HE WHO FIGHTS (Nathaniel Rane Book 1)

by Mike Morris

  The urge to look was irresistible. Jack knocked his spoon off the table. As he bent down to pick it up, he glanced through the crook of his arm. Brendan was right. The man was different. He was dressed all in black, one with the shadows by the wall. A glint of light caught on a holy man's circle around his neck but the stranger looked too dangerous to be a priest. A vicious scar ran down the left side of his face and through where his eye used to be. Only an empty socket remained but Jack could feel it looking deep within him. He shivered with fear, and it took all he had not to run from Mrs Waters right there, right then, to forget about his dinner and get away from the man with one eye.

  Mrs Waters plunked two bowls of stew on the table, startling Jack even more. "What are you two gawking at?" she asked.

  "Who's that man over there?" whispered Brendan.

  Mrs Waters didn't even try to hide the fact she stared. "What? Him over there?" she said with a wave of her hand. "Don't you mind him. He's a Black Dog. He won't do you no harm."

  “What’s a Black Dog?” asked Jack.

  Mrs Waters pulled a chair alongside them and sat down. "They're soldiers of God, my boy. Priests in the Order of Stephen, the First Knight. They fight the Nostros and other vile creatures. They keep us safe in our beds at night. That man over there has done things that would make your hair stand on end, seen things that would make your jaw drop and stood his ground when you'd be running as if your trousers were on fire. And more besides."

  "He scares me," said Jack.

  Mrs Waters tutted. "Don't you worry none. He's on our side, thank the Maker. Without him and his brothers, we'd all be food for the Nostros. The Black Dogs are the only ones keeping the demons away."

  "Mum says there's no such things as demons."

  "Well, lad, it's not for me to say she's right nor wrong. Maybe she's never seen a dragon overhead, burning everything beneath it. Maybe she don't realize that the Nostros rule everything on the other side of the ocean and treat humans as naught more than a decent bit of meat to eat." Mrs Waters leaned in close to Jack. "But I know. I've run for cover when all around me burned. I've hid in a cupboard when rumors of a Nostros here in Brixteth have gone round the houses. I've seen the bodies drained of blood, lined up on the street, waiting to be burned."

  "Why's he keep looking at us?" asked Jack.

  "They do that, I'm afraid. Always looking for people are the Black Dogs. Always looking for young healthy lads for their sodding army." She looked at the man square on and raised her voice so all could hear. "But he won't find any in my place. All anyone should be thinking of is how nice my bloody food is."

  The dining room fell silent as they waited for the man to react. Mrs Waters stood with her hands on her hips until the man raised his spoon in acknowledgement. The chatter in the dining room restarted almost instantly.

  “Listen, Jack,” said Mrs Waters as she stood. She pushed her chair back. The smile was gone from her face and her eyes were cold. "Be scared if we don't have him. Be scared if we don't have the Black Dogs." Jack was holding his breath, hanging on Mrs Waters' every word. She leaned in closer, examining Jack from head to toe. "But you know what's scarier?"

  "What?" asked Jack but he didn't want to know the answer.

  A grin spread across her face. "Me — if you waste my food. Now eat your stew before it gets cold."

  The boys ate their meal but Jack didn’t taste a thing. His head was too full of monsters and dragons swooping from the sky. He couldn't imagine anyone being brave enough to try and fight demons like that. He turned to look at the one-eyed man once more but there was only an empty stool. The man was gone.

  2

  702 Pn

  "Come on. Wake up," said Brendan, shaking Jack.

  It was early in the morning and his mother wasn't back from work. Jack rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Do we have to go?" His head was still full of Mrs Waters' nonsense. He didn't want to go out while it was still dark and monsters could be lurking.

  "Stop asking. You know we do. We turn down a job from Mr Giles and he won't give us another one. What would we do for food then?" Brendan threw a shirt at Jack before pulling on his own.

  "Mum's working now. She's earning." It sounded silly the moment Jack said it. He glanced over to her empty bed. Better to go before she got back. She'd have spent any money she'd earned on drink and they both knew what happened then. Brendan just shook his head and carried on getting dressed.

