by J. P. Ashman
‘I don’t rightly care, Boxall.’
Tahir sighed. ‘We’ve enough on, lads, without picking at each other. You ever heard what these Hillside gangs do to folk who wrong them?’
‘Roasting pits.’ Joncausks closed his eyes and prodded at his nose, grimacing as he did so.
‘Roasting pits,’ Tahir confirmed, nodding. ‘Sick bastards the lot of ’em.’
‘And whose idea, Tahir,’ Boxall glanced at the man, ‘was it to—’
‘We’ve been through all this shit again and again,’ Tahir interrupted, eyes locked on Boxall’s, who sat opposite him in the foul chamber they’d been shoved in after being taken and beaten.
Boxall nodded wearily and planted his chin back on his knees. ‘Aye, lad, that we have. Nowt else to do though, is there? We’ve tried and thought of every bloody way to get out. They may be scum, these gangers, but they know how to fight and I’m not for taking another gut punching. Reckon’ I’ll be shitting organs next.’
‘Might be an improvement on what you’re normally shitting,’ Tahir said, glancing at the pile of excrement in the corner, the smell of which was overpowering, and getting worse by the hour.
Boxall couldn’t help but laugh at that, as did Joncausks, who, once finished prodding his mangled nose, moved fingers up to press the lumps beneath his cropped white hair.
‘Hush!’ Tahir straightened and cocked his head.
‘I didn’t say—’
‘Hush, I say,’ Tahir said again, interrupting Boxall, who snarled at the Eatrian.
Narrowing his eyes, Tahir climbed to his feet and crept to the door. ‘There’s voices outside,’ he whispered, loud enough to be heard by the other two, who climbed to their feet. Tahir pressed his small ear to the door and Joncausks stooped to pick up his green linen shirt, pulling it on to cover the map of Brisance that was tattooed across his back.
Boxall pressed up behind Tahir, who waved him back with a sneer. Looking to Joncausks, Boxall held his large hands up behind Tahir and mimicked throttling him. Joncausks smiled.
‘Someone’s coming,’ Tahir whispered, backing away from the door. All three stood side-by-side, Joncausks and Boxall dwarfing Tahir, who stood in the middle. ‘When it opens, I’m gonna have the fucker, even if it gets me killed,’ Tahir promised.
‘And us, ye prick.’ Boxall’s eyes remained on the grubby door.
‘It’ll be the captain, or Hitchmogh,’ Joncausks said, like he had half a dozen times since they’d been incarcerated. He was the most relaxed of the three. I just know it.
Boxall looked over Tahir. ‘That why you donned your shirt again, Jon, like the other times he didn’t show up, because you’re ready to stroll back off to Sessio with him, past all the bastard shite gangers?’
Joncausks looked back. ‘Yes.’
‘Fair one.’ Boxall looked back at the door. ‘Well, whatever happens, I’m not being roasted in a pit after having my long bits chopped off and fed to me or whatever it is Tahir keeps saying—’
‘Shush,’ Tahir hissed, launching himself at the door the moment it begun to open.
Joncausks and Boxall looked more scared than they had been since they were taken, as Tahir launched feet first through the opening aperture of the doorway, connecting with the sternum of their illustrious leader and captain. Their looks were second only to Tahir’s utter terror as he, from the best angle it has to be said, propelled Mannino backward, off his feet and into the trailing Hitchmogh, who collapsed under the well-dressed captain, arms flailing and curses flowing.
Tahir at least had the intelligence to fall to the floor too, despite Joncausks knowing he could have landed squarely on his feet after the impressive kick.
Unfortunately for those present, both from Sessio and the Hillside gang, the hilarity of the scene, which should have caused great mirth amongst Badham, Stone and his now accompanying ‘soldiers’, was lost when the bastards, all of them, realised the superior position they now found themselves in. Not only did they outnumber the sailors before them, but three of those sailors now lay sprawled on the floor, two of them being the only two with weapons; sheathed weapons.
Joncausks cursed.
With a barked order, Badham’s gangers surged forward, blades appearing in hands as they descended on the three men struggling to climb to their feet.
