Thought I would give you a little taster of my book, since it comes out tomorrow. Check it out and see if it tickles your fantasy fancy.
Buy it here:
http://www.realmwalkerpublishinggroup.com/store/#!/The-Shadows-Dance-Pre-Order-December-8th-2015/p/57221412/category=15510153
Prologue
Shadows dance. Throats are slit. Blood flows like wine. High above, the moon gazes down upon the chaos. She does not help, she only watches.
“Intruders in the hall!”
“Kill them on sight!”
“Intruders in the- ”
Shouts are cut short, echoing into the black. Silence replies. The music of lost souls.
Footsteps down an empty corridor. He sleeps, unknowing, uncaring. The door swings slowly open. Silhouettes creep across the room, ever closer. Yet still he sleeps. Insidious words shared unspoken. Prayers to the deity known only as Death.
He is awake, sweating from a nightmare now forgotten. Eyes wide open now. Bed empty beside him. He stares out into the dusk. His bedroom, which once felt so safe, now feels desolate and filled with malice. Light glints off steel. He cries out, but no one comes. No one will come. The blankets tangle around his legs. He panics. Hands press on his shoulders, pinning him to the pillow. He pleads with the Gods to save his mortal self, but their backs are turned and their ears are long closed to him.
“For the good of the Guild.”
The four assailants speak as one. A quartet of retribution come together. They lift their knives and plunge.
A cold crawls into his flesh. Final breaths. Clinging to life, but the pull of the abyss is too strong. It is too late for him. His lips move, speaking words that no one will ever hear.
Bells toll their mournful hymns. Crows call. The shadows dance away into the night.
Chapter One
Thieving Vagabond
“Forktown truly comes to life on Market Day. The vast array of colours, the smells, the sounds. There is nothing quite like wandering these streets with a pocket full of crownes ready to spend on anything the heart fancies.”
- from the travelling journal of Edmund Reynor, the son of a Dunneland nobleman upon visiting Forktown for the first time.
“Fresh apples, all the way from Farrow! Come get your fresh apples!”
The merchant’s voice rang out over the clamour of the crowds. Erryn watched him, eyes narrowed, as the portly man waved his arms in arcing swoops, his bright orange sleeves soaring through the air behind. It looked like he was trying to swat away invisible swampflies.
“Who wants some fresh apples? Best in the land! Only half a crowne each.”
The merchant stooped and then held up one of his wares, the brightest and juiciest of the pile. The sunlight gleamed off its red skin. He was right: it did look good. But despite this, it appeared as though Erryn was the only one giving him any attention. She had been watching him for most of the morning and he had only had four customers. She almost felt sorry for the man.
But not sorry enough to turn back from what she was about to do.
Ducking low, she ghosted from her hiding place behind a merchant’s cart to a back alley opposite. She placed her fingertips into cracks in the sandstone wall and began to climb. No one would spot her. It was Market Day, everyone was too busy in their own worlds to care about what a young girl was up to. A few moments later and she was pulling herself up onto the tiled roof. Now she had to be careful. Finding a good footing was difficult on the slanted rooftops. One wrong step and she would plummet down onto the busy street. Not that she believed she would. She had done this many times before.
“Even the Baron chooses these apples to offer to his house guests, so why don’t you? Eat like the Baron! Give them a try!”
She stepped lightly up and over the first summit and slid down the other side, pressing her leading foot onto the parapet to avoid toppling down onto the cobbles below. Below, the tumult continued, unaware of her near silent movements above. She readied herself to jump, choosing not to look down.
“Fresh apples straight from Farrow!”
Breathe in. And jump. The rooftop opposite flew up to greet her, knocking the breath out of her lungs. Her hands grasped at the tiles. They were too smooth. Her fingers found no cracks to cling to. She slipped backwards, closer to the edge. Her feet flailed against empty air. It was seconds before she would fall. The best she could hope for was a broken leg, and in her situation, she could not even afford that. When you are a street dweller, injuries often mean sickness, hunger and then sometimes death.
With one last, desperate scrabble, her fingers found a long crevice that stretched across a few of the tiles. She clung to it and the sliding slowed to a halt. Breathe in. Next time she would be more careful.
A crow landed lightly on a chimney above. It cocked its head to watch her struggle back up. Erryn had a feeling that it was mocking her.
“Oh piss off,” she said, flicking her hand at the bird.
It shook its feathers and took to the air, wheeling in great circles in the sky. She watched it soar over the town, before flying beyond into the surrounding hills. From this taller rooftop, she could see the silver ribbon of Wynding River that snaked peacefully through the valley beyond Wryknott Ridge. She remember longing to go there as a child, and begging her father to take her. She had longed to go many places, all far away from the town she had lived in all her life. But between her and the river lay acres of upland and moors. And she had heard rumours that bandits still roamed the Dunneland Hills, lying in wait to attack passing merchants or noblemen. She was barely even an adult yet. She would not stand a chance.
She remembered her father pointing at a tattered map and telling her that Dunneland was one of the smaller counties. But seeing the rolling hills, forests and valleys that stretched out forever, she did not believe it.
Focus on the task.
Her target was still a good distance away across the square, but the next few rooftops were relatively easier. These buildings were closer together and she only had to step between them. But soon she came to the part she had been dreading: two buildings separated by an entire street, not just an alleyway like before, and this one was occupied. A few stalls spilled out from the market area onto the nearby streets.
If she fell now, broken bones would be the least of her worries. She would be taken by the Town Guard, who were already on the lookout for her ever since she had been caught stealing an ornate knife from a visiting nobleman two weeks prior. They had chased her, but she had given them the slip by jumping down a hole into one of the many abandoned sewers beneath. No one knew Forktown as well as she did. From the Market Square, which sat in the exact centre of the town, the rest of the town sprawled out like water seeping through cracked earth. The three major roads, heading north to Andur, east to Farrow and south to the rest of Dunneland, all joined at this spot.
She could see one of the Town Guard strolling up the street now, hand already on his sword. She would not be the only thief around on Market Day.
It was too far to jump from rooftop to rooftop here. She had known that before, but for some foolish reason she had forgotten to plan an alternative. This happened more often than she cared to admit. She always had a naïve assumption that she would find away. It was the sort of strategy that would get you caught. Or worse.
She scanned her surroundings for another option, like a broken pipe she could swing from, or something she could use to bridge the gap. Then she spotted it. On the balcony beneath, there was a ladder resting against the wall. She dropped down, hardly making a sound. The ladder itself was surprisingly light. It looked as though it was made from the finest silver pine.
Her father had once taken her to the local carpenters to let her choose a toy. Her favourite had been a quaint, little fox also made from silver pine. The carpenter said it was lightest wood there ever was. And he was from Caperacre, so he would know.
That was a day she would never forget. The soft touch of the drizzle on her face, the smell of wood varnish, the way her father knelt and smiled at her before handing her the toy fox. She missed that fox. She had lost it while out exploring the tunnels and never seen it again. Part of her always wished she could find it again, but she knew that that was very unlikely.
Carefully, she raised the ladder up towards the opposite roof, holding either side as tightly as she could. It stretched out across the gap. A bump rattled down the length of the two rails signified contact. She lowered her end to the floor, her breathing shallow and fast.
“Hey, you!” a harsh voice erupted from below.
Erryn leapt back, her heart clogging her throat. Someone had recognised her. She was done for. Crawling forward, she peered over the edge to see who had shouted. To her surprise, she saw the guardsman chasing a young boy across the street. She was even more surprised to recognise the boy. It was Budge, a fellow street dweller, who she had often talked with in the times when they gathered around fires in the Rat Warrens, or in the most popular Beggar’s Guild tavern, The Cut Purse. It was not the first time he had been caught stealing from stalls, and it would not be the last.
“Hey! Stop there, thief!” the voice cried again, sprinting after Budge, who nimbly dodged between a fat baker’s girl and a leather stall.
Erryn let out a sigh of relief. She ran a hand across her forehead and into her short, scruffy brown hair, wiping away the sweat. Now was her chance. With all the commotion below as a distraction, no one would think of looking up to above. She would thank him later, if he got away. Each rung flashed by beneath her as she stepped lightly from one to the next. From this rooftop, her merchant target was once again in view. He had given up calling out for customers and instead was busy rearranging his apples into colour order. She hoped that he would return to his salesmanship by the time she got to him or her quest would be a lot harder than anticipated.
