Herald of the Storm s-1

by Richard Ford

  ‘Close your mouth,’ said Steraglio quietly. ‘You’re gawping at these people like they’re wandering around naked. We’re trying to fit in. You staring like that will only draw attention. We might as well have put a monkey in the dress.’

  Rag rallied. They were here to do a job, and she was damned if she’d be the one to cock it up.

  ‘Do we know where we’re going?’ Steraglio asked, looking more and more agitated the longer they wandered through the wide streets.

  ‘Calm down,’ Krupps replied. ‘I know exactly where we’re going.’

  It was clear Steraglio felt as out of place as Rag. A deep frown creased his severe features and he glanced around like a pullet looking out for a fox.

  Before long they came out in a wide, tree lined square. The magnificent lawn in the middle was surrounded by four rows of houses, each protected by spiked iron railings.

  ‘There we are,’ said Krupps, nodding his head to the house at the far north east of the square. ‘Home of Barnus Juno. Richest spice broker in Steelhaven.’

  The house rose up three storeys, but unlike similar sized buildings in other parts of the city its walls were straight, its roof tiled all neat and even.

  ‘So what do we think?’ Krupps directed his question at Steraglio.

  ‘We think all the downstairs windows are barred,’ he replied, squinting across the wide, green lawn. ‘What about the back?’

  ‘No entrance, it backs onto the opera house at the far side.’

  ‘So we’re left with the front door or the second storey.’

  Krupps nodded in agreement. ‘So, Sweets, which is it?’

  Rag froze. This was why they’d brought her. This was her job: breaking into some spice merchant’s house. But how?

  ‘Erm …’

  ‘I fucking knew it,’ said Steraglio. ‘This was all a waste of fucking time.’

  Krupps gave him a dark look, and Steraglio backed down. He walked off across the lawn, mumbling curses to himself.

  ‘You can get in, can’t you, Sweets?’ Krupps asked. This time his usual gentle tone had the slightest edge.

  Rag had to blag this or come clean and tell him she had no idea how to break houses. If she came clean, that was it with the Guild. It was back to the roof of the Bull and pinching for coppers all over again.

  She smiled at him, and gave him the wink he’d given her so often.

  ‘Course I can, Sweets,’ she said mockingly. She was pleased, and more than a little relieved, when her gamble paid off and Krupps smiled back at her.

  ‘Good girl. So which is it — door or window?’

  Rag looked back to the house. She had little experience picking locks. Fender had tried to show her a couple of times, but all she’d done was bend one of his picks and break the other in a padlock. After that he’d not let her near any of his gear again.

  ‘Window will be easier,’ she said, trying her best to sound like she knew what she was on about.

  ‘Good. That’s good. We know the layout, so there should be no surprises on the night. Just climb up to the first storey, slip in the window, then come down and let us in the front door. Easy as.’

  ‘And this Barnus Juno is definitely away is he?’ she said. The last thing she wanted was to break in and find some angry spice merchant waiting for her with a cleaver.

  ‘He’s in Coppergate. Won’t be back for a week. There’s no one inside … unless of course he left his dog behind.’

  ‘Fucking what?’ she said, probably a little too loudly.

  Krupps laughed. ‘You are so easy to dupe, Sweets. Relax, there’s no dog and no merchant. Just you, us and a pile of money waiting to be taken to its new home.’

  ‘And we know the Guild are on board with this?’ More questions she knew she shouldn’t be asking, but she just couldn’t help herself.

  ‘You need to learn a bit of trust,’ Krupps said, laying a hand on her shoulder. ‘Would we be mad enough to pull this one without the Guild’s say-so? I know Burney’s dumb and Steraglio’s “fearless”, but I’m not mad. Why would I chance bringing that down on myself?’

  That made sense, she supposed. No one wanted to upset the Guild, no matter what the job paid.

  ‘Are you two done yet?’ said Steraglio, tramping his way back across the manicured lawn.