‘Shit!’ Boxall said, his aches and pains clearly forgotten as he too surged forward, leaping over Tahir to barrel into the nearest ganger. Joncausks followed close behind. He slapped his opened hands into two faces as he ran amongst the gangers, many of which were far from his size, both in height and width. His discombobulating slaps sent two stunned lads staggering away, their eyes rolling before closing for good; Tahir was up and at ’em.
Fists lashing out like the strikes of a mantis, Tahir finished the two stunned gangers with rapid strikes to their throats. Before they’d dropped choking to the floor, he was past them, his attacks finishing off those his companions stunned or knocked away from them in their bid to make the door and room beyond, where raised voices erupted.
Badham was already gone, Stone too.
With Mannino and Hitchmogh on their heels, no explanations or apologies necessary or suitable given the situation, Joncausks and his pals rushed through the second room, leaving two more bodies behind them.
‘Ha!’ Boxall shouted, bringing a knee up into the gut of a ganger that came at him from the third room. ‘See ’em run now, eh?’ he continued, charging through the empty room as Tahir finished the winded ganger, and out into the yard beyond.
Following Boxall, Joncausks reached the yard and sunlight, which blinded him temporarily. He slid to a stop, the sun not enough to obscure the large group of armed men he now faced.
‘Lefey’s in the street,’ Hitchmogh shouted, the first Joncausks had heard him say, despite what had happened.
Joncausks felt his shipmates press up alongside him as he stepped forward again, giving them room to leave the building and enter the ganger-filled yard.
‘Shit an anchor,’ Tahir said, taking in the men arrayed against them, and the cleavers, basilards and other such weapons those men carried.
‘That’d be less painful than this’ll be,’ Joncausks said.
‘You three’re gonna pay for this when we get ye back,’ Hitchmogh said, pushing them aside. ‘Lefey!’ he shouted, hands cupped to his mouth. With a barked order from Badham, who stood opposite, the gangers charged. ‘Now!’ Hitchmogh roared.
Sailing over the tall wall like jongleur acrobats, came Lefey, Parry and two other sailors, cutlasses and a scimitar leading. They landed behind Badham and Stone who spun on the new threat and attacked, blades in hands, one of which flashed out from Badham’s hand to take one of the sailor’s throats, dropping him to the floor, leaving him gargling blood whilst he thrashed and died.
‘We need weapons,’ Boxall shouted, looking to the fast-approaching men and their weapons.
Mannino and Hitchmogh drew theirs, which included Hitchmogh’s dwarf-crafted pistol; the trigger was pulled and the flint holding hammer struck the firing plate, resulting in a flash, bang and a plume of stinking white smoke. The lead ball the explosion propelled from the barrel entered the nearest ganger’s freckled face before exploding out of the back of his skull, parts of which flew as shrapnel along with the continuing ball to drop the ganger behind him, who fell, screaming and clutching at his ruined teeth and collapsed left cheek.
The pistol fell to the ground as Hitchmogh stepped in, right leg leading as he flicked his cutlass this way and that, the tip of the blade scoring deadly hits on the next two men he met.
Mannino made such moves look effortless as he maneuverer through the hacking, stabbing group of men and lads, dropping all who came near. Making space so he could see the wall, Mannino sneered as he witnessed the sailor with Lefey and Parry fall. He caught Badham’s eyes and the gang master withdrew, Stone between him and Lefey, as Parry moved on.
‘Take him!’ Mannino shouted, pointing his cutl
ass at the retreating Badham. Lefey obeyed without question, attempting to pass Stone and reach the gang master. It was her hasty move that allowed Stone to switch direction, from retreat to attack. He stepped in close and kicked out high and flat, launching Lefey backwards, much like Tahir had done to Mannino mere moments before. That brief respite gave Stone the time he needed to bundle Badham through a side gate.
Mannino growled through gritted teeth and gave chase.
‘Shitting shite,’ Hitchmogh said, seeing Mannino chase Badham and Stone out of the yard.
‘We’ll lose him,’ a hard pressed Joncausks managed, doing his best to bat away a cleaver by repeatedly slapping the flat of the blade. He managed to reach in, past one attempted hack and wrap his arm around his opponent’s; the audible crack that followed dropped the howling man to the floor where Joncausks stamped on his head, silencing him for good.
Most of the gangers had been dealt with, and Parry seemed to be doing a sound job of butchering the rest from behind, whilst they attempted to take on a ridiculously quick Tahir and a roaring Boxall.
