Consequently, Amon was less than alert in the days after Raisa’s disappearance as he walked the narrow streets and alleys of Ragmarket, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
He’d arranged to meet the Wolfpack at the bridge at noon to see if anyone had news. He was not optimistic. He was nearing the river, walking a narrow alley, when someone behind him called his name.
“Corporal Byrne.”
He swung around. It was Cuffs Alister, in a side courtyard, on the wrong side of a wrought-iron grillwork. A half dozen other Raggers stood in a cluster behind him. No Raisa.
Amon lunged toward Cuffs and came up against the grillwork, which was too fine to insinuate even his hand through. Still, Cuffs skipped back a step, as if he thought Amon might somehow manage it.
“Where is she?” Amon demanded, looking for some way over or around the fence. “What have you done with her? If you’ve touched her, I swear I’ll—”
“Rebecca, you mean?” Cuffs frowned as if confused.
“Right. Rebecca.” Amon’s mind stumbled to a conclusion. So the streetlord still didn’t know Raisa’s true identity. “Who else would I be looking for, you murdering, thieving…”
“She’s in Southbridge Guardhouse,” Cuffs said, cocking his head right, toward the river.
“Southbridge?” Amon struggled to control his voice. “What’s she doing in there?”
“I don’t exactly know what she’s doing in there,” Cuffs fingered the silver at his wrists. “But she went in there yesterday and hasn’t come out. Something’s up. I was hoping you could, you know, take a look in. Make sure she’s all right.”
Amon was lost. There was something crucial the streetlord wasn’t telling him. “Why wouldn’t she be all right?” And why hadn’t Amon heard she’d been found?
Cuffs shrugged. “Mac Gillen’s in there, for one.”
Mac Gillen was a brute on the streets, but what did that have to do with Raisa? “How did she come to be in there?” Amon asked, choosing his words carefully, trying to resist the impulse to beat on the metal door between them. “Did the Guard find her, or did she escape from you, or…”
“Well, I believe she went in to rescue some Raggers from the pits,” Cuffs said. “She wasn’t all that specific.”
“She went in to rescue—why would she do that?” Amon gripped the ironwork, studying the streetlord’s face. Was he lying? And if so, what was the purpose?
“Guess she’s kind of taken with us,” Cuffs said. “You know, the glamour of the gang life and all. Getting beat up every other day, arrested for crimes you didn’t commit, long nights in gaol, sleeping in the cold and wet. It’s…seductive.” He raised an eyebrow.
Amon couldn’t help thinking Cuffs had chosen that word on purpose. Yet despite his sardonic tone, the streetlord’s face was pale and anxious under the dirt and bruises, and he practically twitched with tension.
Was he worried about Raisa?
No. He wasn’t allowed.
“Why should I trust you? Why should I believe you about anything?” Amon asked.
Cuffs spat on the ground. “All right, then. If it’s too chancy for you to walk into your own guardhouse and find your own girlie, I’ll go myself. I just thought you might get a better reception.” His face had gone hard, his blue eyes bright with anger.
Amon wavered, unwilling to lose Cuffs now that he had him in his sights. Even if he was tantalizingly out of reach.
“Look,” Cuffs said, rubbing his chin. “I’m sorry I took your girlie. I don’t want her to get hurt. And the longer you wait, the more likely that’ll be. I don’t know what else I can say.”
“You wait here,” Amon said. “Don’t you move.” As if he had some power to enforce it.
“All right,” Cuffs said, smiling slantwise. “You go on. I’ll be waiting here.”
Amon turned and raced toward the bridge, but hadn’t gotten more than a few paces when he heard his name again.
“Amon! Corporal Byrne! Where’ve you been? Wasn’t we supposed to meet at noon?”
He turned and found his Gray Wolf cadets clustered around the bridge pillar.
On impulse he said, “Come on with me to the guardhouse. I hear there’s trouble.”
They cut to the front of the line for the bridge. The guardsman on duty saluted.
“Are you the reinforcements?” he asked, eyeing Amon’s companions.
“Right,” Amon said. “Reinforcements. What seems to be the trouble?”