Her current rooftop was flat and easy to cross, and it linked directly with the clock tower that loomed up above the Market Square, as it was used to state when trade could begin and end on Market Day.
Erryn had planned this all day. She was not going to mess it up now.
The clock tower itself was not a building she had ever climbed on, but she had studied it in great detail. There were many arches and columns that looked like they could be used to great effect. All she had to do was get directly above the apple merchant, then the rest would be simple. She reached up and grabbed the nearest ledge. It was firm. It would do. Clambering ever upwards, she made sure she remained in the shadow cast by the sun. With each brick she climbed, her nerves increased. She did not want to go to prison again, not for a bag of apples. But then, in times such as these, they had to get food from wherever they could.
As she reached the spot she had aimed for, she pushed these thoughts to the back of her head. Right now, she needed to clear her mind of everything. It was a skill she learned a long time ago. You learn fast when you live on the street. She hoisted herself up onto an arch and edged around to the front. Her swiftness was essential. At this spot she could easily be seen by anyone who looked up to check the time. The merchant had stopped arranging and was now back to his calling. Perfect. From this spot, she had the element of surprise. The merchant would not know what hit him. She would be seen, there was no doubt about that, but once she had the apples, she did not care. Plus, she loved the thrill of the chase. Some times called for sneaking in the shadows and vanishing without ever being seen, but others, like this one, called for something slightly more obvious.
“Look, folks! An apple for every colour of the rainbow. You won’t get that from anyone other than me,” the merchant called, his voice getting desperate.
Now was her chance.
She forced herself away from the tower and into the void. For a second, she was weightless, but then gravity grasped at her feet pulled her downwards. With a great crashing sound, she collided with the merchant’s cart, sending apples flying in all directions. The merchant himself wheeled around in shock.
“What in the name of Alzeer...?”
He stared at Erryn, who grabbed a sack from beneath the now upturned cart. Everyone around them had begun to stare too.
“Stop that thieving vagabond! She is taking my precious apples!”
A guardsman nearby drew his sword and approached with speed. But Erryn was quicker. She vaulted through a brass trinket stall that stood beside the apple cart, knocking over the boy who had up until that moment been running it.
“Stop her! My apples! My apples!”
The feverish lamenting of the merchant rang like joyous bells in Erryn’s ears as she sprinted across the square, weaving around startled citizens. There was no sound more pleasurable to her than the cries of a wronged rich man. It usually meant her task was a success. Another guard jumped out and grabbed at her arm. She swung the bag of apples round and knocked it into the side of his head. He fell backwards into crate full of beads.
“After her. She’s getting away!” a guardsman bellowed from her right.
Erryn thought about knocking him down too. A bag of apples turned out to be a very effective weapon. But before she could, another stepped in front of her, sword drawn. He lunged forward and just managed to cut her arm. Her skin flared with pain, but she could tell it was nothing to worry about now. Hot blood seeped into her sleeve. The guardsman was about to lunge again when she doubled back and ran through a cloak stall she had seen earlier. She pushed through the fabrics of all colours with her free hand, hoping she would not get tangled. The guard that followed was having less success. She heard him grunting and swearing as he struggled forward.
On the other side of the stall she saw an open alleyway. She darted down, hoping to lose them in the maze of streets. It was Grindle Close. Her sprinting slowed to a jog and then to a brisk walk. She knew the street well. In a few moments, on her right, there would be a wall she could easily hop over and wait for the guards to pass. A couple more steps. There it was. She leapt up onto the barrels that always stood next to it then vaulted over, landing in a dark courtyard. It was out the back of The Whistling Jackdaw, one of the more upmarket taverns in Forktown. She often used this courtyard as an escape route when she had been out picking patron’s pockets.
The sound of her pursuers’ footsteps grew and then soon faded away. They would not think to look for her here. For a few minutes she waited, just to be sure that everyone had passed. Silence returned to the alleyway. Erryn peered over the wall, then climbed back. She had to keep out of the way, because they would still be on the lookout for her, but she was in the clear, for now at least. With her prize slung over her shoulder, she smiled and headed towards the place which she called home.
Chapter Two
The Beggar’s Guild
“I’ve never heard of The Beggar’s Guild, nor did I take part in villainous activities on its behalf.”
- last words of anonymous thief before execution
The smell of burning candles and stale beer filled Erryn’s nostrils as she entered through the makeshift doorway of The Cut Purse. It was a welcoming, homely smell that filled her with a feeling of safety. Being the middle of the day, the tavern was relatively empty. In the gloom she could make out no more than seven occupants, either sat at tables or stood at the pile of crates nailed together that made up the bar. A few she knew looked up upon her arrival and nodded their greetings. She smiled back. For many years, the homeless and the street dwellers of Forktown would wander the streets alone, sleeping in doorways or down quiet alleys. That was until the unused sewer system, an entire network of tunnels and domed rooms in which she now stood, was discovered. Soon, many of the homeless began to live here together as part of an underground society, known as the Beggar’s Guild. Erryn, for years, had been a member of the Guild, ever since she was first out on the streets.
She dropped sack of apples, which was beginning to pull on her tired arms. It hit the dusty floor with a thud and opened to reveal the delicious gold, red and green treasures within. It was not long before she heard the limping footfalls of Ankles as he scampered from his mat across the room.
“Hello, Ankles,” she said, stooping to greet the lad with the usual ruffle of his dirty, straw blond hair.
Ankles grinned back, then pointed at the bag.
“I thought you would like one. Here, I got this extra special one just for you!”
Erryn reached into her pocket and pulled out a particularly shiny red apple. Ankles’ eyes glowed as he stared at it, mouth agape.
“Go on. Take it,” she said, encouragingly.
He reached out his thin arms and took the fruit. His fingers stroked the apple’s flesh tenderly, like someone would a newborn kitten.
“Are you going to eat it then?”
Ankles shook his head and held the apple close to his bare chest. Erryn laughed.
“You have to eat it, you daft boy. Do you want it to rot?”
Ankles looked confused for a second then shook his head slowly.
“Then why don’t you eat it? And if you like it, you may even get another one!”
The grin returned. He took a huge bite, his teeth easily breaking the red skin. Erryn could see the juice explode around his lips. It was making her hungry, but she had to wait.
“Now you go and enjoy that. I’ve got stuff to do, but I’ll come visit later,” she said, standing again and picking up the sack.
Ankles did not even look up from his feast, but made a noise that sounded like a farewell grunt. She left his side and pressed onward into the tavern. She passed a table surrounded by three burly men gambling over a set of black dice. The shortest of the three rolled then roared with joy, banging his hands on the table and drawing the feeble pile of coins towards him. At another table sat a heavily tattooed woman downing her fifth tankard. She had obviously made a good amount of crownes the previous night and was already reaping the benefits. As Erryn passed, she looked up and glared with eyes that were slightly too close together. Not everyone in the Guild was friendly. And this one was drunk, too.
“You keep back, girl, or I’ll skewer you like a rat,” she said, spitting ale froth as she spoke.
Erryn glared back. The curling black ink of the woman’s tattoos suggested that she was probably an escaped slave, but her pale skin was that of Westerfolk, just like Erryn herself. Her hair black hair was tied back into a greasy horsetail that hung loosely down her back.
“Didn’t your masters teach you any manners?” Erryn retorted.
The tattooed woman flung her tankard to the floor and stood. The thought crossed Erryn’s mind that she would have looked a lot more threatening if she had not swayed from side to side. The ale had a strong hold over her.
“I didn’t leave Farrow to be spoken to like that. I’ll teach you some manners, wench.”
The woman was from Farrow. That explained the heavy drinking. Many Farrowmen were renowned drinkers. The woman threw a punch that Erryn dodged easily, ducking to the left. In return, she threw one back with her spare hand and caught the woman on the nose. She cried out and clutched her hands to her tattooed face.
“Thank you for a lovely conversation. May I take my leave?” Erryn said, bowing before her injured assailant.
Her knuckles were sore from the punch, but she would not show it. She would not give her any satisfaction. As Erryn left smugly, she could hear the woman cursing her through the blood that poured from her nose. She could not make out any exact words, but she did not know if this was because of the ale or the injury. Either way, Erryn did not care.
