King of Ashes

  Neither spoke for a while.

  Nessa entered with a group of boys behind her and noticed the friends. She nodded at Hava, and gave Hatu an appraising look, but said nothing.

  ‘You really don’t like her,’ Hatu said, studying Hava’s expression.

  ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘I know that face. Others might not see it, but something about her …’

  Hava looked down, avoiding eye contact, and said, ‘She’s different. Something about her makes me very … uneasy.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I can’t tell you, but look at how the boys flock around her.’ She lifted her head and indicated across the room where Nessa was surrounded by admirers.

  ‘They just want her,’ said Hatu dismissively. ‘Even though it is forbidden.’

  ‘People always want what’s forbidden. Don’t you?’

  Hatu smiled. ‘There are better girls,’ he said, looking at Hava.

  Hava stared at him for a moment, then she looked away. Softly she said, ‘She’s lazy.’

  Hatu shrugged as Hava glanced sideways at him. ‘She’s going to end up married to someone important, in some foreign land probably, and she’s going to spend her life sending messages to the Council. She can be lazy as long as she’s clever.’

  Hava considered that. ‘Maybe she can be clever, but to me she seems obvious.’

  A thought struck Hatu. ‘I wonder if we all appear obvious to others.’

  Hava laughed softly. ‘Perhaps.’ She shook her head slightly. ‘It would prove a useful tool, having people underestimate you.’

  Food was brought to them and the students ate in relative silence, as they had been trained to do when in a school, especially when surrounded by others not well known to them. This was one of the many habits drilled into them since infancy.

  As the meal ended, Bodai and Facaria entered the room with another pair of men unknown to Hatu and Hava. Facaria came to where Hava and Hatu had been eating; they were now both on their feet with their hands clasped before them. He spoke to Hava. ‘You have ended your schooling and are now to spend time in other places. Go outside to where the other girls are gathering and wait for further instruction.’ She grabbed her bag and barely had time to give Hatu a slight nod, as close as they would be allowed to a proper goodbye.

  The ache returned to his gut as the thought that he might not see Hava again for a long time, or ever again, struck him once more, and he was barely able to focus his attention when Master Facaria said, ‘You’re to go to the harbour. Look for a light boat named Fair Charmer. The captain expects you and three other lads and will be leaving with you on the evening tide. You’ll be told what you need to know when you arrive. Go.’

  Hatu hesitated for only a moment, then grabbed his bag and hurried out of the door. Outside the school’s entrance, a path led down to a road that would take him easily to the harbour. Hava stood nearby, next to Nessa and four other girls; she noticed him and smiled. He raised his hand slightly and gave her a small farewell wave, then, shutting out the sudden cold that gripped his core, turned his attention to getting to the harbour before the ship sailed.

  He could hear other boys hurrying out of the school and following his trail, hut he refused to look back. He pushed aside the familiar rising anger as he tightened his jaw and tried not to think of Hava.

  HATUSHALY STOOD SILENTLY ON A corner in the city of Numerset, knowing what was expected of him, and calm and confident in that knowledge. He was in the Washa District, home to merchants who catered to the noble and wealthy people of the city. Hatu attempted to blend in as well as a ragged boy could in a city littered with urchins.

  He had docked two weeks before, was met by the local crew captain, and was taken to a warehouse. Donte had been a welcome sight on his arrival, and within minutes of talking to his old friend, Hatu knew his school days were truly over. He had thought they were over when Hava was sent away and Master Facaria sent him here, but he was now starting his real work for Coaltachin; he was a fully fledged criminal. While he welcomed the reunion with Donte, it only deepened his concern that he might never see Hava again, and that raised feelings he could not sort out.