  Jack knew he’d end up doing as Brendan wanted. Things always seemed to work out that way. He pulled on the shirt, found his battered trousers and dressed.

  "It better be an easy job," he muttered as he followed his brother out the door, taking the heel of hard bread that Brendan offered for breakfast.

  They met their mother in the hallway.

  She staggered towards them, ducking her head so her hair hid her face.

  "Drunk again," said Brendan.

  "I'm not," she replied, her voice thick with booze.

  "Are you okay, Mum?" asked Jack, trying to get a look at her face. Something wasn’t right with her.

  "Don't worry about me, Jack," she replied wrapping her arms around him. He could smell the gin but, as he squirmed in her embrace, he saw something else. The right side of her face was one massive bruise. Her eye was swollen shut and dried blood clung to the corner of her mouth.

  "What happened?” he asked.

  His mother let go of Jack and covered her face with her hand. "It's nothing."

  "Who hit you, Mum?"

  Brendan watched them from the door, his face impassive.

  "It was just a customer. Wasn't happy with me. Got a bit nasty. I'll be alright. Just need a lie down." She touched Jack's face. "Where are you off to so early then?"

  Jack looked at Brendan, who shook his head in response.

  "We're just going out. Nowhere special," said Jack.

  That got a tut from their mother. "Your brother not got you stealing again, has he?"

  "Someone's got to put food on the table," said Brendan, the door half-open in his hand. "We look after ourselves. No one else does."

  "Oh, is that so?" His mother tried to straighten up as she turned on Brendan. "Do you think I like living like this? Do you think I enjoy working all night? Having some idiot beat me up just because he's had a bad day? It's not my fault your father died, leaving us with nothing. He's the one who didn't look after us. All that time at sea, leaving us alone. Then he goes and dies. He got to escape this shit hole didn't he? We don't." Tears welled up in her eyes. But it wasn't enough to stop Brendan.

  "If you didn't drink everything you earned, then maybe we could do better."

  "I'm just trying to do the best I can," she cried. “It ain’t easy for me.”

  Jack looked behind him. The neighbors wouldn't like being woken up again by another screaming match. "Mum, it's okay. Go up to bed and we'll see you later," he said, trying to usher her up the stairs.

  "The only thing you do best is drinking," said Brendan, not letting it go.

  Jack sighed. He didn't understand why they had to provoke each other like this all the time.

  "Why you ungrateful whelp..." Their mother lunged at Brendan but Jack caught her arm. He hung on for dear life as she tried shaking him free.

  "You’re a pair of good-for-nothings. Your father knew what he was doing. He killed himself because of you two!" she cried, spit flying from her mouth.

  "That's a lie," shouted Brendan as he tried hauling Jack free. "He died in an accident at sea."

  "He killed himself because he hated you! Ashamed of you, he was!" their mother screamed back.

  "You're a liar as well as a drunk," said Brendan. They battled in a tangle of limbs until Brendan pulled Jack free. "Buy yourself some more to drink and leave us alone." He stormed from the house, dragging his brother after him.

  "Why do we always have to fight? Why can't things be like they used to?" cried Jack.

  Brendan was already five paces ahead of his brother. "Because Da
d died and Mum won't stop drinking. That's life. It’s shit. All we can count on is you and me. Now come on, we've got a job to do." He didn't even look over his shoulder as he stormed up the street.

  The sun was still an hour from rising and the streets were deserted. The few lamps burning did little to dispel the darkness of the tight pathways. Jack couldn't help looking around to see if anything lingered in the shadows or flew overhead. He told himself he was being stupid, that Mrs Waters had just been trying to scare him the previous day, but he drew a circle around his chest all the same, like he’d seen grown ups do, just to be extra careful.

  At least the grey slash of sky between the buildings was empty of any winged creatures. It was only when Jack gazed around the buildings he knew so well, he noticed something off. He was being watched.

