The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1)

by Peace, Cas

  “Never doubt I mean what I say!” the vagrant hissed, his voice strangely altered, his eyes glowing red. “Serve me well and you shall be rewarded, but fail me only once and this shall be your fate.”

  Seth stared in helpless horror at the ruined, crawling flesh he glimpsed beneath the shabby cloak. His hand flew to his mouth, but he was too late. The rancid ale and the stench of decomposing meat were just too much for his overburdened stomach. He lost its contents over the stained and filthy floor.

  The cloak was closed, the vagrant gulping the sour contents of Seth’s tankard by the time the manservant recovered enough to sit upright. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and found he couldn’t meet those red-rimmed eyes in case the sullen ruby glow should still be there. He coughed, trying to force his irritated throat to form words, words which might deflect the anger, appease the suspicion, and reassure Seth’s lord of his unswerving obedience. Seth could think of nothing that might induce him to risk the fate this poor wretch had already suffered. He would do anything—even murder—to avoid such a consequence.

  “Are you ready to leave?” The wastrel rose to his feet as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened. Seth raised his eyes reluctantly, but the manic red glow had faded. There was only the sardonic twist to the wastrel’s features that said he knew what Seth was thinking.

  The manservant got shakily to his feet and reached for the bundle. The vagabond turned wordlessly and stalked from the tavern, his vile personal shield forging a way through the crowd and persisting long enough to accommodate Seth as he followed. They emerged once more onto the filthy, gloomy street, the younger man breathing thankfully of the outside air, which, under other circumstances, would have smelled rank.

  “Where’re we going?” he asked when he could catch his breath. The wastrel shot him a glance, but didn’t reply. Seth was forced to follow with no idea where he was being led.

  + + + + +

  Sir Regus regarded his wife where she sat staring at him from her corner of the swaying carriage. He registered the set of her delicately-painted mouth and the characteristic tilt to her exquisitely-coiffured head. He sighed, heavily but inaudibly. He was going to lose the battle. Years of married life had taught him this, and they had also taught him the futility of what he was about to attempt. Why he bothered, he didn’t know. Was it some primeval male urge to dominate? Some deep-seated instinct to master? Was it the pack leader syndrome that took him over and subjected him to this ritual humiliation? He couldn’t say. Whatever it was, it was paramount, and Sir Regus obeyed its dictates every time.

  His wife, Lady Corina, knew this well. They had been wed for forty-three years and she knew him better than he knew himself. She had discovered very early on exactly how to handle her husband and now the reactions were instinctive. She may even have enjoyed his futile struggles, but she never tried to analyze her actions. Had she done so, she may even have come to suspect he enjoyed their sparring arguments, but the thought never entered her head. She wanted something; he’d try to dissuade her. It was part of who they were together and neither could have altered it to save their lives.

  “Didn’t I buy you that new gown in Tolk only last week?” Regus protested, staring out the window at the frost-rimed trees as the four-horse team drew the carriage toward the city gates.

  Corina’s eyes grew round. “That was for Lady Greda’s party!”

  “What does that have to do with it? It’s still a new gown, isn’t it?”

  Corina sighed loudly and pulled her soft velvet over robe tighter about her plump shoulders. Expensive though the carriage was, its windows were drafty and the winter wind seeped through.

  “My dear,” she said firmly, “everyone who is anyone was at Lady Greda’s party. If I were to attend my next function wearing the same dress, I’d be labeled cheap. I simply couldn’t bear that. And I won’t hear them casting comments about your generosity or means. Think how degrading that would be. No, my dear, I’m afraid I need a new wardrobe. I’ll draw up a list of the most essential items when we get indoors and I’ll send a servant for the seamstress tomorrow. That is, if we ever reach the end of this interminable forest.”

  “Yes, dear,” Regus murmured, for once bereft of the energy for his usual heated argument. Indeed, he had hardly been listening to her words, lost as he was in gloomy contemplation of the state of his coffers.

