger. “I didn’t know they said that. I don’t even know who they are. Which, I think, is part of the reason we find ourselves in this predicament.”
Lekan put his hands to the arm that was pressed against his throat, and tried in vain to loosen it a little. Still, the Watchman only had eyes for Ironshoulder.
“I’d like to go home, now,” the gamer said in a small voice, and Ironshoulder rolled his eyes. Too late for humility now, you dolt.
“And where might that be, then?”
“Keep your mouth shut, Lekan,” Ironshoulder ordered. “Right to remain silent, and all that.” He was making it up as he went along, now. Violence was his thing, and the ability to frighten people into behaving themselves. Diplomacy, though? Not so much. How many Earth references had he already dropped into this conversation? I perform well under pressure. That was one of the bullshit lines he’d bandied about in the interview for this job, and it was coming back to bite him on the backside now.
The Watchman grinned.
“What have I stumbled upon here?” he wondered. “Where’s home, Lekan?” He looked quickly at the politician, and then straight back at Ironshoulder. “And you, soldier. From where do you hail? Which armies have you fought in? Why are you so worried about what this man has to say?”
“I want to go home,” Lekan said, more firmly this time. “What is your name, officer? If you can guarantee my safe passage home, I think there might be a deal to be done that would give you the information you desire.”
Ironshoulder closed his eyes, and then pushed himself purposefully away from the wall with the foot that had been resting on it. Immediately, the crossbow followed him. He halted, facing the pair of them and the fallen guide, hands in the air.
“One more step, soldier,” the Watchman dared him. “One more step.” Satisfied that Ironshoulder was going to do as he was told, he loosened his grip on Lekan so that he could turn his captive to face him and make eye contact. “I am Sergeant Rikur Jannath. The only safe passage I can promise you is to the nearest dungeon, I’m afraid. Once there, I’ll get the answers I need. No rush.”
“Take me to the old mirror warehouse just up the street, Sergeant Jannath. I’ll show you personally, because you simply won’t believe it otherwise.”
Ironshoulder sighed. What had started out as such a boring shift was threatening to get out of hand. He eyed up the idiot gamer’s wig, imagining how ridiculous it was going to look framing his own, square-jawed face. No. There’s a way out of this without killing him. I just need to find it.
“The old mirror warehouse, you say?” Rikur Jannath knew exactly which building Lekan was referencing, and couldn’t help but turn to look at it over his shoulder. Ironshoulder started moving, silently. “I can’t help but wonder if you’ve given that information up a little too easily, my friend.”
“Please.” Lekan went weak at the knees as he spoke, wide eyes fixed on Ironshoulder as he approached. The distracted Watchman allowed himself to be dragged forward, and inadvertently dipped the crossbow to point at the ground. Ironshoulder dispensed with subtlety, and sped up. As soon as he did, the sergeant whipped the crossbow back up and panic-pulled the trigger. The bulky Stillwater agent swayed like a dancer, and the bolt disappeared harmlessly into the night.
“Bollocks.” Jannath realised his mistake, and Ironshoulder grinned at how English he sounded. Closing the last few feet, he sent a fist crashing towards the other man’s jaw.
The Watchman’s instincts were lightning-fast; he rolled away from the blow at the last second and, although he was unable to avoid it entirely, the brunt of it was deflected by his fluid movement. Letting go of Lekan, he nonetheless followed the path of his downward momentum, dropping to his knees and punching Ironshoulder in the balls before rolling away to safety. Ironshoulder clamped his knees together as he doubled over, momentarily forgetting everything that had previously seemed to matter. Nausea overwhelmed him, and he spewed a mix of feijen and bile all over Lekan’s chest. A random thought pierced the pain – I hope I didn’t get any on the wig – but, for the life of him, he couldn’t think why it mattered.
It was only when Jannath’s fist smashed into his cheek that Ironshoulder manag
ed to regain a small sense of self-preservation. He buckled under the blow but, compared to the pain in his testicles, it was nothing; a wake-up call, in fact. Forcing his eyes open even though there wasn’t much to be seen past the swirling stars in front of them, he located what he assumed was the huddled form of Lekan and rolled to the left, dipping his shoulder to allow the rest of his body to follow. Feeling every cobble dig into his back on his way back to his feet, he reached for his knife and somehow managed to be holding it in his right hand by the time he arrived there. Although his vision was starting to clear, he couldn’t rely on it enough to plan his next move. Using nothing more than instinct, he waited a fraction of a second before taking a step back, hoping he was drawing his attacker into committing to an attack he couldn’t back out of. Hearing Jannath’s boot hit the street just in front of him, he swept out his own boot and hooked the Watchman’s calf just as he was in the act of placing all of his weight on that foot. Jannath gave a gasp as he lost his footing, dropping his guard just in time for Ironshoulder to aim a second fist into his jaw. This one was successful, and the Watchman dropped to the ground like a stone.
Shaking his head to clear the last of the stars, the Stillwater agent spat bile over the fallen man’s ponytail. Taking a step forward, he kicked him in the ribs with enough force to crack a few of them. Jannath groaned but, judging by the resistance he felt at the end of his boot, Ironshoulder suspected the presence of chainmail underneath his leather. The next thing he knew, the sergeant had wrapped his hands around the boot that had kicked him, yanked, and Ironshoulder’s back hit the ground with a thud that knocked the air out of his lungs. Determined not to let the Watchman press home any sort of advantage, he rolled immediately onto his front and pushed himself back to his feet with a speed that belied his bulk. Spinning around, he was just in time to catch a glint of moonlight reflecting off a blade, and leapt back. The edge of Jannath’s curved sword scored a line in his leather tunic before catching on an iron buckle. Ironshoulder pivoted as the other man’s momentum carried him forward, and sent a vicious elbow into the side of his head. Movement to his left alerted him to another potential threat, and he flicked his eyes in that direction to see it was just Lekan scrambling to his feet. As he made to flee, Ironshoulder simply swept his legs out from under him and sent him sprawling face first back onto the cobbles. He turned his attention back to Jannath, who was unbelievably almost back on his feet already. The Watchman lunged warily with his sword, testing Ironshoulder’s skill, and the latter skilfully deflected it with the much shorter blade of his knife. That block made his attacker pause and reassess what he’d assumed to be a clear advantage, and the pair of them circled each other for a few moments whilst they tried to regain their senses.
