The Demon Horsemen

by Tony Shillitoe

  ‘And if it’s not? Can I keep it?’

  The short man shook his head slightly. ‘If it’s no good to us you can eat it for all I care.’

  Runner looked at the two men. ‘He has to sit down,’ he said, pointing at the taller one.

  The short man gestured to his companion and he sat. ‘All right?’ the short man asked.

  Runner pulled out the paper and placed it in the short man’s open palm. The man squinted and read, then passed the paper to the tall man.

  ‘Well?’ Runner asked.

  ‘Ten shillings,’ the short man offered.

  ‘Twenty,’ Runner said.

  The men looked at one another, and the tall man nodded. ‘All right, fifteen,’ the short man offered.

  ‘Twenty,’ said Runner.

  ‘We haven’t got twenty shillings on us!’ the man hissed.

  ‘Then give me back the paper and I’ll wait here until you bring the rest,’ said Runner.

  The man drew a sharp breath and again looked at his companion. This time the tall man folded the paper neatly and leaned forward. ‘If you got twenty shillings, what would you do with it?’

  Runner snorted. ‘Spend it.’

  ‘On what?’

  Runner glared at the tall man. ‘On food. On new pants.’

  The tall man smiled. He leaned back, dropped the letter on the table top and fished from his trousers a heavy money pouch which he placed on the table. ‘That’s a lot of money, lad. Don’t lose it.’

  He nodded to the short man and the two strangers stood, the tall one picking up the paper. He looked at Runner closely and said, ‘Did you read this?’

  ‘I don’t read other people’s private business,’ Runner answered smugly.

  The tall man grinned and nodded. ‘Good answer.’ With that, the strangers left the tavern.

  Runner carefully checked that no one else, aside from the waiter and the taverner, was in the room, then he quietly poured the coins from the leather pouch onto the table. Twenty-four shillings. The strangers had made a mistake. He recounted twice to make sure. He had never seen so much money. He looked around furtively again, scooped the coins back into the pouch, pulled the drawstring tight and knotted it twice. For the first time in his life he was rich.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The city was the same and yet very different. The night streets were emptier than Swift remembered, and darker because the inns and taverns, the gambling houses and the brothels were closed. In some streets, dark gaping holes where a familiar building had stood were testimony to the Seers’ brutal purging of sinners. There were more soldiers and more City Watch on the streets, making travelling fraught with the fear of being stopped. Swift’s intended quick trip to the city outskirts became a dangerous game of cat-and-mouse between the City Watch and herself. She was pursued three times during her circuitous route through the alleys and lanes of the Foundry Quarter, but her knowledge of the city made it easy for her to lose the soldiers, and the absence of lights from the old night businesses gave her an extra advantage in the shadows.

  Her mind swirled with thoughts of Runner. She knew he was safe now, but the image of him running from her, the memory of his sharp words and rejection, cut deeper than her assassin’s knife. She’d lost him. He had been swallowed by the city and her absence. She felt overwhelmed by loss, but refused to let the tears come. Her thoughts turned to her daughter, Jewel. Somehow, during this mad adventure she’d become enmeshed in, she had to find time to visit Jewel before she lost her like she’d lost Runner. I could go now, she thought. I should go now. But then she sighed and smacked her fist against a wall. I promised the others, she reminded herself. She pushed herself on, determined to fulfil her task, even though the sorrow flowing through her veins made her feel sick.

  She made it safely to the city’s south-eastern outskirts and onto the road that headed into the countryside. The three-quarter moon bathed the trees and scattered farmhouses with silver light, making the earth glow and the shadows deepen. Swift walked the empty road deep in memories of her past and the tears she had denied herself earlier began to creep down her cheeks. Her whole life had been focussed on her own survival, and her children had suffered as a result. She owed her father for that attitude: he had absconded when she was a child, setting the pattern for her abandonment of her own children. Passion and Sparkle knew her children better than she did because they had raised them in her absence. But how could I have been a mother and an assassin? she argued. What would I have given my children if I’d kept them with me? Fear? Gaol? She snorted. Or perhaps I might have been something other than an assassin? But what? A whore? The tears flowed again. The world was indifferent to her pain, as it always had been, and that was why she had been indifferent in turn. Life could not be any other way for her.

