“That so?”
“Led this way, actually,” said Ben. “You sure you ain’t seen nothing?”
Matthew paused, trying to think of a lie. Again his wife beat him to it, bless her heart.
“We turned them away,” she said. “They came wanting shelter, but they were bleeding, and he was armed. Looked like a thief, he did. We didn’t want any trouble, and we don’t want any now. He said he was on his way to Veldaren, if he’s to be trusted.”
The two men looked to one another, as if communicating silently.
“A hard woman that could refuse a wounded man asking for succor,” Ben said.
Matthew watched his wife give them an iron glare, one he’d been on the receiving end of more times than he preferred.
“Life out here’s cold and cruel, gentlemen. We do what we can for our family. Maybe things are different where you come from, but out here that’s the way things are.”
“I understand,” Ben said. “We’re just getting paid to ask these questions. Your broth’s delicious, by the way. Feel it warming me all the way to my toes.”
Matthew started to relax, but only a little. The men seemed too confident, too sure of themselves. They were no strangers to those swords at their hips, either. The sooner they left the better. When they finished they stood and flung their cloaks over their shoulders.
“Our horses are probably itching to continue,” Gert said. “Or at least get out of the wind.”
As they stepped toward the door they stopped, and Gert turned toward the curtain where Evelyn had said Tristan slept.
“You know, I’ve been fighting and killing for a long while. If there’s anything I’ve seen before, it’s a chopped limb. Mind if I take a look? I can make sure you stitched it up right, well as cut it proper. There’s more art to keeping people alive than making ’em dead, after all.”
Evelyn hesitated, and Matthew knew that if she was unsure, then he was in over his head.
“If you wish,” he said, putting on his gloves. “I should get back outside. Only wanted to come visit with my guests, be polite. You two men have a good day.”
“Want me to come with?” asked Trevor.
“No,” Matthew said, harsher than he meant. “No, you ain’t much use outside. Stay with your ma.”
Trevor got the idea, and his hand brushed the knife hidden in his pants. Matthew winced and hoped neither of the soldiers saw. He pulled the door open and stepped outside. When he shut it he leaned his back against it, closed his eyes, and listened. Never one with an active imagination, he struggled to picture the most likely thing they’d do. They were searching for the boy, obviously. They’d step through the curtain, one inside to look, the other hanging back, watching them, waiting to see if anyone did anything stupid.
His hand closed around the pitchfork’s handle.
Something stupid like this.
Matthew kicked the door inward. It seemed as if his entire vision narrowed down, just a thin window to see one of the soldiers staring back at him from the curtain, the one named Ben. His eyes widened for just a moment. His hand reached for his sword as if he were lagging in time. Matthew thrust the pitchfork for the soldier’s exposed throat. Ben’s sword couldn’t clear his scabbard in time, so instead he ducked and turned away from the thrust, a purely instinctual move. It only made matters worse. When two of the teeth pressed against the side of his face, Matthew shoved with every hard-worked muscle in his body. The tips were thick, but with such force behind them they still punched through flesh and tore into bone.
Ben rolled his head downward, trying to pull free. When he did, blood spewed across the floor. He screamed. It might have been a word, a curse, but Matthew didn’t know, didn’t understand. Ben’s jaw hung off-kilter, his right cheek shredded and the bone connecting it shattered. The look in his eyes reminded Matthew of the one time he’d encountered a rabid coyote attacking his animals. His sword free, Ben charged, not waiting for Gert. Matthew took a step back, braced his legs, and shoved the pitchfork in the way. The teeth hit his chain mail, and amid the screams of his family he heard the sound of metal scraping against metal. The teeth didn’t punch through the armor, but they still bruised Ben’s flesh and pushed inward hard enough to break more bones.
