“So, I take it she said no,” Jezlen said finally, grabbing a handful of snow and bringing it to his mouth. Derk just nodded. There wasn’t much more to it, though he would spare the details to save himself face. Jezlen spit something out, cringing as he looked into the handful of snow before tossing it away, spitting again. The elf cursed out loud, something Derk had heard often but never knowing exactly what he said, understanding the meaning of the word by the intonation alone.
“Look, I don’t know if you’ve gathered it yet, but I don’t got a home here. I used to stay with Sindra and that’s gone to pot. I spent my last blueies on those pasties we just tore our mouths on so….” Derk shrugged, kicking a clump of snow that looked like it needed it. He couldn’t lead Jezlen around town forever and it was better they start thinking of something now before his friend froze to death. He laughed as he thought of Jezlen, the elf from the Forest of Clouds, dying from exposure to cold. It just seemed silly. “Why didn’t you dress more warmly? Didn’t your mother teach you not to catch cold?”
“I was under the impression you had a room somewhere or a shack or a….” Jezlen shook his head, chuckling to himself as he shivered, yawning as he looked down the street, turning his eyes back to Derk. “I have no idea why I thought any of those things. I am going to freeze to death because I thought you were a normal person.”
Derk looked around the empty street, his eyes lingering on the entrance to an alley. He heard something coming from within and thought he recognized the voice of one of the approaching people. With a few fluid motions, he undid the buttons of his coat, placing it around the freezing elf’s shoulders, sniffling slightly as he did. “Look, there’s two blues and a fullie sewed into the lining of the coat. I was saving them for an emergency, but it looks like an emergency has shown itself to us. I’ve something to see to, get to the Ale’s Well. It’s down three blocks, take a right. You can’t miss it.” Jezlen eyed him suspiciously and for a moment Derk thought he was going to protest. But the warmth of the coat and the promise of four walls was all the persuasion Jezlen needed to take Derk’s belongings and money before the elf left, almost falling into another snowdrift on his way down the street.
Derk watched his friend leave, the cold seeming to trickle through his pores as he stood there. A few snowflakes began to fall. It was the part of the winter day when it started to grow dark though one felt it was too early to be doing so. His second best shirt was meant for autumn. Derk stamped his feet and wrapped his arms around himself, wondering if he should avoid the confrontation altogether or get it over with so he could spend the next few days in peace.
Before he could decide, a body came flying out of the alley, sliding on a piece of ice and tumbling over a barrel left out of doors. A few peals of laughter came from the alley, the owners of the voices walking slowly out onto the main road.
The person who had been evicted from the alley scrambled to his feet, breathing loudly as he tried to run away. Derk could see he was young, his dark eyes wild with pain and worry as he ran off, making little headway in the deep snow. The largest of the three men who came out of the alley pointed in the direction of the boy, urging his lackeys on with curses to follow after the lad, his left hand wound tight with a chain. The two cronies gave chase, having trouble in the snow themselves, their feet sliding out from under them so they laughed as they chased after their quarry. The man who had given the orders watched them go for a while, his breath forming a halo of steam around his dark head.
“So, you ready to give me that shirt of yours or not?” the man said, not bothering to turn around to address Derk. He still held the chain, the metal no doubt warm in his hand but freezing cold in the air. Derk rubbed his arms briskly, thoughts of the chain and the young fellow pricking him with anxiety. He couldn’t show fear in front of Sersena the Bastard. He felt fear but he told himself he was shivering from the cold and nothing more.
“How ‘bout my third best shirt and an extra set of boot buckles?” Derk didn’t blink as the large man turned around and approached, his shadow growing ominously as he walked toward him. Was the snow melting around him? Derk managed to put a smile on his face as the muscled brute drew closer, the swagger in his step causing the chain to dance in the frigid air. He stopped when he got within a pace of Derk, the chain finally shimmying to a halt, its shadow long and hard against the pale, white snow.