  The shadow of a ruined farmhouse reminded her of where she was. She had come to retrieve money from her hidden cache, the accumulated reward for her years of work as a highly skilled assassin.

  The city echoed to the temple bells. Meg sat outside, petting a skinny white dog as she watched the sun gild the roof tiles. Swift appeared in the lane carrying a bag. She glanced over her shoulder cautiously then sauntered towards the old woman. ‘Good morning,’ Meg offered in greeting.

  ‘Has anything happened?’ Swift asked.

  ‘Not really. Mouse is awake. Wahim and Chase are getting dressed.’

  The cottage door swung open and Mouse appeared in her yellow smock. She greeted Swift and added, ‘I have to go to prayer and then to work in the market. Don’t go out on the street during prayer. The Watch will arrest you.’

  She hurried off down the lane. Other people started appearing in the street, all heading in the same direction, most wearing yellow smocks, robes or shirts.

  ‘The city’s gone mad,’ said Swift. ‘What’s with the yellow?’

  ‘The colour of a Jarudhan acolyte,’ Meg explained, getting to her feet to move indoors. ‘Everyone is a servant of Jarudha now.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. Religious fanaticism has always been a feature of the Seers. It seems that the new king allows them to force their fanaticism on everyone else too.’

  Inside the cottage, Swift dropped her bag on the table. ‘Bread, apples, some cheese,’ she announced to Wahim, Chase and Jon. She shook a pouch inside her tunic. ‘And money.’

  Mouse’s three dogs stared sullenly at her from the bedroom doorway. ‘Where’s Whisper?’ she asked.

  ‘Disappeared as usual,’ said Meg. ‘The dogs are more settled without her around.’

  The group discussed what they had learned from Mouse and made plans as they ate their meal.

  ‘We can’t be on the streets when it’s prayer time,’ Meg advised.

  ‘So how do we get into the Bog Pit to rescue Passion?’ Chase said. He glanced at Jon, who was squatting in the corner gnawing happily on an apple core, oblivious to the troubles of the adult world. One of the dogs lay at his feet, hoping for a titbit.

  ‘A portal in and out,’ said Meg.

  Swift shook her head. ‘It’s not that simple. There are several levels in the gaol. Chase was imprisoned in the lowest level. I’ve been into the second level.’

  ‘When were you in the Bog Pit?’ Chase asked.

  ‘When I was twelve,’ she said. ‘I was caught stealing fish.’

  ‘You would have lost a hand for that,’ Chase argued.

  Swift looked at him. ‘I saved my hand by doing the guards favours.’

  ‘What sort—’ Chase began, but the look in Swift’s green eyes and a cough from Wahim stopped him. ‘Oh,’ he mumbled.

  ‘When you’re twelve and desperate, you do whatever has to be done,’ Swift said.

  ‘And the other levels?’ Meg asked.

  ‘Short-term prisoners are on the first level, usually for drunkenness, fighting, minor misdemeanours. Above that are the solitary cells and rooms for important prisoners.’

  ‘Important prisoners?’ Meg querie
d.

  ‘Political prisoners,’ Swift explained. ‘Like someone who’s rich or had some influence but is out of favour.’

  ‘That’s where they keep the man who’s been in there the longest time,’ Chase added. ‘He was locked up before any of us were born.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Meg asked.

  Chase shrugged. ‘No one can remember.’

  ‘Do they separate the men and women?’

  ‘They do in the lower level,’ said Chase. Swift nodded agreement.

  ‘So we can expect Passion to be among other women,’ Meg said. ‘But how do we get to the right place? I’ve never been inside the Bog Pit.’

  ‘You can get the details from inside my head, like you did last time,’ Chase reminded her.

  ‘We don’t want to end up on the wrong side of the bars,’ Wahim said.

  ‘I’ll show her the corridors,’ Chase suggested, then looked at Swift. ‘Or she could use your memories—you were in the upper level.’

