by Rob J. Hayes
“An assassin?” Pern asked.
“Aye. Comes from the Five Kingdoms. Near as expensive as you were. Now if only I could find that fuck Morrass I could give him the same treatment.”
Some days it took all of Pern's will and training to stop from asking further details of Swift's business. Some days it took too much. “Those people. What does Kessick want them for?”
Swift spat and started walking into the back-room. Pern followed. “Fuck if I know, Suzku. My da' were workin' fer Kessick 'fore me though an' he were playin' around with demons so if I had ta guess... I'd say somethin' ta do with demons.”
Jacob Lee
Some people hated waiting, they found the very idea of sitting still and doing nothing to be detestable. Jacob was not one of those people. Even if he had been once, eight years of being confined in a small stone cell, with only brief forays into the outside world when someone truly dangerous needed hunting, had cured him of that impatience.
He sat on the steps leading up to Crucible's main hall, leaning back and staring at the sparse clouds milling listlessly about in the sky. He took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds and then exhaled slowly. Jacob felt his mouth stretch into a smile.
The good people of Crucible were afraid of him; he could smell their fear. The small road outside the main hall seemed to be a busy highway within the city and a figure dressed in black, lounging on the steps no doubt made for a strange sight. They would stare at him as they passed until they recognised the coat, even in the wilds people could spot an Arbiter's uniform, then they would quickly avert their gazes. Some people might have found their reactions insulting but not Jacob, he loved to watch them, to study them. He loved to imagine what made them tick.
A man and a woman walked past. He carried a sack of coal, she a bucket of water. Jacob judged by their minute reactions towards each other they were intimate. The woman smiled when she looked at the man, the man held his back straight and puffed out his chest despite the weight of the sack. They walked close and brushed against each other twice as they passed. The man smelled of another woman. They noticed Jacob watching and hurried their pace.
I used to walk that close to Sarah. Sometimes she would take hold of my hand and give it a gentle squeeze. I would look into her eyes and see… something.
Jacob remembered her, remembered the good times; sharing each other’s company, their mutual love of music, a gentle canal-boat ride along the clear and placid waters of Sarth. Then he remembered the bad times; the times they had argued about the Inquisition, the times they had argued about faith and about having children. The potential was, most of the time, passed from parents to their children and so any children they might have had would likely have been given to the Inquisition. Sarah did not want her children to become Arbiters, she didn’t really believe, she didn’t really have faith.
Jacob preferred to remember Sarah smiling but sometimes the only way he could see her face was slack and pale and covered in blood; his blood or hers, he couldn’t remember. It all mingled into a thick red pool no matter who it came from. He tried to remember why he had been bleeding but couldn't, suddenly all he could think about was dancing with Sarah.
A note of music, a single pluck of a string, something low and deep, drifted into Jacob's ears. He ignored it, gritted his teeth and screwed shut his eyes, closed off every one of his senses and forced himself to remain calm, forced his heartbeat to slow and his mind to go blank. He was here to see the Lord of this beautiful city. If he started dancing here it would be problematic at best.
When he opened his eyes there was a man, big and brutish with well-used armour and long, oily hair, staring at him from the bottom of the steps. The man was blooded, of that there was no doubt, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He smelled of sweat and steal and fire and horse. Jacob watched him for a moment then went back to contemplating the city, nestled up to the giant mountains behind it, wooden buildings despite the abundant stone, furs and skulls of animals he couldn't even name. Rounded wooden roofs that seemed strange to his eyes, most buildings in Sarth were built with flat roofs. Dogs roamed the streets of Crucible and there were most certainly a lot of dogs. Perhaps it has something to do with all the bones. Someone once told me dogs like bones but I can’t recall who.
“He won't see you,” said the man at the bottom of the steps.
Jacob smiled. “It is unwise to ignore an Arbiter. Perhaps you should tell him that.”
“How would I...”
“You are his son,” Jacob interrupted the man.
