by Duncan Lay
“Who?”
She flapped her hand impatiently. “Fallon. Leave him to me. But for Aroaril’s sake don’t let anyone eat the porridge until Archbishop Rosaleen has checked it.”
*
Bridgit strode down the corridor, ignoring the drafts of icy wind that whistled down after her, Kerrin at her heels. She reached Fallon’s offices and paused. “Kerrin, go back to your room,” she ordered.
“Mam, I’m not going anywhere. That woman might have doubled back. You need me to protect you,” he said.
“I don’t need protection.” Although your father might need some protection from me, she added silently.
Kerrin showed no signs of going and she sighed in exasperation. “Will nobody in this family listen to me? Go and find your Aunt Nola, tell her about the porridge before someone tries it.”
But before she could hustle him away, Caley barked from inside. The door jerked open a moment later, revealing Fallon. He was pulling a tunic on and looked as if he had not slept well. Bridgit felt a little flicker of pleasure at the thought he had been suffering.
But he sounded normal enough. “Who sounded the alarm?” he asked urgently, looking down the corridor.
“I did. Because you have lost your senses!” Bridgit snapped, before she could stop herself.
“What are you talking about?” he growled.
Bridgit forgot about Kerrin being there. “Well, Lord Protector, thanks to your foolish orders, we had someone trying to kill us both in the kitchen and they have got away!”
“What? One of Munro’s men?” he gasped.
“One of his women actually. Poisoning the porridge and throwing knives at us. But we couldn’t chase them because the guards won’t obey my orders unless they have been signed by you!”
Fallon’s face darkened. “Are you both all right? What happened?”
“No, we are not all right! We haven’t been right since Baltimore!” she cried, feeling shaky from the reaction from her kitchen encounter. “And you are not helping at all!”
“Well, if you had listened to me, we could have caught Munro by now and none of this would have happened!”
“Have you lost your wits? Is there something in this castle that rots men’s brains? We were attacked! If it wasn’t for Kerrin we could be both dead.”
“I will find Munro and destroy him. And I don’t care what I have to do to get him,” Fallon vowed, stepping closer and holding out his arms.
But she was in no mood to embrace him. “Stay back,” she warned.
“Stop it!” Kerrin cried, jumping in between them.
Bridgit took a step back, appalled. They had fought before, obviously, but never when Kerrin could hear. As far as he was concerned, they had never had an angry word before. She glanced at Fallon and saw her own horror mirrored in his face.
“What is the matter with you? Why can’t you be like you were before?” Kerrin demanded.
“It’s not that easy,” Bridgit said gently. “We don’t have a village to look after, we have a country instead.”
“And you have changed too,” Fallon added.
Kerrin burst into tears. “But you have to stop fighting! We have enough fighting to do already with other people. I need you to be together, and happy!”
Bridgit went down on one knee and gathered Kerrin to her, feeling the sobs rack his body. She saw Fallon reach out and pat Kerrin’s head gently and she felt immensely tired. The baby was a weight in her and she could not carry all this as well. Her son was being lost to her and that could not happen. The needs of the people outside this castle, which had sat on her shoulders for so long, melted away.
“There will be no more fighting. I shall look after you and the baby and leave your father to look after the country. It will be like it was before,” she said brightly. A nagging voice in the back of her head told her not to step back like this but she ignored it. She had done enough. More than enough!
“It will?” Kerrin asked, drying his eyes.
“It will?” Fallon asked, looking down at her.
She looked up at him, unable to even muster indignation, let alone anger. Part of her knew this was an emotional decision and she should stop and think for a few moments but the habit of a lifetime could not be denied. Nothing was worth hurting Kerrin.
“The Ruling Council is yours. I am stepping down for my health and the health of the baby,” she said tiredly. “You can tell that to whoever you like. Kerrin, help me back to our room. I need to rest.”
“Here, let me help you,” Fallon offered but she held up her hand.
“You have done more than enough,” she told him. “You wanted this country for your own. Well, it is yours now. Do what you want, I don’t care. Leave me out of it.”
*
“I don’t know what sort of poison it is, but it is deadly,” Rosaleen said, holding the bottle up to the light. “She put perhaps half in this porridge but just a spoonful would be enough to kill a man. We need to take this out of the city and bury it, even the cauldron, because anything that eats it will die.”
“May I?” Fallon took the bottle and inspected the colorless potion inside. It did not smell but it was thick, like porridge itself. “Could you save someone who had taken it?”
“Probably. If I got to them early enough. But at the very least they would suffer unbelievable agony.”
“Good to know,” Fallon said, slipping it into a pouch.
“What will you do with it?” Rosaleen asked.
“Keep it safe,” he said. “Now, to other matters. I will be bringing you men today. You will read their minds for me.”
She shook her head. “You know I don’t like doing that.”
“I don’t care what you like. Munro nearly killed us all. You will do as I say.”
“How dare you speak to me like that!” Rosaleen cried indignantly. “If not as the Archbishop then as your friend I deserve respect.”
But Fallon was already walking away. He was done listening to complaints. It was time to let Berry know who was really in charge.
