The Grey Bastards: A Novel (The Lot Lands)

by Jonathan French

  “True,” Bermudo said, sounding far from pleased. “I don’t believe it. I had hoped to catch him that unfortunate morning. He has bought off some of my own men, so I took only the fresh arrivals. Men that have since gone missing. Care to tell me what happened to them?”

  “Let me out and I will. I’ll also tell you where Ignacio takes those slaves.”

  “I’ll get it all from you soon enough. Ignacio will hang beside you. The ruckus you half-breeds caused at the brothel saw my efforts against him stalled. But I am patient.”

  “Garcia was to blame for that ruckus and you know it.”

  “The man was a wretch,” Bermudo agreed. “But even wretches have mothers that love them. When she hears I have the half-breed who murdered her son, she will insist that you be brought to her for justice. I will, of course, respectfully refuse, informing Her Ladyship that you are simply too dangerous to transport. The chance of escape over so many leagues is quite high. I have never met the lady in question, but I soon will, for based upon her reputation I am confident she will make the journey into the Lot Lands, risking their myriad dangers, just so she can witness your eyes pop on the gallows. Such a visit will give me ample time to place myself beneath the grieving marquesa’s good graces and provide the possibility of leaving this post behind. So yes, thank you for being a murderous cur, Jackal. Know that my gratitude will be even greater the day you swing from a rope.”

  Jackal hummed appreciatively. “Well, when you find yourself under the woman’s good graces, you might see this pink little nub. Lick that. Believe me, it will help win her over.”

  “You really are an animal.”

  “Just trying to remain helpful, Captain. Since you’ve sucked cock your whole life, I figured you didn’t know.”

  Bermudo expelled a clipped laugh. “I will be sure to come back and seek your advice often. There will be time. The marquesa won’t arrive for a month or more, at the soonest. In the meantime, you can reside down there. Try not to waste away, Jackal. We don’t want Garcia’s slayer to appear too terribly weak and pitiful.”

  The shadow above turned on its heel.

  “You know I wasn’t even the one who killed him,” Jackal said.

  Bermudo paused. “Do you think it matters to me? I will claim it was you. Sancho will agree. The lady will believe justice done. The truth, Jackal, is that you are a nomad. I do not even need a reason to hang you. Without your hoof to protect you, you are nothing but a wild dog.”

  When Bermudo was gone, Jackal stewed in the reek of the cell.

  The guards changed again, denoting the passage of innumerable hours. Jackal knew he had not been here a full day, not yet. His thirst and hunger would have been greater. Both were very likely to increase before long. It did not appear Bermudo had much interest in keeping him healthy. Knowing he would only get weaker, Jackal attempted to climb the shaft.

  It was tricky with his bound hands, but the closeness of the walls made it possible for him to find solid leverage with his legs and he was soon at the top. The guards must have heard him, for no sooner had he pressed his face to the grate then the haft of a halberd was shoved through, striking him in the neck. He fell back down into the loathsome water, his heels sliding out from under him and planting his ass in the wet. Nothing else for it, Jackal remained slumped there.

  Ignacio arrived later, his rough, perpetually tired voice giving the guards permission to wait without.

  “Don’t reckon you’re here to free me?” Jackal asked as the captain’s form darkened the grating.

  The door of the pit swung open. Ignacio squatted at the edge and peered down, a lantern dangling from his hand. His ugly, pitted face was harried.

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  The captain’s tone was almost regretful. Almost.

  Jackal smiled up at him. “And here I thought you were a friend to the Bastards.”

  “You ain’t a Bastard anymore, Jack.”

  “Well, this seems awfully severe a punishment for kicking a whoremonger around. Even for a nomad.”

  “This is about killing Garcia and you know it.”

  Jackal forced the snort of contempt down. “For Bermudo, it is. Surely, you don’t give a shit about that.”

  “I don’t,” Ignacio admitted.

  “So let me loose. A favor for old times.”

