Tale of a blackbird, p.11
Tale of a Blackbird, page 11
She hated heavy armour. It hindered agility.
Ariss wet her lips, taking a small step closer. “You like what you see, don’t you, boy?” She leaned forward, and the lad instinctively tilted his head around, listening. The old man growled as he took a step closer to them, moving to separate them.
But it was too late…
Ariss brought the blades out from behind her back as the old man reached for her, palming both, seeing the old man’s eyes widen in the corner of her vision. She rolled her hands back, slowly turning the blades out the right way.
The killing way.
Ariss watched the light gleam along that dark metal as she drove the stiletto into the lad’s exposed neck. She let go the hilt, knowing he’d keep it safe for her.
Still bringing her left hand up and around, spinning, putting her weight behind it, the tip piercing metal and sinking deep through the old man’s chest-plate. The old man’s eyes bulged, and he dribbled blood, but footsteps moved behind her now and she had to move. Ariss pulled his blade from its scabbard, backed off in time to make both men falter. They slowly goaded her against the bushes. The blonde man came at her, screaming, blade flashing. Ariss parried his sword, just managed in moving her head to dodge the punch, and stepped in close, hissing as she drove the heel of her palm into his windpipe. He gagged as he dropped his sword, face turning scarlet. Ariss hacked her blade into the back of his neck without looking, eyes locked onto the last man.
“You like to watch, don’t you, boy?” She let her sword fall with the dead man. “How was that?” The man turned and ran. Ariss hurried over to one of the bodies, pulled out one of the Old Lovers, took aim… the blade hissed through the air, hitting just wide of the mark, but bringing the fleeing man down, who went tumbling into some weeds.
She pulled the other blade from the man’s neck, taking her time.
“Fuh-Fucking traitor.” The man watched as she stopped beside him, lying on his side, the stiletto after piercing though just wide of his heart. “Wuh… Why?”
“You like to watch.” Ariss shrugged. “I like to live.” She brought the blade down, silencing him.
She cleaned the blades. Maddox’s gifts. He’d given them to her on passing her training. Their families had been close-knit allies. Her family, a long withering blood-line that held high hopes for Ariss Vanderholm, promising warrior who’d reclaim the glory days once held by Mount Lena.
She laughed at that, looking around at her sad situation. The woman who’d once had the loyalty of thousands of warriors, now brought to pissing in front of brutes like an animal. It was better than being dead, though. Much better. Just ask them.
Ariss headed back towards camp. After five minutes she approached the clearing, nestled against an old farmhouse. They’d gotten a fire going, one soldier turning the rabbit cooking over it, another chopping up vegetables, putting them in a pot of boiling water. One of them was missing, but the fourth lay near the fire, smoking a pipe. He was furthest away, but the only one facing her direction, so he noticed her first approaching the fire and dropped his pipe. Ariss thrust the stiletto at him, but the distance was great and it missed the mark, catching the shoulder instead of his throat. It put him back down though, and that was something.
She ran, taking advantage of their surprise, and grabbed the man chopping vegetables by the hair, forcing his face down into the pot boiling water. The pipe smoker was cursing, trying to pull the blade out of his shoulder, and the man turning the rabbit stood up and pulled out his sword. She let go the man’s head as the sword came rushing at her. Ariss backed off, also keeping the man with the stiletto in his shoulder in view, who was up on his knees now.
Ariss just caught the sword as it came at her again. The next attack caught her blade and ripped it from her hand, and she looked around for something else to use. But he gave her no time, coming at her, barely missing, and as she backed off more, tripped on something where it shouldn’t have been and tumbled over. Ariss tried to roll out of the way but the bastard drove his boot into her ribs, doubling her up, rolling her over. Ariss spat drool, her eyes stinging with tears, as he kicked her again.
“Fucking… bitch,” the man panted, as he kicked her again. “Errin, you alright?”
“I’ve a blade in me arm, so no. Bitch got it jammed in tight.”
“My face! I can’t see, Luke. I can’t see!”
