The Yarnsworld Collection: A fantasy boxset

by Benedict Patrick

  “I’ve asked the Bravadori,” Tomas said. “They seem to have said no.”

  “But, I am Shaven.” She indicated angrily to her bald head, as if the two of them had not yet noticed it. “I’m… Drink your piss, don’t you know what this means? It means I’m no good. A failure. I’ve done… I’ve done bad things. Worse than that, I’m a joke. Ask me to stab someone in the back. Ask me to fight a battle you know you’re already going to lose. You don’t hire a Shaven to make a difference.”

  Starving Pup smiled again, less cocky now, just friendly. “Yeah, remember, we aren’t hiring you. And remember, you’ve already saved my life. So, we already know you can make a difference, if even a small one.”

  The young Bravador stepped forward, and hesitated only for a moment before putting his hand on Yizel’s shoulder. “Yizel, will you come with us to save Tomas’ home, to protect his people as a Queen’s Blade?”

  Yizel gritted her teeth, looking away to the puppeteers who were finishing their performance. Half a dozen smaller marionettes were chasing the Black Shepherdess away, each of them holding a blade that glinted golden in the sun.

  “I’ll go with you,” she said, not daring to look them in the eyes, keeping her tears to herself.

  “You hear about the Crazy Raccoon?”

  “I know. Can’t make shit like that up, right?”

  “What happened?”

  “You’re kidding, you haven’t heard yet? Guy’s a fraud. Turns out, he’s not got the Knack at all, been pretending for years. Been kicked out of the Paws, he’s going to be run out of the city.”

  “No?”

  “Yeah, it’s true. My brother’s a Paw, saw the whole thing. Says they’re going after his mask next. Going to be easy taking it from him, now they know he’s Knackless.”

  Crazy Raccoon’s hand gripped his cup, shivering with rage. He was in the Weeping Widow, a small tavern hidden away in a side street in Barrio Mercado. That was one thing he had found since his ridicule by Galloping Turtle - he could no longer go to any of his normal haunts for a drink and some food. Everywhere, the story of his shame had already spread. The people who had feared him for so long now laughed at him, like these idiots. They did not know he was sitting right behind them, of course. Crazy Raccoon had specifically chosen a dark bar, and had taken a little snug up in the back for himself, to avoid contact with others.

  Crazy Raccoon had found that many of the Bravadori of Espadapan were now interested in challenging him to find out if the stories were true.

  Having a long, lonely time to think about his predicament, Crazy Raccoon eventually realised Galloping Turtle had set him up for failure.

  Clever bastard. He’s been planning this for a long time. For years he’s been forbidding me to draw my sword, getting me out of practice, making it so the others are used to seeing me with my weapon sheathed. Just long enough so he could convince them it has always been that way. No wonder I lost.

  It had not been like that with Restless Hawk. Crazy Raccoon would never forget the many night time training sessions with her, practising in secret so the other Paws never found out how much work Crazy Raccoon had to put in to pass as one of them.

  “They fear you,” she had told him, when picking him up from the dust after another failed thrust, “because of what you have done, and what they think you are. That fear will last up until the moment they learn the truth about you.”

  She had pulled him to his feet, then planted a motherly kiss on his forehead. “Never forget, little Raccoon, you are the best of us. Even knowing what I know, this is still true. We do this,” and she indicated their practice blades, “so that others know it too.”

  Now, years after she had gone, Crazy Raccoon had finally let her down.

  He took another sip, doing what he could to ignore the men sitting behind him.

  “What a waste of space.”

  “I know, right? Imagine how pissed off the Lion’s Paws are right now.”

  “The Paws? What about all of the Bravadori? He’s been lauding over them for as long as I can remember. How many times have you heard of a fight being won because of Crazy Raccoon? And now he’s a fake? Someone’s going to put a knife into him.”

  There was a murmur of agreement.

  “Wait. How can he be a fake, but he’s won so many battles for the Paws?”

  The question silenced the group, and Crazy Raccoon chose this moment to stand, raising his head above the wooden panel that separated the tables, looking at the four men with his wide eyes seemingly protruding from his hypnotic mask.

