She nodded with a smirk, gauging that he didn’t with a wicked swiftness; it didn’t help his mood.
‘What about you?’ he asked Dr Barber.
‘Oh yes.’ The cripple bobbed his head.
‘And you?’ William snapped the old woman, who was still annoyed about being interrupted. He couldn’t believe that he was comparing himself to the decrepit old hag; the thought that even she might have a sponsor where he did not was unbearable.
‘No,’ she replied, perking his hopes a little. ‘I’m Lord Beechworth’s sponsor, he’s my grandson. I’m ever so pleased he’s including me in all this…’
William turned away, ignoring her. His gaze passed across Goldin; he knew the little assassin had a sponsor already – someone he’d kidnapped. He continued in search of anyone in a similar position, sans-sponsor at such a late stage. Finding a tall dopey-looking guilder, he pressed for an answer, ‘have you got a sponsor?’
The man’s great boulder of a head swung idly in his direction, his eyes bloodshot, high on ether or some spark powder concoction. He looked about as dangerous as he was intoxicated, and though William already regretted speaking to him, he asked again.
‘Do you have a sponsor?’ He spoke slowly, hoping the response would be positive – that there was some kind of sponsor raffle or market where he might easily acquire one. ‘Are you getting a sponsor here? In the town?’
‘Come on, lad, we can sort this out,’ Goldin tried to interject.
‘We? We can sort this out?’ He scowled down at the little man. ‘You’re part of the reason I’m in this mess, I could have taken that farmer if you hadn’t blown his head off.’
‘Me?’ The sluggish ape prodded himself in the chest, belatedly acknowledging the question. The finger made a sturdy thump against his barrel chest. William ignored him, his attention solely on Goldin.
‘I don’t bloody think so.’ The little man stomped his feet. ‘That farmer would have had your head off if I hadn’t intervened. You should be thanking me!’
‘Thanking you?’ William grabbed a fist of his own shirt and shook the brain-blotched fabric, adding sarcastically, ‘Oh yes, thank you very much.’
The big ape of a guilder set one gargantuan hand on William’s shoulder, the rough skin catching on his crumpled collar. ‘I’ll take you as a sponsor.’
‘Hang on, you can’t do that, I’m a guilder.’
The large hand started to drag William backwards, he reached for his pistol on instinct, then stopped; violence was prohibited before the competition began. He didn’t want to save himself only to be taken out by a rooftop sniper. As he staggered backwards, he tried to twist out of the guilder’s grip. Underfoot, filthy water and slick mud had bled up through the carpet; he lost his footing.
There was a distant crack. William slapped to the floor. The intoxicated guilder followed moments later with a ground shuddering thump. Breath and blood wheezed out of his neck, burst open by a precise shot. William watched as all the rooftop scopes winked in his direction. He cringed in anticipation of a second bullet. No more came.
He opened his eyes, just in time to catch those of other guilders rolling at his pitiful display.
‘Have you calmed down now?’ Goldin offered him a hand up. He took it, but the little man could only aid him to his knees; he had to stand under his own steam. ‘Do you want my help then? I know Blackbile a damn sight better than most, and that definitely includes you.’
‘Sorry about that, and… yes, please.’ He patted himself down to little effect. A spatter of blood had been added to the myriad stains on his shirt and the seat of his trousers had been saturated with mud and wet. He looked down at the big guilder that had attacked him, blood was still trickling from his yawning neck. William considered his fate; their positions could have been so easily switched.
‘So, the way I see it.’ Goldin set his hands on his hips, as unperturbed by the disturbance and death as the rest of the guilders seemed to be. ‘You can either kidnap someone, pay someone, or convince some idiot that you’re actually going to win this thing. You definitely don’t want anybody too willing.’
‘Yes…’ William was still distracted, though grateful for the assistance. He noticed that their other companions had taken their leave during the commotion – a smart decision. ‘Do you know where Genevieve went?’
‘What does it matter to you?’ Goldin shook his head. ‘It’s better off that you keep your distance from her, a boy your age.’
He had a distant look in his eyes for a moment, then snapped his fingers.
