by James Evans
“Many thanks,” said Marrinek, paying from his dwindling purse, “and can you direct me to decent a bath house?”
“Well, sir, it depends what sir wants. If sir is looking merely to wash and change his clothes then sir might be best served by searching out Eastside Bath, an avenue that runs parallel to the river but several streets to the east of here. If sir is looking for a more complete service, shall we say, then there are specialist houses on the alleys off Eastside Bath that cater for every taste.”
“And if I wanted a reputable bath house, one where a tailor might also be engaged, what would you recommend?”
“I would go to The House of Seven, sir, which is at the near end of Eastside Bath, on the left-hand side, under the sign of the clasped hands.”
Marrinek thanked him, shook the linen from around his neck and headed for the door.
“If I might say, sir, The House of Seven has a certain reputation for measuring potential clients by appearance. Sir may find that they require additional financial persuasion before sir will be welcomed.”
Marrinek turned back to face him, holding the door open with one hand, and said, “Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind.” He closed the door behind and stepped out into the street. He looked at the sun, orienting himself, then strode off through the crowds, heading roughly east.
Half an hour’s wandering found him outside The House of Seven. It was indeed a superior establishment, although far from the most expensive on the street, and the discreet door wardens looked at him with obvious distaste as he lingered on the street. He smiled to himself and went back the way he had come before turning north towards the Narrows.
He soon found the area. As the name suggested the streets and alleys were noticeably narrower than those in the more popular or expensive areas of the city. Where Eastside Bath had been a broad avenue, widening as it approached the market square, the streets in the Narrows were no more than eight to ten feet across. In some streets, a tall man could touch the buildings on both sides with his outstretched arms. The side roads were even less spacious and the overhanging first and second stories of the houses and tenements lining the cramped streets made the whole area feel dark and oppressive, even on a bright summer day.
Marrinek stuck to the wider streets, working his way north and east through the area until he came to a small square at what must have been, he reckoned, the centre of the district. Even this public space, small and crowded, overlooked by buildings that reached three or four stories, was thronged with people, animals and small market stalls from which vendors called their wares. Marrinek threaded his way through the throng until he stood outside a large tavern with a poorly painted sign that appeared to be some sort of grimacing animal; The Snarling Goat.
CHAPTER TWELVE
PUSHING HIS WAY through the main door of the Snarling Goat, Marrinek found himself in a large taproom. A smattering of people were drinking away the day, lounging at tables or dicing against the walls. In one of the darker corners, where secluded booths afforded a modest amount of privacy, several people were putting a lot of effort into getting to know one another a lot better.
Marrinek found a table in a booth in a corner away from the amorous couples and signalled a passing servant to bring him beer and food. It wasn’t yet noon and breakfast was only a couple of hours past but the stew was hot and filling and he had learned not to miss opportunities to eat.
While he ate, he watched the other patrons as they drank and gambled and laughed. In years past he might have joined one of the games or told tall tales with a group of friends and acquaintances. Not today, though. This wasn’t the time or the place and these people weren’t like him. At least, he hoped they weren’t like him. His plans were dead in the water if these people were all like him.
He was finishing his plate of stew, chasing the gravy around the plate with a lump of bread, when one of the hard-faced, heavy-set men from the door wandered over to his table. The man leant his fists on the table.
“Are you the one Old Ned sent? The job-seeker?”
Marrinek chewed his bread, leaning back to get a little further from the man’s rancid breath.
“Probably,” he said, still chewing, “someone sent me a note.” He produced the note and passed it across the table but the man barely glanced at it.
“Good. I’ll take you up to see Hitton,” the man snorted, “if you’re sure you want to see him?”
“Sure, what’s the worst that could happen?” said Marrinek, grinning.
The other man straightened up, shaking his head.
“This way,” he said, heading for the stairs at the back of the tavern. He led Marrinek onto the gallery that ran around the first floor then pointed at a curtained booth.