“Just sit back down. I’ll take care of that in a second.” Luke pointed a finger at her. “Kye said not to harm you. But I think he can go fuck himself.” He went to the boiling pot, used a cloth to pick it up. “I’m gonna make you pay for that little stunt.”
The man came closer, smiling as he lifted the boiling pot.
Whoomp!
An arrow slammed into his chest. He fumbled the pot, before dropping it and hitting the ground.
“What in the—” began the man with the blade in his shoulder, but Ariss never heard what he was going to say next, as another arrow came whistling out of the trees, hitting him square in the face and spinning him round.
“What was that?” croaked the blinded soldier. “Luke? Errin?”
Footsteps approached, and Ariss built up the courage to glance over the top of the packs. An old woman came hobbling out of the trees, using a bow as a crutch. She made her way around the pile of packs, stopping just shy of Ariss’ reach.
“Are you hurt?” rasped the old woman.
“A bit.” Ariss wiped the blood from her lips. “I had the situation under control.”
“I might be near-blind, but I can see that’s a lie.”
Ariss shook her head. “Who are you?”
“Just a wanderer, in search for beautiful and exotic merchandise.”
“A trader? Hah! You shoot well for a merchant.”
“Never said I was a trader, girl, did I? Never said I sell any of the things I find.” She lifted the bow and slipped an arrow from her sleeve—a small thing two hands length with golden thread wrapped around the shaft. She fitted the arrow, pulled back the string and let fly. It caught the blinded man in the heart.
“That’s the last of them, then,” smiled the old woman.
“There’s four more. Should be getting back soon.”
“Then we’d best get moving.”
“We?”
“You hardly expect me to leave an injured traveller here, alone and unprotected?”
“Why are you helping me?”
The old woman inhaled deeply and nodded. “This place stinks of death. But not of yours. Your destiny is not to die today, Ariss.”
“How…”
“No more questions. Get your things and meet me over beyond that treeline.” The woman went to walk away, but then turned back. “And I hope you can tell a good story.”
Chapter 15: Bubbling Over
Whoever said it’s what’s inside that counts never had the misfortune to meet Pretty Boy. An uglier, cold-hearted little-shit there never was. Leek had grown up in poverty, with famine and crime never further than your own shadow. He made a living through thievery with his other siblings—albeit they were unrelated, fostered by a money-grubbing woman who half-starved them so she could drink sherry by the bucketful—but still, it wasn’t the worst childhood imaginable. He’d even had cake once.
But Pretty Boy held sway over the children in Sunnyside Slums with an iron purse. Any that weren’t already in one of a score of gangs, that is. The thieves Leek had fallen in league with went by the name of Slaters as they made the abandoned slate-factory and warehouse their stronghold. Pretty-Boy made all underlings pay tribute, marking out promising victims for his favourable urchins. You could pick out people new to the slums easily, as they didn’t blend in with the shit and dirt. The marks ambled in groups, glancing at the food stalls much too eagerly, not baring their teeth at any stranger’s approach too fast or hand too near to person.
Leek had quickly grown accustomed to life here, getting reacquainted to the paranoid politics and blatant backstabbing that only being in a gang can provide. Pretty Boy shared power with two other men. Jarratt was a fat, greasy man of middle-age who had a handful of yellow teeth and rheumy eyes, which he leered at everyone with. Wax was a skinny, tall man of a corpse-like complexion and had no eyebrows or hair on his person that Leek could see, when he was unfortunate enough to be in close proximity with the man.
The leaders of the Slaters had foamed from the mouth at the spoils Leek brought back to the safe house, purses containing mixed silver, copper and bronze coins, three silver chains and a flask of fire-water. Leek hadn’t anytime to stow away the purses or even slip a few coins for himself, as he’d been out with two younger boys of the gang, whose job was to distract the marks or breach windows. After every lift his take had been closely reported.
His cut had been pathetic. But the leaders had been pleased with his tribute and promised that he wouldn’t be burdened with the younger boys of the gang all of the time. He’d be doing this for years before saving enough to get into the industrial sector, and he could only guess what life would be like in there.
