by Emma Newman
Jay leaned in close to him, holding up a hand to quiet the gang. “You bring the blade back clean, I’ll know you’re soft on ’em. We’ll all know.”
The Boys looked from Jay to Zane again, the tension twisting its thick strands tightly between them all. Zane looked at Jay’s belt, thinking of all the men who must have been hurt or killed for Jay to have that many ties. He thought of his mother and what he’d promised her. He saw her face when Callum brought him back, how worried she’d been. What if there were Gardners on the other side of the barrier, hiding, waiting for a Boy to climb down and get rid of the body?
“He can’t hurt ya!” Mark yelled, frustrated by Zane’s hesitation. “He’s dead already!”
The Boys laughed and the shoving resumed. Jay turned the knife to present the handle to Zane.
“Do it, Zane!” Grame yelled and the Boys echoed him. “Do it! Do it!”
Jay’s face twisted into a cruel sneer. “Why don’t you just say that you’re too scared?”
Zane took a deep breath, mindful of the Boys closing in around him. Jay needed his mum too much to hurt him, but he also knew that if he didn’t do this, they would make his life miserable. Swallowing down another surge of nausea, he reached for the blade.
“JAY!” The bellow came from the north end of the square. Jay’s head snapped around to see Callum cradling a limp body in his arms with a familiar shock of ginger hair. “Jay! Come here! I’ve found Dev and he’s alive!”
In moments the knife was sheathed and the challenge forgotten as all raced over to Callum. Jay snatched Dev from his offering arms and shook him gently.
“Dev? Dev!” he called but Dev didn’t stir.
“Cor, what’s that on his face?” one of the Boys exclaimed as Zane struggled to push his way past them all to see how his friend was.
The Boys made it hard for him; elbows jabbed into his sides, and they were slow to move aside as he pushed at them. He finally broke through to see two gashes, one on each of Dev’s cheeks, describing a line from near the corners of his mouth to the outer edges of his cheekbones. The cuts didn’t seem too deep, but what was alarming was their intense red colour, too garish to be just blood. It not only sat within the line of the cuts but had also seeped out into the skin of his cheeks, tiny cracks of dark red like fractures on the porcelain glaze of his pale face.
“She marked him!” Jay snarled with such rage that many of the Boys closest to him backed away without even realising what they were doing.
“Let’s take him to Mum,” Zane suggested and Jay nodded, immediately breaking into a run.
“You lot stay ’ere,” he called back to the gang. “And keep watch for that bitch’s Hunters.”
Callum drifted after Zane and Jay as they hurried over to Miri’s square, keeping his distance but eager to see what was happening.
Zane wasn’t surprised to see his mother opening the door as they arrived; the sound of their footsteps had reverberated off the surrounding buildings like heralds’ trumpets.
“He won’t wake up, Miri!” Jay exclaimed, and she beckoned them into the house.
They gently laid Dev down on the sofa, the front door left open in their haste. Callum stood just outside of the door frame, looking in but also trying hard not to be noticed.
Miri carefully checked Dev’s airways and breathing, monitored his pulse, and loosened the layers of clothing as best she could.
“He’s dead pale,” Jay said, hovering nearby like a nervous father.
Miri simply nodded, glancing at Zane and noting how intensely he was staring at Dev. “Check his leg, Mum, it’s hurt,” he muttered whilst pointing to his left calf.
She pulled up the trouser leg and revealed a clean, tightly wrapped bandage. “Perhaps this is where that arrow hit,” she said. “They’ve bandaged it well.”
Zane nodded, staring at it intently. “The wound’s clean,” he said quietly as Miri shuddered at his odd behaviour.
Jay looked at Zane, confused. “How’d you know? You can’t even see it.”
Dev moaned quietly, and Miri caught hold of his hand gently, distracting Jay. She stroked the back of it, very softly calling Dev’s name.
Dev’s eyelids struggled open and he looked up at the trio with bloodshot eyes. “Watchya,” he murmured in a shaky voice.
“Thought you were dead, Dev,” Jay said affectionately.