At the other end of the tavern was a low doorway. Erryn ducked to go through and entered into another room. This one was much smaller than The Cut Purse, but the faint orange light cast out from a few torches made the room seem cavernous. At the back stood a table, and piled up along the left wall were several crates. Each of these was filled with some loot of some sort, whether it be silver cups stolen from a rich household or silk from a traveler’s pocket. Behind the table at the back sat Silas Wain, hunched over and scrawling words on a tattered piece of paper. Over his shoulders he wore a black shawl, covering the space where his right arm used to be. This was the man she had come to see: the Guild Father.
“It isn’t wise to start a fight with your own Guild sister, Erryn,” Silas said, without even looking up.
His voice was quiet, but not menacing and Erryn even thought she heard a touch of a smile in the remark.
“My apologies, Silas. I won’t do it again,” she said.
“Now you and I both know that is a lie,” he said, raising his head and peering at her, “What have you brought for me today?”
Erryn saw his facial scars, standing out like mountainous ridges in the flickering candle light. Strange shadows were cast across his face, making reading any expression an almost impossible task. Silas had told her once how he had received his wounds. The previous Guild Father, Alfric Mardenon, was executed for stealing from the Baron. Silas had been aiding him in the theft, but unlike Alfric, had got away, albeit not in one piece. One of the Baron’s guards was quick to draw his sword, and had sliced off his arm and left the scars on his face. He said they served as a bitter reminder for the friend he had lost.
“A bag of apples from the Farrow merchant,” she said, proudly, tossing the sack at the foot of the table.
“A bag of apples...” Silas spoke softly, drawing out each word to its full length.
Erryn waited for her congratulations, or at least some sign of approval. It did not come.
“Were you seen?”
“Of course not, Silas.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why are you asking me this?” she said, temper rising.
“I am being careful, child. In these times, it pays to be careful.”
Erryn took a step forward.
“Do not call me a child.”
Silas placed down the quill gently and raised himself to his full height, towering over her in the low ceilinged room. But he did not shout; he never did. He kept his soft tone but Erryn knew he was angry. She had overstepped herself.
“I will call you a child, because that is what you are.”
“I am sorry, Silas.”
Silas ignored her and gestured with his one arm to someone behind her. A hulking figure pushed past her and into the chamber.
“Ah, Throttle. I was hoping you would be back soon,” Silas greeted the creature.
Throttle was an Amphibanaut, who worked as Silas’ muscle, not that anyone would say it to his face. The creature’s dark brown slimy skin glistened as he moved. His face and mouth were wide, like a frog’s, but he had humanlike eyes. Around his waist he wore a dirty orange loin cloth. He was soon followed in by Budge, the boy she had seen earlier that day. His face was covered with mud and he had a few more scratches and bruises on his arms, but his smile was as wide as ever.
“And Budge too. Just the pair I wanted to see.” Silas smiled, but his eyes did not join in.
Erryn turned to the boy. He was holding a single silver candlestick.
“And where did you get that?” she asked him.
He grinned and held it up so he could see the reflection of his face.
“Down at the church, of course.”
Erryn’s mouth dropped open. Even she was shocked.
“You stole from the church?”
“Well, no one was using it, so I took it! I’m surprised they even miss it, the amount they’ve got!”
“How did you even get in?”
“Through the front door. Why, is there another way?”
He laughed and slung it into one of the crates. Erryn was sure he cared more for the thrill of taking than the prize itself.
“I would have taken more, but one of the priests came out and chased me,” he continued.
“I saw you being chased into Market Square by some of the Town Guard,” she said.
“You did?” Budge said, raising his eyebrows, “How did I look?”
“You were quick, but you could have done more weaving. It’s not all about speed you know.”
“Well, I didn’t get caught, did I?”
“Are you two quite finished?” Silas asked, impatiently.
Throttle was staring down at them, his tiny eyes narrowed.
“Listen to Silas, kid,” he rumbled in his low voice.
He grabbed Budge hard on the shoulder and wheeled him around.
“Erryn, can you go and give out those apples in the Rat Warrens and report back to me when you’re done?” Silas asked, “I have a new task for you, Budge and Throttle here.”
Erryn nodded, picked up the sack.
“I’ll catch you later, Erryn!” the boy called after her.
“Not if I catch you first,” she called back.
Budge was a cocky little boy, but she liked him. He had a spark in him that reminded her of when she was his age. And he was an excellent thief. The last words she heard from Silas circled in her head. What did Silas have planned that involved all three of them? She knew Throttle had a close connection with the boy, ever since the Amphibanaut had found him close to death in the hills outside Forktown. He had carried him back to Silas, who soon put the boy to good use. They worked well together. Throttle was hardly ever sent out alone on thieving tasks. He was no good as a thief. He was too tall and his grotesque appearance made him stand out in a crowd. There were other Amphibanauts that visited Forktown, but it was uncommon to see one this far north. Most preferred to live in wetland areas like Fellmoor or in the Barrows, or even further south. Silas used Throttle like he used everyone else: to the best of their abilities. It was one of the man’s many skills. He knew people sometimes better than they knew themselves. Which was why he would make a terrifying foe.
The Cut Purse was much the same as she had left it earlier that day: the three men were still gambling, the slave woman was back to her drinking, Ankles was playing with the apple core. He spotted her and once again scampered over.
“You can throw that away you know, Ankles.”
He shook his head and continued playing with it, tossing it from hand to hand.
“I have to go and do the rounds in the Rat Warrens if you want to come? I’ll give you another apple?”
Ankles sat back on his twisted legs. It looked like a painful position to anyone else, but to Ankles it came naturally. He scratched his head, then held up two fingers.
“You want two apples?”
He nodded.
“Fine, you can have one now, and then one at the end.”
She tossed him another apple and he tucked in, somehow still holding onto the first core. When you grow up nothing, the things you do get are more precious to you than you can imagine.
“Come on,” she said, crossing the tavern to a door on the other side, “Silas has another task for me, and I want to get back in time for a few drinks tonight!”
Chapter Three
Into The Rat Warrens
“The rats, O the rats. Lets drink for their souls, For letting us sleep in their underground holes. The rats, O the rats. Down a drink for their souls, As we cook up their flesh on our burning hot coals.”
- popular Warrens song
The tunnel was darker than she remembered. Every now and then a wall mounted flaming torch provided a brief halo of light, but between each one gloom returned. To her left, the pathway dropped away to black water. Erryn ran her free hand along the damp stone to keep herself straight. It was a technique she had been using since she was very young. She had always had a fear that some horrible creature would jump out of the old sewer water and pull her, screaming, down into the depths. Part of that fear remained somewhere under her skin. She doubted she could ever truly shake it away.
It had been a few years now since she had lived in the Rat Warrens herself; she had now found a chamber for herself, closer to The Cut Purse and beside the kitchens. It was smaller, but certainly cosier and felt like home. But still, she felt a certain warmth when returning to the Warrens. A nostalgia unlike anything she felt for her time before the Guild.
Beneath her feet, the black stone was smooth from years of traversing. Ankles clung to her side as they walked, humming quietly to himself. It was a tuneless and meandering song, but felt reassuring. The journey was normally one she would have to take alone.
After a few minutes walking, she reached an open, well-lit chamber. Lining the walls were a few wooden tables covered by canvas canopies to protect from the dripping water from above. Stood behind these were various Guild members, selling the wares they had recently stolen.
“Come and get a fine purse! Freshly picked fine purses. You, sir, do you want to look like rich nobleman.”
It was just like the Market Square in the world above, but this place tended to get more heated and violent. There were many similar markets throughout the tunnels, each with there own distinct shady characters.
“You there, girl, do you want some Chaff? All the way from Salthaven! Make you feel like you’re flying, it does! You see all kinds of colours,” a man missing half his teeth shouted from her left.
“No thanks,” Erryn replied.
If the Chaff was what had taken his teeth, she did not want any.
On the other side of the chamber was another, smaller tunnel, through which she entered. Ankles held her hand tight.
For what seemed like nearly half an hour they went from torch to torch, ever going straight and always at a slight decline. Then, marked by a delighted squeal from Ankles, they recognised the dim orange glow of the main Rat Warrens entrance.
