Simon Levack - Shadow of the Lords

Either of them might well be right, I thought, but hired guards tended to sit or lounge, dozing peacefully, against a handy wall, rather than standing, alert and ready for action, in the centre of a path. And robbers and their lookout men did not run like a jaguar after a deer when there was no one pursuing them. They did not wear their hair piled up on their heads and flowing over the backs of their necks, either, but neither of my escorts seemed to have noticed that.

They caught up with us just short of the Governor’s palace.

Shield poled the canoe slowly along a broad waterway in the shadow of one of the marketplace’s outer walls. The distant rumble I had heard before had become as loud as thunder over the mountains, or perhaps a waterfall: a continual babbling, a sound made up of many smaller sounds that caught the ear a thousand different ways without ever increasing or diminishing.

‘Hold your noses,’ he advised us. ‘This is where they moor the dung boats.’

Upright and I both looked ahead. We were passing scores of vessels filled with the contents of the city’s privies and brought here for sale to parishes, landowners and makers of dyestufl’s.

‘Not surprising there aren’t many people about, is it?’ Shield went on nasally. It was nearly the warmest part of the day. I was breathing through my mouth and I thought the air even tastedfoul. I did not want to dwell on what it must be like in high summer.

‘Look out!’ Upright shouted suddenly. A canoe had appeared in front of us, blocking our way. It looked as if it had been launched from the side of the canal straight into our path.

‘What’s he doing? Move that thing, you idiot!’ yelled Shield, but the last word died in his throat as he had a clear look at the other craft’s only occupant.

This time there could be no mistaking his occupation. If his green costume and his hair had not given it away, the deft, familiar way he handled the sword in his fist would have done. He was using it to motion us towards the bank with a curt, slashing gesture.

The captain and his men stood in a semicircle by the side of the canal.

‘What do we do?’ Shield whispered.

‘What he says,’ Upright muttered tensely. He glared at me. ‘You know anything about this?’

I said nothing. I was speechless with terror.

‘Well, hello, stranger.’ The living half of the captain’s face twisted into a lopsided grin as he caught sight of me. ‘I was afraid we wouldn’t meet again!’

‘Now look …’ Upright began.

‘Shut up. Out of the boat, the lot of you.’

Upright swore under his breath, but complied. Shield and I had no choice but to follow him. The captain and his men formed a semicircle around us as we scrambled ashore.

I stood at the very edge of the canal, with the policemen on either side of me. At that moment they felt like my only protection.

‘What do you want?’ Upright demanded.

‘Him, of course.’

‘On whose authority? He’s going to the Governor. If his Lordship tells us to hand him over to you, you’re welcome to him, but …’

‘This is my authority.’ The captain lifted the wicked, four-bladed sword I had seen him with earlier and jabbed Upright in the stomach with its blunt end, just once and not hard, and then raised it further so that the blades glittered in front of the policeman’s eyes. ‘You do what it tells you, see? Sod the Governor!’

What Upright did then was instinctive. If he had thought about it, even for a moment, he might have lived, but it all happened instantly, and by the time I saw what he was about it would have been too late to intervene even if there were anything I could do.

He raised his right hand towards his shoulder, where he wore his sword slung over his back.

He was dead before his fingers could so much as brush the weapon. Fox’s blade took him with a casual backhanded slash across the stomach. For a moment Upright just stood, watching, with a bemused look on his face, while his guts spilled out in front of him, and then he made an odd belching noise, blood gushed from his mouth and he fell over.

Two warriors had Shield’s arms pinioned behind him before he could move. He seemed unable to speak. He stood staring down at his chief’s body, open mouthed, the colour draining from his face even as I watched.

‘Fox,’ the captain said, ‘you are so clumsy Who’s going to clear up that mess?’

Shield was still struggling to find his voice. ‘You …’ he gasped.

‘Forget it.’ The captain thrust his brutal, ravaged face into the policeman’s. ‘Sorry to hear about your colleague’s unfortunate accident. The Chief Minister sends his condolences. It’simportant you remember that. “Accident” and “Chief Minister” — got it?’

Shield made a noise that the captain was obviously willing to take as assent, as he turned to me.

‘Now, as for you.’

He raised the four-bladed sword. I watched the glittering black razors set into its edges, one by one, as they swept past my face on the weapon’s upward swing. I felt my stomach lurch and I squeezed my eyes shut to spare myself the sight of the blow coming.

Nothing happened.

I opened my eyes again.

The handle of the weapon ended in a heavy wooden knob. That was the last thing I saw, filling my vision as it was driven down between my eyes like the head of a mallet, before everything went dark.

My head was an ear of maize. The back of it lay on a grinding-stone and someone was bearing down on my forehead with a stone roller. My skull was the husk they were going to split as their hard surfaces scraped against each other.

I screamed, rolling over to escape the stones’ relentless pressure, and my face came up against a sandalled foot.

‘Ah,’ said a voice I knew and hated, an old man’s voice that I had somehow hoped I might never hear again, ‘he’s awake.’

‘I said he was, my Lord. I know how hard I hit him. He was shamming.’

‘Well, perhaps.’ The old man heaved a regretful sigh. ‘So hard to get reliable slaves, these days.’

‘Would you like me and my boys to teach him to behave himself?’ The sound of a man with not much more than half a mouth smacking his lips with relish is not one I would wish to hear again.

‘Thank you, Captain.’ The old man paused, no doubt wanting to let the Otomi’s suggestion work its way through my brain and down into my guts before continuing. ‘However, I think I would just like you to get him on his feet for now. Then why don’t you and your men have something to eat? You must be tired and hungry after your search. I’ll send for you if this slave needs … well, if I want anything further.’

‘Thank you, my Lord. You’re too kind.’

The captain’s way of getting me on my feet consisted of grasping me around the throat, which he could easily do with one massive hand, and yanking me upright. I made a strangulated noise while my feet danced about, looking for the floor. My eyes opened but everything was a blur, slightly tinged with pink.

‘If you don’t stand up,’ the big warrior hissed, ‘you’ll choke.’

I managed to get both feet on the ground. They could just about reach it, but it took some of the pressure off my neck. That felt stiff and sore, even when the hand released it to leave me standing, unsupported, swaying slightly but still upright.

My stomach made an unpleasant sound.

‘I advise you not to throw up in front of Lord Feathered in Black, Yaotl,’ said another voice portentously. ‘You’re in enough trouble already’

I turned my head slowly towards the speaker and forced my eyes to focus on him. My master’s steward, Huitztic the Prick, was squatting a few paces away, his eyes respectfully downcast in our master’s presence. He looked strange, and after a moment I saw why. Partly faded, yellowing bruises covered his arms and legs, and the ear I could see was badly swollen.