“Dunno. Some kind of prisoner riot.”
Amon set a killing pace across the bridge, which cut down on the questions from the Wolfpack. The door to the guardhouse was ajar. Several guards stood around outside, armed with clubs. Amon slowed his pace and approached cautiously from the side. When he peered around the door frame, he saw a handful of guardsmen bunched at the end of the corridor that led to the cells.
“What’s going on?” Amon asked, leading the others inside. “Where’s Sergeant Gillen?”
“Corporal Byrne, thank the Maker,” one of the guardsmen said, only too happy to hand over responsibility. “The prisoners took over the cell block yesterday morning. They have the gate barricaded and they’re holding Sergeant Gillen and some others hostage.”
Amon blinked at them. “How did all this happen?”
The man shrugged. “Search me. This young girl come in looking for her sister, said she was being held in the cells. Sergeant Gillen, he took the girl down to the pit.”
“A young girl? Who did she want to see?”
“It was one of them Raggers what Sergeant Gillen’s been interrogating. The next thing I know, all hell’s broken loose and the prisoners are demanding a way out or they’ll cut Gillen’s throat.”
Well, Amon thought, that’d be a shame, to sacrifice Sergeant Gillen for the good of the realm. Aloud he said, “Who’s their spokesman?”
“That girl and her sister, I guess. We didn’t know what to do, so we been waiting for word from the captain.”
“Captain Byrne sent me to—um—investigate.” Amon poked his head into the corridor. The prisoners had stuck torches on either side of the gate, blinding him so he couldn’t see beyond them. “You! In the cells! This is Corporal Byrne. I need to talk to you.”
“Corporal Byrne? Really?”
It was Raisa’s voice, and Amon nearly collapsed from relief. He had no idea what she was up to, but she was alive at least, and out of Cuffs’s hands. Now all he needed to do was get her out of there without giving away her identity and raising lots of questions they didn’t want to answer.
“Yes,” he said. “Ah—who are you?” It seemed like the safest question.
“I’m Sarie’s sister, Rebecca,” she said, hesitating a little over the name.
“I’m the officer in command,” he said, feeling foolish as he said it. “Truce for a meeting?”
He heard a flurry of conversation, more like an argument, and then a new voice said, “You come to us. Unarmed. Hands raised. Try anything and I’ll spit you like a pig.”
“I wouldn’t do it, sir,” someone said behind him. “They’ll just take you hostage too. We’d best starve them out, I say.”
Amon unsheathed his sword and handed it to one of the guardsmen. “I’m coming,” he called. “Unarmed. Under truce,” he added, just as a reminder. All the while wondering how this would end. Wondering what his father would do.
He walked slowly down the corridor, hands in the air. When he reached the gate, he paused. A girl’s rough voice said, “Come ahead,” and he passed between the torches, skin tingling, expecting at any moment to feel the prick of a blade.
When he entered the cell block, Amon was nearly overwhelmed by the stench of urine and unwashed bodies and the metallic reek of blood. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw that he was surrounded by nearly two dozen prisoners of all ages—from children to one cadaverous, matted-haired old man who stared down at his hands, muttering to himself. Several were slumped against the wall, looking ill or inj
ured.
Two prisoners stepped forward. One was a taller girl wearing an ill-fitting guard uniform. Her face was layered in bruises, her nose badly broken, and those were just the injuries he could see. Alongside her was Raisa, carrying a short sword and clad in trousers and shirt, her hair stuffed under a boy’s cap like some knight’s errant page. Her neck was mottled with bruises and there was a jagged cut over her cheekbone. She looked up at him, green eyes wide, and her finger to her lips. “I’m Rebecca,” she said, in case he’d forgotten. “This is Sarie.”
At that point Amon didn’t know whether to embrace her or throttle her. So he took a middle path. “Where are Sergeant Gillen and the other guards?” he asked.
“They’re safe put away in the cages,” the tall girl, Sarie, said, grinning smugly. “Like the animals they are.”
“What is it you want?” Amon asked.
“We want safe out of gaol, for one,” Sarie said. “We want the Guard to quit trying to make us confess to something we didn’t do.”
