‘Sound advice much welcomed. I hope that you have countrymen in Steelhaven as willing to show us such kindness.’
‘I hope so, too,’ Tom replied with a wink. He rubbed some warmth into his hands. ‘Well, good luck to you, Regulus of the Gor’tana.’
He stood up, and when Regulus stood up beside him, he towered over the small man. With a nod to the rest of the warriors sat by the fire, Tom the Blackfoot was gone into the night.
‘So, what did he have to say?’ asked Leandran.
Regulus stared into the dark after the man for a moment before answering.
‘He said there is glory to be had in Steelhaven. He said we will be welcomed as brothers and celebrated as the noble warriors we are. He said we should not tarry, for our destiny awaits.’ With that Regulus took up his sword. His warriors took it as their cue and they all got up, ready to move on into the night.
He could see the fire in their eyes now — their need to fight, to find glory, to wade in victory. It made Regulus proud and eager for battle.
As the sun rose they could not move fast enough towards the east.
FIFTEEN
This was ridiculous. And dangerous.
Rag could’ve lived with the ridiculous bit — she’d seen plenty of that in her time — it was the dangerous part she weren’t too keen on.
It seemed easy on the face of it: walk into the barracks, find a bloke called Merrick Ryder, report back to Friedrik for further instructions. What could be simpler?
As she stared up at the palace of Skyhelm, soaring upwards like some fairy castle, Rag decided there were lots of things could have been bloody simpler.
It had been easy enough getting into the Crown District this time around. The last time she’d seen Krupps bribing one of the Greencoats at the gate to get in. This time there weren’t even any bribes to pay. She was in the Guild now — they practically owned the Greencoats, and all she’d had to do was stroll up, plain as day. The guards at the entrance didn’t so much as look at her, opening the gate and letting her in as though she’d been expected. They didn’t even check the wooden tray she was carrying, didn’t pull back the muslin sheet draped over the top to take a look at what lay underneath. Rag had almost burst out laughing at that — Greencoats letting her stroll right into the Crown like she was some la-de-da lady of leisure.
Once inside it weren’t hard to find the palace — it stood taller than any other building, but once she made it to the wall that ran around its edge she began to have doubts. The barracks of the Skyhelm Sentinels stood to one side of the palace, guarded by two knights in silver, their faces hidden behind full helms, nasty looking swords in their hands. Weren’t no way this was gonna be easy.
But Rag had a job to do, and do it she would. She was in the Guild now, just like she’d wanted. It was time to prove to Friedrik she weren’t just there for window dressing, weren’t just his doll to dress up and play with.
The thought of Friedrik made her stop in her tracks. Did she even want to please him? Over the past weeks she’d realised what a mad bastard he was. How cruel and mean, just for the sake of it. If she’d known what she was getting herself into, would she have tried so hard to join the Guild in the first place?
Who are you kidding? Course you would. It’s all you’ve ever dreamed of, and it’s a damn sight better than pinching for coppers and sleeping on the roof of an alehouse.
Just thinking about those days, those long gone days of cold and hunger, made Rag strangely homesick. She tried to put the thought away, tried to tell herself it weren’t her home anymore, yet somehow she was missing it. Missing her boys most of all, even Fender, though she knew that were stupid. She had a place with regular grub and a roof over her head, she was looked after, she belonged to a proper crew. It was her new family now, the family of the Guild. But then, it weren’t exactly the kind of family she’d wanted. At least on that roof with Chirpy, Migs and Tidge she’d never had to watch someone having their fingernails pulled out.
Bollocks! That was the past. This is the present. Pull yourself together, Rag, and do what you’ve been fucking told.
Even if she did have to stand witness to some horrible shit, it was better than acting mother to a bunch of street rats. It was her what got looked after nowadays. She got cared for like she’d always wanted. Had people watching her back. Now was the time to earn her keep and all she had to do was get herself into that barracks and find some bloke called Ryder.
She gripped her tray all the tighter and walked towards the guards bold as brass. When she got close she put a big smile on her face. Rag knew she wasn’t the prettiest thing a bloke might have ever seen, but there was a lot could be bought with a smile. Make yourself look harmless and it disarms people. If you’re no threat they’re likely to treat you a lot nicer. Well, that was the plan, anyway.
She’d find out soon enough if it worked.
Rag stopped in front of the two guards. They stood like statues, their swords gripped at their chests, blades pointing upwards. For a few moments she just looked at them, waiting. Neither one made a move.
With a flourish Rag pulled the muslin cloth aside, revealing the tray of goodies beneath. She had an assortment of treats — potted eel from up the Storway, fresh scallops cooked in the shell with a pastry top, smoked fish rolled in egg and breadcrumbs, little meat pies with dried fruit on. Friedrik’s cook had spent almost a whole day preparing the lot. He was a miserable bastard at the best of times, but Rag had to admit he could put together a decent spread when he wanted to.
She let the tray just sit there for a few seconds, allowing the smell to waft upwards. One of the knights looked briefly towards his companion. Then the other one leaned his sword up against the entryway to the barracks and removed his helmet.
If Rag expected him to start filling his face though, she was sorely mistaken.
‘Where did you get this lot from then?’ he asked.
She hadn’t been expecting questions.
‘Erm … my uncle makes ’em. Gets his fish fresh every day.’
‘There’s a food shortage in the city and you’re wandering around with a tray handing it out for free? You’re expecting us to believe that are you?’
This wasn’t going at all well. Maybe they hadn’t thought this through properly. Maybe she should have come with wine instead.
‘Came direct from the palace kitchens,’ she answered. ‘Just what we had left over.’
‘Palace kitchens? Who in the palace ki-’
‘Oh, leave it out will you,’ said the second Sentinel, removing his helmet. ‘These smell bloody lovely.’
He placed his sword down and reached for one of the scallops. Rag moved the tray away from his grasping hand.
‘Just one each,’ she said. ‘These have to go around the rest of the barracks.’
She let him take what he wanted. The second Sentinel eyed her suspiciously, but only long enough for her to flash him another smile before he too gave in to the temptation and took one of the pies. As they both dug in, she wandered past them, holding the tray high, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Through the entrance was a courtyard, surrounded by barrack rooms. Around twenty blokes stood in the middle of the square, stripped to the waist, practising with their swords. Rag watched for a bit, spellbound. She’d never seen soldiers act with that much control before, their swords moving as one, each cut and thrust timed to perfection. She was more used to dirty brawls on the streets, biting ears and pulling hair and gouging eyes. Best she’d seen someone use a blade was years ago down near the Rafts, and that had happened so quick it was over before it began. This was like watching a dance, only with less music and more danger.