The Hammer and the Blade

by Paul S. Kemp

  "That's him," the guard said, pointing at a large, bearded man who stood near the door. Seeing her approach, the man frowned, barked an order out the door of the Tunnel, and walked toward her. She lost her imperiousness when she looked around at the destruction in the common room. Dozens of Gadd's tankards had been broken, a spilled piss pot stained the floor with filth, two stools were broken, a table.

  "You'll be compensated for the damage," the man said. He nodded at the young guard behind Tesha and the boy scurried off.

  "By whom?" she asked.

  Baras licked his lips. "You'll be compensated."

  "Where are Egil and Nix?" she asked. "Where's your writ?"

  "Madam–"

  "Do not 'madam' me," she said. "Where are they? And where are you taking them?"

  He studied her face for a long beat, as if taking her measure.

  "Madam, Egil and Nix are arrested. That's all you need to know. Should you insist on interfering further, I will ensure that uniformed watchman be permanently stationed outside this establishment. I imagine that will not help with patronage. I will also ensure that one of the Lord Mayor's revenue men checks and rechecks all taxes paid on this property and the goods it sells. Is that something you'd welcome?"

  Tesha felt her face color. She clamped her mouth shut lest her rage spill out in a flurry of expletives. She understood well the impulse that had caused Egil to punch the loudmouth hiresword. She'd have done the same to the bearded bunghole before her if she could've.

  "So I thought," Baras said. "None of this is your concern, madam. Forget you saw anything here tonight."

  With that, the man turned and walked away.

  Tesha stomped her foot on the wood floor. "Shite!"

  CHAPTER SIX

  Nix came to moments or hours later, his head covered in a sack of burlap. He was dizzy from the beating he'd taken, and the sack cocooned him with the sour, fetid stink of his own breath. He feared he might puke and make things worse.

  Two men held him by his biceps, wrenching his shoulders as they dragged him. His hands were bound behind his back, going numb from blood deprivation. He was also bound at the ankles and his feet slid limply along the paving stones. The men bearing him grunted with the exertion.

  He presumed he had been disarmed, though he could not verify it.

  Was he still in the Tunnel? Maybe on the street outside?

  "Quickly now," one of the men bearing him said, and Nix recognized the voice of Beard. "Get them in and get them gone."

  It occurred to him that he might still be shrunken. If so, when the magic of the wand wore off, he'd return to normal size and the bindings on his wrists and ankles would cut into him. He'd be maimed or worse.

  The thought of losing his hands quickened his heart. Nix the Cripple didn't sound half as appealing as Nix the Quick. He was about to confess that he was awake when the other man spoke and did him a favor.

  "Whoreson couldn't do us the courtesy of staying shrunk, eh?"

  Nix exhaled a stinking, relieved breath and offered a silent thanks to Aster, who watched over scoundrels.

  "Just get them out of here," Beard said. "They're asking a lot of questions inside the tavern."

  Inside the tavern. Then he was just outside the Tunnel. He considered raising a ruckus, but didn't see the point. It would only earn him another blow to the head. And no one in the Tunnel could help him. He and Egil had been arrested under the authority of the Lord Mayor, at least ostensibly. Whores, madams, and a barely literate tapkeep wouldn't know it was a sham, and even if they did, they wouldn't risk trouble with the city authorities. Nix couldn't blame them.

  Not an hour ago, Nix had entertained thoughts of crawling into bed with Kiir, of sleeping with his arms around Tesha.

  So much for either of those.

  He really didn't understand why everyone thought him lucky.

  "One, two, three," one of the men said, and his captors tossed him face first into the back of straw-lined wagon. His jaw hit the boards and the impact caused him to bite his tongue. He gritted his teeth against the flash of pain, swallowed the blood, and held his silence.

  The straw smelled of goat and dung. His tongue throbbed, and his shoulders, head, and jaw all ached, but he feigned unconsciousness until the men moved off. He heard them talking some distance away from the cart, but the sack and the beat of his heart in his head allowed him to make out only useless bits of the conversation.

  Tentatively, he tried the knots on his wrist – tight, skillfully tied. He could work himself free given enough time, even with his hands mostly numb, but he had no idea how much time he had or whether anyone was watching him.

  "Is that you?" said Egil in a low tone.

  "Aye," Nix answered softly.

  "You and your damned gewgaws," Egil grumbled.

  "Even bound you can't resist a jab."

  "Apologies," Egil whispered. "We're not shrunk anymore."

  "I know. You all right?"

  "Not especially," Egil said, and shifted his weight. "I'm bloodied, hooded, and trussed like a roasting pig."

  "Me, too," Nix said.

  "We're outside the Tunnel still," Egil said. "I heard them talking."

  The voices of the men grew louder, so Egil and he lapsed into silence. Nix heard a few farewells, and the wagon dipped as two or three men climbed aboard the driver's bench.