“Nah,” Dev croaked back, “but I think I might’ve been for a bit.” He began to reach up to his face but Miri caught hold of his hand and gently pushed it down again.
“Your cheeks are cut. Don’t touch them or they’ll get infected.”
“That why they’re itching?”
She nodded, smoothing back hair from his forehead tenderly. “They’ll get better soon.”
“Whaddya remember?” Jay asked, kneeling down next to Miri.
“I nearly got it Jay, honest-like!” he murmured sleepily.
“Never mind that now,” Jay replied, fighting a smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve been gone a few days–what happened?”
Dev seemed genuinely surprised. “I have? Only remember the banner … and me leg killing me.”
“Nothing about the Red Lady?”
Dev jolted like a tiny bolt of lightning had hit him, and his eyes opened wide. He began to speak, but his voice was devoid of any of its normal inflection. “If one of the Bloomsbury Boys enters my territory again, they will be killed on sight. Let the marks on this one remind you of that every day.”
All three of them drew back, staring at Dev warily. But then he relaxed and looked around at them after blinking a couple of times. “What?” he asked confused, with his normal voice.
Jay and Miri exchanged a look. Callum tugged at the bottom of his beard and shuffled a little. Zane mustered a smile and said “Nothing, Dev. It’s alright. We’re just so glad to see you again.”
Chapter 6
AN UNWANTED INVITATION
After she had fed him and fussed over him for a while, Miri insisted that Dev spend the night at her house in front of the fire. Jay agreed reluctantly, promising to return to collect him the next day. Callum slipped away before anyone had the chance to thank him, much to Zane’s disappointment. As Dev slept on the sofa, he brooded over Jay’s challenge but didn’t tell his mother. He didn’t want to see her worried face again.
The next day dawned bright and clear, the weather holding fine and promising a good harvest. Jay kept to his word and collected a groggy and still mostly bewildered Dev from Miri’s care. Zane hung back, nervous that Jay would hint at the day before, but he said nothing. But just as he was leaving, he said, “Zane, give us a hand with Dev ’ere, will ya?”
He obeyed, wanting his mother to think everything was fine. He said nothing as he steered Dev out of the house and along the garden.
“I spoke to the Runners,” Jay said quietly as they reached the edge of Miri’s square. Zane nodded. The Runners were a good choice, being the only people who could move between gang territories. They took messages between the gangs in return for clothes, food, and sometimes shelter in the winter. He was glad it wasn’t the life he led. “I got them keeping an eye out for your Giant. I wanna know if he’s been in any other places.” Zane breathed out in relief, thankful that the challenge wasn’t revived. “My Boys are watchin’ for him too,” Jay added, then lowered his voice even further. “They’ll be watchin’ you too. I ain’t forgotten.” He tugged at Dev’s collar. “C’mon you, keep up.”
Shaken, Zane returned to his mother, relieved that away from the Bloomsbury Boys the morning was taking on the feel of any normal day. He knew that he would have to face Jay and the rest of them again at some point, but right now, all he wanted to think about was the soil and the plants and his mother’s instructions. Everything else just felt confusing and difficult.
Together they worked in the garden, focused on the business of survival. Only a shadow falling over them stopped their industry. Miri plunged the trowel in the soil
and left it there when she saw who it was.
The man nodded to her and she stood, wiping her hands on her long skirt and glancing over at Zane nervously. It was one of the Hunters from the Red Lady’s gang, none other than the Red Lady’s Champion, Luthor. He stood over six and half feet tall with calf muscles wider than Zane’s whole thigh and biceps as big as Zane’s head. Like all of her Hunters, he wore leather trousers that were deep red, rumoured to have been dyed by the blood of slaughtered enemies. His stout boots were made of the same red leather and he wore a plain hand-woven linen shirt underneath the red leather bracers on his arms. He was clean shaven and his dark blonde hair was scraped back tightly and plaited into a thick braid that reached the top of his thighs.