*
“You will read this out today and every day until I tell you to stop,” Fallon ordered.
The assembled town criers looked doubtfully at the scrolls they had been given. Fallon was more than happy with what he had come up with. Anyone caught shouting about Swane or against the Ruling Council would lose their place in the ration queue for that day, so lose a day’s food. Anyone who complained lost an extra day. And anyone who helped them catch Munro would get a moon’s extra food.
“I want this message spread across the city. Anyone shouting about Swane, or against me, can find their family going hungry. If they like Swane so much, perhaps he can feed them. If they hate me, they don’t get food,” he said, warming to the idea.
“Lord Protector, we are ready to ride out,” a guard called.
Fallon nodded and stood.
“Is that your new title? Lord?” one of the criers asked.
Fallon was about to deny it. It had come from Bridgit as a sarcastic joke but more and more of his men had taken it up and, he had to admit, he had grown to like it.
“You may call me that,” he said, then snapped his fingers to Caley and hurried down to the stables. He had a busy day planned. And it was going to be a good day, he could feel it.
*
Fallon had spent the morning kicking down doors and chasing men around the city and had an impressive haul of men as he strode into Rosaleen’s church.
The church was full of worshippers and the sight of two score men roped together and surrounded by grim warriors in armor was like releasing a fox into a henhouse. People cried, screamed and scattered in all directions. The sight of Brendan with his bloody hammer was enough to make at least one elderly woman faint. Through the confusion, Rosaleen raced to intercept them.
“This is a church and you would do well to remember that! What are you doing bringing men in here like this?” Rosaleen cried.
“What I told you,
” Fallon said. “I need their minds read.”
“Have some respect!” Gallagher spat, pushing past fleeing worshippers to hurry to his wife’s side. “The Archbishop is not some recruit of yours to be ordered around!”
Fallon ignored him and gestured at the men. “Start at the beginning. I need to know what they do.”
“How dare you! Get out of this house of Aroaril!” Gallagher grabbed at his arm and Fallon stepped back, hand going to his shillelagh. The church seemed to go silent as they faced each other.
“You would use that on me?” the fisherman asked dangerously.
Fallon said nothing, but neither did he let go of his shillelagh.
“Enough!” Rosaleen cried, stepping in between them. “I shall do what you ask. But bring these men out the back, this is not seemly.”
Fallon stared at Gallagher but the fisherman did not drop his eyes, nor his angry look. Fallon was careful not to turn his back on Gallagher as he led his haul of prisoners past the altar and out into the rear of the church.
Rosaleen gave him a glare that would have melted iron then pushed past him to grab the first prisoner. She closed her eyes, her mouth moving silently. Then she released him.
“He knows nothing,” she said shortly.
The second man shied away from her and Brendan shoved him in the back.
“Resist and it could go badly for you,” Rosaleen warned. “I have seen men lose their minds through this. Relax, and let me into your memories and it will not hurt.”
Once again she grabbed the man’s head and closed her eyes. The sweating man tried to jerk away but she held him firm. Then, with a revolting noise, his bowels gave way and the stench made them all turn away.
“Aroaril!” Fallon spat.
Rosaleen let go and staggered backwards, her face ashen.
“What is it? What did you learn?” Fallon demanded.
By way of answer, the man giggled and looked around, a foolish smile on his face.
“His mind is gone,” Rosaleen said, her voice a croak, then clutched her hand over her mouth and raced away.
“This is your fault, not hers!” Gallagher said furiously, then tore after her, leaving them alone with the prisoners, who were edging away from the stinking one. “What now?” Brendan asked.
“Back to the castle and try something else,” Fallon said, then covered his nose and gestured at the man, who was now rummaging in his own trews with an expression of wonder on his face.
“But leave this one behind.”
*
“Who is paying you? Who told you to shout about Swane?” Fallon demanded.
Behind him, Brendan twirled his hammer menacingly, letting the man see the stains on its scarred head.
The man sobbed slowly, blood oozing out of his nose and mouth.
“I don’t know his name!” he cried.
“Not good enough. Tell me something, or I’ll have Brendan do the asking. And he’s not as gentle as I am,” Fallon threatened.
The man’s bruised eyes flickered around the room but there was no escape and he sagged in his bonds.
“I don’t have a name but I can give you an address,” he said dejectedly. “I didn’t mean any harm, I just wanted the silver.”
Fallon turned away to hide his smile of relief.
“Get hold of Bran. I want two teams ready to go. But we’ll have to use the roofline. They’ll be watching the streets below,” he said.
“Do you think it’s Munro?” Brendan asked.
“I bloody hope so,” Fallon said fervently. He knew that was unlikely. But, with a little luck, the paymaster might lead him to Munro.
The address led to a small house in a peaceful part of town, nothing too poor but not rich either, the sort of house owned by working men and minor traders. It faded into the background of the city, which made it perfect as a hideout, for it was impossible to move large numbers of men into the area without attracting attention. But that only applied if you used the actual street. Having practiced moving around on the roofs, Fallon’s men brought up the ladders that Brendan had invented and used the darkness to move stealthily into position.
