Richard Ford - Lord of Ashes

‘Need to keep our heads down,’ she said to Yarrick. He just nodded his reply, looking on at the scene. He was nervous, fearful, but Rag doubted he could be any more scared than she was. They were delivering that parchment to someone at the other side of the Rafts and she wasn’t looking forward to finding out who.

The pair of them waited as long as they could until the crowd that was moving out of the shanty town thinned down to a trickle. For their part, the Greencoats seemed eager to have this business finished, and it was obvious there was something going down. Rag could only hope she had time to finish her own business before it all kicked off.

‘Let’s go,’ she whispered eventually, when it looked like there was enough of a gap in the bodies to make a move. The dark would give them cover enough to make it past the Greencoats but they’d still have to be careful. She didn’t fancy getting coshed over the head for her trouble. There was enough to worry about as it was.

Yarrick followed close as she struck out from the wall they’d been squatting behind. None of the people being evacuated gave them a second glance. Luckily, none of the Greencoats seemed to take much notice of anyone trying to get back into the Rafts, so concerned were they with ushering people out.

There were a few yards of open ground as Rag padded quietly over the rickety wooden platform that had been built across the river. Further on was a jumble of shacks to hide in if they weren’t quick enough to go unseen. Yarrick stayed with her every step, but he weren’t quite as light on his feet. In the quiet of night, if she’d been on the rob, that might have been a problem, but there was noise enough to cover their tracks from all the complaining and shouting going on.

When they made it behind the first wooden hovel they stopped, breathing deep from the run and the fear. Rag peered round the corner, relieved that no one had seen them. She looked up at Yarrick to see he looked just as nervous as ever. This was work he was unused to, and Rag began to wonder exactly what Friedrik — poor, dead fucker that he was — had employed him for in the first place. He was too nervy for a pincher, too scared for a strongarm, and certainly weren’t quick enough with his wits to be kept round for the laughs. Took all sorts, she supposed.

Patting him on the arm she moved further into the densely packed dwellings. The stink rose up and hit her nostrils — fishy and clammy and shitty all at once. Here and there the wood under her feet would creak and give a little, and more than once she thought she might go right through to the river below. Ignoring the fear rising in her heart with every step, they eventually made it to the midway point of the river.

Voices rose up here and there from within some of the buildings. Folk who’d ignored the Greencoats, no doubt; deciding to fuck authority and stay despite what they’d been told. Part of her admired them for it; she’d never been a fan of the Greencoats, after all. Another part of her thought they were just bloody stupid. There must have been some reason for the evacuation, even if it was just the threat of the Khurtas coming screaming across from the Old City. Either way, that weren’t her concern right now.

As she and Yarrick made their way further on, there was light up ahead. A lantern dangled there off a stanchion and for a moment, while she stared at that light just swinging in the breeze, she got a thought in her head.

Don’t you do it, Rag. You know what tends to happen when you get those thoughts. They’ve got you in as much shit as they’ve got you out, and Bastian ain’t the kind of bloke to fuck about with. When he’s given an order and it’s been disobeyed it never ends well for whoever’s done the disobeying.

Rag padded slowly towards the light until she was stood beneath it. She knew she was exposed here, but just couldn’t get that mischievous thought out of her head. Absently, her hand strayed to the inside pocket of her coat and she pulled out the letter Bastian had given her. She looked at Yarrick, who saw what she was doing. She reckoned he was too scared to care, because he said nothing as she broke the seal and took a look.

Even as she read she knew it was wrong, and when she saw what was writ on that little bit of parchment she mouthed a silent curse. Cursed Friedrik for teaching her those letters. Cursed her curiosity. Cursed herself for getting mixed up in such a shit of a business.

But she’d seen it now, and there weren’t nothing she could do about that. There just weren’t any unknowing something once you knew …

They were going to open one of the gates. In her hand was a message to the Khurtas telling them when and where: the Lych Gate on the following night. Bastian and the rest of the Guild were going to open a gate and let the Khurtas wander right into the city.

Rag stared at those words, reading them through a third time, just to make sure she understood right. There was no mistaking it. Surely this couldn’t be allowed to happen. Surely she couldn’t be the one to deliver a message to the Khurtas that would see gods knew how many innocent folk get slaughtered because of what she’d done.

So what you gonna do, Rag? You gonna lose that there message? You gonna pretend you delivered it and try to con Bastian into thinking the Khurtas are on the way? He’ll cut your throat if he finds out. Hells, he’ll most likely cut your throat just for the laughs, but if he gets a sniff you’ve gone against him he’ll kill you surer than shit, and it won’t be quick.

Rag rolled the letter back up and tucked it in her shirt. ‘Let’s go then,’ she said to Yarrick, before moving back off through the shacks.

The further they went through the Rafts the deader and darker the place got. There was no more chatting in houses, no more torches to light the way, and the wooden platform underfoot got slicker and more rickety with every careful step across the river they made. More than once Yarrick slipped on the greasy planks but to his credit he didn’t cry out and give them away.

Before long they’d almost made it to the other side of the river. There the Rafts petered out, joining the Old City, and Rag slowed up, peering through the dark for any sign of their contact.

‘What now?’ Yarrick asked, breathing hard. Despite the lack of light she could see his head glistening with sweat, even in the cold of the night.

‘How the fucking fuck do I know, what now?’ Rag answered, her own fear coming out as annoyance, not that she felt even a bit guilty for it.

The pair of them stood in the dark, just listening. From the north they could hear the sounds of battle. The night sky was lit up with fire and alive with screaming and shouting. As scared as she was, Rag was not a little relieved she weren’t stuck in the middle of that.

There was sudden movement from the Old City. Though they could hardly see in the black, it was obvious someone was coming. Rag froze, feeling Yarrick do the same as the figure walked close, not making a sound. She peered through the night but couldn’t make out any features. It could have been anyone, maybe someone from the Rafts or the Town, desperate and alone. Maybe they’d come tooled up and on the rob.

As the night was suddenly lit by a mass of burning arrows, Rag saw it weren’t no desperate robber.

The face was painted in a mask of black and white stripes, the eyes were deader than a fish’s, hair all shaved and tied back in a knot. He was naked from the waist up, body lean and painted just like his face, and in the brief flash of light Rag was sure she saw the glint of a blade.

She held her breath as the night darkened again. Yarrick was next to her; she could hear him breathing hard and it was obvious he’d seen the Khurta too. She only hoped he didn’t do or say anything stupid enough to get them killed.