Luthor turned up like this once every two months without fail, coming to the garden with a small wooden box tucked under his arm. Usually, he would ignore Zane, but go with his mother into the house, and she would put something in the box. Then he’d leave, often without saying one word to Zane. He had given up asking what was put in the box; his mother always said that it was a “private arrangement” between her and the Red Lady. His favourite theories were that it was tea or herbs to treat some terrible disease; though what that could be, he had no idea. He had never seen anyone be ill, not like in the medical books he read anyway.
Zane never ceased to be fascinated by the weaponry Luthor carried at all times. A bow on his back next to the quiver always full of thick arrows fletched with red feathers. At his left hip hung a huge sword in a scabbard, and strapped to his left thigh was a long dagger. Another smaller one, for skinning, hung from his belt.
This morning, the box was tucked under Luthor’s arm as usual, but something was very different. Luthor was looking at Zane in such a way that pinned the boy to the spot as if the Hunter had thrown a spear through him.
Miri’s sharp eyes rarely missed anything aimed at her son. “You’re early,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you for a while yet.”
Luthor made a dismissive grunt at the back of his throat and held out the box to her. She took it and, voice quivering, said, “It may take a little while. I haven’t prepared everything.”
He nodded curtly, still staring at Zane, who began to squirm under the pressure of his gaze. Miri lingered, uncomfortable with Luthor’s focus on her son.
“Is there something else?” she asked in a quiet voice.
Luthor pursed his lips as if he had tasted something sour, not taking his eyes off Zane for a moment, and said, “The Red Lady wants to see your son. Now.” It was the first time Zane had ever heard his voice. It was even deeper than Callum’s but didn’t have any kindness to smooth away its harsh edges.
Miri wanted to speak, but the words died on her lips before they could be heard.
Zane stood, very slowly, watching his mother’s panic. “Why does she want to see me?” he asked as confidently as he could manage.
Luthor’s brow formed into a deep frown, casting an even darker shadow over his deep-set eyes as if they were overhung by a treacherous cliff. “That is for the Red Lady to speak to you about,” he said gruffly, as if personally offended by the question.
Miri regained control over her tongue once more and said, “If you wait here, Zane can help me get things ready more quickly.”
Luthor raised a suspicious eyebrow at her, but then shrugged, ultimately disinterested. “I leave in five minutes, with Zane and the box.” He looked at it held in her shaking hands and added, “He will be returned to you by nightfall. I will escort him there and back. He will be safe.”
His words did nothing to reassure her, but under the pressure of his gaze she caught hold of Zane’s hand and pulled him into the house. She shut the door behind them and locked it. After carefully placing the box on the sofa, she caught hold of Zane’s shoulders, turning him to face her and hold him in place.
“Zane, if she asks about Dev and the other night, deny any knowledge of it. Do you understand?”
“But you said lying to people is bad.”
“This isn’t people, Zane. This is the Red Lady, and this could save your life.” She gripped him tightly with shaking hands. “Make an exception in this case. When you’re there, be respectful, polite, and tell her as little as you can without being rude.”
“As little as I can about what?”
“Anything. Everything.”
Her fear began to leech into him. “Mum, why would she want to see me? Is she going to mark me like she did with Dev?”
Miri swallowed hard and tried her best to look brave. “I’m sure she won’t do that … why would she?”
Zane shrugged uneasily.
Miri glanced at the box and then said more confidently, “She won’t mark you, Zane, I’m sure of it.”
He nodded with relief.
“And whilst you’re there,” Miri continued, “don’t eat or drink anything. Not a thing.”
“But it’s nearly lunchtime!”
“Not a thing, Zane. Promise me.”
Zane searched her fearful eyes and nodded slowly. “I promise.”
“I’ll make you your favourite mash to have when you get home, alright?” Miri drew him into a tight embrace. “Now wait here whilst I get the box ready.”
She kissed his cheek and then scooped up the box and rushed into her bedroom. Zane listened to the sounds of drawers in her apothecary chest being hurriedly opened and closed.
He shifted from one foot to the other until she called out, “Put on some clean clothes and wash your hands! And comb your hair too!”
