Those Brave, Foolish Souls from the City of Swords: A standalone Yarnsworld novel

by Benedict Patrick

  “Queen’s tits,” Crazy Raccoon said, “there’s a lot of them. More than I thought there’d be.”

  Arturo was thinking the same thing. He had expected a dozen men, two dozen if they were unlucky. Looking at the buildings below, and at the extra tents that had been pitched out, he would not be surprised if closer to fifty bandits were using these facilities.

  The man with the dead face had indeed inspired loyalty from his fellow bandits.

  “Can we still do this?” Arturo had had faith that two Bravadori and a Shaven would be able to fend off more than their fair share of attackers, but these numbers changed the odds dramatically. Where did that leave them in their quest? The choices seemed to be to continue and fail, or go home in defeat. The thought of both options crushed Arturo. He could not handle another defeat.

  “I’ve done it before,” Crazy Raccoon mused, not sounding particularly confident, “but I was younger then, better prepared. Not sure about us today.”

  Arturo’s gaze drifted to the entrance of the old estate. Much like Arturo’s father’s land, this must have been grazing land for cattle belonging to the estate owner. The estate buildings were enclosed in a protective wall, but that wall had clearly seen better days. He could spot some sections of it that had collapsed entirely.

  Arturo stared at the main gates, and at the brown heaps that appeared to decorate the wall on either side of the gates. Something in that fetid mess moved. Arturo narrowed his eyes, and tried to make out what he was looking at. Then he gasped.

  “There’s somebody down there,” he said, raising his voice louder than he had meant to. Yizel reached her hand out to Arturo’s mouth, while Crazy Raccoon whispered at him harshly.

  “Keep your voice down, you fool. Of course there’re people there. Far too bloody many of them.”

  Arturo shook his head in annoyance, shrugging Yizel’s hand off his mouth.

  “No, I mean at the gates. Look at the gates.”

  All three of them squinted, and eventually were able to make out what Arturo was talking about. There, on either side of the entranceway to the estate, were two people nailed to the wall. These people were still alive, moving every so often, twitching in pain, betraying that life still clung to them like a miser refusing to pay taxes.

  “Queen’s tits,” Yizel whispered.

  “It’s like back in Wild Town,” Arturo said. “And at Calvario as well. They protect themselves with dying things, offering dying things to the Mistress of the Wilds to turn her eye.”

  “Yeah, but they don’t fucking nail people to the door, do they?” Crazy Raccoon said.

  “Definitely not,” Arturo said. “So why then, do these bandits feel the need to do something like this?”

  “Because they’re evil,” Yizel said. “Because they’re evil, and scared. You don’t make a sacrifice like this casually. They’re scared of something.”

  “They should be scared of something,” Crazy Raccoon said. “They should be scared of me. Because I’m going to sneak in there, shove my blade up this Procopio’s arse, and that’ll be the end of this sorry story. Not even dead villagers nailed to the door post will stop that.”

  “Wait, what?” Arturo said, turning to stare at Crazy Raccoon incredulously.

  “There’s no way we can take them all on, not that many people. So, this assault just turned into an assassination. One of us has to scramble down there, sneak into Procopio’s rooms, and kill him. Naturally, that person should be me.”

  “That has to be one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard,” Yizel said.

  “Nobody asked you, Shaven. Got a better idea?”

  Arturo certainly couldn’t think of one. The idea of an assassination attempt made sense. In fact, Arturo had felt a distinct sense of relief when Crazy Raccoon had suggested it, as it seemed to be the only possible choice that afforded them any chance of success. At least then it would be one person against a smaller group, possibly even just Procopio himself. As Crazy Raccoon said, there was no way they could walk in brazenly and expect to survive. Arturo tried not to admit that a large part of him was also relieved Crazy Raccoon was willing to take all of the burden onto his own shoulders.

  “You can’t do it,” Yizel said. “You could hardly even climb that cliff yourself. You might be a great swordfighter,” she said, her eyebrow raised, “but stealth is not your strength. If you bumble into that camp you’ll be caught within minutes.”

  “Shut your fucking noisemaker, Shaven. As I said already, nobody asked your opinion.”

  “But I’m going to give it anyway. You want to come over here and punch me in the face some more?”

  Arturo shifted uneasily, sandwiched between the two as they lay there at the cliff edge.

  “Both of you, stop it,” Arturo said. He looked at Yizel, her bruised face showing anger directed towards Crazy Raccoon. Arturo turned his head, and looked at Crazy Raccoon. The older man was expecting him to speak and support his ideas.

  Arturo felt stuck between his two companions. If he supported Crazy Raccoon, encouraged him to sneak into the estate by himself, one mistake could botch the whole operation. And Yizel had proven herself recently. Supporting her could be Arturo’s way of showing her he believed in her, despite the fact that she was Shaven.

