‘See that?’ she asked.
‘See what?’ he replied, then noticed the purses bulging in her shirt. ‘Oh, no, I missed it.’
She shook her head. ‘I thought I told you to keep your eyes open. We’re not here for a good time; we’re here to work. If you’re not up to it, just go back to the Bull.’
‘Sorry. I’ll do better next time.’
Rag looked at him sternly, but couldn’t hold it for long – his expression was too pitiful. Shaking her head wryly she cuffed him playfully around the head.
Safe in a side street she secured the purses in her trews, tying their drawstrings tight to the loops inside her waistband.
‘Right, let’s go. And this time, concentrate.’
Markus nodded, composing his features sharply … perhaps a little too sharply.
‘And try to look relaxed. You don’t want to look like you’re desperate for a shit. That’s only going to draw attention to us.’
Another nod, and his features slackened into a vacant stare.
It would have to do.
Rag led the way once more onto the Prom and this time went with the flow of traffic, taking them south towards the Crown District, where the richer punters were. Normally Rag never got anywhere near the Crown before being spotted by one of the Greencoats and chased away. Pinching there could be more trouble than it was worth. Tonight though would be different. With so large a crowd they were unlikely to be noticed.
The stream of folks moved at a merry pace, and they were soon at the big old gates that led into the Crown District. As Rag hovered outside, trying to spy a perfect mark, her attention was drawn to a pair of Greencoats standing watch over the gate. She cursed silently – did they never have a bloody night off? It was the Feast of Arlor after all!
‘We’ll never get inside,’ she said to Markus, ‘those two look keen as mustard.’ She was turning back when she spied something that brought a smile.
The young woman was beautiful, her gown billowing out from a tight waist in a pastel harlequin pattern. Her hair was tied up in a gravity-defying bouffant and a gold mask covered her eyes. The fat man on her arm was equally well dressed. A merchant and his wife, maybe, and rich – there was no way a beauty like her would be married to such a fat bastard if he weren’t swimming in gold.
The couple walked through the gate from the Crown District bold as brass, swanning past the Greencoats. Rag guessed the Feast celebrations must have been pretty tame in the Crown if these two fancied seeing how the scum were faring on the Prom.
Slumming it with the yokels, eh? Rag would show them how they did things out here.
‘Stick close, and get ready to bolt,’ she instructed Markus, moving aside to let the couple to walk by.
She followed her mark closely, watching as the couple breezed through the crowd. The fat merchant’s purse was at his waist, fastened to a double leather loop over his belt. This wouldn’t be easy, and Rag realised she’d need a distraction if she was going to pull it off. She saw that Markus was alert this time, focused and watching – just as she’d told him. For a second she was conflicted, caught between putting Markus in harm’s way and stealing that big juicy purse, but the need to eat triumphed, as always.
Putting an arm around Markus’ shoulder she leaned in close.
‘Move in front and bump into the woman. Just for a second, just enough to take their attention, then move north and I’ll meet you at Shoulders.’
Markus listened to her simple instructions and moved off as he was told.
Rag moved in behind the fat merchant, keeping her eye on the prize. The purse was attached by drawstrings. She had little time to pull it, but little time was all she’d need.
Markus suddenly came out of the crowd ahead, walking straight into the woman. He bounced off her, looking up all surprised, and Rag was so taken with his performance skills she almost forgot to do her bit.
‘Watch where you’re going,’ barked the merchant, as Markus disappeared into the crowd. Before he could say more Rag had cut the purse strings with her knife, and was off in the other direction.
When she got to the headless statue of the king they aptly called ‘Shoulders’, Markus was waiting patiently, an assured grin on his face.
‘Well? How did I do?’ he asked.
‘You did okay,’ Rag replied, giving him a playful nudge with her elbow.
‘How much have we got?’
‘Dunno, but we ain’t gonna count it here. If two pups like us are seen looking through a full purse, someone’s bound to guess we’re up to no good.’
Markus nodded at the sage advice.