“Who goes there?” a young voice shouted to them.
Erryn was glad to see that the young Guild members still had the sense to keep someone on watch. You never knew who, or what, could be skulking in these halls.
“It’s Erryn. I’ve brought some food.”
“What kind of food?”
“Does it matter? It’s food, be happy you’re getting some!”
The boy looked embarrassed, his face turning as bright as the fire he stood beside.
“The rest are in there...” he said under his breath.
As Erryn passed, she ruffled his hair and then just as she was about to leave the tunnel, she threw an apple over her shoulder. It bounced on the floor then rolled up to the watch boy’s feet.
“Thank you!” he said, dropping his club and picking up the fruit.
The Rat Warrens never ceased to amaze her. Its sheer size was impressive alone, but how could so large a place even exist underneath the town. It was the largest of the Beggar’s Guild territories. As the name suggested, the Warrens used to be home to many rats. But these were not just ordinary rats that creep around under floorboards. These were giant rats from up in the mountains. After a flood some hundred years back, the rats fled into the darker depths of the sewers. That was when the Guild could move in. Around the walls, a series of wooden walkways and platforms had been built to provide routes extra living space. On these walkways nearly twenty or thirty young beggar children climbed and raced around, chasing each other, fighting, or carrying piles of stolen firewood to feed the pyres at each doorway. Some of the giant rats still return, but as long as these fires are kept burning at all the entrances and someone is left on guard, then it is a reasonably safe place to live. Some of the Warreners had recently set up what they proudly called The Ratters Patrol, a band of brave boys and girls who would travel out into the tunnels to hunt the rats themselves. Erryn had heard much of their escapades.
The amount of activity made it appear like a hive of honey bees. In the walls sank many coves and burrows, left behind by the rats, stuffed full of woollen blankets. Some were occupied by sleeping shapes. These were the ones who were chosen to go searching for food at night and thus needed to rest before their tasks.
Ankles dashed from Erryn’s side to a circle of girls, who were sat by one of the fires, playing with an assortment of wooden toy animals. She saw one braiding another’s hair, using tiny pieces of string to tie up each part. Erryn threw them some apples then let him go; he would not let her leave without him. A few of the boys had noticed her arrival, and what she was carrying, so had dropped their piles of wood and were jumping down from the walkways.
“What have you got there, Erryn?” the stocky ginger haired called Gerred asked.
“I hope it’s food,” another said.
“You bet it is,” Erryn said, opening up the bag.
Each of the boys eyes widened in surprise. She doubted they had seen fresh fruit like this in a long time. Marcus, one of the boys she knew best in the Rat Warrens, was the first to make a move, taking two and leaving the crowd before she could tell him to put one back. He was only a few years younger than her and starting to grow a beard. Large black marks like stains clung beneath his eyes. Erryn could tell he had not been sleeping. Probably out late getting drunk from ale he had stolen from barrels outside taverns. He and his younger brother Tomas had become street boys when their parents had succumbed to the blood blight when it struck their village of Oxwold just over the border into Andur. Finding themselves without a home, they travelled in the back of horse and cart until reaching Forktown. It was a story he had told her many a time while they had sat around fires here, sharing tales and singing songs late into the night. She sorely missed those times.
“Hey, only one each. They aren’t all for you. There are others in the Guild you know!”
She shut the bag tightly and stepped back from the ravenous crowd and their clawing hands.
“Has everyone got one?”
“I didn’t,” a timid girls voice cried out from somewhere in the crowd.
“Don’t lie to me Tristine. I saw you grab one,” Erryn said.
The young girl blushed and moved to the back of the group, who laughed and began to push each other about. Erryn frowned impatiently.
“Come on. Keep these fires going. You don’t want to be rat bait tonight!” she shouted over the noise.
“Erryn, can you come here?”
Erryn turned. It was Marcus.
“What is it?” she snapped, but the look on his face instantly made her regret it.
“Tomas is very ill. I think it might be the blood blight again,” he said quietly.
“I’m sure it’s not. The blood blight hasn’t been seen in Forktown since before even Silas was born. He probably just has a fever,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Marcus attempted a smile. Although the boy looked old, he was still a just a boy, no more than fourteen. Sometimes Erryn would forget that with the street children. Living like this forces you to grow up fast. As Erryn smiled back, she felt a tugging on her sleeve.
“Ankles, go back and play. I just have to do this then we’ll go.”
He was pointing at Marcus with a worried expression on his face.
“He’s fine, Ankles. His brother is just a little ill that’s all. Go back and play.”
His expression did not change, but he squeezed Erryn’s hand gently, then returned to the girls and their toys.
“Follow me.”
Erryn left the bag as Marcus led her up a nearby walkway and onto the widest of the platforms, which served as a central spot for many other walkways and ladders. To their left was a thin rope ladder that hung down the side of the dome. Marcus climbed it with ease, but for Erryn it was a little harder. It swung from side to side as she moved from each rung to the next. At the top of a ladder was another walkway, stone this time and beneath a low overhang. It could have been used by the stone masons who built this place when Forktown was first born.
“How long has he been ill for?” she asked.
“He said he started not feeling like himself a fortnight ago, and then last week he wouldn’t leave his bed.”
They arrived at one of the burrows. Marcus had hung up a curtain made up of several shirts knitted together. He pushed it aside and entered. Erryn looked in from outside. The burrow was not big enough for three of them. Tomas lay on the ground, wrapped in several woollen blankets. He was almost transparent, his skin the colour of misted window panes. His eyes were closed, and circled by red rings. Sweat glistened on his skin. His breathing was stunted. The poor boy was no more than eight years of age. Marcus kneeled and stroked his brother’s hair and forehead.
“I’ve not been sleeping,” he said, “I fear that if I do, he might start his shaking fits again and I won’t be able to help.”
Erryn was not well practiced in healing. She wished she could do more.
“He’s been having shaking fits?”
“Yes, most nights.”
“And a fever?”
“Yeah, he’s burning up.”
It was sounding worryingly similar to the what she knew about the blood blight. The red rings around the boys were the first warning sign. It is not uncommon for victims of the blight to bleed from their eyes, ears or nose.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said, not sure if she was reassuring him, or herself.
“I hope so.”
Marcus turned back to his brother and brushed his hand along his cheek.
“I just don’t know what to do...”
His voice was desperate, and full of sorrow.
“Are you giving him fresh water and keeping him warm?”
“He has as many blankets as I could find, and as for water, I bring him some in a bucket from the Warrens well every morning and night. But sometimes he won’t even wake to drink it. I have to pour it down his throat myself.”
He was tearing up. The words were sticking in his throat.
“That sounds like you are doing the right thing. In a couple of days, he’ll be fine. If not, I’ll be back to check on you and then we’ll tell Silas.”
The thought reminded her: Silas would be waiting. It hurt her to have to leave the boy and his brother like this, but it was doubtful that Silas would understand if she explained what took her so long.
“It’s a harsh world,” he would say, a sentiment that Erryn grudgingly agreed with.
“I’m sorry, Marcus. I have to go,” she said, not looking the boy in the eye.
“It’s okay. Thank you for caring,” he said, “No one else here seems to.”
“I will help wherever I can. I promise. I will be back.”
It was a promise that she hoped she could stick to.
The journey back down the ladder and along the walkways was brief and soon she was at ground level again. The group had dispersed and carried on with their tasks, as if she had not been there at all. Her bag of apples remained where she had left, although she would be surprised if none of the children had sneaked a few extras. Ankles was still happily playing with the toys. She thought about leaving him there; she was sure he would know his way back. But as she left the Rat Warrens, it was not long before she could hear the pattering of bare feet behind her and the tuneless humming beginning again.
Chapter Four
All In A Day’s Work
“Despite what people may say, money is the most important thing in a man’s life. Money can buy food, clothes, allies and power. You can’t be a King without any crownes.”
- Marius Perentus, High Chief of the Royal Bank
Silas was waiting for her. In fact, so were Throttle and Budge, the former standing stoically by Silas’ desk, the latter sitting in the corner, turning his candlestick prize over and over in his hand.