‘I tell you what. I’ve got an idea for how we can get this all sorted out.’ He set off quickly through the press. William could only follow, elbowing people aside to keep up with the little man – far better suited to slinking through crowds. He sent a superstitious prayer skyward that his new found companion would prove an asset rather than a burden.
‘You’ll thank me for this!’ Goldin strode under the velvet rope, William ducked after.
The consistency of the mud had evolved from a thin layer of brown liquid on reasonably solid ground, to a churned paste that seemed almost a foot deep in places. A cross-eyed tourist staggered across William’s path, carelessly huffing ether, it was mere seconds before he was face down in the muck – the expensive contents of the glass vial disappearing into an ashy puddle.
A couple of people stopped Goldin to ask for his autograph – impressive as he passed most people at the height of their hip, so didn’t get noticed by many. William caught up and stood idly while the assassin finished exchanging compliments with his adoring fans.
‘Excuse me.’ A Vitulan woman, maybe six years William’s elder – with glossy chestnut hair tied in a halo of plaits around her head – tapped on his shoulder. She was pretty, but not enough to erase the lingering thoughts of Genevieve in the back of William’s mind. ‘Are you an assassin?’
‘I…’ William faltered, wondering if this was another ploy to embarrass him. ‘I am, yes.’
‘Thank goodness.’ She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. ‘I was hoping to get a job done, ideally before the event starts; I didn’t recognise you, so hoped you might be cheap.’
William let out a long breath through his nose. On balance, this was probably one of the better things he could have hoped for. She wasn’t trying to embarrass or mock him, but as a blacklisted assassin he was forbidden from taking contracts. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m a little up against it right now, a bit too busy to be taking on jobs.’
‘I understand.’ She bit her lip and tucked her hands into the pockets stitched to the front of her green linen dress. ‘However, if you change your mind, I’m staying at The Brazen Bull. I’m willing to part with fifty silvers if that’s anything to you.’
The price was insulting, even to William. Granted, it was more money than he had to his name currently, but killing a man was killing a man, and that demanded bright gold. He liked to think that even if he was allowed to contract, he would still turn her down.
‘I’ll think about it.’ He waved a hand in token thanks and watched as she walked away; he didn’t imagine anybody else would be accepting her offer. He turned to find his diminutive guide.
Goldin’s fans had left and it seemed that the little man had been watching William’s exchange. Something about the way he stood there appraising him with a wry smile implied he had an opinion.
‘I just don’t have the time.’ William scowled.
‘Of course you don’t.’ Goldin didn’t sound sarcastic, but William couldn’t be entirely sure that his agreement was genuine. ‘You don’t need that money anyway do you? Fifty silver, that’s nothing.’
William became aware of the pouch of coins in his trousers; a pouch so small that it could easily be stowed there and forgotten about. That fifty silver might just tip the odds in his favour when it came to finding a sponsor and – if he could work out the logistics of it – he might even be able to make the target his sponsor.
‘I’m
not allowed,’ he admitted.
‘Aren’t you?’ Goldin shrugged. ‘I thought that was for guild contracts. It looked to me that she was approaching you and not the guild. Which, in my humble opinion, is none of their business.’
William pursed his lips and mulled for a moment, before muttering, ‘maybe I’ll pay her a visit then.’
‘I think that’s for the best,’ Goldin agreed. ‘But she won’t be back at The Bull while nightfall. Why don’t we examine our options first? There’s a place not too far from here where you just might find a sponsor daft enough to be bought with fifty silvers. I’ll lead the way.’
‘Here we are!’ Goldin proclaimed, stepping onto the boardwalk. ‘This place’ll solve all your problems.’
William stopped in the middle of the street, not even bothering to hide his disappointment. He had assumed they were headed to some guild sponsored den of iniquity, or one of the many independent iniquity-dens located about the town. This place looked more like a twee cake shop William might have frequented in Fairshore. Indeed the entire shop front had been painted in pink and white, festooned with window boxes and baskets of artificial flowers; though – given that it still sat in the middle of Blackbile – the walls had been dulled somewhat by dirt and ash. Painted on a sign above the door in exquisite joined-up writing was the name of the establishment: Melting Moments.