Sersena the Bastard was two handwidths taller than Derk. Steam rose off of his shaved head, his dark eyes sizing up the shivering man. A smile cracked his lips as the words finally seemed to register in his head and he laughed out loud, a booming laugh that would have been louder had the snow not been there to muffle it. He reached out a large gloved hand, setting it on Derk’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. It made the thief want to wince. The sound of a faint commotion made its way over the snow drifts, the distinct crack of wood against skull obvious to Derk and his eyes darted down the street, hoping the boy was okay. The Bastard finally stopped laughing, letting his hand fall from Derk’s shoulder, much to his relief.
“How ‘bout you come wif us on a job instead. I’d make more than what your shirt is worth. Call us even.”
Derk stopped rubbing his arms for a moment, a cold wind making snowflakes twirl in the space around him. He knew what job The Bastard was talking about. Hock had been bragging about it in the Unders a few days ago, his claims almost lost in the chaos of the gambling den. It had reached Derk’s ears and caught his interest and he listened to Hock’s plan. The potential gain was formidable but the plan had obvious holes and he had told Hock so, pointing out no less than two issues which hadn’t been considered in the plan.
Hock raised an eyebrow and offered to buy him a drink if he stuck around and discussed the plan over with him, unless of course Derk didn’t have anything else to add, his jealousy and input unloaded. This had pricked Derk’s pride and he sat down and listed five more things wrong with the plan, mentioning the states of the streets and the roads out of town, the relocation of several watches recently on account of a take which had backfired a few weeks ago, and the fact the lock on the shed would take know-how to undo, something The Bastard and his gang lacked. He had taken his ale thankfully, thirsty after his tirade and out of money after having gambled it away.
Derk shook his head, managing to laugh despite his nervousness. “No thanks, Sers. I’ve just had a bad shot to the head and it’ll take a few days to sort it all out. Wouldn’t want to put you out on account of having a muddy brain.” He hoped this would be a good enough excuse for Sersena to leave him alone, at least as far as the take was concerned. “Look, it’s cold out and I’m looking to be indoors soon as I can.”
“Right, so I’ll be taking my payment now.” The Bastard grinned, a menacing leer chilling Derk more than the weather. Derk sighed and began undoing the buttons on his shirt, pulling it over his head and handing it over to the thug. The Bastard took it and brought it to his face, sniffing the fabric and laughing out loud. “So, fappers do sweat, eh?”
Bare chested, Derk couldn’t stop shivering, the thin layer of fabric having done more than he had given it credit. He was about to turn and run off when The Bastard held up a hand, signaling for him to stay. The tall thug turned to look in the direction his two toadies had gone and he laughed out loud, the chain jingling merrily at his side.
Where three man had gone, one emerged. The young fellow, limping and breathing heavily, stumbled toward the pair, groaning quietly as he held the side of his head in his hands. The Bastard just laughed, snow falling off windowsills as his guffaw echoed through the streets. He motioned for the youth to approach him. “Don’t you worry, this is just what a ‘bootin’ in’ looks like,” speaking to Derk as he put an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “He wanted in, and he had to fight for it. Now, it’s rightfully his. Though I was expecting at least one of those asses to come back. He must’ve given ‘em quite a whoopin’ eh?
“Now, since this man here didn’t give me what was mine when I
asked for it, there’s interest to collect, ain’t there, Scald?” The Bastard addressed the youth, who nodded, his eyes seeming unable to focus as he stood there in the snow. “Now, you’re new here, Scald and I’ve a mind to teach you how to go about doing business so stupid bastards like this know better than to cross you.”