Matthew twisted the handle to the side, bringing Ben to his knees, still stuck on the pitchfork’s teeth. Dimly he heard his wife cry out, the words not registering in his mind as having any meaning, only her tone. Gert rushed through the curtain, his sword swinging. Abandoning his clumsy weapon, Matthew lunged for the door. He landed on his knees, grabbed his short sword, and spun. Gert bore down on him, swinging with both hands. Their blades connected, and panic flooded him when saw a tiny chip break off at the contact. His sword was weaker, the metal cheaper. It wouldn’t be long before it broke.
“Leave him alone!” he heard Evelyn shout, finally piercing through the haze. Gritting his teeth, he groaned as Gert pressed down with all his weight. He spared only a moment’s glance to see Ben fling the pitchfork to the dirt and turn toward his wife. He had to help her, but he was pinned and badly positioned.
“Trevor!” he screamed. Where was his boy? Why wasn’t he helping? Now wasn’t the time for fear, damn it! He angled his sword to block another chop, realized it was a feint, and smacked aside the thrust aimed for his belly. “Don’t you be a coward, boy, treat ’em like damn hogs!”
Evelyn hurried across the room, grabbing the poker from the fire. She held it clumsily, a pathetic weapon compared to the gleaming sword Ben wielded in his blood-soaked hand. Then he couldn’t spare the glimpse, for Gert had dropped to one knee, knocking Matthew’s sword out of position. Matthew struggled against it, but slowly his sword wavered, then hit the floor beside him. Gert’s elbows pressed against his chest, his knee atop one of Matthew’s legs.
“Don’t worry about your wife,” Gert said, his beady eyes inches away. “I’ll take good care of her. Your daughters too.”
It was the absolute worst thing Gert could have said.
Matthew let go of his sword, one hand grabbing Gert’s wrist, the other ramming his eyes and mouth with his fingers. The soldier howled and tried to pull away, but Matthew dug his fingers in deeper and held on, feeling softness give way, then cartilage crunch in his grip. Gert tore his sword arm free, shrieking all the while. Blindly he stabbed. Matthew rolled, knocking his attack off balance. The sword struck the floor. With every bit of strength in his right arm, Matthew slammed Gert’s head against the wall. He heard a wet crack, like the sound of a breaking pumpkin.
The abrupt end was startling. He heard his children crying, but saw no motion. He stood, shaking the gore from his hand. Evelyn huddled beside the fire, the poker at her feet, Trevor in her arms. The eldest son still held his blood-soaked knife. Nearby lay Ben, bled out from the cuts on his face and the deep stab wound at the small of his back.
“Everyone all right?” he asked. Evelyn met his eyes, then nodded. “Thank Ashhur.”
He gave his wife a hug, making sure he didn’t stain her dress with his right hand. The rest of his children stayed sitting, and he could tell they were traumatized by the violence. He went to each of them, hugging them and whispering that all would be well. At last he grabbed the dead bodies and dragged them outside by their feet.
Once they were out of sight, he came back inside and plopped into a chair beside the fire. His upper body started shaking, and he closed his eyes to try to hold back a sudden bout of nausea.
“We’ll bury the armor until we can sell it in the spring,” he told Evelyn, talking in hopes of stopping the violence replaying over and over in his head. “Same with their swords. We’ll unbridle the horses and send them on their way, hopefully far, far away. As for … you know … we’ll give ’em to the hogs.”
His wife made a soft cry. He shuddered but forced himself not to dwell on it. They’d do what they must, no different from ever before. Opening his eyes, he looked to the curtain, wondering if that blasted boy still slept, or if he
was in there cowering in terror.
“Not worth the coin,” he said, just before leaning to one side and vomiting.
CHAPTER 13
Arthur Hadfield looked about the room in total disgust. He’d worked with mercenaries before, but to invite them into his home? So disgraceful. They gathered in the dining hall, over twelve of them. They were the captains, the ones with at least a hundred men at their disposal. They chatted with one another, killing time until Alyssa returned. They were a motley bunch, wearing various combinations of armor, ribbons, and tunics to distinguish themselves. Arthur dared not imagine how much coin was flowing into their pockets for simply picking their teeth and eating Alyssa’s food.