He obeyed, and by the time he re-emerged from his room, she was waiting by the door, the box tucked under her arm.
“Mum, what if I don’t want to go?”
Miri sighed. “I don’t think that’s an option, Zane. The Red Lady is very powerful. Try not to annoy or upset her … just be lovely like you always are …. but less … chatty …” Miri frowned at herself and then leant forward to kiss his forehead tenderly. “I’ll be here waiting for you.”
She unlocked the door to find Luthor waiting nearby. She gave him the box and he gave her his usual brisk nod in return. Then his attention shifted to Zane. He squeezed his mother’s hand briefly, stood as tall and straight as he could, and went to the Hunter’s side to walk with him out of the square.
“Um … is it true that you’re the Red Lady’s Champion?” Zane took the first minutes of the journey to muster the courage to ask the question.
Luthor glanced down at the youth and nodded.
“What does that mean exactly?”
Luthor’s face distorted into an unfamiliar smile. “It means I am the fastest, the strongest, the best Hunter, the one the Red Lady turns to first,” he announced proudly. Zane had the feeling that he was about to say more, but nothing followed.
“Oh. That must be … nice.”
“Nice?” Luthor scoffed. “Nice is how a woman would describe a dress. What I speak of is the highest honour.” He drew in a deep breath, expanding his chest so much that it blocked the sunlight falling onto Zane’s face. “No other man will ever take my place.”
Zane remained silent, now too unsure of his choice of words to say anything more. He had to hurry to keep up with Luthor’s huge strides.
It was the first time Zane had travelled so far from home in the daytime. Even though it was really only a short walk, this was a route that he had only dared once, that night with Dev. He had been taught from a very early age that anywhere except the garden and the Boys’ square was unsafe, and so walking between two territories in broad daylight was a very odd experience.
The buildings lining the streets they walked through were similar to those in Miri’s square; built several storeys high with dark bricks and large sash windows. His mother said the houses used to be some of the smartest in London, but now they were grey and dilapidated, nature having found every crack and crevice through which it could reassert itself. London’s buildings were losing the quiet war with plants and he wondered if one day t
here would be any buildings left at all. As they walked past, Zane was particularly fascinated by the curious shapes of the rusting ventilation system that lay behind the hospital in which he and Dev had seen the Giant. What could that have been for? How did people make metal into those shapes when it was so hard? How did it all get here in the first place?
Luthor walked with the confidence of a man who knew that no sane individual would dare attack him. As for any lunatic that might try, it was clear that he could slaughter them as easily as Miri would wrench a weed from the ground. His eyes scanned their surroundings constantly and he attended to any change in noise or distant sounds as they walked, but without any nervousness.
Before long they reached the edge of the Red Lady’s territory, marked by huge daubs of red that looked like dried blood on the corners of the buildings at the end of Gray’s Inn Road. Zane looked at them and his paced slowed; they hadn’t been visible that night he had ventured into the territory with Dev. Luthor must have detected his fear and said to him, “I grant you entry into the Red Lady’s territory by her command, so you have nothing to fear.”
Zane looked down the road, the whitewashed walls coming into view, resplendent in the summer sunshine. The impressive red silk banners, stretched taut against the walls, were spotless, the same red as the fletching of Luthor’s arrows. Knowing that he was permitted to be here did nothing to allay his fears.
Luthor escorted him to gates made of stout wood set into the wall. They were over twice the height of the Hunter, with no visible spy hole or any discernible point of weakness. Luthor signalled to a Hunter watching their approach from on top of the wall, who in turn signalled to someone below him, out of sight. In moments there was a loud thunk and scraping sound as the bolts that held the gates shut were drawn back.
Zane’s legs were becoming uncooperative and he was half escorted, half pushed past two guards on either side of the gates, both with arrows notched. They were dressed in the same linen and leather clothing as Luthor and were clearly also strong, but without his bulk. The guards watched Zane enter, and then one with dark brown hair drawn back into a long braid like Luthor’s withdrew the arrow, slung the bow over his shoulder, and approached purposefully.