  Their three-week stay on her cousin’s estate had already cost him dearly. The pouch that held his gold lay depressingly limp against his thigh, and he faced weeks of hard work to replenish his store. Corina’s intentions for her wardrobe would only serve to beggar him further even as he strove to earn enough to replace what they had already spent. But such was his lot and he was powerless to change it. If only he could catch the King’s eye and convince his monarch to elevate him! But, he reflected morosely, that was hardly likely.

  + + + + +

  The men hidden in the trees were unaware of Sir Regus’s gloom and wouldn’t have cared if they had known. It was pure chance his carriage should be the target. They had not expected a prize such as this so late in the day. Indeed, some in the band had advised waiting until the morrow. It was late, cold, growing dark, and their instructions weren’t specific as to time. Yet once the lookout reported the approach of an expensive carriage, the band’s leader couldn’t resist.

  “Why not, lads?” He glanced round at his companions. “Just a half-hour’s work and enough gold to feed us for a week. Maybe more. The quicker we do the job, the quicker we get our reward. If we strike now, they’ll not rouse the garrison till morning. Ample time for us to choose our ground.”

  Seeing the eager gleam of their eyes, he turned to the lookout. “Go on, then, get back and tell the boys to run ’em down where we agreed. Once they’ve taken the coach, we’ll come at ’em from behind. Sharp, now!”

  The lookout spun his rangy beast and spurred it back the way he’d come. The band’s leader, a rough, unshaven fellow with an ugly boil on his neck which he scratched constantly, grinned at his men. “Mount up, lads. There’s nobles to rob and profit to be had!”

  The ruffians chuckled as they made for their horses and followed their leader into the trees.

  + + + + +

  “And don’t forget the reception at Lord Pylock’s in a week’s time; we simply have to attend that. I can’t wear the red brocade. Lady Sharmel was at Greda’s and she saw me. She even remarked upon it, if you remember, my dear ….”

  Regus wasn’t listening. His wife’s voice had long since become a background drone to his melancholy thoughts. He stared out at the deepening gloom, trying to think of a way to boost his income or convince his sovereign he was worth more than his pittance of ten pounds per annum.

  He was so deep in his private crisis he didn’t see the flitting shadow that crossed the carriage window, nor did he hear the cry of the coachman as the crossbow bolt thudded into his chest, catapulting him out of his seat and leaving the horses driverless. Well trained, they continued on, the wide forest track keeping them on course.

  The carriage jolted as it increased speed, jumping over the uneven ground. Sir Regus, startled out of his funk, bawled a reprimand to the coachman.

  “Sorry, me Lord,” came a rough voice.

  Regus stared at his wife. “That didn’t sound like Wrekin.”

  Corina frowned and opened the window to ask if Wrekin was all right. A rough fellow on a skinny horse appeared at the window and leered at her. She screamed, hands flying to her mouth.

  “Regus, do something!”

  Her husband did the only thing he could think of. He swore.

  + + + + +

  The maze of streets and alleys was unfamiliar to Seth. He had ventured to the outskirts of the slums once or twice, but farther than that he had never been. He didn’t recognize the dingy gray building where the vagrant finally halted. Judging by the look on the wretch’s face, he expected some reaction from Seth, but when he didn’t get one he merely grinned and rapped on
the door.

  “What do we want here?” Seth asked, not really expecting an answer.

  “We’re about to spend some of the Church’s generously donated gold,” was the terse reply, leaving Seth none the wiser. The words gave him pause, however, as he realized he was probably looking at the Arch Patrio’s murderer.

  Seth had no reason to regret Neremiah’s death. He had been as furious as the Baron at Neremiah’s spineless actions at the trial. That the cleric was only saving his neck and position cut no ice with Seth. Neremiah had betrayed his master as thoroughly as Jinella and death was no less than he deserved. Yet Seth had heard the rumors, already rife around the city, about how Neremiah died, about the horrific wound inflicted on a defenseless man, and looked at his ragged companion fearfully. The afternoon had held enough shocks already; Seth could only wonder what more might befall.

  Footsteps sounded behind the door and the bolt was drawn. As the door inched open, Seth caught the gleam of torchlight reflected in a painted blue eye. He heard the soft murmur of voices and a woman’s throaty laugh, and knew where they were. His eyes narrowed. Why had the vagrant brought him to a brothel?