  A moment later and the wagon started to move, the wheels slicing quietly through the mud of the road, the men in the front cursing at the horses and each other. Nix thought he made Beard's voice among them, and maybe the pockmarked hiresword.

  Nix still couldn't understand how the hiresword fit in with the four watchmen. They must have been in it together from the outset, the events of the night one big setup.

  But why?

  "What's going on?" Egil whispered.

  "Dunno, and don't care to find out," Nix answered. "Back to back. I undo."

  "Right."

  Making as though the rough ride were causing him to slide toward Egil, Nix rolled onto his side and scooted back until he could reach Egil's bonds. His blood-deprived hands, the bumpy ride, and his own bonds made things difficult, but he got his fingers on Egil's bindings and checked the knot by feel – a foursquare – and started to undo it.

  "Quickly," Egil hissed.

  "You sure?" Nix said over his shoulder. "Because I thought I'd go slow."

  "Just do it."

  Nix got half the knot undone and Egil tried to pull it loose the rest of the way, fouling Nix's progress.

  "Stop!" Nix hissed. "Your movement'll retighten them."

  "Hey!" shouted a voice from the front of the wagon – the hiresword for certain. "They're trying to slip the ropes!"

  Reins jangled, horses neighed, and the wagon stopped abruptly.

  "Stop!" said Beard, and the wagon bobbed as men debarked.

  "Come on!" Egil said. "Move!"

  "Not helping."

  Another of the knot's squares loosened.

  "Stop!" Beard again.

  "You… already… said… that," Nix said.

  A thump against the side of the wagon, a curse as someone tried to climb the side and slipped off into the road. Hurried boot steps on the cobbles, coming around the back of the wagon.

  "That's it!" Nix said, feeling the last of Egil's knot give way. "Go!"

  Frantic motion beside him, Egil lurching up. The priest shouted a challenge and Nix imagined Egil pulling off his hood, lashing out with his fists.

  "Four of them, Nix," Egil shouted, then grunted as a punch or truncheon struck him. "Whoreson!"

  Another blow landed, the dull thud of wood on flesh. Another grunt of pain from Egil. Nix worried at his own knots, but was making too little progress. He cursed as more blows slammed into Egil. More grunts from the priest, a few more curses, and then it was over. Egil fell heavily back, groaning.

  "Fakking bungholes!" Nix said. "My blade's soon to make a home between your ribs!"

  "Can I shut him up?" th
e hiresword said.

  "Aye," said Beard. "Knock him out and be sure of it this time."

  "Right," said the hiresword.

  There was a dull thunk, another groan, and Egil went still beside him.

  "Shit," Nix cursed.

  "Didn't have to go this way," Beard said. "All you had to do was sit still."

  "Fak you," Nix said, and braced himself.

  The blow to his head still summoned a grunt of pain. He saw sparks, lovely fireworks like those the cults fired from the Archbridge. They lasted only a moment, then he saw nothing at all.

  Nix came to with a groan, someone shaking him hard by the shoulders. His head was still covered in the damned sack, but he wasn't in the cart anymore. Instead he sat on cold earth, the damp seeping through his trousers. He caught a whiff of fish and sewage.

  That put them near the Meander, probably in the Docks.

  How long had he been out this time?

  "Up!" said Beard, still shaking him. "Up, man!"

  The shaking made Nix's head pound. He nearly blacked out again.

  "Wake up, Nix Fall," Beard said again, shaking even harder. "You're soon to be in the presence of your betters."

  "That ain't saying much," Nix managed. His mouth sounded like it was filled with cloth.

  "Still with the smart mouth," Beard said. He shook him again, but a bit more gently.

  "Enough, man! I'm awake." Nix tried to push him away but his hands were still bound. His head started to clear a bit. "Where's Egil? Egil!"

  "Here," Egil answered, from Nix's left.

  Nix did not bother a go at the bonds. He'd never slip them quickly enough, and he had no desire to take another blow to the head. He resigned himself to the mercy of his captors, taking solace in the fact that if they'd wanted him dead, he'd already be dead.

  Unless, of course, he'd done something to earn himself a slow, painful death.

  Had he?

  He didn't remember anything, but he'd had a fair number of nights recently with which his memory had only distant relations.

  "Egil, we should drink less," he said.

  "Bah. We should fight better. Or use fewer damned gewgaws."

  "Fair point," Nix said. He turned his bagged head in the direction he'd last heard Beard speak. "So, listen, if this is about that job you mentioned back in the Tunnel, we've had some time to reconsider…"

  Dark chuckles from before him and behind, at least four men, all of them within a few paces. No doubt several more were within earshot, as they had been back at the tavern.

  "Gods, man," Beard said. "Do you ever stop blathering?"

  "He fancies himself a wit," said the hiresword. "Never knowing his mouth is full of shite."

  "I thought you said I was in the presence of my betters?" Nix said, blinking at a particularly painful ache behind his eye. "That hiresword with the eyeshine is two steps below the hindquarters of a horse. Hey, tell 'em how you got that eyeshine, Hindquarters."