  His heart raced as his mind told him it was a monster, a Nostros — or worse. Jack called out to Brendan to stop but his brother wasn't listening, still fuming about what had happened back at home. Jack craned his neck from side to side, checking everything from ground floor doorways to third floor windows. Then he spotted something. A quick movement where there shouldn't have been. A face lurking in the shadows by the side of the Eastons' house.

  The face of the one-eyed man.

  "Brendan!" This time the fear in Jack’s voice stopped his brother. He rushed back.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I saw him! Watching us!" shouted Jack, pointing back at the Easton’s house.

  "Saw who?"

  "The man from yesterday. The man with one eye. The Black Dog."

  "Where’d you see him?"

  "I want to go home. I don't want to do this anymore." Tears ran down Jack’s face as he shook with fear.

  "Listen to me," said Brendan, gripping Jack. "Where did you see him?"

  Jack pointed to the Eastons’ house but the man had disappeared.

  "There's no one there," said Brendan with a chuckle. "Maybe you just imagined it, eh?" He pulled his brother in close.

  "I don't think so." Jack looked back to the Eastons. Had he imagined it? He had been looking for dragons and Nostros after all. He wiped his nose with the cuff of his shirt, tried a smile for his brother. "Maybe I did."

  "I'm not surprised you're jumping at shadows. I am too. I'm just trying to be brave and not show it."

  "Honest?" Brendan looked like he meant it but Jack could never be sure.

  "Would I lie to you? Come on — let's get this job over with and we can have more chicken stew when we get back."

  The boys retraced their steps from the previous day and found themselves back in Grayston just as it was waking up. Market workers maneuvered their stalls into position, stacking them with the day's wares. More than one told the boys to stay away, some less politely than others. Jack couldn't blame them. Only the dirt was preventing their clothes from falling apart and their bare feet stood out in Grayston as much as a pair of shoes would in Brixteth. And they were in Grayson on the rob after all — just not from the stalls.

  Jack didn't like stealing. He hoped that one day his family would have another way of surviving, a safer way. His dad used to say there were no old thieves in life, just forgotten bones. How many close calls could they have with the law before the rope got them?

  Brendan removed a small piece of paper from the waistband of his trousers. A map was scrawled on it. After a quick turn or two, he matched it to the main street. He led Jack on. They took a sharp left between a bakers and a laundry into a quieter street, full of houses. What little bustle in Grayston's main street was non-existent there. Even the air was thick with sleep. The two boys carried on walking, crossing more streets, and the houses got bigger and more spaced out. Patches of grass separated the road from the buildings and the occasional fence started to appear.

  Jack gaped at the houses. "Hundreds of people could live in homes this big.”

  "Most of ‘em only have a small family inside — four or five people and maybe the same again in servants," replied his brother. There was no hiding the distaste on his face.

  "What do they do with houses that big then?” asked Jack.

  "Who knows? Rich people aren't like us. They want to big houses just because they can. Show off how wealthy they are. Good job too otherwise we'd have nothing to steal." Brendan winked then stopped suddenly. He gazed back down the street, counting the buildings. In front of them was a small stone wall, behind which stood the largest house of all. To Jack, it looked like a castle. It had three floors, with so many windows that Jack couldn’t count them all.

  “We’re here,” Brendan said as he hopped over the wall. "Come on. She's left the window open around the side." He scurried across the grass, keeping low.

  Jack swallowed his reservations and followed his brother. There was no turning back now. The two boys slipped down a small gap between the left-hand side of the house and a large over-grown hedge. Leaves tickled Jack's face as they squeezed past it. Brendan stopped in front of an open window and Jack clattered into him, earning a stared rebuke.

  “This is it,” said Brendan. "Once you're inside, go to the room to the left. That's where all the silver is. Fill up the sack and be quick about it. You with me?"

  Jack nodded. "Room on the left. Silver. Got it." His gut churned with a mixture of fear and excitement, and he fought the urge to throw up.

  "Ok. Let's do it." Brendan put his back to the wall and linked his hands in front of him. Jack placed his left foot into his brother's hands, stepped up as Brendan lifted and caught the windowsill with both hands. He pulled himself up, pausing on the ledge for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior before he dropped to the floor.