  The wastrel reached below his cloak and showed his palm. The glint of gold bought him an open door and an invitation to enter. He slid inside, closely followed by Seth. The woman who had admitted them eyed the vagrant with distaste, but reached for his gold nonetheless.

  She wasn’t young, although her layered makeup disguised the worst of the lines on her face. She wore a simple bodice and skirt, none too clean, the lacings of the bodice awry. They were also loose, hiding nothing of the pendulous flesh beneath.

  She grinned as she saw Seth’s gaze. He flushed and looked away.

  “Yer friend’s none too keen,” she chuckled as she pocketed the vagrant’s gold. The man spared Seth a mocking glance, his lip curling.

  “He’s not here to sample your charms, Nolah. Have you gathered the girls?”

  “Shame. He’s young and fresh. Couldn’t I—” Nolah saw the vagrant’s eyes gleam. “Oh, all right, they’re all here.”

  She turned, leading the way along a shabby corridor. They passed a shadowy stairway and Seth started as a shrill scream sounded somewhere above, followed by the sounds of a scuffle and a man’s voice raised in anger. The woman in front of him halted, spat a vicious curse, and ran for the stairs, shouldering past Seth in a flurry of skirts and a waft of cheap perfume. She thumped up the stairs, still yelling curses, and they heard a door slam. Another shrill screech cut the air, and Seth shot the vagrant a look. That scream spoke of real pain. His companion merely shrugged.

  A man’s raised voice mingled with Nolah’s curses, and Seth heard a young girl sobbing. He was beginning to think he ought to investigate when he heard a crack, a heavy thump, and then silence. Alarmed, he moved toward the stairway, but the vagrant hissed for him to be still. Nolah appeared at the top of the stairs, her face red and angry. She massaged her right hand, the thick knuckles grazed and sore.

  “Didn’t I tell ya what t’do?” she yelled, her voice grating. “Next time remember what yer told and learn t’put up with it. They’re not paying good coin t’hear ya screaming. Now get yerself cleaned up, silly wench, and then get Rafe t’chuck ’im out back.” She took two steps down the stairs. “And don’t forget t’search ’is pockets.”

  She stumped back down to the ground floor, shaking her head. She stared archly at Seth as if daring him to comment, but he averted his gaze, even though the sobs coming from above were enough to break the heart. Nolah brushed past him and put her hand on the door handle to the room in front of them.

  The soft mutter of women’s voices within, which hadn’t been affected by the commotion above, fell silent. Seth followed as the vagrant entered the room, even more apprehensive now about what the man intended. When he saw the small group of girls gathered there, he thought he finally understood.

  Five girls waited in the room, all young and slender, all of medium height, all blondes with shoulder-length hair, although one of them was more strawberry than blonde. This girl was instantly dismissed by the vagrant, and Nolah hustled her from the room, slapping her bottom hard. “Back t’work, me girl.”

  The vagrant turned to Seth, the nasty smile back on his face. “Well? Worked it out yet? Which shall we choose?”

  Seth knew the girls had been selected for their passing resemblance to Jinella, but what the vagrant intended to do was still a mystery. He frowned at his ragged companion.

  The vagrant shrugged. “The face doesn’t matter. Pick the nearest in height and build. Come on, man, you see her every day.”

  Seth decided to do as he was bid. No doubt all would become clear in time. He moved toward the girls and looked them over carefully. They all tried to catch his eye, and one of them managed to caress him suggestively. He stepped hurriedly away from her groping fingers. Quite apart from having no interest in women, these jaded and overused trollops would have repulsed him even had he been desperate. He made his choice quickly, as there was really only one girl who fitted all the requirements, even if she was older by a good few years than Jinella. He pointed her out.

  “This one’s about right.”

  Nolah chased the three disappointed girls from the room. “Back t’work, the rest of ya.” She shut the door and turned purposefully to the vagrant, holding out a meaty palm. “Pay up front, me lad.”