“Ah, Erryn. I was wondering when you would arrive” Silas said, as usual not looking up from his papers, “As I said earlier, I decided that this task would be best performed by a group of three members, and Budge requested we ask you. And since I don’t believe you are doing anything else, I agreed.”
Budge looked up and winked. Erryn winked back, unable to be caught up in the boy’s infectious cheeky enthusiasm. If Throttle had eyebrows, he would have raised them. His arms were folded tight and he grunted.
“We have had a tip off from someone on the street that there has been a delivery of books from the High Library in Inisteer that could be sold for a high price on the underground market,” Silas continued, now frowning at them across his desk, “And if I get a look at them first, there might be some useful knowledge to gain too.”
“Books? You want us to steal books?” Budge said, laughing and chucking the candlestick to one side.
“Yes, boy, I am asking you to steal books. If they are worth money, they are worth stealing,” Silas said.
“Where are they being kept?”
“In the Town Trade Post over in the west side of Forktown. They are to be kept there for a few days while the courier’s rest before they continue their journey north into Andur. Therefore, time is of the essence.”
“Isn’t the Trade Post guarded day and night?” Budge asked.
He was now on his feet, suddenly interested by the task ahead.
“That is correct, which is why I require three of you.”
“One to create a distraction, one for backup and the last one to steal the goods,” Erryn said.
“Sounds like fun,” Budge chimed in.
Throttle grunted.
“So you all know what you have to do? Excellent. Like I said, time is of the essence. Get to work, and good luck.”
Silas, having finished his commands, turned his attention back to his papers. Erryn always wondered what they were. Some said letters from kings and noblemen, others said they were notes written by Guild spies. She did not know who to believe, but the amount of time he spent pouring over them, they must be important.
“Come on, Erryn, let’s go,” Budge said, rushing past her.
The journey across town was simple enough. At first, they crisscrossed through tunnels heading westwards, passing the main kitchens, another smaller Guild tavern known as The Rancid Bucket, and few lines of dirty hovels with no occupants in sight. Erryn tended to avoid this part of the Guild. It was where the more sour types took up residence. Before they reached the Rat Warrens, they took a winding staircase upwards to the surface and came up through a tiny door in a courtyard containing only a well. Throttle was last to exit. His humungous shape made squeezing through tight holes very difficult. He grumbled and spat as he tried to forces his way through.
“Come on you big lunk! You must be getting fat from all that bilgebread you’re eating,” Budge teased, hopping out of the way as Throttle swung his wet fist in his direction.
“When I get out, I eat you if you not watch your mouth.”
“If you get out at all!”
Once Throttle was out, they were off again. The streets in this part of Forktown were quieter at this time in the afternoon. They would only get busy again after the sun had set. Still, they kept to the thinner avenues and twisting alleyways to avoid any unnecessary attention. Budge led the way, Erryn followed and Throttle brought up the rear. She could hear the slapping of the creature’s heavy footsteps on the stone.
They passed by a group of girls who were sat leaning against the wall of a bakery. One of them had a bandaged head, another appeared to be blind, staring out into the sky with blue eyes. As Erryn passed, she recognised a couple of their faces. They were Guild Members, out collecting money. The blind girl looked at Erryn directly and winked. They had perfected their act even to the extent that Erryn had fallen for it.
Soon, they entered out onto a wider street, Potter’s Way. It stretched on ahead of them, bustling with noise and with life, quite unlike the previous few streets. To their left, an old woman and her two granddaughters roasted hazelnuts over a tin fire. The smoky, sweet aroma mingled with that of fresh clay and incense sticks. A huge mountain horse trotted past, its hooves clopping rhythmically. A cart filled with still earth-covered root vegetables rattled behind it. To their right, a baker stood on the porch of his shop, beside a small table piled neatly with his freshest produce. A gathering of pigeons paced back and forth around his feet, waiting expectantly for scraps. As the three of them were about to pass, one bolder, collared pigeon jumped up and stole a bread roll, to the baker’s surprise and dismay. He waved his arms in frustration, causing the other birds to flutter away cooing. Throttle held his hands up defensively as they flew over head.
“I hate birds,” he grumbled.
They passed two priests, dressed in long blue robes, on their way to the church for afternoon ceremonies. Budge kept his head down in case of being recognised, skirting along the side of the street for a few minutes until they were well out of sight. They were deep in conversation about a recently discovered piece of scripture. They would not have noticed.
At the end of this street, at the other side of a square nearly as large as the Market Square, sat the Trade Post. It was a large, yet squat building, with a clay tiled roof from which flagpoles stretched upwards. On these were the flags of Dunneland, Andur and Farrow. The latter two represented which counties the post traded with. The centre flagpole, however, was saved for a special banner. It bore the image of Alzeer, one of the Many Gods, and God of trade, travel and exploration. Erryn recognised him by his numerous arms, each bearing a different item that could be traded here. Her father used to teach her about all the Gods, but now she cared little about them. They had not helped her in a long time.
Outside the front of the Trade Post stood two guards. Budge was the first to spot them. He came to an abrupt halt a few buildings away from them and turned back to Erryn.
“Only two guards, but we don’t know how many more are in the area, or inside,” he said in hushed tones, “So what’s the plan?”
“I thought we discussed this before? One to distract, one to act as back up and one to steal the books,” Erryn said.
“Oh right, yeah. So who wants to take which role? Because I want to be the distraction,” he grinned.
“Fine, then I guess I’m the thief,” Erryn said, “And Throttle is back up.”
The Amphibanaut let out a low grumble.
“He says he’s fine with that,” Budge said, elbowing his companion in the side, “So how do you get in?”
Erryn thought for a second, looking out at the Trade Post building. There had to be a way inside. There always was. On the left hand side there was a narrow cut and at the end was a pile of empty wooden crates. These would get her onto the roof and from there… Behind the flagpoles she could see a pillar of grey smoke rising into the air from another part of the building beyond what they could see.
“I think they have a kitchens out the back. I can see if I can get in through there,” Erryn said, “I can get up onto the roof and down the other side. Once I’m out of sight, you need to create the distraction. I need all eyes on you when I take the books.”
Budge nodded. He scanned the area, then put his hands on his hips proudly.
“I have an idea,” he said, a twinkle in his eye, “Just you wait.”
“Don’t let me down,” Erryn said, before walking briskly away along the street.
Budge watched her go, past the carpenter’s shop and a street vendor selling spiced sausage and towards the left side of the Trade Post. She darted into the doorway of a pottery shop to avoid a patrol of guardsmen that had just rounded a corner. Budge and Throttle, too, made their way to a shady corner, beside the cart selling a deep red fruit from somewhere in the eastern states.
“What are you thinking then, boy?” Throttle asked, “What is your plan?”
Budge jumped to hear his guttural rumble. The creature was never a big talker. He preferred to let his muscle do the talking most of the time.
“Right, big guy. Here’s what we do…”
“Help me!”
Budge screamed and sprinted down the street and into the square. Red frothed from his mouth and seeped through his shirt at his stomach. Everyone stopped, turning to stare at the injured, panicking boy.
“Help me! I’ve been attacked,” Budge called out.
He reached the entrance of the Trade Post and keeled forwards onto his front, hand pressed at his side. One of the two guards ran up to him, a look of immense concern on his face.
“This boy, he’s been hurt!” he said to his fellow guard.
“We’re not supposed to leave our post,” the other said.
“But look at him! We can’t just leave him,” the first guard said, now turning to Budge, “What’s the matter boy? What’s happened?”
“I was… attacked…” Budge spluttered, specks of deep red littering the guards furrowed brow, “I need… a bandage.”
“He needs a bandage. We should take him inside.”
“Fine, but once he’s inside, we come straight back out here again. If she catches us away from our posts, we’re done for.”
The other guard joined her fellow guard and the two of them attempted to lift Budge into the air. They grunted and groaned, struggling to keep him level. Throttle bounded over.
“What’s going on? I heard scream from my shop,” he said, doing a good job of looking concerned.
“This boy has been hurt. We need to get him inside,” the first guard said.
“We can’t let one of his kind help!” the second guard hissed to her companion.
“What other help do we have?”
Throttle placed his arms gently under Budge and took him through the threshold of the Trade Post, escorted by the two guards. The first part of the plan was complete.
The trade officer behind the desk in the Trade Post foyer stood as they entered.
