‘Be grateful, bastard,’ Palien said. ‘I’d have gutted you and thrown you to the fucking fish.’
‘Careful,’ said Friedrik. ‘Mister Jacks has a tough few days ahead of him. What days he has left, that is. We wouldn’t want to see him injured before he’s had a chance to perform.’
With that Friedrik shot Nobul a grin, then signalled for the rest of them to follow him back upstairs.
Rag was about to join them when Nobul caught her eye. He looked at her from beneath a dark brow and she couldn’t tell whether he recognised her. She would have spoken but couldn’t think what to say.
Hello, remember me? You saved my life once. Any chance I can return the favour?
With the tiniest gesture Nobul shook his head. Rag backed away. Maybe he did recognise her after all.
‘Come along, Rag,’ Friedrik called from the top of the stairs. ‘Don’t want to be down there all alone with the dangerous animal, do you?’
She hurried up the stairs after him.
Yarrick slammed the trapdoor closed behind them as Palien and Friedrik went to sit back beside the fire to discuss their plans. Rag didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to have any part of this. She was already in well above her head. Nobul, or Lincon, or whatever his name was had helped her once, but what in the hells was she supposed to do for him now? He was caught, landed like a bloody fish. If she crept down there later and let him free no amount of smart chat and bullshit would cover her tracks. She owed him, but there weren’t a damn thing she could do.
Rag followed Yarrick into the kitchen where she heard hard and fast breathing from one corner. Essen and Harkas stood over fat Shirl. His shirt was off, rolls of fat bulging over his hairy waist. The lads were staring down at his back and from the look on Essen’s face what they saw weren’t too good. She walked closer, watching them.
‘He’s made a right mess of him,’ said Essen. ‘What do we do with him?’
Yarrick shook his head. ‘He needs a surgeon or an apothecary.’
‘Who’s got the money for that?’
Shirl looked up, his face a sweating red mass. ‘Friedrik’s got coin.’
‘Like he’s gonna pay for you,’ said Yarrick. ‘Why don’t you go and ask him, see if he doesn’t just finish you with another log.’
‘It … hurts,’ said Shirl. He looked in a bad way and it was obvious he’d only get worse if no one helped.
Rag fished in her pocket, feeling for the two crowns that Friedrik had made Palien pay her.
‘Here,’ she said, taking out one of the coins. ‘This’ll do, won’t it?’
Yarrick, Shirl and Essen all looked at her as she held that coin out like it was some wondrous treasure. Even Harkas eyed her funny, like there was some trick to it.
‘What do you mean?’ said Essen.
‘What do you think I mean? Take the fucking money and get him sorted out.’
Yarrick and Essen glanced at one another, then back at Rag.
‘Why?’ Shirl asked in between laboured breaths.
Rag stared at them like they had heads full of sawdust. ‘We’re a crew, ain’t we? We all got to look out for one another.’
Yarrick shook his head. ‘Yeah, but you’re …’
‘What?’ she said, getting annoyed that they were questioning her generosity. ‘Friedrik’s little pet? Fuck off, Yarrick, and take the money.’
He didn’t need any more persuading, reaching forward and plucking the coin from her outstretched hand.
With some difficulty, Essen and Yarrick picked up Shirl and struggled towards the door. As they bundled him outside she thought she heard one of them utter their thanks.
Rag felt good about that for all of about a heartbeat before she realised Harkas was staring at her. He looked down from that big hard head, his arms folded across his broad chest. She looked back, wondering what was going on in that brain of his — or what he had in place of a brain. Then she nodded at him as though they were mates now — as though they were crew.
It was worth a punt at least.
And Harkas nodded back.
Rag left the kitchen then. She should have been pleased with herself that she’d done some good for once. But all she could think of was a bloke chained down in the cellar that she couldn’t help, and no amount of crowns was going to get him out.
NINETEEN
The rain had stopped a little before dawn leaving the palace gardens sodden. Janessa loved the smell of the trees and grass after the rain, though only in the summer months. In summer, when the heat of the sun warmed the gardens, rain only intensified the sweet aroma of flowers and blossoms. Now, as winter was drawing in, all you could smell was mud. Nevertheless, she stood in the garden, furs pulled tight about her shoulders, and waited.
Azai Dravos being late to their meeting didn’t surprise Janessa. Already he was playing his game, manoeuvring his pieces. They both knew that Janessa was in the more vulnerable position; her king had already been taken after all. Normally that would signify an end to the game, but Janessa was determined to prove the queen could be just as powerful as anything else on the board.
Merrick and Kaira stood nearby as they always did. For once, their presence didn’t make her feel safe. This was a battle she would have to fight alone. There would be no sword and shield here, though the fate of the Free States might well depend on how the next few moments went.
Strangely, Janessa felt an overwhelming need for a weapon at her side. From the first time she had lifted the Helsbayn she had gained a comfort from its weight in her hands. If ever there was a need for it, surely it was now. For a fleeting moment she imagined wielding it in battle, charging at her enemy, blade held high, rallying her troops to her side.
Don’t be ridiculous. You are untrained. As if fighting men would rally to an untested girl.
Smiling at her foolishness, Janessa moved close to one of the statues in the garden. It depicted a handsome warrior, princely in his beauty. She had always liked it, even as a little girl, and had often wondered which of Steelhaven’s monarchs it depicted, though no one had ever been able to tell her. Now, as she stood in its shadow, she found herself hoping he would watch over her as she bargained with the man who might hold her city’s fate in his hands.
Dravos’ bodyguards appeared first, their matching red tunics almost gaudy against the muted colours of the leafless trees and topiary. They glanced about the gardens for any possible threat, then positioned themselves to ensure that when Azai Dravos appeared he could walk safely between them.
The envoy followed his bodyguards at a leisurely pace. He wore a black scarf tied tight around his head and a black robe billowing from shoulders to ankles. Dravos smiled as he approached, his olive skin glistening slightly in the sunlight. The dark liner about his eyes accentuated their piercing greenness, giving him something of a feline look.
He stopped before her, smiling and bowing low, all the while keeping his green eyes upon her.
‘Majesty,’ he said. ‘I must thank you again for granting me an audience — and in such pleasant surroundings. Skyhelm’s gardens rival any I have seen in all the palaces of the East.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘I hope your stay so far has been satisfactory. You and your companions have been well cared for?’
‘Like kings.’ He beamed at her, his teeth bright white against his tanned skin. ‘I have feasted in the palaces of sultans and emperors, and never before have I been treated as generously as I have at Skyhelm.’
She smiled graciously at his compliments.
All right, let’s dispense with the fawning pleasantries.
‘Azai Dravos, I am a plain speaker, as was my father. You well know what danger threatens my nation and its capital. You also know I require a substantial sum to defend them adequately. The Bankers League is in a position to offer that sum. I trust you are authorised to finalise dealings in this matter?’