“We want Gillen reassigned,” Raisa said. “Send him to the borderlands, where people fight back.”
“Kill ’im!” somebody shouted from the back of the crowd. “Then there’s no chance he’ll come back.”
“Ah.” Amon cleared his throat. “Could I speak with Rebecca a minute? In private?”
Sarie looked from Amon to Raisa and shook her head. “If you got something to say, say it to all of us.”
Amon’s mind raced. “All right. I can bring you out of here, but you’re going to have to give up your weapons, and I’m going to have to take you out under guard.”
Loud protest erupted from all sides.
“Listen to me!” For a small person, Raisa had a commanding voice. “Listen,” she repeated. “I know you’ve reason to hate bluejackets. But I know Corporal Byrne, and I know he wouldn’t lie to you.” Then she turned to Amon and demanded, “Why do we have to give up our weapons?”
Amon leaned in close and spoke so only Raisa could hear, ignoring the dirty looks from the others. “Because it can’t look like I’m setting you free,” he said. “The Bayars have eyes and ears everywhere. They don’t care about dead Southies, but if it looks like I’m loosing criminals on the streets, they’ll use it against my da.”
Sarie pushed her way between them. “Who are you, anyway?” she asked Raisa. “How come you and this bluejacket are so chummy? You say Cuffs sent you, but he may be dead for all I know. I’ve not even seen him for a year.”
Amon was losing patience. “If you all don’t want to come, fine. You stay here, but Rebecca’s coming with me.” There was more grumbling all around, and he added, “Take it or leave it.”
This was followed by a clamor of “Put ’im in the cage with Gillen!” and “We’re leavin’ it, then!”
But Sarie raised her hand for silence, her eyes locked on Amon’s face. “Fair enough,” she said. “But we’ll take our shivs wi’us, hid under our coats.” She stowed her dagger under her jacket. “And I’m keeping the girlie close to me. Try anything, and she’ll be the first one down.” She put an arm around Raisa and drew her in close, her other hand resting on her weapon.
Amon’s impulse was to rip Raisa free and drag her away with him, but she looked at him and shook her head, a movement so slight, Sarie missed it.
“All right,” he said. “Let me…give me a minute.”
He ducked through the doorway, between the torches, and walked back toward the front, painfully aware that his back made a tempting target.
Back in the duty room, the other guards peppered him with questions, and he had to hold up a hand for silence.
“They want an audience with the captain,” Amon said. “To tell their grievances. I agreed. So we’re going to bring them out under guard.” Ignoring the muttering of surprise and muted protest, he scanned the crowd and chose out his cadets. “Mick, Hallie, Garret, Wode, Kiefer, come with me.”
“You want us to jump ’em soon as you’re clear of the cells?” one of the bluejackets asked, fondling his club.
“No.” Amon looked around the room, meeting every eye. “Nobody so much as touches his weapon. I mean to get them out of here without spilling blood. Any soldier that makes a move on them will be brought up on charges.”
There was another mutter of protest, but Amon thought they’d follow orders.
They made a rather odd procession, like refugees from some poorly planned and provisioned war. Twenty-five or so prisoners limped, shuffled, and swaggered at the center, loosely ringed by Amon’s mostly beardless cadets. They marched through the duty room and out the door, crossed the courtyard, and turned onto South Bridge. Guards stared at them, perplexed, as they streamed across. Citizens cleared out of the streets ahead of them, but peered out of windows and leaned out of doorways after they’d passed.
Amon’s racing heartbeat slowed a bit once they’d made it to the other side of the river. They marched straight down the Way of the Queens until they were out of sight of the guardhouse.
“Turn here,” he commanded, veering off into a side street. They walked a ways farther, made another turn, and Amon brought the parade to a halt.
“All right,” he said. “You’re free to go. Just don’t land in gaol again, all right? That’d be hard to explain.”
Most of the prisoners melted quickly into the shadows and were gone.
But Sarie blinked at him, then glanced around, suspicious to the bone. “Just like that? You’re springing us? How come?”
Because your princess heir commands it, Amon thought of saying. Because I’m a fool. Because I still haven’t figured out how to say no.