“By the name of my grandmother, can someone tell me what is going on?” he said.
Budge turned to look at him. The Trade Officer was a short, slender man with a rat-like face and beady blue eyes. He was dressed well in a blue velvet gown. As he came closer, Budge tried not to cough at the stench of his perfume. Beyond the Trade Officer, Budge could see a pile of three books on a shelf in the corner. That had to be them.
“This boy is in need of help. He’s been attacked. Do you have any bandages?” the first guard said as Throttle lowered Budge to the floor.
The Trade Officer frowned, his heavily ringed finger stroking his pointed chin.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Erryn dropped lightly from the roof and into the courtyard out the back of the Trade Post. She had been right. The smoke billowed out from a set of three chimneys which sat on the roof of a kitchen. The kitchen itself was barely more than a single room and jutted out from the back of the Trade Post. It was probably used only to feed the more wealthy and established merchants who could stay in the few rooms they had above.
She ghosted to the window and peered in through the foggy glass. A single cook busied herself over several hot pans filled to the brim with soups, or potatoes, or other earthy vegetables. Erryn had to duck as the cook moved over to the freshly baked pie crusts that sat on the table by the window. The smell was divine. It suddenly struck her how long it had been since she had last eaten a proper meal.
“Oh cook!”
It was the tuneful cry of a man’s voice from inside.
“Do you have any bandages anywhere?” it continued.
Erryn peered over again to see a richly dressed man poking his head around the door. Budge’s distraction was a success.
“I have some in my room upstairs,” the cook said, dusting off her hands then following the man out into the corridor beyond.
This was her chance. She pushed the back door open with her foot and entered in. The smell was even stronger here. Carrots, parsnips and other vegetables she did not even recognise hung from the ceiling, side by side with black metal pans. A fireplace in the corner burned bright, lighting the walls with an orange glow. On the preparation table lay a huge book, The Hungry Cook: Forty Farrow Recipes. It was wide open on a page entitled ‘Leek and Potato Soup’. The pages were frayed and food stained from many years of use. As she passed the soup, she could not stop herself from lifting the ladle and taking a sip. The warm, thick liquid rushed down her throat, warming everything it passed. It was sweet and a little spicy, but the nicest thing she had ever tasted.
She could not wait around any longer. She had to get inside before the cook returned. The door to the corridor remained ajar from when the cook had left. She pushed it open slowly, hoping that she did not bump into any other occupants of the Trade Post. The corridor was empty. She breathed out slowly and made her way down it towards the sounds of commotion.
The guards had left to return to their outside posts. Only the Trade Officer and the newly arrived plump woman in a grubby apron remained. This woman had brought a thick wheel of bandages which she was no wrapping around Budge’s stomach. He did his best to make the appropriate wincing noises that an injured boy would do in this situation. Throttle paced back and forth behind his head, doing his best to act worried. Budge could tell that he was not enjoying himself one bit. He would tease him about it later.
There was movement in the corner of his eye. Erryn had entered the back of the room and was now hovering by a large pile of wooden crates. Neither the Trade Officer nor the plump woman had noticed her entrance. Budge darted his eyes to where the books were being kept. She gave him a nod and proceeded to approach the shelf.
“Ooooh, I’m feeling faint,” Budge called out.
“Fan him, Trinkit!” the plump woman commanded.
The Trade Officer pulled out a purple silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and proceeded to wave it daintily near Budge’s face. He felt the slightest of breezes. If he had been about to faint, it would not have helped, but luckily he was not. And now, all attention was fully on him.
Erryn reached the bookshelf. The books sat at shoulder height, deep brown and bound with red leather straps. She placed her fingers gently around them and pried them from their place. They were heavier than she had anticipated. She was about to turn and exit back into the corridor when her foot snagged on a heavy vase by the shelf. She just managed to steady herself from falling flat on her face. But she was not quick enough. The top book fell from her hands and onto the floor. A low thud rang out in the room. The trade officer wheeled around.
“Wait a second. Those are… Thief! We have a thief in the the building!” he screeched, wringing his hands.
Erryn picked up the book. The two guards from outside rushed in. Budge leapt to his feet, knocking the cook over onto her back.
“Looks like it’s time we best leave. Thank you for your hospitality!” he declared and ducked beneath the first guard’s reaching arm.
Throttle let out a rumbling roar and swung into the Trade Officer, knocking him to the floor with one punch.
“This is more like it,” the Amphibanaut said, readying himself to make for the guards.
Erryn saw her opportunity and followed Budge’s example, ducking round to the right and towards the exit, all three books in her hand.
In an explosion of activity, all three of them were outside, quickly followed by the two guards. They made with haste for a narrow street opposite.
“How did you do it?” Erryn asked as they ran. “Berries. It’s just berry juice. I stole some from the stand back there,” Budge laughed, licking the red liquid from his hand, “It’s actually really tasty!”
The two guards rounded the corner behind them, now joined by four more.
“There they are!” the leading one called.
“Shit. They’re still after us, and they’ve got back up,” Erryn said as they rounded another corner.
The alleyway stopped at a wall, with two streets stretching away left and right.
“Which way do we go?” Erryn panted.
She was near bent double, attempting to get as much breath back as she could before they set off again.
“I say we split. You go left, we’ll go right.”
“Are you sure? Wouldn’t it be better to…”
“It’s alright, Erryn. Me and Throttle will lose them. You get back to Silas with those precious books he wants so much!”
And with that, Budge sprinted away down the right alley, followed by the leaping stride of the Amphibanaut. He could be fast when he wanted to be. Books under her arm, she ran the opposite direction, unnoticed by the guards who chased after the hulking figure of Throttle. A smile crossed her face as she ran. Budge had the making of a good thief in him yet.
Chapter Five
A Few Drinks
“The centrepiece of every society is the tavern; the place where men, women and children alike go to drink, talk and be merry. Take that away and you take away your society.”
- Jonn Freyhow, once assistant to the King of the Wester Lands
It felt good to finally let go of the books. They were heavier than she had expected and her arms were sore. The journey back across town was a lot slower than the way out. She could not use of her rooftop routes because her hands were full of her prize. Every time she heard voices or fast footsteps she would duck into the shadows and wait for them to pass. More often than not, they belonged to normal townsfolk on their way home after a days working, or heading to the taverns for early drinks. But a few times, her fear was rightly founded and they were guards. She did not have the energy for another chase. Luckily, none had seen her, and now she was safely back in Silas’ chamber.
“Job well done?” Silas asked.
“Yes, sir,” she replied.
“Excellent. Where are the others?”
“The guards saw us take the books, so Throttle and Budge had to lose them in the streets. They’ll be back soon.”
“You were seen taking the books?” Silas said, eyebrows raised, “Then I wouldn’t exactly call that a job well done.”
He ran his fingers down the longest scar on his face and looked down his nose at her. Erryn clenched her fists. Why could he never be happy with her?
“We got the books, so we completed what we set out to do,” she said, indignantly.
“But you were seen. We cannot afford to have the Guild’s presence known more in the town than we absolutely have to.”
“It was a mistake. I made a mistake.”
“Well next time, don’t,” Silas said, waving his one hand as if he was dusting the air, “Now, go. I have important things to attend to.”
Important things. He always had important things. This was Guild business, surely it was just as important. Erryn looked down at the desk and could just make out an Andurian wax seal on the nearest piece of paper. Silas saw her prying eyes and gathered the papers into one pile, which he covered with his shawl.
“And if you see Budge or Throttle, send them my way,” he said.
She left Silas to his brooding and entered into The Cut Purse. Passing through the busy tables, she made her way to the makeshift bar on the opposite wall. Behind the bar, above the many barrels of ale, rum and other drinks, was the stuffed head of a giant rat, killed long ago in the Rat Warrens and hung up as a prize.
“Hello, m’girl. What can I do for you?” the barmaid said in her usual breezy tone.
“Mug of Barrows rum, please.”
The barmaid nodded and went about preparing the drink. Erryn turned and surveyed the domed tavern. As usual, there were several tables dedicated to rowdy gambling, whether it be dice or a game of divination cards. The three burly men were back, roaring and laughing, and smacking each other on the back. She doubted that they ever left. She saw Gerred sat to her right, using an overturned wardrobe as a table. Around him were several other Rat Warrens faces she recognised. But no Marcus. Part of her thought she should go and see him, but the Rat Warrens were a good long walk from here and after what she had done today, she could not be bothered.