  "You shut your hole," said the hiresword, and Nix heard him take a step toward him.

  "That's enough," said Beard, though Nix wasn't sure if he was talking to him or the hiresword.

  "Is that the Hindquarters I backhanded at the Tunnel?" Egil said, joining in. "I didn't recall his voice being so girlish."

  Nix chuckled, though it made his head ache worse.

  "Fak you both," the hiresword said sharply.

  "It is girlish," said Nix. "I hadn't noticed before. I suspect he was stabbed in the genitals at some point. Or perhaps was born without balls. Which is it, Hindquarters? We're all aflutter with curiosity."

  A sudden cuff to the side of the head caused Nix to see sparks. He fell to his side and balled up on the floor, expecting another beat down. Hands seized him by the shirt and jerked him off the ground.

  "I said that's enough," Beard said. "Enough, Jyme. And you, Nix Fall, you shut your godsdamned mouth. It runs like it has the fakkin' trots."

  Jyme ignored Beard and pulled Nix close. "Let me tell you something, Nix the Lucky. I knew these mates here from way back, when I was still watch. I saw them coming into the tavern while your big friend was showing me out."

  "Tossing you out, you mean," Nix said. "And I'm surprised you could see anything through that eyeshine."

  Egil chuckled. "Went down as easy as a child."

  "Fak you, priest!" Jyme said. Then, to Nix, "I waited outside to get at you two, see? But then these mates came out and Baras told me they was looking to nab you two. Well, I signed up then and there for that."

  Now Nix had a name for Beard – Baras.

  Jyme gave Nix a rough shake. "And it was just happenstance, see? Just the gods smiling on yours truly." He cast Nix back to the ground. "So who's got the luck now, Nix? Who's got it?"

  Nix sat up and his mouth kept going, as if of its own accord. "I didn't hear a word you said, distracted as I was by your breath, which, even through this sack, has stink enough to rouse the dead. You mind starting over back at the beginning?"

  Jyme growled and Nix steeled himself for another blow.

  "Jyme!" said Baras. "That's it. It's done. You're here on my word. You needed a job and now you have one. But you act professional, just as you did when you was watch. That, or you're out."

  "If you're watch," Egil said, "then you're also liars. You denied as much back at the Tunnel."

  "You mind your tongue, priest," Baras snapped. "Call me a liar again and I may let Jyme have his way."

  "What's he going to do, kiss me?" Egil said. "You want to kiss me, Hindquarters?"

  "Fak you," Jyme said.

  "Your mouth keeps tolling the same time, Jyme. Fak you. Fak you. That's all it says. Are you mentally deficient?"

  "Fak you! Er… Fak! Damn you!"

  Nix chuckled.

  "We're not watch," said Baras.

  "Then what in the Eleven Pits is this about?" Egil said.

  "Soon enough and you'll know," answered Baras.

  "Not even a hint?" Nix prodded. "Come on. A small one? Let's make a game of it. Maybe sing a song, too."

  "Shut up!" said Baras, flustered.

  Moments later, Nix heard murmured voices, as if from outside a building. A bolt slid through its housing and a door creaked open. A gust of wind hit him, ripe with the odor of the river. He heard a nightgull call and thought instantly of the Heap and Mamabird. He decided that it wouldn't do for him to die with a bag over his head.

  "My lord," Baras said, and Nix heard smart motion from the other men in the room, as if they were saluting.

  "Baras," said a resonant male voice. Nix did not recognize it. "Who is this?"

  "I'm Nix–" Nix said.

  "Not you, fool," said the man.

  "His name is Jyme, my lord," Baras said. "He served with me once, long ago. He was useful to us in our mission tonight. He needs employ."

  "Useful how?"

  "In capturing these two, my lord. He has no love for them and he's a good man."

  "Agree with the former but disagree with that last," Nix said, but no one acknowledged him.

  "And these are Egil of Ebenor and Nix Fall?" the man asked.

  "They are, my lord," Baras answered.

  "Nix is the mouthy one?"

  "Aye. Mouthy like few others I've ever heard."

  Nix heard the approaching tread of soft shoes. They stopped before him.

  "I didn't want things to go this way," the man said. "But you left me with little choice."

  Nix knew lies when he heard them. Whoever he was, the man had very much wanted things to go exactly as they had.

  "What is it you want?" Nix said. He felt ridiculous speaking through a bag, looking up from the ground.

  The man paced before him. "Right now, I just want you to listen. Will you do that?"

  "I've been known to listen from time to time. Egil?"

  "Speak, man," said the priest. "I can barely feel my hands. And this bag smells like shite."

  The man affected a heavy sigh that sounded as false to Nix as a
wizard's promises.

  "Hear, then. I have two sisters, both young, lovely girls. They're all that's left of my family. And both of them are very sick. I need your help to heal them."