Black Cross

by J. P. Ashman

  ‘Girl! I asked ye a bloody question,’ the man shouted, whilst noisily getting to his feet. He started walking towards her, his heavy footsteps scuffing on the patchy cobbles.

  ‘Ye leave her be, ye shite!’ a woman on the corner shouted, and Elleth’s heart skipped as she recognised one of the women from the place she’d been heading.

  ‘Piss off, whore! I’ll be to see ye later and ye’ll watch yer mouth then.’

  ‘Ye won’t be seeing me, that’s fer damned sure, ye black cross bastard,’ the large woman said, loud enough only for Elleth’s ears, who smiled as she saw the woman wink at her. Her mamma had said not to mention the sickness and so she wouldn’t.

  Elleth slowed down now, feeling safer already and didn’t even look back to see where the man was. The woman held out a hand and Elleth took it.

  ‘Aren’t ye a pretty little thing, eh? Oh my, what a smile and what lovely grey eyes ye got there.’

  Elleth smiled sweetly, yet cursed herself for not being able to think of anything to say in return.

  ‘Ain’t I seen ye about here before, my lovely?’

  ‘Aye, miss.’ Elleth’s voice grated through her dry throat.

  The woman pulled Elleth alongside and linked arms with her as she turned and walked her gently round the corner. They both moved slowly towards the tall building where Elleth had been heading. She saw another lady standing outside, this one pretty and slim, with green hair, and a dress that would surely keep none of the chill out. Elleth assumed that they couldn’t afford enough of the fancy material to make their dresses any longer.

  ‘So what brings a lovely out on a night like this?’ said the woman walking Elleth along. ‘There’s a lot going on, dear, a lot indeed and it ain’t safe in Dockside tonight.’

  ‘Is it ever?’ Elleth said, pleased at her swift response.

  The woman’s smile slipped slightly, but only for a moment before grinning all the more and looking down at Elleth.

  ‘My oh my, ye’re clever as well as pretty. Could do with some meat on those bones though, my lovely, fill yer breasts up a bit, and that cute behind. How’d ye like a good late supper?’

  Elleth beamed at the thought and her stomach growled, although she couldn’t understand what her breasts and bum had to do with anything, but if the kind lady thought it’d help her then she assumed she was right, and if eating food was all it would take, then Elleth could do that all night long.

  ‘Come on then, dear. Let’s get ye in from this night air and give ye a drink and a meal.’

  ‘Thank ye, miss, I’d like that,’ Elleth said as they passed the green haired woman, who smiled at Elleth with what looked to her like pity. Well, she didn’t need pity now did she? She’d found a life, and a lady she would be.

  Mamma would be so proud.

  Chapter 19: High Stakes

  With the faint glow of fires dotted here and there throughout the city, visible as it was from the jetties at the bottom of the hill Wesson clung to, Captain Mannino pulled on his ivory pipe, listening to the occasional horn and shouts drifting down to him from the city. He looked up at the lightening sky above the great east wall of Wesson, and then to the inky blackness above the western sea defences.

  ‘Time cap’n?’

  ‘Aye, Master Hitchmogh, ready as we will be.’

  The first mate spat over the port side of the aft-castle before moving down the steps and across deck to the main-mast, where a young officer awaited him with a thick rope in hand.

  ‘Make it tight, Master Spendley,’ the captain said, his voice carrying down to the main deck despite him not raising it.

  The young officer nodded at the captain and shrugged at Hitchmogh, who rolled his eyes and pressed his back against the thick, wooden mast, facing the aft-castle and his captain.

  The ropes rubbed at his bare arms as the officer looped them round, tightened then looped them again, repeating several times.

  ‘Tighter lad, ye don’t want me getting out of these do ye?’

  ‘No I do not,’ Spendley said, in all seriousness.

  ‘Nor do I lad, nor do I.’

  Sailors scurried about the ship in preparation to launch, whilst two waited by the starboard side, reaching over suddenly to pull up a sodden woman, who flopped onto the deck gasping for air.

  The two sailors who pulled her on board immediately moved off to continue their duties, and the female sailor – breath caught – finally rolled over and up onto her feet. She looked to the first mate – now securely tied to the main-mast – before climbing the steps to the aft-castle and the captain above.