Stupid? If he wasn’t shivering so hard Derk was sure he would have turned red with rage, having someone like The Bastard call him such petty names. Even if he had his shirt, though, Sersena was cruel and feared. He ran the Unders of this town and was not to be crossed; Derk was lucky enough to only owe him a bit of money and would be mostly free of his influence once he left town, which would be sooner than he had originally anticipated. Even still, if anyone was stupid in the trio, it was Sersena. Derk spoke through chattering teeth, his eyes wide with annoyance. “Well, if-f you’re g-g-gonna t-t-take it, be qu-quick…I’ve a d-d-date with either a f-f-ire or a c-c-c-offin in the m-meanwhile.” His urging didn’t seem to affect the two as The Bastard looked him over from head to toe, his dark eyes resting on the shiny buckles on Derk’s boots.
“Those look like they’d fit you, Scald.” They didn’t. Scald’s feet were definitely smaller than Derk’s but it didn’t keep the boy from nodding, obviously not wanting to disagree with The Bastard. “You could use something nice for the job anyways…off wif ‘em.”
Derk managed to bend down and undo the buckles, loosening them both before stepping out of them. His feet felt as if they were being jabbed by a million needles as he set them on the ground, the snow melting as he stepped into it. He grabbed the pair in one hand, keeping his other arm wrapped around his torso for all the good it would do, handing the boots over to The Bastard who handed them to the boy.
“Pleasure, always a pleasure doing business. Best you win a few hands next time you play wif me. Now, off wif you.” Derk managed to bow courteously to the pair, more mocking them than anything else, before he turned around and started off down the street. He waited till he was out of eyesight before he attempted a full on run, each step tortuously cold, each pace of air his body moved through threatening to crush his lungs. Stupid Bastard, Derk thought, his instincts hurling him away from the man he so desperately wished to kill. A string of curses bubbled in his brain, keeping it alert enough to find his way to the Ale’s Well. His dark thoughts began to thaw out as soon as he stepped through the door, all his vicious plans and vile words streaming from his mouth as the snowflakes melted on his pale shoulders.
A loud laugh directed at him gave away Jezlen’s position and Derk stumbled toward him, his feet not working properly. He was out of breath and the cold was still very real under his skin. Derk starting to shake more violently as he settled next to Jezlen in front of the roaring fire. The elf was still wearing his coat and didn’t offer it to him. Derk’s teeth were chattering too hard to ask for it so he pointed to the coat and then to himself. The elf wrinkled his nose in dismay and reluctantly handed the coat to the freezing man.
“Whatever just happened, I wish I had been there to see it,” was all Jezlen said, turning to the side to lift his mug of something warm off of the table. Derk tried to think some murderous thoughts about the elf but he was still shivering and his desire for revenge against Sersena the Bastard seared at the forefront of his mind. All this over a simple game of cards.
If Derk didn’t think so highly of himself, he would have counted himself lucky for escaping with a few less belongings. People who angered the thug usually had his gang after them, and those who did worse than anger him learned why he kept his chain in hand. Many a debt had been taken out in broken bones and torn open flesh in the Unders and sometimes for debts smaller than two shirts. Apparently Sersena the Bastard thought Derk might be useful. Derk could have gone along on the job and maybe made some money, as well as endeared himself to one of the more dangerous folk in the city.
But Derk wasn’t one to get on other people’s “ledgers.” Though not as well known as The Bastard, Derk knew he was a better thief and a better person in general than the dirty cur. The best way to make was one’s own. That was his general thought, and he figured he’d rather make a few blue pieces and answer to himself than be given a bag of fullies by someone he had to call “boss.”
Jezlen, in his saintlike generosity, offered Derk his pipe, the man finally noticing his hands stopped shaking as he took it. He would do something to hurt Sersena the Bastard. A long pull set his nerves aright, his bare feet finally registering the hard floor below and he stared into the fire. Sersena would pay.
Derk never got the chance to pay back Sersena the Bastard. The job went horribly and Sersena and all the men who were there as accomplices were rounded up and tossed into jail. They were sentenced to hang. Apparently, Hock hadn’t been at the job, nor had he been fingered as the mastermind behind it all; Derk saw him enjoying a mug at the Northside the day the group was convicted. When Derk cornered him later and asked him how he could let them go through with his original plan, Hock narrowed his eyes, hopping off his bar stool and leaning in close, his mouth by Derk’s ear. All he said was: “It’s trash off the streets.” Derk stood there, stunned, realizing what he was implying.