On a rare day where he wasn’t accompanied, he slipped a copper coin in behind a loose brick he found above a shed in an alleyway, where he would keep his escape fund. He didn’t like wandering about the back alleys of the district alone. Many stories told around the fire at night made these dark surroundings ominous to say the least. About strange women who would snatch you out of the street and peel the flesh from your bones. Or rumours of the other gangs who would sneak into the territory and leave your corpse strung up near the safe house, as there were forever squabbles ongoing between them.
The kids also told rumours about the industrial sector and the rest of the city at night around the fire. Many men seemed to fall into the vats of molten metal, or be found with their skin completely burnt off, having been locked into one of the many steam outlets. These made Leek wonder if going to the industrial sector seemed such a good idea.
The older thieves spoke of a man who roamed the shadows, slaying all who crossed his path. The Black Shadow, they called him. Nothing but stories of course, but even the most inflated and senseless stories had to start somewhere, with some morsel of truth to them.
Leek reached the gang stronghold at dusk and entered the warehouse. Inside he dropped the purse on the table. Jarrat curled a feathery eyebrow, swished the few strands of wiry grey hair aside and turned his head sideways, picking up the purse. Dropping it, he nodded.
“Ah, so my ears don’t deceive me.” He picked it up, sniffed it. “Copper, and such a light load.”
Wax emerged from the dark corner with his hands held behind his back. “I had high hopes for you, Kellick.”
“It’s just one bad day. You can’t steal gold from a barrel of shit.” Leek leaned down, picked up the purse and slipped the coins out. “If you don’t want them…?”
Jarrat’s face twitched. “N-No, we’ll take them.” He held out his crooked fingers, and Leek dropped the coins onto them, tossing the purse onto the table.
Wax walked over, taking three of the coins and slipping them into his pocket. “You won’t be getting a cut from such a small take, boy. Best find us a better take tomorrow or not come back at all.”
“I know.” Leek turned to leave, and Pretty Boy entered through the door, followed by a large shadow of a man. It took Leek a moment to realize why he seemed so familiar.
“Paste?” Leek felt his insides churn with horror. The large lump of a lad from Gurth’s prison squinted through the darkness, and then his eyes lit up.
“Leek!”
Pretty Boy looked from one to the other. “I take it you know each other?”
Paste scratched his head, his eyes widening. “He, ah, yeah we came to Mala together, right Leek?”
Leek winced.
“Leek?” Pretty Boy closed the door behind Paste, leaning against it. “I thought your name was Kellick?”
Paste looked down at his feet and blushed.
Leek nodded. “Just a nickname. One that I’m not much fond of.”
Paste smiled and shrugged his wide shoulders. “Sorry.”
“Since you both seem to know each other so well, Fingers can show you around in the morning. Can’t you, Fingers? Or Leek, or whatever the fuck your name is?”
Leek smirked. “Either’s fine, once you pay me my cut.” Pretty Boy laughed at that. “And sure, I can do with the challenge.”
“Here,” Wax slid Pretty Boy his cut of the three copper coins across the table. “Your new prodigy only brought us three coppers each.”
“This won’t do, Kellick. Bring us more tomorrow.” Pretty Boy had lost his charming tone of voice. “I have high hopes for you. Don’t let me down.”
“Yeah, yeah, Wax already told me. Can I go now?” Leek left the room and went down to the basement, where the cots were. A few members of the gang were sat around the fire, sharing a flask of what he presumed was fire-water. Leek nodded to them as he entered and sat by the fire, accepting the flask of watered-down spirits. The one with the squint was talking.
“I’m gonna get into the industrial sector tonight. Heard they got iron ingots crated up in Farrah’s warehouse. Be a nice chunk of change if we got one o’ those crates back.”
The fat one with the missing front tooth pointed the chicken leg he’d been chewing on at the squinter. “You best not even think of thieving at night, Ainsley, or ol’ Black Shadow will get ye. Not hear about the Maskers strung up on the wall? That bastard’s an artist!”
The squinter laughed and looked at Leek. “Don’t mind him, there’s no such thing. The Black Shadow is only a story to scare cutpurses from going into the upper sectors. I wouldn’t be surprised if the ministry made him up.”