  “Because they’re lies. Because the Lion’s Paws are cowards, and because dead men sit in dingy pubs telling fake tales that’ll get ‘em killed.”

  Two of the men cried out at the sight of him, the closest falling out of his seat and stumbling away in horror. All turned white, and the general hubbub of the drinking house evaporated.

  Crazy Raccoon addressed everyone there. “Don’t believe the lies, people. I’m still here, more dangerous than ever. So, watch your tongues.”

  On saying that, Crazy Raccoon’s eyes fell upon a pair of Crickets propped up beside the bar. Unlike the normal citizens in the room, these men were eyeing Crazy Raccoon critically. Suddenly, he felt naked, as if they could see something they were not supposed to. One of the Crickets smiled at him.

  Face stern, Crazy Raccoon gathered up his belongings and marched out of the inn.

  Stupid, stupid. Should’ve checked to see if any Bravadori were there. What were they doing there, anyway? Small, smelly place like that isn’t fit for Bravadori - they’ve got much better establishments they’re welcome in. Establishments I should be welcome in.

  Walking down the street, Crazy Raccoon turned his head, checking if he was being followed. The streets were too full of shoppers for him to see properly, but the hairs on the back of his neck told him something was wrong.

  Breathing heavily, he dodged down one of the unfamiliar snickleways, trying to lose his pursuers. Most snickleways did not travel in straight lines, and this one was no different - a small, tight lane, mere gaps between buildings than a planned route for people to travel down. Hopping quickly down a tight stairway, Crazy Raccoon spied a door onto the snickleway that was slightly ajar. He pushed it slowly, and was pleased to see that it opened into an empty, dark storeroom. The owners of the building probably didn’t even know it was there, or avoided using it because it was so far away from their main entrances.

  Crazy Raccoon went inside, closed the door and leaned against it, allowing his eyes to get used to the dark. Sure enough, minutes later he heard the sound of footsteps hurrying down the steps outside. They did not stop at the door, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  I could take them, of course. Two are always more difficult than one, but should still be doable. No point in taking risks, though. Even the best of us have bad days, and Galloping Turtle has seen to it that I’m getting the lion’s share of those at the moment.

  He smiled at his own joke, but then frowned.

  This isn’t going to stop. They’re going to keep having a go at me while I’m on my own. I’ll die with a knife in my back, now they’re all out there wanting to take a piece of the Crazy Raccoon. I need a new stable, and fast. Problem is, Galloping Turtle’s seen to it that there’s no chance of that happening.

  He chewed his lip, face souring at the thought of his predicament.

  I need to prove him wrong. Prove that I’m still the best, that Galloping Turtle was lying. Then all the stables will be killing themselves to have me wear their band. Might even group up with the Mice. Bet Sinister Crow would love to stick it to Galloping Turtle after what he did in the park.

  But if I wander the streets of Espadapan looking like this, I’ll never have the chance to prove myself again.

  After a moment of indecision, Crazy Raccoon raised his hands to the back of his head, and began to undo the buttons of his mask.

  A few minutes later, an unrecognisable, round, muscular old
er man walked out of that snickleway, his brown-grey long hair matted and unruly due to being crushed under his mask all day. He still had his rapier at his side, which would earn him a number of curious glances, but without his Bravador mask Crazy Raccoon could walk unseen in Espadapan.

  His face burned with shame at the first people who looked at him, and he was unafraid to let a tear fall at the thought of what he had lowered himself to.

  Plough your mother, I’ll gut you for this, Galloping Turtle.

  Nevertheless, he was thankful that for now he could walk without fear of some hot blooded swordsmen taking him on.

  The question was, what was he going to do now?

  Crazy Raccoon pushed through the crowds as he thought. He was used to passersby giving him a wide berth, recognising that he was a Bravador, even if they didn’t realise exactly who he was. It was an alien sensation for this to not happen, and Crazy Raccoon was irritated by the constant jostles he received from people not paying enough attention to where they were going.