“At the end.” Marrinek looked along the line of the pointing finger then pushed past its owner and walked to the last booth on the gallery.
He pulled open the curtain and peered into the gloom. A couple of candles lit the booth, showing a tall thin man sitting in the far corner and a second, more powerfully built man sitting opposite him. A jug of beer and several mugs sat on the table. The thin man looked up as Marrinek twitched the curtain aside.
“Ah, you’d be Old Ned’s man, right? Come in, have a seat. I’m Hitton, this is Tam.” The thug ducked his head towards Marrinek but said nothing.
Hitton poured a mug of beer and pushed it across the table toward Marrinek as he took a seat.
“Thanks, you can call me Bay,” said Marrinek, taking a cautious sip, “I understand you might have work for someone with my… talents?”
“Well, that depends, don’t it, on what those talents are and what you’re prepared to do with them,” said Hitton, sipping at his own beer. Tam was watching him closely, picking at his teeth with a long needle.
“You’re not from round here. Imperial?”
Marrinek nodded.
“Yes, but I’ll be staying here for a while. I don’t plan to head back east anytime soon.”
“Problems with the law?” asked Hitton.
“You could say that. Believe me when I say you don’t want to know,” said Marrinek, “I’ll be in Vensille for some months at least and I need work, something to keep me busy and cover rent and food.”
“You’re a big lad, intimidating. Can you handle yourself in a fight?”
Marrinek looked at Hitton, face blank.
“I’m the most dangerous person you’ll ever meet.”
He said it flat and cold, no hint of a joke. Hitton just looked at him for a few seconds, unsure, then Marrinek cracked a grin and the tension broke.
“Sure,” he said, “I can handle myself.”
“Right, well,” said Hitton, laughing in a high, unconvincing way, as if he knew a joke had been made but couldn’t work out what it was, “I think we might be able to help each other, although we’re gonna make you work damn hard for your money. How would you feel about dealing with a problem we’ve got with our, ah, competition?”
“Sure,” Marrinek said again, shrugging, “what’s the deal?”
“There’s a stable over on the west side, run by a man named Narrint. He owes money and he’s been slow to pay. We can’t have that, it’s bad for business, so we need to teach him a lesson. Not kill him, just scare him a bit, encourage him to honour his debts, shall we say, maybe take a chunk of silver from him.”
“Sounds simple enough. Why don’t you send one of your people,” he nodded at Tam, “to handle it?”
“Ah, well. The west side’s not really our territory, see? And my boys, like Tam here, are all known men,” said Hitton pausing to sip his beer, “but you, now, you’re new in town, or so Old Ned tells me. Nobody knows you, so you can just saunter on over the bridge like you was buying apples or something, find our guy, beat the crap out of him and help him work out who his friends are. Easy.”
Marrinek sipped at his beer, pretending to consider the request before nodding.
“I’ll speak to him for you. Where do I find him and what
does he look like?”
Tam gave him directions and a description while Hitton sat back in the gloom, filling a long clay pipe from a pouch he produced from inside his shirt. When the bowl was filled to his satisfaction he brought out a small charm and, with one eye on Marrinek, produced a flame with which he lit the pipe.
Marrinek raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. Producing a flame from a charm was a cheap trick but not one he’d expected to see in a dive like this.
“Just so you know what you’re dealing with, friend, in case you get any ideas about taking the money and leaving town. We’re not without resources, and our reach is long.” The flame flickered out as quickly as it had appeared and Hitton tilted his head back, puffing smoke toward the ceiling.
“I’ll be sure to remember that,” said Marrinek. He stood up and drew back the curtain.
“When do you want the job done?”
“Today, this afternoon. And then we can discuss another job this evening, if it goes well,” said Hitton.
“Good. Till this evening, then.”
Marrinek nodded at Tam and stepped out of the booth back onto the gallery. The taproom was a little busier now and as Marrinek walked down the stairs, Bone Dancer sitting casually on his shoulder like a hawk preparing to hunt, someone raised their voice.