  ‘Just about,’ Krupps replied. ‘We’ll need an iron-crow for the window. You can handle an iron can’t you?’ Rag had no idea what an iron-crow was, but she nodded anyway.

  ‘Right then, now we’ve got that cleared up, let’s go,’ said Steraglio, leading the way back towards the gate and not waiting to see if anyone followed.

  Krupps and Rag moved after him, though he led them at a heady pace. It was like the place was judging them, accusing them before they’d even started, and the quicker they left it behind the better. And it was as they turned a corner, nearly at the gate, that they came to a sudden stop, almost walking straight into two sumptuously dressed ladies.

  One was tall and slim, her face heavily painted but not enough to fill the scores of wrinkles that lined her flesh. Somehow the powder and paint made her look even older and more grotesque than she already was. The other was much shorter and nearly as wide as she was tall, her ample bosom almost spilling out over the top of her red frock.

  Steraglio took a step sideways, frowning his annoyance, and Krupps stepped in before his accomplice could unsettle the women.

  ‘I do apologise,’ he said, affecting a haughty, yet still charming, air. ‘In our haste we almost blundered into you. Do excuse us.’

  The tall woman glanced down her nose in disdain, but her smaller, plumper friend had noticed Rag.

  ‘Oh, what do we have here?’ she said, her smile bloating her cheeks like a drunkard’s belly. ‘How delightful. And what a pretty dress. Where are you off to with your papa, my dear?’

  Rag stared. The woman describing the monstrosity she was wearing as ‘pretty’ had her a bit confused. If she opened her mouth and spoke like the back street cutpurse she was the game was up, so she simply looked on dumbly.

  ‘I’m afraid my daughter is simple,’ said Krupps, quickly grabbing Rag by the arm. ‘Never been the same since her mother’s passing. Her uncle and I are-’

  ‘How terribly tragic.’ The fat woman bent down and stroked a hand through Rag’s hair — thank the gods she’d combed it earlier. As she leaned over, her huge breasts almost fell out of her dress. Rag turned her head in disgust.

  The second woman took a step forward, peering down her long nose. ‘Yes, terribly tragic. What did you say your names were?’

  ‘We didn’t,’ said Krupps with a smile.

  The tall woman peered at him expectantly.

  Krupps seemed stumped. For all his breezy talk it was clear he didn’t know what to say next. This woman looked shrewd: saying the wrong name in the wrong place might have her screaming for the Greencoats.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Rag saw Steraglio reach for something in the sleeve of his jacket. Slowly, a long silver blade appeared in his hand.

  ‘So, your names are …?’ the woman said, her tone becoming serious. She wouldn’t be put off until this was sorted. Her fat friend stopped stroking Rag’s hair and turned to the men doubtfully.

  Steraglio took a single step forward.

  ‘Fuck off, you old bags!’ Rag shouted at the top of her voice.

  With that she bowled past them, knocking into Steraglio and pushing him towards the gate. In that instant they were all moving, Steraglio leading the way and Krupps taking the rear as they tore across the gleaming cobbles and away. When they finally got to the gate it was still open, and they slowed to a walk before sauntering through, Krupps smiling at Westley and the other two Greencoats as he did so.

  ‘That could have gone worse,’ said Krupps cheerily, as they made their way back to the house.

  Rag could only agree with him, glancing towards Steraglio, who had concealed his blade once more. It could have gone a lot bloody worse.

>   TWENTY-FOUR

  Kaira waited in her room for three days. She had been told someone would contact her, but no one came the first night, or the second. The landlord of the Pony and Fiddle didn’t seem to mind her staying there, he simply provided her with food and asked for nothing in return.

  And so she waited.

  In the meantime she busied herself by honing her body and mind, using the scant environment offered by the room to test herself physically and mentally. She used the bed and roof beams to sharpen her muscles: fifty pull-ups, a hundred push-ups, two hundred sit-ups. She lifted the wooden table on her back and squatted till her thighs burned. Then she stretched, gripping her ankles and bending till her forehead touched her knees, keeping her legs arrow straight and touching her palms to the floor, then reaching each arm over one shoulder to bring her hands together behind her back.