“Not sure how much fun this’ll be,” said one, a bald man with a shaved head. “Proper fight is on a battlefield, not crashing into people’s homes and searching for rats.”
“Killing’s killing,” said another. “Since when you started getting picky?”
“I’ll take the money, but don’t mean I can’t want a nice open place to swing my ax.”
“Probably need that space too, otherwise you’ll cut your own fucking head off.”
“Fuck you, Jamie. You probably can’t wait to start. Your men will feel right at home wading through open sewers.”
Arthur turned to leave and found Bertram standing behind him at the door, looking just as miserable.
“The stains they leave on the carpet…” he said, shaking his head.
“Price of doing business, I suppose.”
The old man nodded as he watched the captains bicker. Arthur went to his side, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Have you talked with Alyssa lately?” Bertram asked after a time.
“Just this morning. Her mood has soured as the funeral approaches. I’d hoped she might grieve like any other woman, but instead she’s out for blood.”
“She wants that boy’s killer found.”
“I’m working on it, but he’s proven an elusive little fuck.”
Bertram chuckled. “I am not surprised. There are a thousand criminals and murderers in this city. Finding one particular man must be difficult. Still, you might look at it a different way. Knowing one lowborn wretch from another is just as difficult.”
Just like last time, Arthur wondered if he was being tested. This time the wording seemed too strong to be coincidence. He decided to go out on a limb.
“I’m sure that even if we do catch the Watcher, it’ll be tough proving that’s who he is,” he said.
“No one seems to know,” Bertram agreed. “Though I trust you in these matters, and would vouch for your opinion.”
Arthur’s eyes lit up.
“Is that so?” he said. “I don’t think it will be long before I have a man to present to her. The city might be large, but there are too many eyes, too many mouths, for a man to hide forever. But I’m glad to know your trust in me is so great.”
“I trust you more than I would any of them,” Bertram said, waving a dismissive hand at the mercenaries. “The Hadfields have always been good friends of the Gemcrofts. I can only do so much. Alyssa needs help in matters such as these, a guiding voice amid her grief. If only you could talk to her, get her to listen…”
“I understand,” Arthur said. “I have my own matters to attend to, but I should return before nightfall, or close to it. When I do, I’ll see if Alyssa will open up to me.”
“Thank you,” Bertram said, bowing low. “Now, by your leave, I must try to convince those men that while the wine is a courtesy, it is certainly not free if you drink it by the barrel.”
“Gods give you luck with that.”
Arthur left the dining hall, retrieved his coat and sword, and exited the estate. Normally Oric would have gone with him, but he had headed north after bringing back Nathaniel’s supposed remains. Arthur was skilled with a sword, though, and he knew his way. Besides, once inside the Serpents’ territory, he’d be treated like a king.
Only minutes from Alyssa’s mansion, he noticed the first of many escorting him from the shadows. Their cloaks were green, so he relaxed. No doubt William Ket, leader of the Serpent Guild, wanted to protect his investments. Arthur couldn’t blame him. He took a few turns, vanishing deeper into the dark, dilapidated part of the city. Several more followed him, and for a moment he might have sworn he even saw someone along the rooftops. When he arrived at the guildhouse his escorts came into view of its torches, and they motioned for him to enter.
Amid the emerald cushions and gold-framed paintings, Arthur sat and waited for William. A pretty lady wearing thin veils, and nothing else, approached and asked him his preference of drink. Normally he refused, always fearing some sort of poison or drug, but tonight he needed the help.
“The strongest of whatever you have,” he said. “Oh, but make sure it doesn’t taste like piss.”
“As you wish,” she said, batting her beautiful green eyes at him. He watched her go, admiring her figure. With enough coin, he knew he could have her. Shame he had to spend the night at Alyssa’s mansion. Tight figure like that, there was so much he could do to…
“Arthur! Welcome!”
Arthur stood and tore his attention away from the little tart.
“William,” he said, offering his hand to his younger brother, who had been William Hadfield before he’d changed his name to Ket to protect his family from embarrassment. “My apologies for being gone so long.”