  ‘No one goes inside my head,’ Swift said bluntly, and glared at Meg as if defying her to attempt it.

  ‘I won’t go anywhere I’m not invited,’ Meg assured her. ‘If Chase can show me an entry point, we’ll use that.’

  ‘We need weapons,’ said Swift. ‘There’ll be guards.’

  Meg shook her head. ‘We can’t afford to fight our way in or out.’

  ‘We may not have a choice,’ Wahim warned.

  ‘Where will you get weapons?’ Meg asked.

  Swift patted the money pouch. ‘I know a good merchant.’

  ‘Okay,’ Meg said. ‘But be careful.’

  ‘What about Jon?’ Chase asked. Everyone looked at the boy, whose face was now being licked by the dog.

  ‘We’ll wait for Mouse to get home,’ said Meg. ‘She can stay with Jon. In the meantime, Swift will get the weapons and I’ll go to visit my old bookshop. There are some books there that might be useful later. No one else is to go into the streets.’

  ‘We might need more food and drink,’ Wahim said. ‘I could go to the market while Swift is buying weapons.’

  ‘No,’ said Meg. ‘Wait until she gets back. Then she can go with you to get the supplies. Take Jon too—pretend to be a family doing their normal shopping. But don’t go anywhere except the market, and go well before midday prayer or wait until after.’

  The walk through the city streets to the bookshop seemed surreal, as if she no longer fitted in places that had once been familiar. She was conscious of the curious stares from people around her, even though she endeavoured to be relaxed and unobtrusive in her manner. There were more soldiers than she remembered, but they seemed uninterested in her, although she kept her distance from them. The day’s heat was rapidly rising and she was sweating by the time she turned into her old lane. She was looking forward to seeing her home again after a year’s absence.

  Meg stared at the charred ruin and understood why her portal spell had failed. All three storeys had collapsed, leaving only a blackened mass of twisted beams, ash and rubble. Her few possessions and all of her books were gone. She sighed. There was no point digging through the rubble. She guessed the shop had been destroyed when the connection was made between her and the fugitives the previous year.

  ‘Batty?’

  Meg turned and recognised the thin, pale woman who owned the bakery at the end of the lane. ‘Hello, Lily,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, Batty Booker! It is you!’ Lily came forward, wiping her hands on her brown apron. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Away at a friend’s in the country,’ Meg replied. ‘She was very ill.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry about your place. The soldiers came and burned it down and we all thought you had perished in the fire.’

  Meg shook her head. ‘I didn’t know this had happened. I wasn’t here when they came.’

  ‘Then you must feel terrible, coming home to find this. Come and have a bite to eat,’ Lily invited, taking the taller woman’s arm.

  Meg let Lily lead her to the rear door of the bakery and into her kitchen, where a small white table and four chairs clustered in the small space. A brown dog lying by the empty hearth studied her with dark eyes. ‘I see Fetch is well,’ Meg noted, reaching down to pat the dog’s head.

  ‘Who’s that?’ a deep voice queried and a bullish head with thick brown hair poked through the door from the adjoining room.

  ‘It’s Batty Booker,’ Lily announced. ‘She’s just come back from being in the country.’

  ‘Hello, Handle,’ Meg said to the baker.

  ‘Bad time to be making a comeback,’ Handle grumbled. ‘You’ll have to answer to Jarudha for every sin you’ve committed and every one you haven’t.’

  ‘Shush!’ Lily warned. ‘You’ll get yourself into trouble one day for blaspheming.’

  ‘As if the Seers care about a little man like me,’ Handle retorted with contempt and withdrew.

  ‘Pay no heed to him,’ said Lily as she poured a glass of lemon water for Meg. ‘He’s a religious man really, but he has to complain about everything.’ She opened a red tin on the table to reveal fresh pastries from the bakery. ‘Please,’ she offered. ‘Handle made them this morning.’

  Meg thanked Lily for the refreshment and savoured the cool flavoured water. ‘Did the soldiers say why they burned down my shop?’ she asked.

  Lily shifted uncomfortably and looked away.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Meg reassured her. ‘I know they tell all sorts of stories about people when they do those things.’

