Hardway Page 6

  He leaned forward slightly. If he had any eyes, he would have winked at Strongarm. “I slew four of their chiefs in single combat. At the same time. Ripped out their guts with my bare hands, got nice and bloody all the way up to my elbows. The tribes called me The Red Sleeves after that. I didn’t even raise a sweat.”

  He had judged his man. The likes of Strongarm could not resist such a challenge, not in front of so many people. He roared like an angry bull and lifted his great fists to smash Dusek’s emaciated pipe-cleaner frame into the dirt.

  Dusek’s stick lashed out like a serpent’s tongue. Once, twice. Strongarm gasped and buckled to his knees. He pawed desperately at his neck, where the stick had found certain pressure points.

  Slightly surprised at his own speed and skill, but determined not to show it, Dusek stepped lightly around the fallen man. He felt a tight little shiver of satisfaction as Strongarm’s mates shrank away from him.

  This is how it used to be, he thought exultantly. People used to cringe at the sight of my banner. They called me Lord. Sir. Master. Gods, how I have missed this feeling!

  Behind him the voices of the people were swelling into life again, inspired by the sight of one of Hardway’s most notorious thugs lying in a heap.

  “And our feet go marching on, on, ON!”

  The raucous singing followed Dusek into the Circle, where the City Fathers were gathered. They stood around a huge, yellowing map of the World Apparent, some ten feet by five, its curling corners held flat by flat stones. It was a dry day, though blustery, and there was little chance of the skies opening and ruining the map.

  Four of the Fathers turned to gape at Dusek and his motley band. The fifth, Abbot Mankind, was not given to displays of emotion, but his eyebrows definitely raised a fraction.

  Dusek halted before them and ripped off a salute. “General Dusek reporting for duty, sirs,” he barked. Silence followed. The Fathers were nonplussed, as though a ghost had suddenly popped into existence before them. Their obvious confusion, the amazed look on their wrinkled venal faces, filled Dusek with an almost physical pleasure.

  Brother Harm scurried forward. His earlier insouciance was quite gone, replaced by nervous anxiety. “My humble apologies, master,” he said, bowing low before the Abbot. “I meant to come and inform you myself, but the General insisted on accompanying me. We, ah, seem to have picked up some friends along the way.”

  The Abbot raised a hand, palm upwards. “Be at peace, brother,” he replied softly. “Inform me of what, precisely?”

  All the while his mild, sheep-like gaze remained fixed on Dusek, who returned it with interest.

  “He wanted to tell you that the blind old fool who lives off the charity of former enemies has recovered his sight,” Dusek rapped out before the priest could explain. “How or why this miracle has occurred is a mystery, known only to the Gods. I prefer not to ask questions. All that matters is that I can see again, and am fully restored to life and vigour. Now I ask only to serve.”

  This speech was the signal for a burst of applause and cheers from the crowd that had spilled into the Circle. “Gods save the General!” they roared. “Our Raggedy General!”

  Tulgan stepped forward. Technically the old gangster had no right to serve on the council, since he held no official position in the city and owed his influence to a lifetime of criminal misdeeds. It was precisely that reason, the dark powers he wielded as the leading member of Hardway’s underclass, which had led to his election as a Father.

  “This is bad comedy,” he snarled, folding his arms. “Some trick of yours, I presume, Abbot?”

  He flicked a finger at Dusek’s face. “Look at those eye-sockets. Empty as Strongarm’s head. There is sorcery at work here. I want it stamped out. No sorcery in Hardway. That was decreed centuries ago.”

  Dusek ignored the gangster and looked to the other Fathers. Benito and Vulyan were burghers, wealthy merchants turned to politics in their old age. Solid, practical, well-padded men, blessed with calculating brains and virtually no imagination. They stared at Dusek in dumb incomprehension, unable to believe the evidence of their own eyes.

  The Grand Father and governor of the city, Tamburlin, met him stare for stare.

  Tamburlin was another old man, round-shouldered and white-haired. He had held his position for over twenty years, and thanks to him Dusek was permitted to claim sanctuary in Hardway. Dusek owed the man his life, and resented him for it.