“Hey, Erryn! Over here!” Gerred called, spotting her and waving his hands.
His face was redder than usual, nearly matching the colour of his hair. He was probably very drunk. Erryn took her drink, placing the needed coin on the bar, and weaved through the tables. One her way over, she passed by the tattooed Farrow woman, who sat upright as she did so.
“Not right now, slave. In your place, or I’ll make you sweep up the entire tavern,” Erryn smirked.
The table of Warrens boys jeered and laughed. The slave woman flared her nostrils and stood bolt upright, dropping her bottle on the floor.
“What did you say to me, wench?”
The Cut Purse went silent. It was very rare for The Cut Purse to do so. Erryn smiled to herself. She was up for a fight, and enjoyed the attention. It would be good to get rid of all the frustration she had built up with Silas. She also looked forward to teaching this woman a lesson for a second time.
“So you are deaf as well as stupid then. What I said was…”
Erryn could not even finish her sentence before the drunk woman threw her fist forward into Erryn’s face. With a crack, it made contact with her jaw and hot pain coursed through her. She bent over, biting her tongue to stop her from crying out and holding a hand to her cheek. Her mug of Barrows rum was spilt on the floor, the black liquid seeping into the cracks. Now it was a proper fight.
“I heard you, you filthy rat, I just wanted to see if you had the balls to say it again,” the tattooed woman spat, “I am not a slave anymore. My name is Gertild and you will address me so.”
“Gertild. Lovely name,” Erryn grinned, straightening up, “A pleasure to meet you.”
Erryn lunged forwards and upwards with her foot, directly into Gertild’s knee. The woman yelped and hopped around, clutching at the damaged joint. The tavern erupted in laughter. Tankards were slammed on wood. Thighs were slapped. Everyone was enjoying the show.
“I’m going to grease you up in pig fat and feed you to my dogs back in Farrow,” Gertild said through wheezing breaths.
“I hope they’re as beautiful as you are.”
“I may not be beautiful, but at least people recognise me as a woman, and not some skinny, young boy,” Gertild said, rubbing her knee.
“Better to look like a boy than an ink-stained old hag,” Erryn retorted.
Now the woman was genuinely getting on her nerves. Erryn was no boy. She waited for Gertild to swing again, which she soon did, and caught her arm mid-punch.
“Let go of me! I have fought men twice my size in the Scrap Pit. You don’t want to mess with me!”
Gertild struggled, but Erryn held her tight and looked her in the eyes.
“We’ve been here before haven’t we,” Erryn said, then threw her fist directly into Gertild’s nose.
It cracked and blood poured from the nostrils. The tattooed woman stumbled backwards, hands clutched to her face, groaning like timber in the wind. Erryn followed and grabbed her by her collar.
“How about another drink,” she said, her mouth close to Gertild’s face, “It will soften the pain.”
“ENOUGH.”
Silas’ voice rang out around the room as if it were the voice of the walls themselves. A sudden silence clung to the crowds of tavern patrons, each one trying to make themselves as small and unnoticeable as possible. Even Gertild quailed.
“There will be no more fighting tonight. The next person who throws a punch will be answering to cold steel. I promise you this, as your Guild Father,” Silas said, quiet as a draft of air but colder than the northern seas.
No one dared cross him when he was like this. Not even Erryn. She rubbed her face and limped silently over to Gerred’s table. When she looked back at the entrance to Silas’ chamber, he was gone. The tavern returned to its normal cheerful hum, but every now and again, there would be half heard whispers and nervous looks over the shoulder.
“Have some of our rum, Erryn. No need to buy another, not after that fight,” the boy sat closest to her said, handing her a full mug.
It was Cole, current captain of the Ratters Patrol. He was hard to mistake. Every visible bit of skin was covered in scratches and bruises from his times leading his patrol to hunt rats deep in the tunnel. His black hair hung in curls down to his shoulders, but was tied back from his forehead by a leather strap that seemed permanently fixed to his face.
“I could have done better,” Gerred boasted, “You should never let an enemy walk away.”
“Oh, shut your face, Gerred, what about that rat the other day?” Cole said, jabbing his friend below the ribs.
“I would have got him, if you hadn’t of distracted me,” Gerred said.
“We didn’t distract you, we saved you! You were flat on your back!”
“Are the rats back?” Erryn asked.
“Just a couple last week. But The Ratters Patrol dealt with them. Well, all of us except Gerred.”
The stocky, ginger boy scowled and took a long drink of his rum.
“More importantly though, you brought us anymore apples, Erryn?” another boy asked.
“That was all I managed to get, I’m afraid,” she replied.
The boy feigned an upset sigh and sent a few of the other boys into fits of giggles. They must have been very drunk.
“How’s Marcus and Tomas?” Erryn asked the table.
“Haven’t seen them.”
“They’re up in their burrow most of the time now. We only see Marcus occasionally when he comes to get food, and even then he hardly says anything.”
“It’s better this way, if you ask me,” Gerred said once the other boys had finished speaking.
“No one asked you, Gerred.”
The ginger boy was jabbed once again in the ribs. He buckled over and moaned.
“Well, if anything happens, you come tell me, alright?”
“Yes Erryn,” the chimed in unison, before falling about in hysterics again.
Erryn left them to their drinking and their songs. They must have run out of drink in the Warrens, otherwise they would be drinking there. It was not often that she saw them in The Cut Purse, and whenever they did, they would end up causing an uproar and being chased out by some of the regular members. After the chase, and then the fight, she wanted a quieter drink.
There was a few empty barrels just outside The Cut Purse on which she would usually come and sit when she preferred her own company. They were in a dark corner, down a tunnel that few ever used. It led deeper into the tunnel system that far away from the more populated areas. There were still hundreds of tunnels even she had not explored.
The Barrows rum stung her lips and throat as she drank. It tasted like fire, but warmed like it too. She knew Silas had utter disdain for the drink, but it was perfect after a long day’s work. She leant back, her head rested on the granite wall, and closed her eyes. Thoughts of Silas and the Guild flooded her mind. She did not envy the man. In fact, she had a lot of respect for him. But that did not mean that she liked him. In fact, a lot of the time she did not. He came across as cold, uncaring and even rude. Then again, maybe that was how he did his job so well. You had to be ruthless in a position such as that. She could not remember the last time she saw him relax.
“Strange place to be drinking alone.”
Erryn jumped upright, nearly spilling her rum for a second time that evening. She turned to see Marcus standing behind her. His auburn hair was knotted and messy, and his eyes still had dark bags, but he smiled. Hopefully, he had been trying to sleep.
“Mind if I join you?” he said, voice no louder than a whisper.
“Mind? I would love that,” she replied, patting one of the barrels next to her.
He hopped up with relative ease. Erryn offered him the mug of Barrows rum which he took eagerly and swallowed a few fast gulps.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve had any,” he said, wiping the remains from his mouth.
“I guessed. How’s your brother?”
“Sleeping. I just had to get away from there for a while. It’s making me insane spending all my days in that one burrow,” he said, and then after a pause, “I was also hoping to find you.”
“Well, you did.”
“I see you got in a fight again. Twice in one day. That has to be a new record, even for you,” he laughed.
“She was asking for it,” Erryn said, joining in his laughter, “I only hit people who deserve it.”
“You should hit Gerred. He deserves it.”
“But he’s just a boy. I’m sure one day he’ll grow up like you or me.”
“He’s the same age as me!”
“It’s not about age, Marcus,” Erryn said, “It’s about how you act.”
She thought for a second how much she sounded like Silas. Maybe it was because she had learned it from him.
“Come on, it’s getting late,” she said, hopping off the barrel and stretching, “You finish that and then I’ll walk you back as far as the split.”
She handed him the half full mug and watch him down the rest of it in an instant.
“Don’t get too drunk. I’m not carrying you,” she teased.
Night had fully come by the time Erryn returned to her room. She slipped in through the doorway and lay down on her bed. As she had said, where the tunnel split, one side going to the Rat Warrens and the other towards the main kitchens, her and Marcus had said their goodbyes. They hugged, and Marcus held her tight, maybe to hide the tears that were streaming down his face. She thought it best not to mention it.