  He took a deep breath and scanned the crowd. Today he was part of a four-boy team, a ‘boosting crew’, and his role was that of the ‘stall’. It was his task to interrupt the progress of a well-to-do member of the crowd, for only a moment or two, allowing the ‘cutter’ to liberate his purse while the target’s attention was diverted. The cutter was the most practised member of the crew, chosen for their swift hands and reflexes, and able to slice a coat and snatch a coin pouch from a pocket, or separate a purse from a belt, without notice. Within seconds the cutter would hand his prize and his blade to the ‘bag’, who would dart away as quickly as possible. The handoff was known as the ‘toss’. Today, Donte was the bag.

  Should the victim, or the ‘mark’, notice and be quick enough to catch up with the cutter, the boy would not have the purse or blade in his possession, making any accusation impossible to prove.

  The fourth boy, the ‘eye’, would signal a likely mark. He would wander about the stalls of the market looking for someone with a full purse and lax attention, the type who might not notice a missing purse until the boys removed themselves to another venue.

  Hatu shifted uneasily; the eye had not yet signalled them, despite passing by several promising-looking marks. It was as if he was waiting for someone specific. Hatu began to feel a familiar discomfort, that he was unaware of something important.

  Then came the signal: the eye, a boy named Jolen, took off his cap and wiped his brow as a stout merchant in fine robes walked past him. Hatu moved without hesitation.

  He saw that the mark carried his belt purse on his right, indicating he was a left-handed man, as wise men kept their off hand close to their purse. Hatu veered slightly to bring himself to the man’s left side, then stumbled in front of him, drawing the man’s attention for an instant. Hatu took the opportunity to make eye contact and started to beg.

  ‘Please, sir, have you a coin to spare? I’m an orphan and haven’t eaten in days!’

  Brendant, the cutter, was in position to take the purse and dart away, but instead he drew his dagger and plunged it deep into the man’s stomach. Hatu saw the boy push upwards, under the rib cage and deep into the man’s liver. The mark would bleed out within minutes. All the man could do was gasp, barely making a sound as his knees began to buckle.

  The eye shouted, ‘Long gone!’ and the boys took off at a run, as fast as they could move, darting through the crowd towards the docks.

  They were half a block away before the first shout of alarm went up behind them. Brendant motioned for the others to follow him into an alley, where he stripped off his jacket to reveal a ragged short-sleeved shirt beneath. He put the jacket behind a pile of rubbish and motioned for the others to follow suit.

  Hatu glanced at Brendant. ‘Crib?’

  With one shake of his head Brendant indicated that they were not returning to their base. ‘Open water,’ was all he said in response, and the other three began modifying their clothing for their new roles.

  Hatu pulled off his jacket and was about to toss it on the pile when Brendant said, ‘Don’t leave your thing.’

  Hatu nodded. He retrieved a round metal tin from an inside pocket of his jacket and slipped it under his shirt, above his belt. He knew it would be annoying, but it was vital that he didn’t forget what the other young men called ‘his thing’. It was a pomade to darken his hair to a more common brown-red shade. It resisted water and washing, so he only needed to apply it every few days.

  In less than two minutes, four young sailors ambled out of the alley and walked calmly away from the murder scene towards the docks as the alarm spread through the market like a ripple in a pond.

  Hatu felt anger rising and forced it back down. No one had told him this wasn’t a simple purse-cut, and he was doubly angry, as he had been forced to abandon the first pair o
f boots that had fitted him in almost a year. But most of all he now felt uncertain, as he had many times since his childhood. Brendant wasn’t a common crew boy, he was a man who looked younger than his years, an experienced sicari, for no common crewmember would be tasked with an assassination.

  The four sailors moved calmly through the crowd, their meaningless banter lost in the noise of the streets. Donte regaled Hatu with his speculations on a barmaid, and Hatu focused on him just enough to grunt affirmation or enquiry without saying a word.

  He tried to make sense of what had just happened. This particular crew had been working in Numerset for more than a year before Donte and Hatu joined them, and they had established themselves among the ruffians and cutpurses of the city. Each crew spent half their time fighting for their right to participate in the local criminal bounty.