  “Well, Abbot?” said Tamburlin after his shrewd gaze had swept Dusek from head to toe. “Answer the charge. Is this extraordinary occurrence any of your doing?”

  Abbot Mankind inclined his head to the governor. “No, sir,” he replied. “My brethren do not dabble in sorcery. We would never interfere with nature. The recovery of General Dusek's sight, however it was achieved, is an obscenity.”

  “Obscene, am I?” growled Dusek, stepping towards them. “Well, that may be so, but you may have cause to thank the Gods for their bounty, assuming the Gods are responsible.”

  He jabbed his stick at the map. “Brother Harm told me the news,” he said, raising his voice so all could hear. “The Dragon and the Grey Queen are mustering their forces. Hardway has been a thorn in their side for too long. They mean to wipe this island off the map.”

  “Something like that,” said Tamburlin, giving Brother Harm a poisonous look, “though we are not yet certain of their intentions. They could mean to wage war on each other, which would be all to the good. In any case, I hardly see it is any of your concern.”

  “Exactly,” said Tulgan, glancing at his followers. The two smaller men, having rallied from their surprise at Dusek’s felling of their comrade, were just then helping Strongarm to his feet. The big man's face had turned an unhealthy shade of puce, and his breath came in whistling gasps.

  “I see,” said Dusek, “I see very well. The Dragon and the Grey Queen may well plan to destroy each other, but they will strop their claws on Hardway first. Whoever commands this island has command of the sea and the trade routes.”

  He stalked onto the map, his bare feet splashing it with the mud and ordure of the streets they had picked up, and stood on Hardway. “There is Dragonkeep,” he said, stabbing at the Dragon’s capital with his stick. “That little turd, Vazul, will have spent the long years brooding on my failure. His fleet will be stronger this time, and better-led.”

  The stick switched east of Hardway, to a jagged stretch of coastline some thirty miles away. “Calisse,” he said, “the realm of the Grey Queen. Rich, powerful and ambitious. United, too, since the current queen murdered her predecessor.”

  “Thank you for the lesson in politics,” Tulgan said impatiently. “Perhaps we can find you a place as a schoolteacher. Sir, will you put an end to this farce? We have business to discuss.”

  Tamburlin spoke up. “It is true,” he said slowly, “we are threatened by two mighty powers. Their rulers eye our little island hungrily, and dream of swallowing it up.”

  “Before your arrival, General,” the old man went on, “we were talking of Hardway’s defences, and how long we could endure a siege. Alas, none of us are military men.”

  Dusek waited, hands rigid by his sides, feeling like a raw cadet about to be given his first commission. “I was once your enemy, sir,” he said, loudly and clearly, “and the Gods saw fit to take everything from me as a punishment. I have walked in shame and darkness for twelve years. Now I am renewed. It must be for a purpose.”

  He lifted his head slightly. “People of Hardway,” he cried, “let me serve you. Save you.”

  Tulgan’s protests were drowned by an explosion of voices.

  “The Raggedy General! The Raggedy General will protect us! He is a gift—a gift from the Gods!”

  When the noise had died down, Tamburlin stepped closer to Dusek and placed a hand on his bony shoulder. “You wish to serve,” he said, “and serve you shall. Our garrison is made up of raw recruits and old men, ill-prepared for war. You shall drill them. I can think
of no man better.”

  Dusek swelled with pride. He had a purpose again. A reason to live. In the deep caverns of his warlike mind he once again heard the roll of drums, the echo of marching feet, and the brass squall of trumpets signalling the advance.

  He turned smartly on his heel and pointed at Brother Harm. “You!” he shouted. “Make yourself useful for once. Go fetch my armour!”

  6.

  Rain. It came down in torrents as the cutpurse made his way home from another day of pickpocketing and running errands for Hardway's small time criminals. His home was the Sandpit—a crumbling ghetto hacked deep into the sandstone on the western edge of the city.

  There was no wind, and the rain came straight down as he trudged on. Beneath his coat he clutched a loaf, some dried fish and two apples in a bag, doing his best to keep it all dry. This was his daily routine, scraping a living on the streets of Hardway until he was able to save enough money to leave the island and find a better life for himself and his sister—a frail, blind girl of ten.