Joncausks caught Hitchmogh’s eye and returned the nod. They both chased after their captain, or attempted to, for several more gangers entered the courtyard as they were approaching the gate. Lefey ran across to her companions, from where she’d been floored by Stone.
‘Fuck!’ Hitchmogh’s fear and anger was visible and raw. He searched for a way through the gangers, Joncausks doing the same beside him, Lefey reaching his other side.
‘The captain,’ Lefey said, her breathing ragged, laboured; ribs surely bruised or fractured.
‘I know,’ Hitchmogh snapped. Gangers blocked the gate. Two of them had pit-dogs on ropes.
Joncausks breathed hard, unsure how to proceed. He hoped someone had an answer.
‘They’re stalling, and all the while—’
‘I fucking know, Lefey!’ Hitchmogh shouted, cutting the woman off. He looked to the sky and roared, a human roar that turned into something all the more animal. Looking back down, whilst Joncausks and Lefey stepped away, the gangers flinched at the twisted, flushed face of the man who’d released the beastly sound. Before the bastards could respond, and whilst their pit-dogs’ tails fell between their back legs, whines replacing growls, the bloodshot eyes of Sessio’s grizzled first mate locked on theirs. Their faltering resolve, their usual air of hubris and cock sure arrogance, fled, despite them being unable to do the same.
The earth before Hitchmogh shuddered. It shuddered, shook and erupted, all in but a few heartbeats, sending stone projectiles up from beneath the men and dogs, tearing them to bloody shreds that dropped like so many dead game birds, striking the ground in steaming piles of torn meat, muscle and broken bone. Before Joncausks could comprehend what he’d seen, Hitchmogh threw his hands forward and the wall and gate exploded out as if a wall of cannon strikes had struck it; the resulting noise was just as loud.
Chapter 20 – Can’t be saved
‘Hold!’ Mannino shouted, following the gangers up a narrow alley, the white stone buildings of the Tri Isles giving way to tight-packed single story shacks with poorly thatched roofs. The stick-bound doors he passed were closed, although some revealed flickering fires inside.
The men Mannino chased disappeared around a corner to the left, slowing the captain, who didn’t want to barrel into a trap, no matter his thumping heart and barely checked anger.
No one reneges on an agreed accord with me. No one!
Creeping up to the corner and placing his hand on the warm wattle and daub wall beside him, he stopped and listened. A dog barked in the distance, followed by a tremendous explosion that lit up a dawn-dim area further down the hill, drawing his eye.
Mannino cursed as someone rushed out from the side of the building, using the explosion to their advantage. Albeit a shock to Mannino, he managed to bring up his cutlass in time, his ornate basket hilt deflecting a knife that would have seen him drop his weapon. Before the young ganger could press his reckless attack, Mannino rolled his wrist and lunged through the lad’s stomach. He twisted and ripped the blade free, spilling guts down striped pantaloons and onto bare feet. The lad said nothing as he stared down at his own insides, and as he looked up, swallowing repeatedly, the very cutlass that had opened him up took him neatly through the heart. He died as he slumped to the floor, and the captain who’d killed him moved on, cursing under his breath at the enforced loss of life.
‘He’s right behind us!’
Emms heard Stone’s voice from where she sat in Badham’s room, a cup of small-beer in her hand. Placing it down, she rushed to the door, continuing on into the next room where she collided with her lover.
Strong, bloodied hands took Emms’ shoulders and shook her. ‘What’re you doing here?’
Heart thudding, Emms looked from Badham to a worried and bloodied Stone and back.
‘What’s happening?’ she managed, searching Badham’s wild eyes.
‘Get back in that fucking…
‘No, wait.’ He let go of her shoulders but took her arm, forcefully, dragging her past Stone and into the yard. Stone followed.
Emms saw several gangers by the open gates, blades in hands.
‘Sweets?’
‘Shut up,’ Badham said, bringing Emms round in front of him to face the gate, her back to his panting chest. Stone rushed to the corner where he retrieved a wood axe that was embedded in a log. He crossed back over to stand beside Badham and Emms, a well-dressed man appearing in the gateway, cutlass flashing left and right. The first two gangers to approach the stranger died quickly. The rest backed off, more than one glancing to Badham and Stone.