She was about to say they needed to find a quiet spot, lift the coins, ditch the purse then spend some of the pennies on hot pies when she heard the noise cutting through the music and the laughter of the crowd.
Whistles!
Cold fear ran down her back and instantly she regretted having brought Markus. The Greencoats were signalling something was afoot! How could she have brought him to lift a purse from someone in the Crown District? Stupid! Stupid!
Well, now wasn’t the time for wallowing … now was the time for running.
‘Come on,’ she said, grasping Markus by the collar and pulling him to the side of the street out of plain view. Markus clearly had no idea what was going on, but he followed her anyway.
The pair ran down an alley, into the dark and out of sight. Rag paused, listening, hoping on hope that the whistles would grow quieter, that the Greencoats would be heading off in the wrong direction, looking vainly for the two thieves stupid enough to rob a couple of rich gits from the Crown.
But the sound only got louder, joined by more and more whistles, rising in a chorus that seemed to be drawing closer.
The alley was dark but empty – there was nowhere to hide. It was only a matter of time before one of the Greencoats came this way, and found them skulking there.
‘We have to go up,’ Rag said, pointing towards the eaves of the building they hunkered beneath.
Markus nodded, needing no further encouragement as he grasped one of the cornerstones and began to pull himself upwards. Impressed, Rag followed him towards the roof. Without growing up on the streets as she had he almost matched her for agility, and within moments they were scrabbling onto the sloping tiles, well above the alley, the crowds and the searching Greencoats.
With the whistles still blowing Rag felt keenly the need to escape. She led Markus north, towards the Bull, dodging the chimneys and skirting the edge of the rooftops. But the sound of the whistles carried on, now seeming to surround them.
At the corner of a high, sloping roof Rag suddenly swallowed a sharp breath. A Greencoat was coming at her; she could hear his heavy footfalls over the noise of the street below. In his mouth was a whistle that squealed with his every laboured breath and in his hands was the biggest crossbow she had ever seen.
Rag froze, instinctively raising an arm to warn Markus, but he, oblivious to the danger, ran straight into the back of her. They both stared as the Greencoat loped towards them. Then he spat the whistle from his mouth to dangle around his neck on its chain.
‘Out of the bloody way,’ he snapped and trotted straight past them. Rag heaved a sigh of relief. ‘You shouldn’t even be up here,’ the Greencoat cast over his shoulder as he rounded the edge of the building and disappeared into the night.
Rag saw that Markus was grinning like an idiot.
‘Something’s going on,’ he said. ‘Maybe something good.’ And before she could stop him he was off in the Greencoat’s wake.
Before Rag could shout him back he disappeared into the shadows.
‘Bloody bollocks,’ she breathed, as she made after him along the rooftops.
They were both following the whistles now, padding across the top of the city, lifted by the excitement of the chase. Every instinct told her this was foolish but she did it anyway. She couldn’t just have Markus running straight into harm’s way, could she? He had disobeyed one of her
express instructions, but she still felt responsible for him. And besides, part of her wanted to know what was going on too.
There was a commotion ahead; by the ambient light from the revelling crowds below Rag could see there was a stand-off on the rooftops.
Craning for a better view, she found herself at Markus’ shoulder. His eyes were locked intently on the action and they both peered through the dark, scarcely daring to breathe.
A single figure stood at the centre of a flat roof surrounded by Greencoats. Two had crossbows trained on him, three more had blades clear of their sheaths and were approaching slowly.
Markus edged closer, keen to hear what was being said, and rather than pull him back into the shadows Rag found herself moving up beside him. Something inside was screaming at her to flee, yet it was trumped by her boundless curiosity. Things like this didn’t happen every night.
‘Don’t move,’ said a Greencoat, moving forward with tentative steps and fumbling a pair of manacles from his belt. ‘Don’t you fucking move.’
The lone figure stood, awaiting the Greencoat’s approach, his face hidden in the shadow of his hood, his dark, plain garb making him almost invisible in the night.