  The need to remain strong and supple was not lost on her. This mission would be a difficult one and Kaira had no idea when her fighting prowess would be needed.

  To strengthen her mind she simply sat and prayed. Vorena would only watch over her if she remained resolute of thought and purpose. Nothing must be allowed to sway her, nothing must be allowed to stand in her way. It was not easy to keep focus in a place so alien to all she knew, and without the constant presence of her sisters. The Shieldmaidens were an order used to working as a single unit, and without them by her side, Kaira found it more difficult to find the strength she would need for the task ahead.

  But the undertaking had been given. It was her penance for the loss of control she had displayed. Kaira would carry out her mission, perform her duty, and let nothing stop her.

  On the third day there was a knock at the door.

  She opened it a crack, looking out into the gloom, expecting it to be her contact, but prepared in case it wasn’t. At first all she saw was darkness, but, as her eyes adjusted to the light given off by the single candle in its wall sconce, she saw a figure standing in the gloom.

  ‘Are you going to invite me in?’ came a voice from the dark. It was a woman’s voice, and young. This might have put another at her ease, but Kaira had trained girls who were young, girls who were small, and knew just how dangerous they could be.

  Nevertheless, she took a step back and opened the door to the stranger, her muscles taut and ready for any attack.

  The young girl entered. She was slight, a cloak covering her from head to knee, and when she drew back the hood she was smiling.

  ‘You are well?’ she asked conversationally, as if they were old friends, like this was the most ordinary thing in the world. Like Kaira’s world hadn’t collapsed around her and she hadn’t been disgraced, forced to leave her home and compelled to perform a task for which she was wholly unsuited.

  ‘Who are you?’ said Kaira in reply, in no mood for pleasantries.

  The girl smiled wider. ‘I have lots of names, but you can call me Buttercup.’

  Buttercup? What kind of name was that? It was something old, sentimental farmers called their prized heifers. ‘Is that some kind of joke?’

  The girl’s smile lost some of its humour. ‘You’ll find I joke only on rare occasions. Now is not one of those occasions. So I’ll ask again — are you well? Are you fit?’

  Of course I am fit, I am a Shieldmaiden of Vorena, a defender of the weak, an instrument of righteousness honed and tempered in the flames of battle, ready to strike down the enemies of my gods and my king.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Excellent. You’ll need to be where we’re going. I’ve set up a meet, so all you need do is turn up and perhaps demonstrate some of your … abilities.’

  Kaira was under no illusions as to what that meant. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to kill anyone in the process.

  ‘How will I know what to do once I’ve proved myself?’

  Buttercup inclined her head, as though she were talking to a child. ‘You leave that to me, pet. Try not to do too much thinking. Let’s stick to what we’re good at.’

  Kaira clenched her fists, resisting the temptation to teach this pup some respect, but she felt she would have the chance to vent her frustrations soon enough.

  ‘Shall we?’ said the girl, gesturing to the door.

  Kaira donned her cloak and followed in silence.

  The journey through the streets seemed a little less grimy than it had done when Kaira first left the Temple of Autumn. The people she passed were a little less threatening, the whores a little less pitiful.

  It was with a growing sense of foreboding that she realised she was getting used to the squalor, adapting to it, and that made her more fearful than anything. Within the confines of the Temple she had been shielded from this, somehow kept pure from the rotten taint of the city, but the more she walked its streets, mixed with its lost and forgotten denizens, the greater the chance that she become more like them.

  Kaira gritted her teeth against the prospect. She could never allow herself to be tainted. Despite everything, she was still a Shieldmaiden, still a chosen sister of Vorena, a bright flame in the dark, a beacon for the lost. No matter how deep she trod in the mire she could never forget that.

  ‘We’re here,’ Buttercup said.

  They were north of a bustling meat market, the stench of which almost turned Kaira’s stomach. Buttercup led them down an alley between a pair of tall, stone buildings. Two men waited at the top of a staircase. They nodded at Buttercup as she made her way down into the dark and eyed Kaira with amused suspicion as she passed them. At the bottom of the stairs Buttercup opened a rotting door and moved into a dank cellar.