  Lily met her steady gaze, blinked, and said, ‘There were rumours. Of course I didn’t believe them. I said to my friends that you were always polite and a good woman, you wouldn’t have done anything bad.’

  Meg smiled and patted Lily’s hand. ‘I know you’d say good things, Lily. Tell me what the rumours were.’

  ‘Well, the general belief was that your shop was burned down as part of the cleansing purge. The Seers decreed that the only book anyone should read is The Word and that all other books are abominations in Jarudha’s eyes. People were asked to take their books to the temples where the soldiers burned them. Now you and I know most people can’t read anyway, but there were a lot of books at our temple, more than I imagined people might have, and they made quite a bonfire. Of course, there never were any books in our house because neither Handle nor myself, nor our children, can read.’

  ‘So the soldiers burned my bookshop because of all the books in it,’ Meg said quietly.

  ‘That’s one of the stories,’ Lily confirmed.

  ‘And the others?’

  Lily’s smile disappeared. ‘There were some who said that you’d got involved with criminals. Argent down the street said he’d heard you’d kept a notorious murderer in your house.’ Lily shook her head. ‘Of course we all knew that was absurd, but that was what Argent was telling everyone and some people believed him.’

  ‘And the soldiers?’

  ‘They didn’t say anything. They just set fire to your shop and walked away. It was as if they didn’t care if you were in there or not. The priest at the temple said it was in Jarudha’s hands and that He would judge whether or not what was being said was true or not true.’

  ‘So it seems,’ Meg murmured. ‘There’ve been a lot of changes.’

  ‘For the good!’ said Lily. ‘The new king has made it safe for people like you and me to walk the streets. No one goes about after dark any more, unless they’re workers in the big factory down in the Foundry Quarter, so there are no criminals around to take advantage of innocent people.’

  ‘And you go to prayer three times a day?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lily. ‘Even my grumpy old husband comes. No one can escape their obligation to Jarudha. It makes everyone realise we’re all in this together, and we can generate Jarudha’s Paradise.’

  Meg suddenly realised the time for evening prayer was approaching. She needed to be back at the cottage well before then. ‘I have to go,’ she said, and stood.

 
‘Where will you stay?’ Lily asked.

  ‘With my grandchildren.’

  ‘Oh. I didn’t know you had any. You never mentioned them.’

  ‘That’s a long story for another time,’ Meg said as she headed for the door. ‘I really must hurry. Thank you so much for the cool drink.’

  ‘A pleasure!’ said Lily, offering Meg a hug. ‘It’s just so nice to see you and to know that you’re all right. You should come to prayer at our temple. The priest is a very young man and he knows his scripture.’

  Meg accepted the embrace, saying, ‘Perhaps I will.’

  ‘Jarudha be with you,’ said Lily at the door.

  ‘And with you,’ Meg replied. She walked quickly out of Brewery Lane, her mind swirling with the palpable changes already wrought by the Seers on the people of Port of Joy. How many already accepted the new regime as willingly as Lily? How much harder would it be now to stop what had begun?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Meg stepped back from the portal glowing in the doorway from the common room to the bed space and thanked Chase for allowing her access to his memories once more.

  ‘My head has its uses after all,’ he remarked, grinning at his companions.

  ‘Apart from ramming open a thick door,’ Swift quipped.

  Everyone laughed.

  ‘Jon will be all right with you?’ Meg asked, turning to Mouse. The girl nodded. ‘We might be some time,’ Meg explained. ‘Keep this space as clear as you can because we’ll return here.’

  ‘There’ll be more food tomorrow,’ Swift promised Mouse, seeing how hungrily the girl was attacking the leftovers from the meal she and Chase had prepared that afternoon.

  ‘When we’ve gone through you can let your dogs back inside,’ said Meg. ‘The rat will come with us.’ She turned to her three companions. ‘Are we ready?’ she asked.

  Chase, Swift and Wahim nodded. Swift adjusted one of the two hand peacemakers in her belt that she had bought that afternoon.

  ‘Whisper?’ Meg said. The black rat looked at her, then scampered into the light and vanished.