  Arturo looked at Crazy Raccoon again. But this man, this man is a legend. Yes, he had problems climbing up here. But he can’t get to where he is and be completely clueless as to his own abilities. If he thinks he can make it into the camp…

  “Crazy Raccoon is right,” Arturo said, not being brave enough to look at Yizel’s face as he said it. “We need to take Procopio out. We need to take him out fast, before they hear about us from the village. Crazy Raccoon’s the best among us, the most skilled out of our two Bravadori. It should be him that goes.”

  Still not looking at Yizel, Arturo was aware only of complete stillness to his left, where she lay. Crazy Raccoon, on the other hand, rolled onto his side, giving a big grin.

  “Well, Pup,” Crazy Raccoon said, “I always knew you’d go far. Pity you’ll not get to take part in the action, but when we head back to the city, I’ll tell everyone about how you helped me get here. Maybe even embellish your participation a little. But, first things first, time for me to go down and put this matter to an end.”

  Crazy Raccoon picked himself off the ground and started to make his way to the scree face they had originally climbed up.

  “You have to head for the mansion,” Arturo said, helplessly, wanting to do what he could to support the Bravador. “That’s where the head of the estate would have lived. That’s where Procopio will make his quarters.”

  Crazy Raccoon turned to look at Arturo, and gave him a little smirk. “Don’t you worry yourself, farmboy. This isn’t the first time I’ve done something like this. Just leave everything to Crazy Raccoon.”

  Yizel and Arturo lay in silence as they watched Crazy Raccoon disappear over the edge of the cliff. As the older man disappeared, Arturo was struck by a distinct sense of loss. He eventually realised he had given his part in this adventure away. If any tales were told of this day, the name Starving Pup would not be associated with them.

  A few minutes later, they spotted Crazy Raccoon making his way towards the encampment, a black dot darting between dry brush and rocks. Arturo’s knuckles were white as they dug into the ground beneath him. From where he was lying, he could see the guards that Procopio had positioned around the camp. Crazy Raccoon was trying to be stealthy, but Arturo couldn’t help but feel the man was moving too quickly. Just one of the guards needed to spot him, and the chance for surprise would be ruined.

  “He’s going to mess everything up, you know,” Yizel said, emotionless.

  Arturo pinched his lips in annoyance. “He’s Crazy Raccoon. If any of us were going to succeed, it’d be him.”

  “Don’t be so sure. You’re thinking about the stories you’ve heard of him. What have you actually seen him do?”

  Arturo turned to look
at Yizel, the woman’s hard features fixed on the view in front of them. “What’re you saying? The stories aren’t true? That’s ridiculous.”

  Yizel gave a half smile, but one that held no mirth. “Is it? Wouldn’t be the first story that turned out to have been embellished. Didn’t he just say he was going to overplay your part in this one? Wonder how many of the tales of Crazy Raccoon have had a similar treatment.”

  Arturo’s nervousness and anger rose at the same time. “He’s a Bravador, Yizel. You may have forgotten what that means, but it means he’s special. It means he’s made for this, for protecting people. And you, a Shaven, you don’t get to doubt the likes of him.”

  Yizel turned to look Arturo, the shock on her face making him feel like a gutter rat. That shock quickly turned to anger, a dark storm rolling over her eyes, overshadowing the hurt he had caused her.

  “Oh, I know all about the Bravadori,” she spat. “Not only have I been one, I’ve been treated like shit by them for the last ten years of my life. Stop living in stories all the time, Starving Pup. You tell me the Bravadori are protectors, are heroes, are special? Give me one example. Give me one example that doesn’t come from a storybook or from around a campfire. You’ve been in the city for weeks, now. What’ve you seen the Bravadori do that makes them so special?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. The only act of selflessness he had witnessed in the city was when Yizel had helped him recover from his beating.

  “Look at my face.”

  Like a mule barked at by its master, Arturo could not help but turn and look at her, right eye raw and red, her pale skin mottled with purple bruises.

  “That’s what a Bravador does. You spent a week in bed, close to death. That’s what the Bravadori do. You expect that man down there to be working hard to save the people of Calvario? You’re a bigger idiot than I thought. Why’s he really here? What’s he really up to? I guarantee you it isn’t saving people’s lives.”

  “And you?” Arturo said, his voice raised more than he meant to. “What about you? A Shaven working for money, just here to earn some pay? I thought you were better than that. I thought you were here to save some lives, make a difference. What happened? Was this your plan all along, to wait until the last moment to get the right price? Or, had you hoped to change things for yourself, maybe somehow get everyone else to see you as something better, but then you realised that you’ll always be a dirty Shaven?”

  He could see by the wretched look on her face that his thrust to the heart had struck true.

  Yizel turned to look back at Crazy Raccoon, who had now made it to the borders of the mansion without being spotted. “I could say the same about you, Starving Pup. I know why you’re here. It certainly has nothing to do with helping people.”

  Arturo paused, looking at Yizel, his mouth open. He could not argue with her. He did care about these people, of course he did, like any decent person would, but she was right - that was not why he was here. He was here to find more marks to add to his mask, to add weight to his story, to add weight to his claims of being a Bravador. He stared at the manor building below, which the dark shape of Crazy Raccoon was now entering, and he thought of the three of them, travelled all this way from Espadapan. None were here to protect the village, not truly. In all his time in the City of Swords and travelling the Wildlands looking to make his name, only two people he knew had acted selflessly. A disgraced swordfighter, and a man who had been turned mad by his own generosity.