‘Come on then, time’s wasting.’ Goldin was positively aglow with excitement.
‘I suppose a cup of tea and slice of red-velvet might do me some good.’ William sighed, following the little man. ‘But straight after, I need to figure out how I’m going to get myself a sponsor.’
‘This is where you’ll get your sponsor.’ Goldin turned the channelled brass doorknob – it had been scraped of all its gilding by some opportunistic thief. The heavy door opened to the bouncy melody of a tack piano and the murmur of drunken merriment. They passed into what could only be described as a saloon, filled with the type of men who hadn’t the integrity to join something even as morally bankrupt as The Assassins’ Guild. Tobacco smoke and the tang of gunpowder hung in a rich cloud that overwhelmed the senses. William finally understood; an independent den of iniquity.
Every hard faced thief, crook, and murderer looked with a sneer to the new arrivals; more pointedly at William. The only ones who didn’t were a half-dozen unconscious drunks and the workforce of remarkably stout whores, who were far too busy soliciting their wares.
A shot thumped into the wooden ceiling, spat from a comically-small pistol concealed in one man’s sleeve. A clutch of wall-eyed, one-eyed, and toothless patrons cackled and celebrated the minor flinch it had garnered from William. A quick glance up at the peppering of similarly sized holes advised scaring newcomers was a popular pastime.
Goldin continued to the bar. William followed, keeping his wits about him for any further threats. On second glance, at least three of the men he’d taken for unconscious louts were actually dead, pocked with bloody holes. The upstairs hand rail was smashed in more places than it was intact, and somehow, a corpse had ended up on top of the makeshift cartwheel chandelier. The body couldn’t be long dead, as the chandelier was still swaying; drawing a figure of eight in blood on the floor.
William wondered if it was wise to have followed Goldin into such hostile territory, especially when the two flintlocks he owned only had the one paper cartridge each. Palpable aggression churned in the smoke haze; he didn’t want to be here and the thugs knew it.
‘Afternoon, Grim,’ Goldin greeted a huge man sat at a table with a yellowing corpse. They each had a flagon of ale, though Grim seemed to be making more progress on his. ‘Thinking of running for the prize this year?’
‘Thinking about it.’ The big man downed dregs and tossed his empty flagon. ‘If I can get myself a sponsor.’
Goldin paused and sucked on his protruding tooth thoughtfully. ‘What would you say to becoming a sponsor? This fine young lad’s a guilder, and he’s here looking for a willing volunteer. I like you, so I’ll let you have first refusal.’
‘Very kind of you.’ Grim broke off from talking to Goldin to take up the flagon sat before his festering companion, softly muttering, ‘you don’t mind me borrowing this, do you?’
He blew the foam off the ale. ‘I’ll take you up on that offer.’
William was conflicted. After all his failed attempts on the journey here, it had taken Goldin all of five minutes to secure him a sponsor. He wasn’t sure whether that was a sad indictment on his own skills or the foolhardy nature of the Blackbile residents. The thought of teaming up with a man whose only companion was a mouldering cadaver didn’t fill him to the brim with confidence either.
‘I refuse,’ Grim snorted.
The instant deflation on William’s face encouraged the most outrageous guffaw from the spluttering brute. Ale sloshed on the floor.
‘Thanks for that Goldin. First refusal’s always best, you get to see the hope drain out.’ The big man wiped foam from his chin. ‘If it were so easy I’d have a sponsor myself wouldn’t I? I’ve been around and asked, nobody’s willing. I’m sure you’ll get plenty more refusals before the night is out, I can’t imagine you inspire much confidence. You’re better off spectating.’
William grimaced. ‘Thanks for the advice.’
‘Cheer up, boy.’ Grim tossed a silver coin. ‘Have a drink on me. Lift your spirits a little. You never know, they might be a bit more gullible now they’ve had some ale.’
William caught the coin. It was nice of the big man to pay for his first drink, but it also meant that he couldn’t just turn around and leave the place, which was what he wanted to do. He reluctantly followed Goldin to the bar, wondering exactly what kind of assassin the little man was to be known in a place like this.