“No need,” said William. He was as tall as Arthur, and had the same eyes and hair. “I figure you have your hands full handling a grieving mother, am I right?”
“Hands aren’t full just yet, but she’ll give in to me in time.”
The lady returned with his drink, and he accepted it gratefully. After a sip to test its flavor (somewhere between sewer water and burning oil) he took a large gulp. As it set his throat aflame, he chuckled at his brother.
“You’ve been late with your last shipment,” he said, holding back a cough. Damn that stuff was strong. “I’m a little curious as to why.”
William’s smile drooped, but only for a moment before he fixed it. This time it was far more fake.
“I should have figured a leisurely chat with you was not in store for me this evening. The gold was stolen from us as we smuggled it into the city, and through no fault of our own.”
“No fault? Is that so? A convenient excuse to not pay me my half, wouldn’t you think?”
William sat down, and Arthur followed suit. The two stared at one another, a quick, silent exchange. Arthur knew William was trying to decide how much he should tell, and what Arthur’s reaction might be. He hoped that for once his little brother told the truth, the whole damn truth.
“Have you heard of the Watcher, by any chance?”
Arthur was too surprised to hide his reaction.
“Should I take that as a yes?” William asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I have, but tell your tale first, and then perhaps I can better explain mine.”
William waved over another servant girl, who brought him wine in a long slender glass.
“Well, whoever that bastard is got lucky,” he said after taking a sip. “Stumbled upon us while we were lifting the crate over the wall. Killed my men, took the bags of gold, and then do you know what this motherfucker did? He scattered it across the street. Middle of the day, high market, and he just tears them open and flings them to the crowd. Not the first time he’s done that to us, either, but usually with smaller amounts. Scary, really. If he’d throw away that much coin, then there isn’t a chance we can bribe or deal with him. He’s out to kill us, all of us, not just Serpents. Wish I knew what we’d done to piss him off.”
“Normally I’d doubt the ability of one man to kill so many of yours,” said Arthur, “but I’ve seen it for myself. Lost six soldiers to the Watcher. Wrote his name with their blood as a message to me when I returned. He took some of the gold, but not all, thank the gods. Another day or two and I’ll have the rest outside the w
alls and ready for you. Alyssa thinks all of it was stolen, which will help make up for what we lost.”
“I can change most of it into royal crowns with my merchants, and, amusingly enough, by buying large quantities of food and wine from Laurie Keenan. Something quite appropriate about laundering the Trifect’s gold using the Trifect themselves. Any large increase will take some time, though. When will you be ready to pick up your portion of what we’ve exchanged so far?”
“Keep it safe for now. Things are too chaotic. That’s one of the other reasons I’m here. Tomorrow is Nathaniel’s funeral, and come nightfall you need to make sure your men are prepared. Alyssa’s hired at least a thousand mercenaries, perhaps far more. She’s going to let them loose upon the city.”
William’s face darkened.
“Is she mad? What could we have done to spark such animosity…” He stopped, glared at him. “Unless you blamed her son’s death on us?”
“I told her the Watcher was tied to the local thief guilds, thinking it would keep her from asking too many questions. I never could have expected this overblown reaction.”
William flung his half-empty glass to the floor. “Of course not. You’ll throw us to the wolves to make your life easier. Always have, always will. What do we do now? We can’t face that many on our own.”
“Then don’t do it on your own. Spread word to the rest of the guilds. I want Alyssa humiliated by this course of action. She needs to doubt herself, her decisions, so she might trust me more. She is not in my pocket, not yet. In time she will be, I have no doubt, but until then I need your help.”
The redness gradually left William’s neck as he leaned back in his chair.
“I think I can convince the others, though I have little time. A single night to prepare a counter-ambush? Thank you for not telling me sooner. I like having to pull plans out of my ass.”
A hardness entered Arthur’s words.
“You chose this life, not me. I came here the moment Alyssa was away, now deal with it.”
A Dance of Blades (Shadowdance 2) Page 15