“What do you know, if it isn’t our do-gooder friend from the alley.”
Marrinek looked up to see Pratek leaning against the counter with a mug of beer in one hand and a pipe in the other. As Marrinek walked toward the door Pratek called out to him.
“What, no word of thanks to your old mates Pratek and Gander? That’s rude. Real rude, ‘specially after the thumpin’ you gave me,” he paused and Marrinek felt the atmosphere in the bar turn suddenly hostile, “but at least we took care of those kids for you, so that’s something.”
Pratek laughed and turned to his companion.
“Real bit of luck, that was. Found ‘em again this morning after this fucker stole ‘em from us. Just walking around, they were, like they owned the place. No fucking clue. Had to slap ’em around a bit to teach ‘em some manners.”
He paused to allow his audience to appreciate his brilliance.
“Sold ‘em to Madame Duval over on Eastside Bath, didn’t we? A matched pair - got a really good price,” he boasted, slapping at a purse inside his shirt.
Marrinek turned to look at him, eyes cold, face like iron.
“You did what?” he said, quietly, and nobody missed the menace in his voice.
“You heard,” said Gander from behind Marrinek, “and there ain’t nothing you can do about it, so you just run along before we gives you a beating.”
Marrinek glanced over his shoulder. Gander was standing there, hand on the hilt of a long knife in his belt.
“This ain’t a friendly place for you, so maybe you should just leave, now, before something nasty happens.”
Around him Marrinek could feel the atmosphere changing further as the threat of violence grew around the three men. The quiet was spreading across the tap room as the patrons turned to watch the encounter, interested to see what would happen next. A man at the bar took his drink and carefully made his way to a table on the other side of the room.
Marrinek looked back at Pratek, who was grinning smugly and sipping his beer.
“Fetch them now and,” he started to say but then Gander was right up behind him, hissing in his ear.
“You deaf or what? They’re gone, sold, and you’d better be gone soon too if you want to live!”
Gander barged past him and Marrinek nodded slowly and took a step toward the door. Then he turned back, staff held in both hands, and said in a low, calm, slow voice.
“Last chance, fetch them now. Don’t make me do something you’ll regret.”
Behind Gander, on the stairs, Tam was watching the confrontation, one hand resting on the hilt of a long-blade. Across the room several other men were easing forward, just in case the promise of violence was fulfilled. And the quiet now filled the room; even the barmaids had stopped their progress between the tables, turning to watch. Hitton had emerged from his booth and was leaning on the railing at the edge of the gallery to watch.
Then Gander laughed, a raucous noise in the quite room, making the most of situation and playing up to a friendly crowd.
“Ha. You’re new in town, anyone can tell. The deal’s done, you’ll have to buy ‘em back if you want ‘em and Madame Duval’ll make you pay richly, more than you can afford, country-boy.”
Marrinek looked up at Hitton, shook his head sadly.
“Sometimes there’s no other way,” he said in a low voice.
“What was that, country-boy?” said Gander, cupping his hand to his ear theatrically, “I didn’t...” but Marrinek was already moving, thrusting Bone Dancer hard into Gander’s face. The big man fell over backwards, his head banging noisily on the floorboards.
Marrinek stepped quickly forward, raising Bone Dancer in both hands. As the fallen man focussed on him, he brought the pointed end of the staff down on Gander’s forehead, shattering bone and caving in the skull.
Marrinek stepped quickly back and grounded Bone Dancer. He stood calmly but his heart was hammering and he desperately needed to breathe deeply. Instead he stood, silent and still, feet apart and one arm hanging at his side, just as if nothing unusual had happened.
Nobody moved. The room was silent, the air still, and even the bustle from the street seemed distant and dull. For a few long seconds, nothing happened and Marrinek sucked in air and waited for his limbs to stop shaking.
He looked slowly around the room but still nobody moved. Marrinek sneered then turned and headed for the door.