The plan was supposed to have gone wrong. Sersena the Bastard really was an idiot.
Derk, wearing a pair of boots and a shirt bought with Jezlen’s tobacco money, attended the hanging. Each of the criminals was bound and chained to the other. Two guards drove the wagon, two guarded the prisoners. All five of the convicted were led up the stairs to the platform where they were made to stand on stools. Sersena the Bastard fought back, cursing wildly. One of the guards pulled out their sword and plunged it into him. The large man doubled over and then went limp, his body unceremoniously loaded into the cart which had brought him there.
Among the four remaining, the boy was one of them. Derk felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead as they forced the boy up on the stool, tightened the noose around his neck and placed a sack over his head. Their crimes were recited in front of the jeering crowd: attempted robbery of ten barrels of lamp oil, destruction of private property, destruction of public property, assault of city officials, public inebriation and performing crimes within one hundred paces of a holy temple.
Their faces were covered but Derk imagined the dread wracking their faces, the tears in their eyes, the last minute prayers or curses springing to their lips. He imagined himself in their place, imagined where the boy might be instead if he hadn’t decided to join Sersena the Bastard’s gang. Derk held his breath as the crowd seethed around him, throwing things, shouting things, hungry for entertainment in the form of death.
The Bastard had gotten what he deserved; or had he? He was a cruel man, but even he didn’t strike a man when bound or in the back. Derk looked over to the cart, the booted feet of the dead man sticking out past the end. The crowd boiled around him but he didn’t notice, didn’t see what they did, didn’t hear what they said. The hangman went behind each prisoner, kicking the stool out from under each, their bodies bobbing up and down as they kicked desperately, the false hope for ground underfoot causing the bodies to dance, suspended as they were. One stopped, than another, followed by the other two, the crowd shrieking and hooting all the while. Derk stood there, frozen, numbed not by cold but an overload of emotion. He stood there in the square as the crowd dispersed, trembling slightly as he watched the four men cut down, loaded into the cart and led out by a simple peasant.
He stood there in the square for a while in a daze, the snow starting to fall yet again. People began to pass before him and behind him, some of them staring at the man who was staring at the small raised platform where five men had just died. Derk didn’t care about the cold beginning to bite at his face and legs. Trash. He wasn’t trash, was he? He didn’t deserve to have a stool kicked out from under his feet, did he? As if able to read his thoughts, someone came up and stood beside him. The voice of Hock was crisp and clear in the cold winter air.
“You are better th
an them. And you know it. Jezlen is getting your boots. Now come with me.”
CHAPTER 15
Questionable Beginnings
Derk drank from his glass, trying to keep a smile on his face. The bar was loud, the lively exclamations of card players and revelers filling the air. Normally Derk would have joined in but not tonight. Across from him sat Hock, Drink and Paint, all three of them regarding him with different emotions. Hock looked hopeful, a smile plastered under his bushy mustache. Paint looked disinterested. And Drink…the woman with red hair and a face full of freckles did not look pleased.
When Hock had first taken Derk on last winter the big man made it seem like he was the head of the Cup of Cream. As Derk has asked more questions it became more and more clear Hock wasn’t. Nobody was in charge. Everybody was. But there were senior members who were regarded as the most knowledgeable, the best at what they did. Everyone could recognize each other and most knew of one another but finding each other got easier only the longer you’d been in. Hock said it was like ‘magic,’ the way they were able to come together when needed. Derk thought it was more about habit and a bit of luck. Hock could always be counted on to be in Bluemist eventually. Paint worked at a singing house called the Piper’s Dream. A man named Shot spent a lot of time in the ‘Wicks and the Holy Bowl. And Drink rode between Reedwood and Redtree at least once a season.
The Valley of Ten Crescents Series (Box Set: Books 1-3) Page 36