As the Greencoat reached forward with the manacles, there was a blur of motion. The figure burst into action, his movements too fast to follow in the dark. The Greencoats began shouting, the one with the manacles loudest. Rag could see that somehow the Greencoat’s wrist had been clapped into one of his own manacles, and the man he had been trying to cuff had him around the neck. A blade in his free hand was pointed at the Greencoat’s throat.
‘Shoot him!’ cried the Greencoat. ‘For fuck’s sake shoot him!’
The rest of the Greencoats tried to move into better positions, their voices a confused cacophony of bellowed orders and curses. Meanwhile the hooded figure held his victim fast, his blade winking in the moonlight. One of the Greencoats suddenly ran in from the flank, his sword aloft. Still holding his victim, the dark figure dodged the other’s blade and struck out with his foot. The second Greencoat went down screaming and clutching his snapped knee as the rest of his fellows stormed forward.
Rag couldn’t really see what happened next, it was all too fast, too dark. A slashing of blades, grunting, cries of pain, the telltale thrum of a crossbow being fired off wildly. Then it went quiet.
Creeping forward she could just see the Greencoats on the roof – all five of them were down, some not moving, others rolling around in agony. Of the hooded man there was no sign.
Rag suddenly realised that Markus was no longer at her shoulder. Spinning around she saw him lying there, and her mouth dropped open in a silent scream.
Markus was spluttering, choking and spitting blood into the air. In his neck was lodged the shaft of a bolt, a stray shot fired from a Greencoat’s crossbow, a thousand to one chance that had struck him in the throat, straight and true.
She kneeled by his side, gripping his hand, watching his eyes begin to glaze.
‘Help me!’ she screamed into the night. ‘Somebody please help me!’
But there was no one there to help.
NINE
Samina tapped her finger on the inside of her shield, drumming away as though she was trying to leave a dent. It made a tinny sound – the only sound on the tree-lined Avenue of Spears, the great thoroughfare that led to the gates of the Temple of Autumn.
‘Must you make that noise?’ Kaira asked, frowning from beneath her plumed helm.
‘I hate this,’ Samina said, carrying on with her incessant tune.
They both stood in full regalia, guarding the gate as though the Khurtic horde was about to charge down the street and assault it. Lining the road in the shadows cast by the rows of great elms were twenty Shieldmaidens, similarly garbed in their armour, with shields and spears presented in formal salute.
‘It is what it is,’ Kaira replied, squinting up the long straight road, hoping that the High Abbot and his entourage would get a move on so that there could be an end to this nonsense. ‘We’ve been over this already.’
In fact they had been over it several times, but Samina seemed determined to make her annoyance clear for all to see.
‘It’s still ridiculous – standing here like a palace guard waiting for the High Abbot when we should be—’
‘That’s enough! We are Shieldmaidens of Vorena. We will perform our duties. This is an honour granted us by the Matron Mother and we will carry it out until told to do otherwise.’
She could tell Samina wanted to complain further but was thinking better of it. Mercifully, they didn’t have to wait much longer before the procession came round the corner of the Avenue of Spears. The Shieldmaidens quickly stood to attention, readying themselves for the High Abbot’s arrival.
The column proceeded down the road towards them, the Sons of Malleus – the Sons of the Hammer – bedecked in black armour, warrior priests of Ironhold, each as dedicated to the service of their god Arlor and the defence of their temple as their female counterparts.
Halfway down the column, Kaira could see a carriage being pulled by several tired-looking horses. Clearly the High Abbot did not march alongside his men.
The head of the column reached the end of the avenue and the warriors spread out, allowing the carriage to get as close to the gate as possible. Arlor forbid the High Abbot should walk a step further than was necessary.
One of the Sons pulled open the door to the carriage, while another grabbed a small set of stairs, extending them to the ground. The High Abbot descended heavily, holding up the hem of his black and white robe so as not to trip himself.