The man eyed Jacob with suspicion. “I don't remember ever seeing you before. How did you know that?”
“You are blooded but that much is obvious. You smell of horse yet you are clearly no hunter, either you have been on patrol or you ride for fun. Your armour is that of a warrior but not a soldier. Since standing there two people have bowed their heads to you and the guards behind me are less relaxed; they stand more rigid. You are therefore someone of authority. You wear only one piece of jewellery, a plain band of silver around your left wrist with a name etched on the inside; it begins with an L. A, it’s a wedding band and as silver of that quality is rarer than gold in the wilds you are well off, no doubt one of the Brekovichs. I would put your age someone in your second decade, the Lord of this city is in his forth or fifth, you are therefore of an age to be his son but it is unlikely you are his eldest.”
The man at the bottom of the steps now looked as confused as he did worried. “He won't see you.”
Jacob flowed to his feet and started down the steps, he heard the guards behind him stiffen and the Lord's son in front of him tensed and took a step backwards. Jacob stopped just a couple of paces from him. “What is in it for you?” he asked the man.
“What?”
“Sometimes violence is necessary in order to extract the information that I need but you are about to volunteer it. Why?”
The man was sweating now, the lump in his neck quivered up and down and his eyes flicked to the guards behind Jacob and back again. The four armoured men behind started down the steps. The Lord's son gave a quick shake of his head and the guards stopped.
“You're after the Black Thorn?” the man asked.
Jacob didn't answer; he just stared at the man in front of him.
“I don't care about him but there's a man he's with. A blooded man, like me. My brother. I want him dead. I'll tell you what I know and you kill Anders as well, not just the Black Thorn. Deal?”
Jacob took another step forward; his face mere inches from the other man's. The stink of fear was so heavy it was almost intoxicating. Another note sounded in Jacob's ears, this time high and energetic, full of the promise of wild activity.
“They were supposed to be executed,” said the blooded man in front of Jacob, his voice had risen and he was shaking a little, his eyes were wide and made darting motions, searching Jacob's face for a hint of intent. Jacob gave the man nothing.
“They escaped. We don't know how just... um... they did. I don't know where they've gone but I can tell you where they were.”
It took every ounce of Jacob's willpower to focus on the blooded man's words and ignore the notes that threatened to explode into a ruckus music. He clenched his fists so hard he felt blood drip between his fingernails.
“It's a place called the Boneyard. I... uh... I could take you there.”
Jacob took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. “Just tell me where.”
“South.... south-east. Three days walk. It's a big ravine.”
Jacob walked past the man. He needed to get away from him, away from everyone. He needed calm. The fool rushed up beside him and continued talking.
“You will do it won't you? Kill him. Kill my brother.”
It was such an easy thing to do to rid himself of the Lord's son. Jacob simply reached out with his right hand and pushed against the man's chest. He felt a rib snap just before the body flew away from him, rolling along the ground in the dust
, screaming in pain. Jacob never even broke stride. Not until eight men and four women all wearing soldiers armour rushed up to meet him, surrounded him and ordered him to stop. He complied but only as he contemplated which of the fools would be his first partner. He was very close to letting the music in when the blooded man limped over, supported by another soldier and struggling to suck air into his lungs.
“Let... him... Let him go,” the man said in a laboured voice.
Perhaps not so much a fool.
Jacob waited for the soldiers in front of him to move aside and started forwards again. The notes of music began to fade. He looked up and saw a single white cloud in the sky, twisting and reshaping itself in the wind. It started to look a little like a flower.
Henry
Henry dug at some gunk under her fingernail with the knife as she listened to them argue. It wasn’t a real argument, if that happened it would likely come to blows and Anders would likely end up moaning on the floor in a pool of his own blood.
“All I'm saying, boss, is that Trevil is a wonderful little town and I feel we would best be served spending a few days here in the presence of that tavern.”