‘He’s one man, you shites!’ Stone swung his axe at the closest lad, who dodged aside.
The stranger held his ground. Emms couldn’t believe how calm he looked. Angry, yes, that was clear, but calm in comparison to everyone else in the yard.
A couple of lads puffed out their chests at Stone’s words.
‘These are our streets, Posh,’ one said, holding out and turning a long knife this way and that as he strutted forward, another by his side. ‘You know what we do to fuckers who come by here, eh, Posh?’
The lads laughed and more stepped forward, hands out to their sides, weapons on show.
‘Yer gonna be roasted, old man,’ another said, coming around to flank the stranger.
‘It’s Emms, is it not?’ the man said, seemingly unimpressed, nor worried, by the approaching gangers.
Emms pulled her head back, which struck hard muscle. Her frown was her only answer.
‘The girl’s with me, Mannino,’ Badham said, brandishing a knife Emms hadn’t noticed before.
‘Mannino,’ she whispered to herself. Everyone knew of Captain Mannino. She swallowed hard and Badham cursed. His lads had stopped approaching the captain and were again hesitant, fearful even.
‘Hand her over and I’ll leave, Master Badham,’ Mannino said, cutlass down by his side.
Emms found herself shaking her head. ‘It’s my choice, sir,’ she said, eyes now locked on Mannino’s. ‘I’m here by my choice.’
‘That’s not what your last fuck-friend said, when we saw him.’ Stone looked to her with a scowl, and away again as Badham snarled back.
Emms’ heart skipped between thuds as she thought of Quin.
‘Quinnell is safe,’ Mannino reassured her. ‘I give you my word. He is with my crew.’
The hand holding Emms tightened, painfully so. She squirmed, to no avail.
‘He shouldn’t have sent you, Captain,’ Emms said. ‘He has no right—’
‘To see you safe?’
‘To dictate my life, my future.’ Emms spat on the floor, eyes narrowed. ‘He couldn’t when we were together and he bloody well can’t now. I chose Badham, and Quinnell needs to accept that.’
Mannino didn’t seem surprised. He seemed frustrated and angry more than anything, but not surprised. Sighing hard, he rubbed at his face with his free hand and nodded.
&nb
sp; ‘See, Mannino,’ Badham said, ‘you’ve wasted your time. And your life.’
Mannino looked to those nearest as they advanced once again. Grins spread across more than one face as the renowned captain stepped back, shaking his head.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mannino said, eyes on Emms once more, ‘but I can’t save you from yourself.’ He turned to walk back down the street and the gangers charged.
Stone’s grin faltered as soon as it appeared, for as the lads left the yard in pursuit of a walking Mannino, the sound of multiple boots reached their ears. The lads raced to get back into the yard, two of them dropping to crossbow bolts as they ran.
Emms felt her lover tense as those lads dropped. She also felt the knife he held press against her throat as Sessio’s sailors rounded the corner, a grizzly old man at their head.
Stone pulled at Badham’s arm. ‘We run, now! Leave the bitch.’
Emms looked to Stone, incredulous.
There was no time for any response from Badham though, for when the pock-marked face of the lead sailor released a rippling bellow of spittle and rage, Emms, Badham and Stone dropped to the floor, vision blurring and hot blood running from their throbbing noses.
The deaths of Badham’s soldiers came to Emms in sound alone; screams, guttural cries of sudden pain, grunts and curses, assaulting her ears. It all lasted but a short while and before she knew it, she was being pulled to her feet by a familiar hand. She glanced left to see a deathly, vacant gaze where Badham’s mischievous look had once been, and right to the same death mask that was Stone. When she looked to the one holding her hands, tears filled her eyes.
‘You’re safe now,’ Quin said, a pair of polecats bounding around behind him and climbing from corpse to corpse. He offered her a sympathetic smile and tried to pull her in.
Swallowing down the need to be sick, Emms felt heat rush through her as she screwed up her face, pulled her right hand from Quin’s and slapped him as hard as she could. Turning away from the strike, Quin’s left hand released hers to rise to his reddening cheek. Emms dropped to the ground, tears flowing and lungs burning from the screams she realised were her own. She fell about Badham’s corpse, pawing at his broad chest and pressing her face to his own, pleading for him to awaken.