  They had arrived from Coaltachin one by one and found each other slowly, blending in with the hundreds of nameless people cast by fate into poverty. They had found a small neighbourhood gang and, after a few fights to demonstrate their prowess, had quickly taken over and built it into one of the most efficient crews in the city. With other captains, they had formed their numerous crews into what was called a regime and together had effectively taken control of crime in the region. Regimes reported directly to one of the masters in Coaltachin, who coordinated with the other masters in the Council.

  The boys and girls who showed talent were allowed to remain, while those who proved a liability to the gang had been cut loose, allowed to perish, be captured, or join another gang. Hatu’s crew had shown themselves to be ruthless since his arrival.

  Occasionally, as had occurred the day prior, a coded message would arrive for Brendant, who would then inform the others as to the task. Hatu, Jolen, and Donte knew without being told that his instructions came from the clan leaders, the Council.

  Brendant’s crew, which currently numbered about twenty-five boys and girls, generated gold for Coaltachin. That gold was turned over to him every day. There was a captain at every level, so their context created a variety of titles. Brendant was a crew captain; he had an under-captain named Jadique who ruled in his absence, and who would, Hatu supposed, take over now that Brendant was fleeing the city.

  Brendant’s crew had become one of the most proficient in the city’s network, and as such was well rewarded. Hatu had saved his share, not squandering it on gambling, women, drugs, or drink. He occasionally allowed himself a good meal at an inn near the eastern gate, as he enjoyed his privacy and, in his estimation, none of the crew except Donte offered him the prospect of good company, but that was the extent of his self-indulgence. When he could steal away, he traded his coins for small gems through a trader he trusted. He had a small pouch sewn into his trousers, which he could grab quickly should the need arise. He estimated he could live for a year or more on what he had saved. In a year, he would be able to support himself in a meagre fashion for years to come.

  There were as many as a dozen crews in the city regime; the boys and girls were divided into various-sized companies, depending on need. Most of them were involved with petty, but lucrative, street crime, while crews of larger boys acted as enforcers, and kept discipline within the other gangs as well as keeping local criminals out of the more profitable neighbourhoods. The entire city was under the authority of the regime master. Not every member of every crew was from Coaltachin, but every key member belonged to them. Most of the locals didn’t know they worked for the Council. They didn’t even know where their bosses were from. The wall of secrecy, the barrier to knowledge, was absolute, and every member of Hatu’s group from the home island knew that to violate that pledge was a death sentence to all involved.

  It was Brendant’s responsibility to see that the gold was shipped back to the Council. After permitted deductions, he passed the payment to a particular dockworker who would in turn pass it to the appropriate ship’s captain bound for Coaltachin. A certain amount was expected from them each month, and although Hatu did not know what the level was, to fall short would earn punishment, perhaps dire if warranted, so Brendant’s crew ensured they were never short. More than one greedy lad had ended up in the bay with ears and nose removed, or fingers chopped off, as a warning to others.

  But their tasks – a burglary of a warehouse, the robbing of a courier, or in this case, an assassination – served ends none of the boys understood; it wasn’t considered necessary for them to understand why particular targets were chosen, which frustrated Hatu further. Others might have had the temperament for blind obedience, but it chafed his very being. He was beginning to consider what it would mean to leave the land of his upbringing and venture into a world beyond the one he knew. Half of his thinking was born of curiosity, but the other half was the child of frustration; the constant edge of rage within him never let go.

  One thing Hatu had never spoken of, even with Hava or Donte, was his sense of being different, of not being entirely of Coaltachin, despite its being the only home he had known. Hatu understood from his earliest days that he would eventually leave. No one told him, but he knew he was not from Coaltachin, and the admonitions never to speak of his origins applied to him as much as to the other children. He would never rise to the Quelli Nascosti. Not knowing where fate would take him also fuelled his ever-present anger. Two feelings arose when he dwelt on his unique position: fear, from not understanding why he would be allowed to leave knowing as much as he did about the Kingdom of Night, and frustrated anger, from not knowing why he was different and how this could be allowed. He was certain he would not die for what he had learned, because if that was to be the case, why train him in the first place? This was the one nagging mystery that Hatu forced aside when it arose in his mind. There was no point in speculating, and he knew eventually he would learn the mysteries of his origins and purpose.