  “I won’t be doing that. And neither will that old thrice.”

  “Who?”

  Ignacio laughed at the attempt. “Hadn’t seen Warbler in years. Actually made me smile when he turned up. Tempting, to take such a seasoned free-rider on. Almost did it. But I learned long ago to be wary of tempting things that make you smile in the Lots. So I had the boys turn him away. Imagine my…vindication when you arrive not long after. An old free-rider suddenly volunteering and a fresh nomad suddenly a captive, each a former Bastard. What are the chances? You almost pulled it off, Jackal, weren’t for my gut. If I had known just how right I was, I would’ve let Warbler through the gates and tossed him into that pit beside you, ’stead of letting him ride off peaceful. So, what was the scheme? Why’d you two want in here?”

  Jackal needed to keep Ignacio off the scent of his true quarry.

  “To kill Bermudo,” he lied, though it was quickly becoming part of the plan. “Figured he wasn’t going to stop trying to put me in chains, so why not give him what he wants, then cut his throat for him? That could still happen. Can you say you wouldn’t benefit with him gone? Let me out.”

  Ignacio didn’t even consider. “No.”

  “Worried what I might say, Captain? What I might know?”

  “What do you know, Jackal?”

  It was a simple question, yet there was a cold menace in every word.

  Ignacio’s dispirited face tightened with annoyance when Jackal did not answer.

  “I have to assume you know everything,” he went on, “which means I don’t have the time to squat here all damn night getting stiff in the knees while we bandy words back and forth.”

  “Afraid Bermudo might offer me a pardon once I tell him about you turning his men over to die?”

  It was Ignacio’s turn to laugh. “That noble son of a cunt would forgo the riches of Sardiz to see you hang! Nothing will sway him to spare you. He hates you, Jackal. Me, I don’t have any feeling for you one way or another. But before you shit yourself on the gallows, I need to know where that Tine hussy got to.”

  “You mean your big mistake?” Jackal sneered. “How did you fumble that, Captain? Elf slaves are dangerous enough without provoking Dog Fall by nabbing one of their own.”

  “Her mistake, you mean,” Ignacio said. “Fair little quim like that shouldn’t wander too far alone. You have to take what comes in the Lots, Jack. Figured you knew that.”

  “What happened to being wary of tempting things?”

  “Tempting things and profitable things are different. Besides, she never made me smile. Fought and screamed, all in a frenzy, every damn step.”

  Jackal was surprised when the image of Starling fighting back, crying out, came easily to his mind. The conjured picture brought pride to his heart before crushing it with regret.

  “And what’s the reward for you?” Jackal spat. “The Sludge Man gets his twisted perversions sated, but you? You get a few fistfuls of slimy gold. Think you can get enough to buy your way out of here before you get caught? You won’t now. Sludge Man’s dead.”

  Ignacio drug his fingernails beneath his chin for a moment. “I reckon you don’t know everything, after all. Now…where’s the elf?”

  Jackal shrugged. “No reason to tell you. You’re not going to let me loose, so you can’t offer me anything. And threatening a condemned man is feeble. So the short of it, Captain, is—you’re as useful as a limp cod.”

  Ignacio set the lantern down and stood, began unbuckling his belt. “Well…
they have one use.”

  Jackal turned away. There was a brief silence and then came the stream of piss.

  Once the warm liquid ceased spattering his skin, the door to the pit slammed shut.

  It seemed Jackal would be lucky to make it to the gallows. The entire garrison was peasant stock, and no doubt any one of them would murder him in his cell if Ignacio ordered it, Bermudo be damned.

  The sands of an hourglass were emptying all around him. His strength would not hold out in this wretched prison. And while he withered, Crafty and the Claymaster would continue to pursue whatever intentions they had for the Lots.

  His survival had seemed far more certain while planning by a campfire.