  ‘Cap’n,’ she said, hands on hips as she panted some more, her clothes dripping on the deck by the captain’s feet.

  ‘That took longer than I thought,’ Mannino said, pipe in hand.

  ‘They’re further out than ye thought, cap’n.’

  He nodded and asked for her sightings.

  ‘Dozen or so cap’n, all chained together across the way, as ye’d said they’d be.’

  Mannino nodded again and turned to the stern, walking a few paces before stopping and turning back. He pulled on his pipe again and then walked back to the sailor.

  ‘Ships?’

  ‘Mainly horse transports cap’n, seems they don’t want to use their others for a blockade.’

  He nodded again. It made sense. Should any ship try and run the blockade and succeed, then what good would their warships be if they were chained together. The others must be further out.

  ‘Did you see any ships past the blockade?’

  ‘No cap’n, although I saw one try to get past, but it wrecked itself north of the horse transports; went too wide.’

  Nodding again and taking another pull on his pipe, Mannino dismissed the sailor, who ran back down the steps to the deck and proceeded to climb the mizzen-mast.

  We can get round, but we don’t know their layout beyond. This new admiral is a clever soul. Never seen a blockade with horse transports before, but it makes perfect sense. Where, then, are their warships? There’ll be more cogs than just the horse transports, and caravels for sure, but the carracks? Further out to sea, a third line of blockade? Possibly, I would if I was the admiral.

  Mannino paced the aft-castle again and pulled on his pipe one more time before putting it in a pouch tied to his belt.

  ‘Must get some tobacco.’

  ‘Sorry captain?’ Spendley said as he climbed the stairs.

  ‘Tobacco man, you smoke it in pipes.’

  ‘Aye captain. I’ll have the men get you some from below if you’ve run out.’

  Mannino’s brow furrowed. ‘Run out?’

  ‘Of tobacco, captain.’

  ‘I’ve never had any to run out of, man.’

  Spendley’s brow furrowed too, as his eyes glanced to the pouch that held the captain’s pipe.

  ‘Oh, there’s nothing in it man, never has been. I just like the look and thought I’ll have to try and actually smoke it one day.’

  Spendley looked for something to say, but instead turned and pointed to the eastern horizon. ‘The sun will be up soon, captain.’

  ‘Aye, that it will. So let’s make way then and let Master Hitchmogh do his thing.’

  ‘Aye aye captain,’ Spendley said, before calling the order to weigh anchor and set sail.

  And we’ll see where those warships are once we pass the chained cogs.

  ‘One step at a time,’ Mannino said.

  ‘Captain?’

  ‘Nothing man, nothing.’

  ***

  ‘Marines on me!’ an officer of the watch shouted, as a carrack started to unfurl sails and pull away from the jetty.

  How’d they get on board? We’ve had this damned jetty on guard all night. Fought a few off of other ships aye, but no bastard stepped foot on that ship, nor was anyone on it when we arrived, I swear it.

  Several armed marines ran down the harbour and noisily crossed the jetty to his position.

  ‘That ship’s moving off,’ he sa
id in surprise, to no one in particular.

  The marines looked on in amazement as the square rigging on the carrack now pulling away from the jetty filled with a strong wind, which pulled the ship swiftly through the calm waters and out towards the naval blockade. As it got closer to the chained horse transports, the sun appeared over the city’s eastern wall and bright rays of sunlight lit up the area it was heading for; the southern end of the blockade. The experienced marines knew the rising sun would blind the archers and crossbowmen on board the chained cogs, severely hindering their accuracy.

  ‘They’ll be away then,’ one man said, after a long pause.

  ‘They?’ another replied. ‘There was no bastard on board.’ He looked to his officer.

  ‘Never mind that,’ the officer said, looking to the limp flags on nearby ships, ‘there’s no bloody wind?’

  Every marine looked to the officer and then back out to the ship, which was now lost in the dazzle of sun on water.

  ‘Did ye see its name?’ a marine asked, and the officer nodded.

  ‘Sessio,’ he said, an audible sigh leaving his lips.