  The smell of damp assailed Kaira’s nose and she paused to allow her eyes time to adjust to the dark. In the gloom she could see a man with his back to her, sitting at a table. A bottle of wine and a goblet rested to one side of him.

  Buttercup and Kaira waited as the man gorged himself on a plate of cured meats and hard bread, occasionally dipping one or the other into his goblet.

  As she waited, Kaira was aware that there were other figures in the dark, at the edges of the cellar, watching and waiting. Her every nerve was on edge, her every muscle taut and ready to strike at the first sign of danger. Something screamed in her head that this was wrong, that she was putting herself in needless danger, but she managed to quell the compulsion to flee.

  She must go through with this if her mission were not to fail.

  At last the man finished his meal, quaffing down what remained of his wine and wiping his mouth with a cloth. He sat back, breathing out happily, then turned to face the two women.

  ‘Ah, Buttercup,’ he breathed. ‘Always a delight, my dear. And who have you brought to see us?’

  ‘Palien, may I introduce Kaira? Former mercenary, now unfortunately unemployed.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ Palien stood, looking Kaira up and down with an appraising eye. He was a lean man, despite his obvious appetite, with a thick head of dark hair and a large moustache that curled across his top lip. His eyes were small and dark and Kaira felt uncomfortable under their gaze. ‘We’ve heard much about you. And you certainly look the part.’

  He ran finger and thumb through his moustache, weighing her up. Kaira half expected him to come and check the firmness of her haunches as he might do a thoroughbred horse.

  ‘Do you think you can use her?’ Buttercup said. Kaira hated being spoken for like a child, but she had been advised to be silent. Under the circumstances it was probably for the best.

  Palien waggled his head from side to side. ‘Possibly. But there’s only one way to find out for sure.’

  Kaira felt a sudden presence at her shoulder. She didn’t have to turn her head to know it was a man … a big one too. He had moved in without her hearing or seeing him — that was good work. He might well be dangerous. As he raised his arm and struck down with his hand axe she realised there was no ‘might’ about it.

  She leaned back, bending her spine impossibly far as the axe cut the air an inch from her nose. There was barely eno
ugh time to right herself and dodge back before he cut in again — three desperate swipes aimed at her head, shoulder and midriff. She evaded with three lightning-quick steps.

  He was, indeed, a big one, his ugly face made uglier by the snarl on his scarred lips. His nose and teeth were smashed in, indicating he had fought plenty of opponents on the streets.

  But Kaira was not of the streets.

  She was a warrior born, and trained in a temple dedicated to all arts martial.

  He didn’t stand a chance.

  As he moved forward, raising his arm high to cut down once more, Kaira stepped in and spun on her heel. She pressed in close with her back to him as his arm came down and over her shoulder. Her hands gripped him about the wrist and she wrenched down on the arm that held that wicked-looking axe, snapping it at the elbow. The axe clattered to the cellar floor as he bellowed in pain. She wrenched his broken arm around, hearing his roar grow shrill as she slammed the sole of her foot against his knee and the heel of her palm in his jaw in quick succession. He was silent as he collapsed to the ground, but another assailant was already rushing from the shadows.

  This one stabbed out with his blade, aiming at her head, and Kaira backed away just far enough to avoid the keen edge but still close enough to feel it part the air in front of her. As he drew back for another strike her foot came up quick and sharp, hitting him between the legs. He gave out a yelp like a whipped bitch, dropping the blade and gripping his fruits in both hands. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and brought her knee up, smashing his nose in and whipping his head back sharply until it crashed against the ground.

  Kaira turned in time to see Palien make two swift motions with his hand, signalling for two more of his men to come forward. One was small and wiry, a billhook in one hand and a crude shank in the other. The second was broader at the shoulders, gripping a dark wooden cudgel in both hands.

  These men were more measured, more careful about their approach, circling her, looking for a gap in her defences.