Kaira stepped forward. ‘High Abbot,’ she began, regarding the man with as respectful a look as she could muster, ‘greetings from the Temple of Autumn. I am Kaira Stormfall, and this is Samina Coldeye, First Maidens of Vorena. We will be your guards of the body inside the temple grounds.’
A smile spread over the High Abbot’s shiny swollen cheeks. His eyes roamed over Kaira’s body, then back up to her face after lingering for a second over the ceremonial breastplate that accentuated her athletic figure.
‘Excellent,’ he said, his fat palm wiping sweat from his balding pate. ‘Do lead on, Sister Stormfall.’
Kaira gripped her spear tightly and signalled to the Shieldmaidens at the top of the staircase to open the gate. As she and Samina led the High Abbot up the stone stairs and over the threshold, the Sons of Malleus stood and waited. They were not permitted within the Temple of Autumn – the High Abbot was the only man allowed within those hallowed grounds – and they would lodge instead in the almshouse of the Daughters of Arlor, located just outside.
In the temple courtyard the priestesses stood waiting, heads bowed, faces hidden beneath white veils. At the centre of the square was the Matron Mother, with Daedla standing at her shoulder. To her left was the Exarch, the highest ranking of the Shieldmaidens. Though she carried no shield or spear she still struck a formidable figure, her tall powerful frame dwarfing that of the Matron Mother.
As they approached, the Matron Mother bowed. ‘Greetings, High Abbot. It is truly an honour to receive your gracious visit. I trust things are well at the Temple of Winter?’
‘All is well. But it has been a long journey. I trust I might be able to bathe and rest before the formalities begin.’
‘Of course, please come this way.’
With that, Daedla and the Matron Mother led the High Abbot towards the Temple. Kaira and Samina followed in their wake as the High Abbot was conveyed to his chambers.
Later, as the Shieldmaidens stood guarding his door, it was clear Samina was not coming to terms with their appointed task.
‘Is this how it’s going to be?’ she whispered, though she might as well have shouted such was the anger in her voice.
‘It is what it is,’ Kaira replied quietly. It was a phrase she had found herself repeating a lot over the past few days.
He was inside now, bathing his fat, sweaty body. Unusually, he
had demanded there be one of the Daughters present to aid him in his ablutions. This did nothing to endear him to Samina, nor Kaira.
There was a sudden splash from within the room, and what could only be a man laughing. To Kaira’s ear it sounded debauched, as if he was deriving some illicit pleasure. What could he possibly be doing that would cause him such mirth?
‘What’s he up to in there?’ said Samina.
‘He’s bathing.’
‘He’s sloshing around like a cow stuck in a river.’
Kaira wanted to laugh at that one, but the solemnity their duty demanded was not lost on her. This was a great honour, and it was not her place to belittle it.
They could suddenly hear the High Abbot speaking from within the room. His voice was muffled, the words indistinct, but he was clearly amused by something.
‘Poor girl,’ said Samina. ‘Being bored to tears with tales of far-off Ironwall.’
The High Abbot laughed again. More muffled words. Then they could hear the priestess’s voice, high and timid.
‘Don’t encourage him,’ said Samina, as though she were whispering advice in the young girl’s ear. ‘It’s the worst thing you can do.’
‘Will you be quiet? We’re supposed to be vigilantly guarding our honoured guest, not censuring him behind his back.’
‘We need to do something to pass the time.’
‘We have our duties. That is all we should need.’
Samina for once didn’t come back at that.
They heard the High Abbot talking again, heard him sloshing. The priestess began to talk too, her voice rising in pitch, her words coming in faster more urgent sentences. There was an almighty splash of water and the girl let out a squeal.
Kaira and Samina glanced at one another just as the door to the chamber was wrenched open. The young priestess came running out, sobbing as she rushed past, her head bowed, face not visible.
‘I only asked for a towel,’ came an amused voice.
Kaira peered reluctantly into the room, her eyes widening as she saw the High Abbot standing there, naked, the dark hair that covered his body slick with wet, his flaccid penis dangling between fat thighs.