  The marines turned and walked back down the jetty, one of them mumbling about how much he’d have bet on that being the name.

  The others agreed.

  ***

  ‘Morning, Sarge,’ Starks said. The young man beamed at Fal over Sav’s shoulder. Sav in the meantime, continued his shaking of Fal.

  ‘Enough Sav, I’m awake already… my eyes are open—’ Sav shook him again ‘—I’m looking right at you.’

  ‘Fair point,’ Sav replied. ‘Muggins here wanted to see you.’ He gestured to Starks’ beaming face with his thumb.

  ‘Morning, Starks,’ Fal said, less irritated as he realised Starks was on his feet. ‘You’re up and about quick considering?’ Fal sat up on the bunk and swung his legs out, forcing Sav to move aside.

  ‘Aye Sarge, the clerics did a good job on me alright. Reckon I respond well to magical healing. Not all do apparently.’

  Fal smiled at the young crossbowman.

  ‘Oh, erm…’ Sav looked down at the floor and Fal knew he had bad news. Starks’ face darkened and he turned to sit on the bunk opposite Fal’s. ‘I’m sorry old friend…not quite sure how to tell you but…’

  Tell me I’m wrong, please, Fal thought immediately. ‘It’s Franks isn’t it?’ he said, before Sav could finish. ‘Franks Heywood?’ Fal’s heart felt like it’d dropped into his stomach and beyond.

  Sav nodded and Starks looked away. Fal was sure he’d seen a tear on the young crossbowman’s face. He wasn’t far from it himself.

  ‘I’m sorry Fal,’ Sav offered. ‘The clerics tending him reckon he had the illness longer than they’d thought, either that or it affected him worse than others and came on faster, they say it seems to take just two days in some people, three to four in most.’

  ‘People are panicking,’ Starks added. ‘I heard some tried to get over the walls and escape. Most were stopped by the wall guards, but a handful managed to rope down and run… they were killed by crossbowmen from the walls and towers.’

  ‘It’s a scary time,’ Fal said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

  ‘What time is it?’ Fal asked, looking about the empty barracks.

  ‘It’s mid-morning Fal. We let you sleep in a little.’

  Shit!

  Fal stood immediately. ‘I’ll be late! Lord Strickland said—’

  Sav raised his hands to stop his friend. ‘It’s alright. I spoke to Lord Strickland this morning when I went to see how Starksy boy was doing—’

  ‘He was in here last night?’ Fal interrupted, clearly confused.

  ‘I was moved out during the night for my final healing by the clerics,’ Starks said, smiling again.

  ‘Anyway,’ Sav continued, ‘Lord Strickland said we’re all – now Starks has been healed – to meet him in a short while at the stables. We’re to ride to the palace with him. Then we’re to be among the escort for Lord Severun.’

  Starks’ smile fell away again.

  ‘You’re cutting it fine letting me lay in this late if we’re meeting him soon, Sav,’ Fal said, suddenly looking around for his boots and clothing.

  ‘We got all your stuff ready, sorted the shifts and readied you a horse, and since Starks can’t ride yet, he’s riding crossbow on a guild coach. The King has allowed Lord Severun to use one you see, from the palace to Execution Square, rather than the usual prison coach.’

  Small mercy, Fal thought, but lets him keep some dignity. I understand, King Barrison, but it’s a damned small mercy with what you’ve condemned him to.

  ‘You sure you’re up to that, Starks?’ Fal’s concern was evident in his voice.

  ‘Sure am, Sarge. Survived an attack when we were outnumbered, let ’em try when we’re escorted by the King’s men!’ Starks was beaming again at the prospect of being part of a royal escort, until he saw Fal and Sav’s expressions and remembered who they were escorting and why.

  ‘Very well, lads,’ Fal said, as he started to pull on his boots, then his shirt, which Sav had handed him. ‘Keep your eyes open out there and stay close to that coach in case anything does happen. I’m going to get ready now, so go do what you have to do and I’ll meet you both at the stables.’