‘Afternoon, Goldie. Not seen you for a while.’ The woman behind the bar winked at William. She was perhaps twice his age, not entirely bad looking, but it was hard to tell under the thick layer of make-up. ‘Who’s your little friend?’
Though a corset pinched at her waist, she was almost as wide as Grim. She leant forwards on the bar, displaying her plentiful bust.
‘This is William.’ Goldin clapped him on the back.
‘Nice to meet you.’ She offered him a lace gloved hand to kiss; he only shook it. Thankfully, she didn’t look too put out. ‘What’ll it be then, boys?’
‘The usual, if you please.’ The little man clambered up the cross beams on the legs of a high stool and perched at the bar.
She smiled pleasantly, her painted beauty spot lifting on full cheeks. A red sherry was poured into a fluted glass with gold edges; she passed it to Goldin with much eye-fluttering. By way of payment, the little man kissed a silver piece and set it safely in her cleavage.
‘And you William?’ Her lips caressed the syllables of his name, her tongue tasted it like a syrup and pecan slice. Unlike Goldin, who was practically laying across the bar in sultry satisfaction, William wasn’t so overpowered by a whore’s marketing techniques.
‘Whiskey and- Just whiskey, please.’ He would have preferred the drink with a touch of orange, but adding anything to hard liquor was considered territory for women. While he could get away with it in some of the finer establishments of the empire, he imagined old prejudices would prevail in a dive like this. The last thing he wanted was to look weak in front of the tavern cutthroats, especially after his earlier flinch.
She poured him a healthy glug and he sat beside Goldin.
‘So what brings you to our fine establishment?’
‘Well, this lad’s looking for a sponsor, and I…’ Goldin looked over his shoulder. ‘Is Gertrude here?’
‘Gertrude? Gertrude?’ The barmaid pondered theatrically. ‘She goes by Goldie now, having your name on her was putting a few of her clients off. She’s in with one of them now. I’m sure once she’s finished she’ll come and find you.’
‘Ah well, that should give us plenty of time to ask-about then.’ Goldin swallowed his s
herry.
‘If it’s a sponsor you’re looking for, I’d try those two.’ The barmaid pointed to two men reclining in a shaded nook. ‘They’re the only ones Grim didn’t ask.’
‘Lambs,’ Goldin grumbled at the sight of them.
William couldn’t imagine the type this pair of men might be if even Goldin didn’t like the look of them. To him they looked fairly reasonable: plain linens, trimmed hair, stoic expressions. The only thing he could infer from their quiet drink in the corner was that they might be a little boring, which he supposed – given Goldin’s eccentric associates – might be exactly the reason the little man took against them.
‘Well, we have to start somewhere.’ Goldin grimaced, slapped his thighs, and wriggled off his stool.
‘What do you mean by “Lambs”?’ William asked in a hushed voice.
‘It’s some cult,’ Goldin replied in a stage whisper, so that William and half the drunken patrons could hear him easily. ‘They’re all a little unhinged from what I’ve gathered, probably best if I do the talking.’
They crossed the room together, coming to a stop across the table from the potential sponsors. The two cultists eyed them blankly, saying nothing. William waited for Goldin to introduce them like he said he would, but something had the little man distracted. One of the cultists slurped the head of his beer, the other cracked his knuckles. They didn’t scare William – the garish woolly cloaks thrown over the backs of their chairs would be enough to make anyone look soft – but the stretching silence was irksome. He opted to speak first.
‘A pleasure to meet you-’
‘Goldie!’ a woman screeched from the top of the stairs, enlightening William as to what exactly had distracted his little companion in the first place. ‘What are you doing here?’
The whole building seemed to shake as she rumbled down the stairs. She was perhaps the biggest of all the whores William had seen to date, which was impressive considering the collection of plump women plying their wares in Melting Moments. She bounded to Goldin and scooped him up in her arms, nearly suffocating him in a cleavage so expansive even the whalebone stays protested.
The Man-Butcher Prize Page 9