  The vagrant grinned and pulled more gold from beneath his cloak. The brothel madam stared at the gleaming coins, glancing suspiciously into his face. “What, ya want t’buy ’er?”

  The vagrant grabbed her wrist and jerked her close against him. Ignoring the way she screwed up her nose against the stench, he gazed deeply into her eyes, raised his hand, and allowed the coins to trickle down the front of her bodice.

  “In a manner of speaking. We want the use of a private, ground floor room and as much time as we need. We want no questions asked and no disturbance. We want to enjoy our pleasures in peace and privacy. Understand?”

  Nolah nodded, one hand caressing the coins against her breasts. For that amount of gold she was prepared to grant them whatever they wanted.

  “Of course, good sirs!” she simpered, affecting a noble accent. Backing carefully away from the vagrant, she bowed them out of the room, swatting the chosen girl sharply on the arm. “You be sure an’ give ’em a good time, honey. If I get any complaints, Rafe’ll hear of it.”

  The girl cringed and hurried to catch up, choosing to hang on Seth’s arm rather than braving the vagrant’s stench. Nolah brushed past and they followed her as she led them deeper into the brothel, finally stopping outside a door well away from any others. She turned the handle and showed them in.

  “This is me best room, gents. I trust it’ll suit yer needs?”

  The vagrant shoved the girl inside. “Well enough.”

  Seth followed, bemused, wondering if he would be expected to perform in front of his companion and how it would be received when he revealed his preferences. He heard Nolah close the door with a measure of fear.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The vagrant waited until the sound of Nolah’s footsteps faded before turning the key in the lock. He regarded the whore who still stood by Seth’s side. Mindful of Nolah’s warning, she simpered and moved closer.

  “Where would you like me, sirs?” Her eyes roved over the room’s various possibilities. “On the bed? On the floor? Over the chair? Which of you’ll be first? I can show you all manner of delights. I’m one of Nolah’s most popular girls. Why, only last week I—”

  “Shut up!” The vagrant’s command made the girl pout. “What we really want is for you to keep your mouth shut and to do as you’re told. Understood?”

  She nodded sullenly and the vagrant turned to Seth, indicating the bundle he carried. “Give her that.”

  Seth handed over the bundle and the girl accepted it resignedly. He imagined it wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to wear something strange to satisfy a c
ustomer. But when she spilled the silks and satins out of their wrappings, she squealed in delight. Holding the exquisite green silk gown to her chest, she ran to the fly-specked mirror and paraded in front of it.

  “Oooh,” she cried, twirling to face them, “do I really get to wear this? Can I keep it after? The girls will be so jealous!”

  “Just put it on, and be quick about it. If you’re good—very good, mind!—we might let you keep it.”

  She didn’t need telling twice and shucked off her shabby skirt and bodice, uncaring of their stares. The vagrant watched her hungrily, but Seth found nothing pleasurable or erotic in her grubby body and prominent ribs. And when she had finally worked out the intricacies of the gown and stood before them, Seth couldn’t suppress a sneer of disapproval. He might hate Jinella for what she had done to his master, but seeing this common, dirty trollop dressed in one of Jinny’s best gowns made him realize that, whatever he thought of her allegiances and loyalties, Jinella was a true lady.

  The vagrant saw his distaste and grinned. “Prefer the real thing, don’t you?”

  Seth just stared at him, disconcerted by the comment’s accuracy, although its meaning differed from his thought. The vagrant grinned wider. “Shoes?”

  Seth pointed to the bundle. The girl dived for it, fishing out a pair of green satin court shoes. They were slightly too small, but she didn’t care. She tottered gleefully about the room in the high heels in a grotesque parody of a lady’s proud walk. It was as much as Seth could do to watch her and he was surprised at himself. He would never have thought he would care so much about the casual profaning of the social world he served.

  The vagrant sifted through the material that had wrapped the gown and shoes. “Didn’t you bring any jewelry, man?”

  The whore paused in her mime, her mouth falling open.

  Seth glared at him. “I couldn’t get them without her noticing. You said to bring what she’d normally wear, but she always wears the same jewels. Most of them she never takes off, except to sleep.”