  Sav and Starks nodded in turn and both left to ready themselves. Fal stopped dressing for a moment, sat on the bunk when he was alone and let his mind drift, thinking about what had happened and what was to come. Things had a long way to go before they were back to normal, he was sure, and he prayed to whatever god may be real and listening, that something would save Lord Severun from the flames.

  I don’t know if I can do it, if I can watch anyone burn; let alone someone I know…not again.

  ***

  Safely out to sea, heading in a southerly direction with Wesson and its blockade far behind them, Captain Mannino finally gave the order to release his first mate from the ropes binding him to the main-mast.

  They had a good strong wind now and no King’s ship in the area would catch them, especially the one that had appeared at the end.

  Big bastard that was, slow, but drown me if its heavy load didn’t scare the shit out of the lot of us when it came about and used them. I haven’t seen anything like that since…

  The captain’s thoughts were interrupted when Hitchmogh slumped to the deck, after being released by the young officer who'd tied him there.

  Crouching to check on the first mate, Spendley fell back as a fist came up and connected with his chin.

  Rolling around, he cursed and spat blood.

  ‘I bith my futhing thongue, you bathtard.’

  The crew roared with laughter as their gnarled first mate unsteadily rose to his feet and stood over the young officer.

  ‘Aye, and ye’ll ‘ave more in future if ye release me any sooner than that ye fool.’

  ‘Capthains orders, whathma suppothed the do?’

  ‘Order someone else to do it for ye, lad. Ha!’ Hitchmogh bent and pulled Spendley to his feet, before pushing him away again to stagger across to a barrel of water he used to splash his bloodied mouth.

  ‘Are you alright, Master Hitchmogh?’ Mannino said, as the old fellow climbed the steps towards him.

  The first mate revealed an almost toothless grin and turned to face their heading, standing next to his captain.

  ‘Does it get harder, man?’

  ‘Aye cap’n, this time, but not always, mind; there were a lot of folk to fool that time though and magic don’t come cheap on the body, or soul for that matter.’

  ‘Well your body was wrecked before you joined my crew all those years ago, man, and your soul. Well,’ Mannino looked to his old friend and smiled, ‘your soul doesn’t belong to you now, does it?’

  Smiling sincerely, Hitchmogh stepped back down to the main deck and began barking orders to the crew.

  Captain Mannino wouldn’t have it any other way.

  ***

  Fal ha
d ridden a large dappled grey gelding to the palace. He wasn’t a great rider, but had learnt on his father’s horse as a boy, and in recent years had ridden occasionally on escort duty for the guild. He didn’t feel as comfortable as some in the saddle, but was sure he could fight from horseback if the need arose. Sav, however, was a border scout and an experienced rider. He’d sent a stable hand to fetch his own horse and looked at ease in the saddle atop his smaller built, but confident looking black mare. Ward Strickland guided his mount in-between the two friends whilst Starks rode crossbow on the black guild coach following behind. Two of the guild’s men-at-arms rode behind the coach on large bay destriers. The hard-faced, armoured men were trained and experienced horsemen, mounted soldiers whose duty it was to escort guild members on journeys out of the city. They carried heater shields and maces, backed up by secondary weapons such as axes and arming swords strapped to their saddles; they looked ready and willing to use them.

  Once the group arrived at the palace, they were greeted by a royal herald who informed Lord Strickland the King was in the stable with his horse.

  Eight knights of the King’s own retinue were already mounted and stood in perfect formation. Their destriers pulled at their reigns, just to be heaved into check by the heavily and expensively armoured knights they carried.

  Fal and his companions had only a short wait before King Barrison rode from the royal stables on a great white stallion. He controlled it well and looked regal in his ornately carved saddle. He wore a heavy, purple cloak about his shoulders, with highly polished steel plate underneath; the King’s own livery carved onto a rare breastplate. The cloak cascaded over the rump of the white beast, which lifted its head proudly as it walked to the front of the column of knights.

  A large bang turned everyone’s head in the yard.

  Fal turned, following their gazes to see Lord Severun in drab, black robes being led from a side door in one of the outer wall’s large drum towers: the entrance to the palace dungeon.

  Two stocky men-at-arms wearing the Duke of Yewdale’s colours escorted the wizard, who looked pale, tired and not at all his usual grand self.