“Reckon all those stints o' sobriety have turned ya weird, Anders. Fact is there might be folk chasin' us, chasin' you an' far as I see best place ta hide from 'em, or better yet, lose 'em, is in the Fade.”
“No doubt,” Henry said with a grin. “Hard enough ta find ya own teeth in there.”
“Precisely my point, my lady. There is but the one town in the Fade, a dingy little shit-hole known as Fogwatch and that, I assure you, will be far harder to find than your teeth. We might therefore consider spending a little time, um, collecting supplies and seeing what Trevil has to offer in the way of lubrication.”
Thorn sniffed and turned to Henry. “Reckon I'm starting ta figure him out, ya know. All that he jus' said was fancy speak fer I want ta spend the next couple o' days gettin' arse over face drunk..”
Henry nodded. “Reckon ya just 'bout cut ta the heart o' it there, Thorn. He does like ta dress things up with his fancy words.”
“Aye an' I reckon you kinda like it.”
Henry just smirked, that was certainly something she'd never admit to whether it was true or not. “Fact is we can't afford ta spend a couple o' days gettin' blind drunk, much as the idea might appeal given recent events. We don't even have enough bits ta arm a'selves.”
For the past two weeks they had been getting by with three small blades between them. Henry had kept both throwing knives to use if things got close and Betrim had kept the little dirk and complained endlessly that it wasn't an axe. Anders was forced to make do without any form of weapon other than his tongue which, Henry had to admit, seemed more than capable of inflicting a variety of scathing wounds though none of them tended to be fatal.
Charming was what folk tended to call Anders and Henry had to agree. In the last town they'd come across, a shitty little village, little more than an inn and a few farms, Anders had somehow managed to charm them into sleeping in the stable with a warm meal and a bucket of apple cider. Anders had ended up drinking most of the bucket but Henry and Thorn had snatched a couple of mugs.
Things had become easier since the Boneyard. They were all still recovering from their injuries, though Anders liked to point out he could no more recover than he could grow a new finger. He always lost that argument to Thorn. Both her companions knew what had happened to her now, both knew what Swift had done to her. A part of Henry wanted to kill them both, slit their throats in their sleep so that people wouldn't ever know the truth, but she wouldn't. They knew and they didn't care, or more they did care and they were willing to help her get revenge against the half-blooded bastard. Still it shamed her to know that others knew the truth.
“An' how are we gonna afford this two days o' drinkin'? Strikes me we're more than a little skint,” Thorn asked Anders.
“How are we going to afford stumbling about in the Fade? Entering without ample provisions is akin to madness, boss. Now who's acting like a weird?”
“What did you jus' call me?”
“I... you know I didn't mean it like that, boss. Just... um... Henry, my dear. Help.”
Truth was the conversation was boring Henry. She stepped closer to Anders, wrapped a thin arm around his waist and nipped at his neck with her teeth.
“Ow... Voracious little thing aren't you,” he said with a grin.
“You two can fuck off with that 'till we sorted this thing out. An' by sorted out I mean you agreein' with me,” Thorn said in a voice that almost demanded respect. Truth was he should have just made it an order instead of putting it out to vote.
Henry grinned at him. “Can't help it, boss. Guess I jus' like a man missin' a finger.”
“It got chopped off, you know,” Anders said in a pained voice.
Thorn let out a growl. “Aye well I got two fingers missin' so I suppose ya must like me... um... twice as much as him.”
Truth was there was a time when Henry would have agreed with Thorn on that but something had changed. She just didn't think of the Black Thorn that way anymore, not when she had Anders to occupy her.
“What about a compromise, boss?” Anders asked.
“A what?”
“A compromise. Both parties coming to a mutually beneficial agreement,” Anders clarified.
“Um... depends if that agreement involves you agreein' with me.”
“It does.”
Henry yawned. Her personal thoughts on the matter were they needed to stop running and find a job. They were broke and there wasn't anybody following them; Anders entire family now thought he was dead. They needed to earn some bits to pay their way to Chade so they could find Swift and murder the cunt. She imagined sticking a dagger up his arse and watching him shit blood. She smiled.