  The obvious thing to do would be to prove Galloping Turtle wrong as quickly as possible. Crazy Raccoon had taken too long to recover from the fight at the Paws’ estate, and by now the rest of Espadapan was already poisoned against him. He needed to prove his name still meant something, and fast. The quickest way to do this would be to take someone on - someone big, possibly even Galloping Turtle himself - and win.

  As all who wandered the streets of Espadapan eventually did, Crazy Raccoon walked out into the open space of the plaza, currently full with traders and shoppers. His irritation increased as he began to find it difficult to make his way through the crowds. He kept a hand on his purse at all times, and gave glares to the many citizens who shot him curious looks when they realised he had a blade on his belt.

  Despite realising it was his best course of action, the idea of challenging any Bravadori gave Crazy Raccoon an uneasy feeling in his gut. He could not ignore the fact that he had indeed lost the fight against his former stable master. Galloping Turtle had clearly been cheating, rigging the combat in his favour, ensuring that Crazy Raccoon was off his game, but even Crazy Raccoon knew that did not matter. If you lose, you lose - it did not matter if it was dirty or clean. Challenging any other Bravador and losing again would destroy his name forever.

  The crowds became denser towards the middle of the plaza. Apparently, some lack-talented actors were putting on a children’s show, flapping puppets around to the delight of the idiot crowds. Crazy Raccoon squinted his eyes as the performers used some kind of trick to make the light of the puppets’ swords glow brightly, chasing off some sort of dark monster. Through the haze of the flare, Crazy Raccoon saw a possible answer to his predicament

  It was the Shaven, and the young Bravador she had been nursing in the cells.

  His heartbeat increasing, his now-unfamiliar smile finally making its way back onto his face, Crazy Raccoon burst through the crowd, fumbling for his mask as he did so. He staggered into the performing area, breaking and tearing the small puppets as he pushed past them, their glowing blades falling to the slabs, now dead and lifeless. The performers turned and began to give off at their livelihood being destroyed, but they stopped when they realised who they were looking at.

  Even these fools know who Crazy Raccoon is, the Bravador thought, his mask restored.

  Breaking through to the other side of the makeshift stage, Crazy Raccoon reached out his hand and grabbed the young Bravador - Starving Pup, wasn’t it? - by the shoulder, spinning him around.

  Starving Pup was too shocked to react, but the Shaven’s reactions were better. She had her knife in her hand straight away, snarling at Crazy Raccoon as she tried to figure out what was going on.

  “Easy, Shaven, easy, nothing to worry about here,” Crazy Raccoon soothed, focussing on Starving Pup. “You should control her better, Pup. Shaven aren’t worth their fee if they gut people just for taking them by surprise. This is the City of Swords, not some backward village out in the Wilds.”

  The Shaven’s lip began to curl, but Starving Pup was the one to speak, slightly confused. “I-what? What… What?”

  The confusion on Crazy Raccoon’s face was not a play. “You’ve never heard of me? Crazy Raccoon?”

  Starving Pup’s face erupted into awe. “How could I not know about the Crazy Raccoon? The Bravadori that visited my father’s estate mentioned you all the time. You rode two horses into battle during the Jackdaw rebellion, practically ended it single-handedly.”

  Crazy Raccoon nodded, grinning. “They always remember that one, don’t they? How did the story go - how many of them were there?”

  “Two hundred, at least. And they say you sorted them out without even drawing your sword.”

  Crazy Raccoon shook his head. “Not quite that many, but still enough to make it impressive. They are right that I never used my sword.”

  “I heard you’d lost it,” the Shaven spat, her knife still raised.

  Crazy Raccoon looked at her curiously, as he would look at a dog which had never barked its entire life, but had finally decided to make some noise.

  Alfrond’s cock, she’s heard the stories already. “What did you say?”

  “Your sword. That night, during the rebellion. I’d heard you had to use your fists because you’d lost your sword.”

  Not quite as bad as all that, then. “You’re moving away from the real story though, aren’t you? Doesn’t matter why I didn’t use my sword. What matters is that I didn’t use it. Anyway, better to lose a blade than a mask.”