“I will come and see you tomorrow,” she had said, “I promise.”
Marcus had nodded and then walked away into the darkness.
It was in a similar darkness that Erryn now gazed into. The only light in her room came from the torches they lit outside, and the few inklings of daylight that came through an iron grate at the top of a long chimney-like hole that stretched up from her ceiling. Now, she had only the torch, and even that was round a corner. She did not mind though. She liked the darkness. She could not remember her life outside of the tunnels now. It was a distant light through many acres of fog, that she could never dream of reaching again. Not that she wanted to. Not anymore.
Chapter Six
Dreaded News
“One must trust in the Guild Father, to do what’s best for the Guild at all times and in all circumstances.”
- extract from ‘The Guild Father’s Code’
“Get up.”
Erryn was wrenched from sleep by a violent shaking. Something was gripping her arms tight, with huge rubbery hands. She rubbed her eyes and stared up into the gloom. Standing directly over her humble excuse for a bed, was Throttle. He was breath was heavy. His eyes bulged. Erryn had never seen the usually stoic creature look so worried. Something was wrong, and a feeling of dread filled up inside her. She almost did not want to hear what it was. Almost.
“Wh… What is it, Throttle?”
“It Budge. It bad news. Follow me.”
He shook her one last time and then bounded away and out of the room. Erryn was wide awake. All morsels of drowsiness were gone from her body. She jumped up and quickly through on the nearest clothes she could find.
As Erryn entered Silas’ chamber, still trying to sort out her clothes, she saw that Throttle had already arrived.
“Silas. I could not stop them.”
His nostrils flared as he spoke, his deep rumbling voice echoing off the walls.
“Stop who? What is going on?” she asked them.
Silas was looking worried now, too. At the end of Throttle’s long arms were four webbed fingers, in which he held a blood-stained rag.
“They took Budge.”
Erryn held her breath.
“The Town Guard? How did they get him?” Silas asked, pacing back and forth.
“We had trouble getting books. Me and Budge lost them in the streets, but then they found us again. He was on his way back here with me when they got him.”
Erryn could not help but look away. If only she had not been seen at the Trade Post then… She hoped Silas would not notice.
“They catch him. I grab his shirt, but they cut him.”
Silas sighed.
“I knew it would happen soon, foolish, cocky boy. Well, he can serve his sentence and will be out soon enough,” he said, returning to his seat.
“No, not this time,” Throttle’s speech was fractured, more so than usual, “They say jail no good for boy anymore. They say they he caught too many times.” Throttle continued, “They say this time they kill him.”
Silas’ brow furrowed deeply. He put his hand to his chin and ran a single crooked finger back and forth across his lips.
“I feared this would happen some day. The Baron must have been bullied by the Guard into increasing punishments on our thieves,” Silas said, moving his hand from his mouth to the scars on his face, “He’s getting more like his brother.”
Not many people had nice words to say about the Baron of Forktown, or his Town Guard. Bilius Raffolk was seen by most to be a nervous, pathetic man, more wrapped up in his own safety than that of his town. His brother, once the Duke of Dunneland, was assassinated in his bed just over a decade back and the Baron had never been the same since. Erryn also had a special hatred for the Baron. It was one of the reasons she joined the Guild in the first place. Any way to undermine him was a little victory for her. Now she had another reason to hate him.
“They can’t kill a boy!” Erryn said.
“We must go get him, Silas,” Throttle pleaded.
“We cannot afford to get involved. It was his mistake for getting caught, he should suffer the consequences.”
“It was not mistake,” Throttle hissed.
“If he was caught, then it’s a mistake,” he said.
Erryn clenched her teeth, angry at the lack of empathy the man had. From the way Throttle was shaking, she could tell he was feeling similar emotions.
“But he’s just a boy! Why would they-?” she began before Silas cut her off.
“He’s a Guild boy. How many others must we send off and have killed or injured just to save him?”
Silas’ words made sense, even if she did not want them to. Then a thought struck her.
“You don’t have to send any. I’ll go myself,” she replied.
“You will do no such thing. Neither of you.”
His eyes turned to Throttle as he said this, who was still shaking.
“When you find yourself lost in the dark, always remember that light is just around the corner,” the Guild Father spoke calmly, unblinking “Things may look bad and sometimes we have to make tough decisions in the hope that things will turn out for the best. I am afraid that Budge will have to do this on his own. For the good of the Guild.”
“Right now, I don’t care about the fucking Guild. You are leaving a boy to die!”
There was silence in the chamber, that lasted for what felt like a lifetime. Silas remained in his seat, staring at the assortment of papers spread on the table in front of him, his eyes aflame.
“Erryn. Leave this chamber at once,” he said, too quietly.
His voice was a winter snowstorm.
“But what about-?”
“I said go.”
Erryn stared at him and then stormed out, blood boiling. As she left the chamber, she heard Silas speaking in hushed tones to Throttle. She did not care what he was saying. She was too angry.
Ankles had been waiting for her outside. The worried expression from earlier in the Warrens had gone and replaced with a cheeky grin. He held out the two apple cores, begging her to play.
“Not now Ankles.”
He looked hurt, but she did not have time for his games. She needed to think. She needed to do something to help Budge, but she had no idea what.
“I’m sorry. Today hasn’t been a good day for me...”
The boy cocked his head to one side. Her words did not make sense to him. She shoved him to one side and tried to ignore his pathetic whimper of distress. A nearby table had one of the few chairs that was in a reasonably good condition. She took a seat and stared out across the room. Her head filled of thoughts of the boy she had worked with only yesterday, grinning and joking. It was her fault. The poor boy would be executed and it would be her fault.
She felt like she owed him something anyway, for causing the commotion in the Market Square so she could steal the apples. But now this. He had only been trying to help. She cursed herself for being so clumsy in the Trade Post. No, it could not be her fault.
Then she thought of how Throttle had acted. She usually had no time for Throttle. His guttural, splintered speech patterns got on her nerves and his frequent acts of aggression were unreasonable at best. But seeing him like that. She pushed the image away. Thinking would do nothing. She could sit hear all night and drink away her problems but that would solve nothing. She had to get outside and onto the streets.
The wooden door at the end of the exit corridor was as tough to push open as usual. After a heavy push with her shoulder, it swung out into a dark backstreet. This was one of the many secret entrances they built into the sewer system. It was the nearest to the Market Square, down several passages that were used by no one but Guild members. She shut the wooden door that disguised itself as a pile of disused barrels, and headed towards the square. Evening was quickly approaching now. She had been inside longer than she had thought. The bag filled with her remaining apples was still sitting in Silas’ chamber. She did not care. They were nothing to her now.
As she wandered, she felt the presence of someone behind her. It was Ankles. For a crippled boy, he moved with a surprising quietness when he wanted to.
“Ankles. Get back inside. It’s getting late,” she said, turning on him.
He gazed blankly up at her face. In his hand, he held something. It was probably the apple core.
“And get rid of that. You don’t need it anymore.”
Ankles looked down at his hand. When he opened it, she saw that she had been wrong. It was not the apple core, but her silver fox toy. It had been years since she had lost it somewhere in the sewers. A warmth that she had not felt for a long time filled her gut.
“Ankles, where did you...”
He shrugged and pointed upwards, and then put the fox on the ground. Its figure was beautifully simple and soft. She picked it up and held it to her breast. Her father’s hand rested on her shoulder. His soothing voice spoke silently in her ears. She could smell the sweet wood varnish thick in the air. Ankles did not notice her tears. He had probably already forgotten the little toy.
“Thank you.”
The words only just managed to leave her mouth. Ankles smiled and scampered away. Erryn watched him go. He was a good friend, and even if he never said a word, she always knew he would be there for her. The sun ducked behind the skyline, leaving red traces of its presence smeared across the sky. There were few clouds. A single crow soared above, catching the winds to keep it aloft. It was going to be a cold night. But a steely resolve was beginning to form inside her. She did not know if it was her reuniting with the only memory of her father, or the act of friendship from Ankles. If Silas would sit back and abandon him, she would not. She had to help Budge, no matter the cost.
Want to find out what happens next? 'The Shadows Dance' is released tomorrow (December 8th).