  Chapter 25

  The sound of the door groaning open roused Jackal from a fitful doze. He heard the voices of the guards, and movement in the chamber above. Jerking upright, Jackal cursed as his numb legs and feet betrayed him, instantly forcing him back on his rump. The splashing drowned out all chance of catching what was being said. As the water settled and Jackal strained his ears, a burst of laughter resounded, followed quickly by the door shutting once more.

  Silence followed. Jackal waited.

  The quiet reigned for a long time, until he was convinced that the room above was vacant. Using the walls for support, Jackal stood again and rubbed some life back into his legs. He removed his boots and poured the water out of them before donning them once more, then climbed the shaft. No halberd shaft greeted him this time and he was able to push his cheekbone against the grate, revolving his eye around one of the holes to see what he could. The chamber appeared empty from his limited perspective, and his ears continued to testify to what his eyes could not completely confirm. He held himself there for as long as possible, but after a span his muscles began to cramp and quiver. Climbing down before he fell, Jackal stood in the cell and continued to listen, face turned upward.

  At last, he heard the door open again, though the sound was softer. The play of shadows above implied furtive movement, before the holes in the grate darkened as a figure eclipsed them.

  “Jack?” came a sharp whisper.

  Jackal’s guts jumped. “Delia?”

  The sounds of a bolt sliding back rang stridently down the shaft. The grate slowly lifted and was laid aside soundlessly. The woman’s familiar silhouette came into view once more.

  “Can you climb up?”

  Jackal did not waste time with an answer. Within moments he was hoisting himself over the lip of the pit. Still on his knees, he gawked at Delia. She too was crouched down and looked at him with a quick, nervous smile of relief, but her wide eyes kept flitting to the door.

  “Help me put the grate back,” she whispered.

  Jackal did as she said and once they had carefully completed the task, Delia slid the bolt back into place, wincing at the noise. They both held their breath for a moment, but when no guards appeared, Delia took Jackal by the hand and led him toward the door. Opening it a crack, she checked the wide, vaulted passage beyond. All was still.

  “The castile sleeps,” she whispered, closing the door once more and turning to face Jackal. “But we must hurry. Rhecia is occupying your guards, but they will want to be back before their relief discovers them gone.”

  “Rhecia?” Jackal’s brow creased, but then his mind began to settle. “The one from Anville…but how did you two get in here?”

  “Let in through the southern sally port, same as always,” Delia answered. “Whores never need to lay siege, Jackal. Let’s get you out of those manacles.”

  “Did you steal the key?”

  Delia shook her head and began gathering her skirts up behind her legs. “Too chancy.”

  Her mouth wrinkling with momentary discomfort, Delia’s hand came back around, producing a thin, finger-long stick of wax. Letting her skirts fall, she moved quickly to one of the torches and held the sliver over the heat of the flames. The wax melted quickly, leaving behind a pair of lock picks.

  Jackal expelled an amused breath. “Impressive. Though…couldn’t you have just hidden those in the folds of your clothes?”

  “Wasn’t sure I would still be wearing clothes when I got in here,” Delia replied with a purposefully exasperated sigh. “Besides, it’s far from the most uncomfortable thing I’ve had up my arse.”

  “There I am a culprit,” Jackal replied while she began on the first lock. “Though you may find some justice knowing I will now go everywhere similarly equipped.”

  “That might make riding a touch difficult,” Delia replied, opening the first lock with a practiced hand.

  “True,” Jackal conceded.

  Delia was having some difficulty with the second cuff. Jackal looked as the slight care-lines in her face deepened with growing concentration.

  “Why did you risk this, Delia?”

  She glanced up at him, briefly distracted by the gratitude in his voice.

  “I saw you being hauled out,” she replied, going back to her task. “Rhecia told me what happened. She needn’t have bothered. Sancho was right behind her.”

  “That bloated fuck is dead,” Jackal swore.

  “Yes,” Delia said as the second cuff opened. “He is.”

  The look on her face said it all.

  “You killed him?”

  Delia raised one freckled shoulder slightly. “Came at me with a scourge, so I opened his windpipe. All these years, he should have known I keep a knife close at hand.”