  Is this what the world was, the life he had left home to seek out for himself? A life of selfishness and stepping on others to rise higher?

  Is this what being a Bravador was all about?

  Fire flowed through Crazy Raccoon’s veins as he scrambled down the scree slope, silently cursing how high they had climbed, while at the same time rejoicing in what he was about to do.

  Finally! After so long letting others do the dirty work, finally time for Crazy Raccoon to prove himself again.

  Eyes on the nearby encampment, Crazy Raccoon ducked low as he ran, moving between the dry gorse bushes that littered the Wilds, squinting to catch a glimpse of any movement on the encampment walls that might signify guards moving or looking in his direction.

  Puffing as he exerted himself, Crazy Raccoon stopped for a moment behind a particularly large bush, and drew his rapier. He stared at it for a moment, grinning.

  Drink your own piss, Galloping Turtle. Never draw my sword again in battle? Oh, if you could see me now, you arrogant horse-fucker.

  Making sure no figures were looking in his direction, Crazy Raccoon ran again, closing the ground between him and the ramshackle walls. Finally making it to his destination, he threw himself flush against the fading plaster, peering at the cliff that towered over the encampment, searching for the boy while he caught his breath again. There was no sign of Starving Pup, or the Shaven.

  They’re hiding well enough. Hope they’re watching me in action, though. Need someone to tell the story of what happened when Crazy Raccoon took on a bandit encampment all by himself.

  He moved quietly around the wall, looking for the nearest gap in it. Towards the north end of the encampment, not too far from the main building, he found what he was looking for - the wall had collapsed to the ground, probably due to some Wildlands beast forcing its way inside decades ago. The bandits had not bothered to build it back again, but Crazy Raccoon was aware they were more likely to be guarding this section.

  Gingerly, he peeked his head around the crumbling brickwork, ready to pull it back at the first sign of a sentry. To his great fortune, there was nobody there. From the gap in the wall, Crazy Raccoon got a much better view of the estate interior. The gap was partially hidden at the rear of one of the lesser buildings, and Crazy Raccoon could spot men moving beside the wall on the opposite side of the courtyard.

  Probably a patrol, working their way around all of the gaps. Best to move quickly, before they make their way back. I could take them out, but any fight increases the chance of discovery. I’d rather the first time I use this blade is when it slides across Procopio’s throat.

  He dashed over the fallen bricks, stooping behind a collection of barrels to the side of the servants’ building, the building closest to the manor house. Taking a few seconds to see that the patrol was out of sight, Crazy Raccoon ran the rest of the way to the manor’s side entrance.

  The inside of the manor house was dark. The drapes that must have once graced the windows had long since rotted or been scavenged away, but most of the glass inside had been darkened by dirt and dust. In the shadows, Crazy Raccoon felt his first moment of uneasiness. When first deciding to come to Calvario, he had expected a large number of enemies to deal with, and had been thrilled by the idea of blustering through the bandit forces. He did not like this sneaking around. The Shaven had suggested she might have been better for this infiltration. There was no way a Shaven was suited for any task, but now that he was alone, Crazy Raccoon could admit that this was not his strength.

  He ignored most of the small rooms and side passages, instead following the corridor until he came to a central stairwell. The main entrance to the manor house was here, and the wooden doors were propped wide open, a guard stationed in front of them. The bandit on guard duty sat on a stool in the middle of the doorway, her back to the house interior, a machete sitting on her lap, a cup of something in her hand.

  Looking at the machete, Crazy Raccoon knew she would not have a Knack worth worrying about. Nevertheless, he did not want to risk engaging her and alerting the rest of the crew. Trusting to his luck and the Queen’s guidance, Crazy Raccoon crept softly along the polished floorboards of the hallway, moving quietly up the large staircase. The woman must have been well into her cups, because the creaks that he made as he ascended did not alert her in any way. Sending a word of thanks to Alfrond for his good fortune and natural skills, Crazy Raccoon directed his attention to the landing. No sight or sound of anybody filled him with hope. If Procopi
o was here, he did not appear to be well guarded.

  Keep this up, and this assassination could be one of the easiest jobs I’ve ever done.

  Moving along the rotted carpet of the upstairs landing, Crazy Raccoon set his eyes on the double doors at the end of the hallway. The master bedroom.

  If I was a bandit leader, that’s exactly where I’d hole up.

  Sneaking up to the door, testing each floorboard for creaks before he put any weight on them, Crazy Raccoon could hear voices from the other side.

  “These are the last. Should get us a few more days, four at the most, but we’ll have to go back for more.”

  “Dammit. At the rate we’re taking these people, can’t see Calvario lasting us another year. We can only keep this up for so long before they run. Take more next time, and start looking for somewhere else to target. Either another village, something a manageable distance, or we’re just going to have to find somewhere else to make home.”