“Because you’ve been ill used,” Amon said. “Because some of us don’t believe in beating a confession out of a person.”
“Such a pretty speech, Corporal.” And just like that, Cuffs was there with the rest of the Raggers. The Gray Wolves bunched up, prickling with weapons.
“No worries,” Cuffs said, grinning. “Cat and me just came to meet and greet.” He nodded toward another Ragger, a tall Southern Islander with a scowl on her face.
“Let’s go,” Cat said, and all of the Raggers, including the three held by the Guard, bled into the surrounding streets. All of the Raggers but Cuffs.
He came and stood before Raisa, sketching out a little bow. “Rebecca,” he said, “bravo. I do think you’re a Ragger at heart.”
“She’s not,” Amon said, pushing between them. “If by that you mean she’s a thief and kidnapper.”
“Amon,” Raisa said, laying a hand on his arm.
“I’m thinking your girlie don’t seem that happy to see you,” Cuffs said, shaking his head sadly. “I thought she’d be all over you with happiness, and not even a chaperone kiss.”
“I’m thinking you should answer for taking her,” Amon said. “I want to know what you…” He swallowed hard. “I want to know if you’ve hurt her in any way.”
“I’m fine,” Raisa interjected, pressing her fingers into the flesh of his arm. “He never touched me.”
Amon looked down into her face. She raised her eyebrows, signaling him to leave off.
“What about the dead Southies?” Amon went on, not able to help himself. “Convince me you weren’t involved.”
“You going to put me on the rack, then, like the others?” Cuffs asked, still smiling, though it looked kind of frozen to his face. “Yank out my fingernails? Smash my—”
“You stop it!” Raisa said sharply. “Amon is not a torturer. He was the one who freed your street runners from gaol. If not for him, I—”
“They’re not my street runners,” Cuffs interrupted.
“Fine,” she said, glaring at him.
“Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes.
Amon was beginning to feel a little extraneous. “You know Gillen’s going to come after you again,” he said to Cuffs. “It’d be better to turn yourself in.”
“Would it? Let me think about it…No thanks,” Cuffs said. “I’ll be off, the
n. Good luck with your girlie, mate. I think you’ll need it.”
And before anything more could be said, he’d turned the corner and was gone.
Aflame with anger and embarrassment, dizzy with relief, Amon whistled for his triple, and they assembled around him, jittery as colts.
“First of all, great work, everyone,” Amon said. “You should all be proud to have pulled this off without any bloodshed.” The Wolfpack elbowed each other and grinned. “Second of all, nobody says a word to anybody about what happened over here. Don’t ask questions, because I can’t answer them. This is the queen’s business. The fewer who know about it the better.”
Their faces fell, and Amon knew hopes of tavern bragging and free rounds of drinks were evaporating.
“Now. We’re going to take Rebecca back to the castle close,” Amon said. “Fall in.”
Amon marched his little army back to the Way and turned toward Fellsmarch Castle. The guardsmen walked a few paces ahead and behind, giving Raisa and Amon a little space in which to talk.
“What’s going on?” Raisa whispered. “Is my mother furious or worried or both?”
“Furious,” Amon said. “The queen is fuming, and Lord Bayar is making all kinds of threats. But not for the reasons you’d guess. My da and Lord Averill told her you went back to Demonai for a week for some kind of name day clan ritual.”
Raisa blinked at him. “They did? Why did they say that?”
Amon cleared his throat. “My da is worried that if news gets out about you spending the night with a streetlord, your prospects for marriage might be…diminished.”
She stared at him. “I’m the blooded princess heir of the Fells,” she declared through gritted teeth, those green eyes dark as the deep ocean. “Any prince or noble in the entire Seven Realms should be thrilled to marry me. No questions asked.”
Her voice was getting louder and louder, and Amon put his finger to his lips. “Shhh. I agree, and Da agrees, but the southern princes have…old-fashioned ideas about women,” he said. “They think brides should be…pure…when they come to…Bones, Raisa, just trust me, all right?”
The Seven Realms- The Complete Series Page 23