“Can’t just let you leave, boy, not after killin’ one of my men,” said Tam. He came down the stairs, the long-blade clenched in his hand. He signalled with his other hand and several of the men who had been watching from their seats, stood up, each drawing a long knife or a short sword. That was the cue for the other patrons, already shuffling nervously toward the doors. In moments the room had cleared, leaving Marrinek alone with Tam, Hitton, Pratek, four thugs and Gander’s cooling corpse.
“Your men?” snarled Marrinek, now properly angry, and the sudden change in his face was somehow worse than the violence. One of the thugs dropped his sword and backed away; everyone else froze.
“They worked for you, Hitton, so you owe me,” said Marrinek, pointing Bone Dancer at the thin man on the gallery, “for what your men have done today, you owe me. I’ll be back later to collect on the debt.”
Marrinek turned to go but one of the doormen blocked his way, sword drawn and raised. Marrinek hefted Bone Dancer.
“Really?” he said, eyebrows raised, “Why don’t you just fuck off, save us both the trouble.”
He could feel the men behind preparing to move, gathering their courage. Six was too many to fight, even if he’d been at his peak. He needed to end this, quickly, and get out of the inn.
He focussed and pulled power, preparing a surprise to even the game. The power came easily at first then stopped suddenly, as if someone had turned off a tap. A wave of nausea hit him hard and it was all he could do to stay on his feet as the lights danced in front of his eyes.
Marrinek half saw the doorman take half a step forward, maybe sensing that he wasn’t entirely well. He stabbed out with Bone Dancer, hoping to knock the big man backwards. The doorman was fast, though, and the thrust was crude and easily parried. Marrinek stepped forward quickly, pushing back against the sword. He brought the butt of the staff around to strike the doorman on the side of the head. As the doorman staggered back, Marrinek pushed forward again. He slammed the shaft into the doorman's forehead and the man fell heavily to the floor and lay still.
Marrinek spun back to face the men behind him. They’d barely moved and now they stood as still as statues, no longer keen to test their skill against him.
“Stay out of my fucking way, all of you” he snarled, looking around
the room, teeth bared. Then he looked at Hitton.
“I’ll be back to collect later.”
Then he turned and stepped over the stunned doorman toward the door. He kicked it open and stepped out into the market square, letting the door closed behind him.
Almost as soon as the door had closed, Marrinek heard angry shouts from within the inn. He lurched across the small yard outside the inn as quickly as he could, heading for an alleyway. Behind him the door of the inn was yanked open and he heard more shouts as Hitton’s thugs boiled out, weapons drawn.
Marrinek risked a glance over his shoulder. There were at least three of them and they were close behind. He ran as fast as he could, bouncing off stalls and pushing past people until he hit a dead end, an alleyway with brick walls on three sides.
He cursed and raised Bone Dancer as he thudded down the alleyway. Fingers fumbling for the controls, he kept running towards the end wall as he searched for the right control. The sudden booming noise as he released all the energy in Bone Dancer’s reservoir echoed along the alleyway and drowned out the sounds of pursuit. The huge release of power blew apart the wall, smashing bricks and causing part of the wall collapsed. A huge cloud of choking dust rose from the collapsed masonry and filled the end of the alley.
Marrinek leapt forward through the cloud and scrambled over the shattered brickwork, almost braining himself as he ducked through the hole in the wall.
The floor on the other side of the wall was lower than the alley and he tumbled forward, carried on by his momentum until he fell to his hands and knees. Bone Dancer slipped from his grasp and skittered across the floor. He heaved himself back to his feet and charged on, bending to scoop up the staff as he went.
Something tall and soft - a bale of wool, maybe - reared suddenly up in front of him and Marrinek bounced off it in the gloom. Then he turned and staggered along a narrow corridor between piles of similar packages, dimly lit by sky lights in the roof. Behind him Tam shouted at his reluctant men to follow him through the gaping hole in the wall. Marrinek grinned at their superstitious hesitation then his face fell as a pair of burly men in aprons came around a corner, drawn by the noise.