“I'll pay for a room at the inn, a nights worth of drinking for us all and in the morning we can buy supplies and head into the Fade,” Anders announced.
“How the fuck are ya gonna find the bits ta pay fer all that? Last I heard you were as broke as the rest o' us,” Thorn said.
Anders produced a small purse from one of his pockets. She saw Thorn's mouth drop a little and felt hers do the same. “Where did ya get that?” she asked.
“I, uh, found it.”
“Where?”
Anders looked down at the ground and sucked at his teeth. “On somebody's belt.”
There was a moment of silence before Thorn burst into laughter. “It's a small wonder ta me why a member o' one of the richest families in the wilds would learn ta pick pockets.”
“When one has a habit of passing out and then waking up to find oneself in a gutter and, um, well and truly robbed, alternative funding is often required in order to keep up said habit.”
“Right ya are, Anders. Ya got enough in there fer a night o' drinkin' an' supplies fer a trip into the Fade have ya?”
Anders laughed. “Not at all. But I wager after a night's drinking I'll have rustled up a few more bits. You would be amazed at the number of people who don't adequately look after their belongings.”
Thorn nodded. “A comprise then.”
“Compromise,” Anders corrected.
“Aye. One o' those. Gotta admit, I wouldn't mind a drink or two an' I guess we might find some locals willin' ta part with some advice 'bout navigatin' the Fade.”
So with Anders leading the way they walked into one of the dirtiest little shit-holes of a tavern Henry had ever seen. The place named itself the Silent Wraith but truth was it was anything but silent. Well used straw covered the floor in layers and the stench of stale beer was overpowering. Henry sniffed and scowled at the smell but Anders took a deep breath and sighed in contentment. The walls were bare, the tables were scarred and the inhabitants were rowdy. A typical wilds tavern if ever Henry saw one.
Some of the patrons looked up at the newcomers but most gave them a sound ignoring. There were just two tables unoccupied and both were fairly central to t
he room, Thorn growled something about dangerous positions but Henry and Anders ignored him. The barman, a big-bellied man with two chins, no hair and red cheeks nodded to them as they sat in a way that said he'd be with them soon. Henry noticed a group of dangerous-looking folk sat in one of the corners, six men and all well-armed, they were sipping at mugs and smoking pipes of what smelled like casher weed.
Anders smiled at Henry. “I think we fit in well here, don't you?”
Henry glared back at him from underneath her hat. “Reckon you fit in anywhere there's a drink.”
“Quite right.”
The barman, and most likely owner, waddled over and treated them all to a friendly smile. “Ya all want beer? Tastes a bit like piss but it'll get ya drunk. Got some mead too but it's a bit more pricey. Made local it is, some folk nearby keep bees.”
Thorn growled.
“Ya don't like bees, son?” the barman asked.
“Ever seen a man die from bein' stung by the little monsters?” Thorn asked.
“No.”
“I have. Reckon the piss-flavoured beer'll do jus' fine. Three mugs.”
“Best make it four,” Anders said. “I have a terrible thirst.”
“There a time ya don't have a thirst?” Henry asked.
Anders pretended to think about it for a moment before shaking his head. “No.”
The barman walked away nodding and returned a minute later with four mugs of something dark and brown that tasted a lot, Henry assumed, like piss. Anders gulped it down gratefully after paying while Henry and Thorn took to nursing theirs. A lifetime of playing the game in the wilds had convinced them both of the virtues of not passing out in taverns. The barman sat down on the fourth stool at the table, the little wooden construct creaked at the weight.
“You folk are new here.”
Henry reached for a throwing a knife, she could already tell Thorn had done the same. Anders grinned at the man and nodded enthusiastically. “I wouldn't have thought it was so obvious, though I suppose you know most of your regular patrons.”