  Limpet, he was known as by the other freaks and losers with whom he had the misfortune to associate. His true name had been lost to the depths of the island's treacherous waters along with his mother years before. He hadn’t forgotten it, rather he chose to block it from his mind. All it did was remind him of his mother, and that memory was too painful to bear. Limpet's tenacity had earned him his nickname, as he and his sister, Liss, clung to life in the most dangerous and destitute part of Hardway as stubbornly as the limpets clung to the jagged, treacherous rocks that surrounded it.

  He found Liss huddled under her blankets in their hovel deep in the sandstone warren they shared with the rest of Hardway's shark-bait. He lit the lantern and laid the loaf and dried fish on the lump of driftwood that served as their table. As usual Liss lay still, her milky, unseeing eyes staring at the ceiling.

  He sat next to her, cut a piece of apple with his knife and placed it in her hand. Her head turned towards him, her other hand reaching over to touch his face, her nostrils flaring as she scented the newly arrived fragrance.

  “Limpet returns, life of the brood,

  “Liss awaits her bite of food.

  “Supper, he brings, caught in a net

  “Yet the fish is dry, and he is wet.”

  Liss was not a normal girl, and not just because she was blind. She only ever spoke in rhymes and riddles. Her reedy voice echoed around the chamber as she put the slice of apple to her lips and chewed noisily.

  Limpet smiled at her and began to cut the loaf. Thankfully, he had managed to keep the worst of the rain off it, and the loaf was still crusty. He ate the fish and bread, preferring to save his apple for later, and handed Liss a morsel each time he took a mouthful for himself.

  She was quiet while they ate, and he gazed at her. She looked so small and delicate in the light of the lantern. Limpet was her age when their mother had passed away. Now he was fifteen and almost a man. He knew it would soon be time to get her away from the Sandpit, preferably away from Hardway altogether, to find a new life. A life where he knew she would be safe.

  Their mother had succumbed to a strange illness that had first sent her mad, giving her violent outbursts and making her harm herself, then began to devour her flesh until eventually she threw herself from the high cliffs to die on the unforgiving rocks below. Now Liss was all he had, and he was all that stood between her and death. She gave him a purpose, a reason to live, and he loved her fiercely.

  He kissed Liss on the forehead and went to add the day's meagre profits, a handful of sovereigns, to his hidden stash. As he stood she grabbed his arm. She had a surprisingly powerful grip for such a small thing. Her wide eyes seemed to stare through him, reflecting the light from the lantern.

  “He ventures forth in dead of night,

  “without flaming torch or glinting knife.

  “He comes back bloody, hurt and spent

  “Or he comes back... never again.”

  He studied her for a moment as she held onto him with one bony hand, and then saw that he had left his knife on the table. He stuck the weapon in his belt and she let go, sighed faintly and lay back down.

  “I'll be back soon,” he said, stroking her greasy hair.

  He left the lantern with Liss, not because he didn't want to leave her in the dark—she was blind, after all—but because he knew the way to his stash and a lantern might attract attention and give away its location.

  Limpet’s clothes were still a little damp from the rain and he shivered as he crept back along the passage towards the ragged hole in the sandstone cliff face—one of many in that precarious lattice, threatening to collapse in a vast heap at any time. Reluctant to have his stash within the labyrinthine depths of the Sandpit, he had it hidden outside. It was almost completely dark now, and the passageway was lit up by flashes of lightning as he approached the storm outside. This ought to be a good time to visit his stash, he reasoned. No sensible person would be hanging around outside to see him leave.

  The rain still lashed down as he slid down the slope from the cave entrance and walked off into the rain. Even in this weather, Limpet walked casually, careful not to attract the interest of anyone who might be watching. As he walked he looked around, trying to make sure he was not observed, but it was difficult to see clearly through the torrential rain, even with the frequent forks of lightning illuminating his view.