  “When was this?”

  “Just after you were taken. Dust from the cavaleros’ horses hadn’t settled when Sancho choked on his own blood.”

  “Hells, woman,” Jackal said, “they will hang you next to me.”

  “I’m not getting caught,” she told him. “And neither are you, if you go now.”

  “I will,” Jackal lied. It would do no good to confess why he had truly come here, especially now that she had burned her life down to aid him. He almost told her to go to Winsome, to have Beryl put her to work, but the notion perished in his head. Every soldier knew who she was, knew that he favored her. When word reached Bermudo of Sancho’s death, she would not be safe.

  “I’ll find you,” he said, “when this is all over.”

  Delia gave him a dubious squint. “If you could do that, I’ve failed at hiding. Come, I will lead you to the sally port.”

  “No,” he said, taking the lock picks from her. “You go. If you’re seen with me, they’ll know.”

  Delia nodded reluctantly and went to the door. There, she paused.

  “I need to tell you something,” she said without turning.

  Jackal waited.

  When she faced him, he was taken aback to see fear in her eyes.

  “It was me,” she told him. “I was the one who let Garcia’s horse loose.”

  Jackal only frowned, more confused than angry.

  “I knew about the elf girls,” Delia said, her breath fluttering. “They had been coming in, going with the Sludge Man…and never seen again. When I heard he was coming for the cavalero and the horse, I released it, hoping it would cause trouble for Sancho. I…I don’t know, I thought if the castile started asking questions, all of it would end. I wasn’t trying to hurt the Bastards, Jack, you have to believe that.”

  Jackal shushed her and took a step forward. “I do.”

  Delia searched his face frantically, as if doubting any absolution.

  “But it worked, in the end? The one you rescued. She’s safe?”

  This lie came harder, as Jackal’s throat constricted.

  “Yes. She’s safe.”

  “Good,” Delia said, breathing out with relief. “Good.”

  Jackal put a gentle hand around the back of her neck. “You need to go.”

  She nodded and looked up at him. “Don’t try to kiss me. I’m done with men
that smell like piss.”

  Smiling, Jackal released her and she slipped out the door.

  He stood for a moment, considering whether to wait and ambush the guards when they returned, weak-legged from fucking. It would provide a weapon and no small amount of satisfaction, but not time, and that was most important. His decision made, Jackal left the chamber, sodden and unarmed.

  The wizard was said to lodge in a tower, which meant Jackal needed to go up. Up toward the bailey, up toward the walls, up toward where all the men who were not sleeping were standing watch.

  “Fuck,” Jackal sighed as he crept along the passage.

  Eventually he came to the end of the vaulted corridor, finding an archway to the left and a small set of stairs leading up to an empty doorway. Sounds of Rhecia entertaining his erstwhile guards echoed from beyond the arch.

  Jackal took the stairs.

  Old rushes crunched under his boots as he entered the chamber at the top, finding himself in an undercroft made up of several adjoined square rooms. A bottlery to his left was secured by iron bars, but Jackal was free to move through the rest of the storage chambers, his eyes darting around for anything useful as he skulked between the barrels and sacks. He managed to find an old mason’s mallet and a forgotten spar hook. Forgoing the heavy mallet, Jackal took up the spar hook. The single-edged curved blade was loose in the stubby handle, but it could still cut a throat, albeit with some sawing.

  Emboldened by the blade in his hand, Jackal moved through the undercroft until he found stairs spiraling upward. They brought him to a room he surmised to be at the base of one of the towers, as it was nearly identical to the one he had entered before being ushered down to the dungeons.

  Towers were what he wanted, but the castile contained at least half a dozen. Searching every one would be too treacherous. Dawn would likely come before he could sneak up them all, if he wasn’t discovered first. He needed to know for certain where the wizard laired. But how? Not even Ignacio had ever betrayed that secret, despite all his dealings with the hoofs.