  Jack found himself in a walk-in cupboard, thick with the stink of dust and stale air. No one had used the room for a long time. The owners had probably forgotten about it with so many others to choose from. Rich people were strange.

  "An easy job," whispered Jack as he turned the door handle. He caught his breath for a moment as the hinge creaked open but nothing stirred. He stepped into a narrow corridor, filled with a thick darkness as curtained windows prevented the early morning light from sneaking into the house with him.

  Again Jack had to wait for his eyes to adjust. It was five long paces to the door he was looking for. He walked on tiptoe, aware of the silence in the house. A squeaky floorboard would be all it’d take to bring the whole house down on him. He hoped he didn't have that kind of luck.

  The next door didn't make a noise as he opened it. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. The room was even darker than the hallway but there was the odd glint of silver from the far wall to lure Jack in. "Easy job," he said once more and stepped inside.

  "I wouldn't say that," said a man's voice from behind him as a match was struck.

  Jack spun around as a lamp bathed the room in a soft light. The one-eyed man sat in a chair tucked in the corner.

  Jack sprang for the door.

  But the Black Dog wasn't some overweight rich man or an uninterested stallholder. He had Jack by the collar before he’d made one step.

  "Who's been a naughty boy?" said the Black Dog. A patch covered his eye.

  "Let me go,” shouted Jack. "I haven't done anything."

  The man laughed. "I think you have. Breaking into someone's home with the intent to steal. Definitely something you've done there. Something for the law."

  "Let me go!" Jack kicked out with his right foot but the man stepped safely away.

  An elderly couple entered the room. The man hobbled up to them, walking stick in hand, while the lady kept to the safety of the doorway. "Is this one of the young lads?" asked the old man.

  The Black Dog nodded. "One of them, sir. The other is being apprehended as we speak."

  "No. I'm alone," protested Jack. "It's just me."

  "Be quiet boy," ordered the Black Dog. "Here comes your brother now."

  Scuffling came down the hallway as two burly men dragged Brendan along with them. His brother's right eye was closed a
nd bleeding.

  "I don't believe it," said the woman, a hand over her mouth. "Is nothing sacred? These boys were going to rob us? In our own home?”

  "And probably slit your throat while you slept, ma'am," said one of the men holding Brendan.

  "Now then, Mr Jones. Let's not exaggerate," said the Black Dog. "The boys are in enough trouble as it is without making it worse. They’re simply thieves, not murderers. If you would be so kind as to tie the young gentlemen up whilst Mr Smyth fetches the law for us."

  The men didn’t need asking twice. The rope bit deeply into Jack's wrists but he wasn't going to give anyone the satisfaction of crying out. Especially the one-eyed man who now sat smiling at the boys like a cat who'd cornered its dinner. Somehow, Jack knew the law was going to be the least of his problems.

  3

  702 Pn

  It took four days to track down Jack's mother and another half day before she made it to the Grayston jail. Four and a half days of Jack hoping there was some way to slip through the rusted iron bars. Four and a half days of being stuck in a small cell in the basement of the jail, with nothing but rancid straw for a bed, a bucket for a toilet and his brother for company.

  Jack had been petrified at first. Then fear turned into anger at being caught, anger at being tricked by the Black Dog. Acceptance followed. They were in jail and, at best, that's where they were going to stay. At worst, it was a short stop before the rope. Finally, all Jack felt was boredom. The cell was dark and dank, the food awful and there was nothing to do except sit and stare at the walls. Brendan was no help either. He’d shut down the moment the key turned in the lock. He sat slumped in the corner, ignoring any attempt to talk. There were no other prisoners.

  The single guard, a stick thin man, with wild reddish hair, brought the two boys food each day. Jack tried everything to get a response as the man slid the slop-filled wooden bowls through a gap in the bars. From saying hello to asking what day it was to pleading for help before finally pretending to be ill. The guard didn't even look at him. He just sat at a small table a few strides away from the cell, waited for the boys to finish eating and then took the empty bowls away with him.