  Crazy Raccoon was satisfied to see the Shaven physically recoil from his comment, and he turned back to Starving Pup, for the first time noticing the small Wildman standing close by the young Bravador. “So, I hear you’ve got bandit trouble,” he said to the Wildman.

  The dirt farmer’s eyes widened. “You’ve heard of the troubles of Calvario? Yes, yes, we have bandits. Starving Pup and his friend here have agreed to help rid us of this problem. You… why do you ask, senor?”

  Crazy Raccoon contemplated the little man’s words, then looked at Starving Pup again. “You hired this Shaven?” Starving Pup and the dirt farmer could be controlled. Things would be better if he could get rid of the uppity Shaven, even if they lose their coin.

  Starving Pup glanced at the Shaven, then back again. “She… Yizel’s coming to help us. She’s… we’re all volunteering to save the village.”

  Crazy Raccoon looked between them all, taking a few moments to comprehend what he was being told. Once it all clicked into place, he gave one big bark of a laugh, then looked at the Shaven in mocking shock. “You’re volunteering?” The Shaven lowered her angry eyes, her face reddening. Crazy Raccoon looked at Starving Pup as if he was mad, and grabbed him by the arm. “Come here, I’ve got to fill you in on something.”

  Starving Pup trotted along, pulled along by the famous Bravador. Crazy Raccoon pointed at the Shaven, making it clear he was to be obeyed. “Stay here. Shut up, and stay here.”

  He pulled Starving Pup a few steps away from the Shaven and the Wildman, close enough to still see them but talk in private. Crazy Raccoon lowered his head so it was closer to Starving Pup’s, and spoke in hushed tones. “You’re letting that Shaven help you?”

  “Yes. No, Yizel said-”

  “Yizel?”

  Starving Pup pointed at the Shaven. Crazy Raccoon was pleased to see the woman flinch at the attention. “Her, the… the Shaven. Her name’s Yizel.”

  “You don’t fucking name them,” Crazy Raccoon laughed, gesticulating to the nearby crowd as if someone was going to pop out and agree with him. “The Shaven don’t get names anymore. They’re lucky enough to be allowed to keep their blades, all the fucking good they are with them.” The boy looked lost, unsure what to say. Crazy Raccoon lowered himself back down. “Do you even know what a Shaven is?”

  “She’s… they’re fallen Bravadori, right? She lost her mask.”

  “She hasn’t just lost her mask. She didn’t wake up
one morning and it wasn’t there. Her mask was taken from her. She did something horrible, something that shattered the Bravadori code. Most Shaven I’ve known were murderers. Why would you want someone like that helping you?”

  The boy’s face reddened, and he looked down at his feet. Crazy Raccoon was pleased to notice the Shaven see this reaction, and she turned her own head away.

  “What choice do we have?” Starving Pup said, not able to look the legendary Bravador in the eye. “Tomas has been all over the city, and no other Bravadori agreed to help him. I was almost killed when I tried to recruit more to the cause. We’re without hope anyway, an extra bit of hopelessness can’t make things any worse.”

  Crazy Raccoon did his best to give a winning smile, and put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Starving Pup, hope has just arrived. I’ll go with you to this dirt village.”

  The light in the young Bravador’s eyes lit up Crazy Raccoon’s soul. That adulation was what Crazy Raccoon lived for, what he was due every day of his life. Fuck Galloping Turtle for trying to take that from him.

  “Come on, let’s tell the Shaven to clear off and then I’ll sort out what we’re doing next.”

  The boy stiffened. “No, she’s still… shouldn’t she still come? There’s only two of us, that can’t be enough to see off a host of bandits. Even if she isn’t as good, shouldn’t we still take her?”

  Ah, that’ll cause problems. The boy’s taken with the Shaven. I could probably shake him off her, but don’t want to risk pushing him the other way instead.

  “Fine,” Crazy Raccoon said, eventually. “Fine, she can come. I’ll do what I can to keep her in line. Let’s head back and tell her the good news.”

  A spring in his step, Starving Pup marched back to the Shaven and his Wildman.