  In a secluded spot around the corner there were several small burrows dug into the sandstone, failed attempts to expand that squalid settlement where Limpet and his sister dwelled. Most had collapsed in on themselves; some were occupied by dogs, cats, and various other wild animals sheltering from the storm.

  At a height just above Limpet's head was a hole large enough to crawl into and deep enough for him to be concealed once he was safely inside. Soaked to the skin, with the deluge showing no sign of abating and thunder and lightning raging overhead, he crawled inside. At the very back of the small tunnel, he hauled aside a large rock. Beneath it, at the bottom of a hole he had scraped out of the earth, was a large leather bag almost filled with sovereigns and odd scraps of gold and jewellery.

  He pulled the bag from the hole and untied the string. For a second he gazed at the fruits of years of labour, dreaming of a life beyond the seemingly inescapable shores of Hardway. A life of relative comfort and peace. He imagined Liss, not lying under a flea-bitten blanket in a filthy, draughty cave, but in a clean bed with sunshine caressing her pale skin through an open window. He imagined the scent of flowers instead of shit and sweat, the sound of music instead of screams and violence, and the taste of mead and honey instead of stale bread and murky water. This was his ticket to a better life.

  He tossed the few coins he had made that day into the bag, stuffed it back in its hole and covered it with the rock. Soon, he thought. Soon it would be time to take Liss and buy passage to the mainland.

  As he emerged from his hiding place, all he could hear was the lashing rain and persistent thunder, so he was surprised to see two figures waiting for him. He recognised them immediately. The two brothers, Culley and Bim. He silently cursed himself for not noticing he had been followed.

  Although Limpet didn't know their ages, he assumed Culley was older. The boy was bigger than him, but lacking his intelligence and wit. A ham-fisted bully, Culley would rob the smaller boys in the Sandpit with the help of his younger brother, who was smaller but every bit as aggressive.

  Culley had a mess of thick, red hair, now plastered to his head by the rain, and a permanent sneer. One pale blue eye gazed permanently into the distance, as it always had, while the other glared at Limpet with undisguised hatred.

  “What's the Limpet got in its cave?” sneered Culley.

  “Yeah,” said Bim, the monosyllabic smaller brother. Bim was dark-haired, unlike his older brother. He shared Culley’s pale blue eyes, though Bim’s could both be pointed in the same direction, and his thick, black eyebrows were an unbroken line across his furrowed brow.r />
  “Nothing,” said Limpet. “Just sheltering from the rain.”

  “Oh yeah? So you came down here from your little hovel to shelter in this hole? That don't add up to me. I reckon you got something in there, something of interest.” said Culley, edging closer.

  “Yeah,” said Bim, staying close behind his brother.

  The rain continued to pour. Limpet instinctively reached down to feel his knife tucked reassuringly in his belt. He knew that, even if the two brothers didn't have the balls to take his stash tonight, they knew where it was now and they would be back for it. They would have to die.

  “Come here,” said Limpet, “I'll show you.”

  Culley's face dropped. His smile vanished and his beady eyes twinkled beneath a broad, pimply forehead. The boy frowned at Limpet suspiciously.

  “Do you want to see it or not?” Limpet held out one hand, beckoning the boy to come closer, as though taming a wild animal with a piece of bread. Culley edged closer, rain cascading down his face, giving him what Limpet assumed was the first wash he had had in quite some time. Lightning forked across the sky, lighting up the boy's vacant expression.

  Limpet's hole being at head height, Culley might have thought he had the smaller boy trapped, but Limpet knew the position could be used as an advantage. Culley edged closer, apparently torn between curiosity and caution. He was almost in reach. Just a step farther.

  “Look,” said Limpet, slowly bringing one hand forth from the darkness. Culley leaned tentatively forward, peering past Limpet into the black hole.

  Culley's face contorted into a mixture of surprise and realisation, as Limpet's blade entered his throat. Lightning flashed off the blade as the blood pulsing forth was instantly washed away by the torrential rain.

  For an instant the two boys gazed at each other. Limpet's face impassive, Culley's open-mouthed, and wide-eyed. Limpet leaned a little closer.

  “What's in there, you cunt, is none of your fucking business.”