  As the boosting crew reached the end of the closest dock, a worker nodded to Brendant and made a sign that Hatu recognised, one identifying the man as an agent of the gang. With a single nod he indicated which ship was their destination and the four young men hurried up a gangway that was pulled in just seconds after Hatu’s bare feet touched the deck.

  They set to work without being told. Hatu and Donte climbed the rigging, for they were the most gifted at the tricky and dangerous work to be done aloft. Jolen and Brendant joined the deck crew. Sheets were hauled, sails unfurled, and the ship gently eased away from the waterfront.

  Numerset had no proper harbour, simply a long quay sheltered somewhat by an ancient rock breakwater in desperate need of repair. In foul weather, ships were anchored offshore, heavily battened at every joint to keep afloat, for left at the quay they risked being smashed against the rocks beneath the landfill upon which it had been built. But in clement weather the long quay allowed for a quick departure, with no need of a pilot.

  The ship was a xebec with the name Nelani painted across her stern; she was a narrow three-master lateen-rigged vessel, built for speed and to carry small precious cargo rather than bulk. The Nelani was a coaster, not a deep-water ship, but in the islands you were rarely out of sight of land for more than half a day at speed. These shallow-draught ships ran less risk from the unexpected shoals and hidden reefs, and there were many harbours against sudden storms.

  With Donte positioned at the other end of the foot rope, Hatu unlashed one of the three large sails, then scampered up the rat-lines to secure the top of the boom. Lateen sails were designed to be trimmed easily but still needed to be secured against sudden changes in wind direction.

  Hatu saw Donte smiling at him and found it irritating. He knew Donte was amused by his confusion over recent events, and often wondered why they were still friends. They were the most unlikely pairing and had been drawn to each other as children, but neither could explain why they had remained close; at times Donte amused Hatu and at other times his friend angered him.

  When the three sails were unfurled and secured, the young men grabbed ropes and shimmied down to the
deck. Getting the ship under way did not allow time for conversation, but even when the work was done, with so many ears close by, discussion was unwise. There was an invisible hierarchy in Coaltachin, and one never knew who was privy to what information. Since childhood, the students destined to serve at higher positions, and even those who joined the lower ranks of the hidden ones, were taught to be cautious about who might be listening.

  A quick survey of the deck gave Hatu no clear indication of what was expected of him next, so he made his way down the companionway to the deck below, one step behind Donte. They reached one of two small tables at the far end of the crew’s quarters. Twelve hammocks indicated that this vessel was a ‘short runner’, one that travelled short distances with a light crew. Unlike bigger ships, the Nelani had no large cabins for captain and mates, only a heavy canvas curtain defined fore and aft, and the captain and a single mate would sleep behind the curtain. Hatu also expected short runs meant two shifts of six men each, rather than three shifts of four. Six crewmen above on a ship this size meant a relatively easy cruise.

  Their two companions appeared shortly after Hatu arrived, and when they were seated, Donte asked, ‘Any ideas?’

  Brendant shook his head. ‘I just got the word to take care of that fat merchant, flee the city, and return to home.’

  ‘Home,’ muttered Hatu.

  ‘You have a problem?’ asked Brendant in a challenging tone.

  Hatu paused briefly to gauge the look in Brendant’s eyes. The leader of this crew was obviously upset about something else, too, but had not confided in any of the others. As a sicari he lived in a different world most of the time, and probably disliked working with boys who were fresh from school. His eyes assessed Hatu.

  Hatu leaned back against the bulkhead and muttered, ‘Just tossed some really good boots away, is all.’