The younger boy at the fireside sat up eagerly. “I saw him!”
The fat one scoffed. “You saw the Black Shadow? Bollocks.”
“I did a few months ago. It was down by the docks. Four Maskers got their throats slit in an alleyway. Crowd blocked up the alley so much I couldn’t get in t’ave a look. But I saw someone up on the roof, black as a storm cloud at night. It watched the crowd for a moment, still as a dead root in winter it was. I could feel the cold off ‘im from down in the street.” The boy shuddered.
“You’re full of shite, Allen.”
The boy crossed his heart slapped a palm against his forehead. “Swear it on me life.”
Leek nodded his thanks as he passed back the flask and nodded to Paste, who was still stood in the doorway. “This here’s Paste, he’s one of us.” The lads nodded to Paste.
“It’s unlike the bosses to bring two new fellas into the gang so soon.”
Leek smiled. “Well, if you boys weren’t so shit at stealing maybe they wouldn’t have to?” Leek left them laughing by the fire as he showed Paste to the cots, a six-tiered scattering of bunkbeds. The one in the corner where Leek slept was empty, and they sat down on the bottom bunk. Leek looked at Paste. “So, what happened? How’d you get here?”
“Escaped, most of the prisoners did. Gurth caught a few of us, but most got out. I made it for a while with a few of the others, but they got caught yesterday. More than likely back at the prison by now. I met Pretty Boy in the industrial sector’s sewers and he offered me a place to stay.”
“You know about Kellick?”
“Yeah. Sad, I liked Kellick.”
“Me too.”
“What about that girl you were always talking to? Marrow?”
Leek paused as he remembered that night. It was still painful. “Merron. Gurth murdered her.”
“Bastard.”
“There we can agree.” Leek stood up. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we need to find some serious coin. Or else we’re back out on the street. On our own.”
“They wouldn’t do that, would they?”
“We’re on our own now. But we can trust each other, can’t we?”
Paste nodded. “Of course.”
* * *
The next day Leek woke early and had two bowls of porridge for him and Paste readied by the time the big lad got himself out of bed. Paste gratefully accepted the bowl from Leek and they ate as another of the gang got a fire going.
“So, what’s the plan?” muttered Paste.
“Not much. Head to the upper gate and hide about. Hopefully we’ll catch some fool leaving the city with a dangling purse. Merchants are often guarded but you never know. And there’s always the docks, which are slim-pickings usually but we might get lucky and find a drunken sailor.”
“If I could get into the industrial sector, I could find work in a blacksmith?” Paste finished his food first and set the bowl down on a table. “I used to be apprenticed.”
Leek shrugged. “Maybe later, but for now we need to make the leaders of the gang happy. Ten silver coins should set us straight with them over the next couple days.”
Paste blew out his cheeks. “Be a hard find in Sunnyside, that.”
Leek stood. “Well, we won’t find it down here. Come on, we’d best get going.”
They left the gang stronghold and weaved through the narrow laneways, making their way towards the upper gate. This time of the morning there were always drunken stragglers lingering around, and these they avoided with a wide berth. After about twenty minutes they came to the thoroughfare and watched the foot-traffic from the shadows. Leek got comfortable sitting on an empty barrel and began cleaning his fingernails with a jagged scrap of iron while waiting for a mark.
He hadn’t been chewing on them recently. The job of being a thief wasn’t exactly what he wanted to be doing, but it took his mind off larger worries. Like how was going to get him and Paste out of there. He couldn’t abandon Paste, even if an opportunity to escape arose. He hadn’t liked him at the start, back in Gurth’s prison, but after everything that happened since, Paste seemed like his only friend.
How sad was that?
But then, Leek had always been loyal. Even after all of the torment and bullying he’d experienced from his foster-siblings, he’d never dreamed of running away or betraying them to a town-watch—even though he’d spent many a night in a cell for his stubbornness. He’d taken his mother back at the blink of an eye when he’d found her in their home, alone after burying the last of her fosterlings, all dead from the plague.