Fallon and a dozen men, all on horses, waited at a nearby street corner, Craddock acting as watchman, while Brendan led men onto the house’s roof.
“At least we are getting to know the city with all the searching we are doing. First the Snatchers and now Munro,” Devlin whispered.
“Pay attention,” Fallon hissed. He could feel his heart pounding and wished he was up on the roof, preparing to break in. With the roof sealed off, a second party led by Bran would gallop up to the back door while Fallon led these men to the front. It was complicated but, if it worked, he reckoned it would be more than worth it.
“Looks like they are both ready to move in,” Craddock reported.
“That’s it. Give the signal,” Fallon ordered another of his faithful Baltimoreans, a grizzled old fisherman called Donnchadh.
Donnchadh blew two long blasts on the horn he carried, then Fallon kicked his horse into movement, its hooves slipping slightly on the icy cobbles, before it built up into a gallop. As he raced down the street, doors and windows banged open, while a series of crashes announced that Brendan’s men were breaking into the top story of the house. Devlin, riding at Fallon’s shoulder, turned his head.
“Do you think that was the roof giving way under Brendan’s weight?” he shouted.
Fallon ignored him, instead watching the front door of the nondescript house. It did not open and he hauled on his reins, his horse fighting to keep its balance, until he could jump down and draw his shillelagh. He did not want deaths—only men captured.
The door was locked but yielded to the second shoulder charge, when Fallon was joined by Craddock and Devlin, and the three of them shattered the lock and burst inside.
There was plenty of shouting upstairs but little light and Fallon stood there, poised, waiting for his eyes to adjust. A few moments later, the back door burst open and Bran and his men poured inside. Upstairs, the shouting had died down and the stairs reverberated a heavy tread.
“That better be Brendan,” Devlin whispered, as they moved across to the steps.
“All’s clear up here. We’ve got what looks like a family living here,” Brendan said. “We’ll bring them down now.”
“Search everywhere. Knock holes in everything. There could be hidden rooms anywhere,” Fallon ordered, disguising the sting of disappointment with harshness. “And somebody get a fire going and then we’ll talk to these people.” Maybe they would have some knowledge of who had been here.
But the family, a woman and her three young children, proved to be useless. They were obviously terrified of the armed men and of Brendan in particular and gabbled answers to any question asked of them. They had broken in through a window and were sleeping out of the cold because they had lost their home when they had failed to pay that moon’s rent.
“Either Munro is a genius using people such as these or they are who they say,” Bran muttered.
“Get them some food and tell them they can stay here. But we need to fix the doors and leave a few men to keep an eye on the house. Maybe Munro or one of his lieutenants will come back,” Fallon suggested, more out of hope than anything else. He could see none of his men believed it and he had to bite down on his anger. “Good work. We probably just missed him. But we’ll get him next time.”
*
“For Aroaril’s sake!” Fallon kicked a chunk of broken door across the room and raged back and forth, using every curse he had ever heard and a few he made up on the spot.
Nobody said anything, or met his eyes. Once again his men had swept in and surrounded a house but all they’d found were footprints in the dust, showing that men had recently been there.
“Munro is obviously moving around every day,” Devlin said. “Catching him is like trying to find a good-looking sheep in a flock—”
Fallon rounded on him. “If you make another stupid jest, you w
ill not be coming along on another raid,” he told him coldly. “I’m not in the mood.”
“I’m sick of going on these anyway, and being treated like a fool! I’ve been right by your side from the beginning and this is the thanks I get!” Devlin snarled, then stormed out of the room.
Fallon shook his head. First Gallagher, then Devlin. Was there nobody willing to stand with him?
“What next?” Brendan asked stolidly.
“Let’s see what the recruits are up to and how training is going,” Fallon said with a sigh.
CHAPTER 58
“We have to stay off the streets. They are destroying our safe houses one by one and increasing the reward every day.”
“How much is it?” Munro asked. “If it’s big enough, I shall be tempted to turn myself in.”
He raised a few chuckles but it was a mark of how they were all feeling that it only got a small response.
“What is the matter with you?” Munro demanded. “We have turned Berry against Fallon. The seeds we have sown have borne fruit this cold winter. The word is out on the street that you can get free food in the castle by shouting against Fallon and for Swane. Soon they will begin to believe what they shout is the truth and not just something to earn them another bowl of food.”
“Aye. We have done our job. Now we need to survive to get our rewards,” Jen muttered.
Munro looked around the room and saw from the faces how many of them agreed with that statement, even if they would not say so. He was tempted to chide her but, given she had broken into the castle and risked her life trying to poison Fallon’s friends, her courage was beyond question.
“Do you all feel like that? That we should hide in our holes until the Prince and Duchess return for us, like so many moles?” he demanded.
“Fallon will show us no mercy if he catches any of us. He’ll turn Brendan loose on us with his bloody hammer until we give up where you are. It just takes one of us to be snatched up and we shall all come tumbling down. And we’ve made Fallon so angry that our deaths will not be easy,” Jen said.
