Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

On the side of the carriage Winter and Jane were approaching, there were three thugs, plus the liveried coachman on the running board. One of the mercenaries took to his heels as soon as they emerged from cover, and the other two instinctively put their backs against the carriage and raised their cudgels. Winn was the first to reach them, armed with a long staff. It was obvious she’d done this sort of thing before; she came in with a yell, poking at the thug’s face, but when he came forward to meet her with a clumsy overhand blow she faded sideways and whipped the reverse end of the staff around into his ankles. He toppled with a screech, his weapon bouncing into the dirt.

Jane was not far behind her, ignoring both mercenaries and going straight for the carriage door. The second thug started to aim a swing at her back, but before it connected Walnut was on top of him. The big man grabbed the cudgel at the top of its arc and yanked it out of the thug’s hands, then hammered the mercenary against the carriage with one weighty fist.

By the time Winter had made it to the carriage, Jane had the door open. Steel gleamed in her hand as she did the trick with the knife again and dove inside, and an outraged shout swiftly turned into a scream. Winter spared a moment to look at the footman, who was clinging to the rail with his eyes closed and didn’t seem inclined to start trouble. One of the Leatherbacks had dragged the driver down from his box and taken the reins, trying to calm the skittish horses. Up the street, the sounds of the melee continued, although there was more wooden crashing now than shouting. The barricade squad was supposed to have run for it once they heard Jane’s whistle.

A man appeared in the carriage door. He was tall and thin, in an elaborate black suit with tails and silver threading, covered over by a voluminous fur jacket. His hair was wild where his hat had been knocked away, and the silver line of a knife gleamed at his throat. Jane’s face came into view beside him, grinning savagely.

“After you, most honorable sir,” she said. “But slowly, if you please.”

A round of cheers went up from the Leatherbacks. Winter noticed some of the mercenaries from the front of the column drifting back to see what was going on. She ran back to Jane, who was prodding Bloody Cecil down to the street.

“Come on,” Winter said. “If we don’t get them to call this off soon, people are going to get killed.”

“You’ll all hang for this!” said Cecil, who was not entirely current on events. “I am a duly credentialed enforcer of the king’s taxes! This is rebellion against the crown!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jane said, jabbing him hard in the ribs with her free hand. Cecil wilted. “You have no idea how much I would like to slit your throat right here. Now come on and say only what I tell you to say, you understand?”

Winter followed Jane toward the front of the convoy. The Leatherbacks had formed up between two of the carts, and the mercenaries were drifting into a rough line opposite them. A good deal of shouting was being exchanged, but thus far no actual blows. The thugs had the numbers, but they weren’t being paid to fight pitched battles. It didn’t help that Walnut was in the front line, hefting a stick the size of a fence post.

Jane pushed Cecil through the line, flanked by Winn and Walnut, with Winter bringing up the rear. A murmur ran through the mercenaries when they saw their employer in such a state. Jane’s grin widened.

“Listen up!” she said. “I want you all off the street in the next fifteen minutes. This expedition is over. Cecil, tell them.”

“Don’t listen to her!” Cecil shouted. “I am a knight of Borel! These scum would never dare harm me. Take them!”

Jane glanced at Winter and rolled her eyes.

“Do you know who I am?” she said. There were a few answering shouts from the mercenaries, but mostly silence. “These are the Leatherbacks, and I’m Mad Jane. Do you really want to tell me what I wouldn’t dare to do?”

More muttering, on all sides, and a long silence from Cecil. Walnut passed the time by bending his enormous cudgel between his fists, so the wood creaked ominously.

“I think,” Cecil said, “we had better do as she says. After all, she is a known and dangerous criminal. I think-urk!”

“That’s about enough,” Jane said. “Quiet.”

The thugs were already taking Cecil’s advice. Beating up helpless families, or even brawling in the open with drunken dockworkers, that was one thing, but bringing a fight to an armed gang that meant business was quite another. And, as Winter heard one of them point out, they wouldn’t get paid anyway if their employer had his throat slit. Better to make the best of a bad business and get out without anything broken. In a few minutes, the street was empty, except for a few groaning casualties.

For a moment, the Leatherbacks looked at one another in stunned silence, not quite able to believe the ease of their triumph. Then someone raised a weak cheer. It was followed by a more energetic shout, then another, until the whole street was roaring with victory. Winter found herself surrounded by a crowd of smiling, yelling men, trying to shake her hand or clap her on the shoulder.

“Someone needs to help the injured,” she said. “And we should probably make sure all those thugs have really gone.”

Her voice was drowned under the tumult. Winter shrank back from the adulation, but behind her were only more excited Leatherbacks, who gripped her arms and screamed excitedly in her ear. Winter bit her lip, so hard that she drew blood, and twisted the hem of her shirt between clenched fingers.

Jane came to her rescue.

“I don’t know about you ,” she shouted, cutting through the babble. “But I need a drink !”

A Leatherback named Motley, whose face was half-covered by a plum-colored birthmark, turned out to be the owner of a nearby watering hole. Casks of beer and barrels of wine were rolled out of the back room, an assortment of mugs and glasses were produced from somewhere, and the celebration commenced in earnest.

Winter was surprised to see the girls from Jane’s party joining in as heartily as any of the dockworkers. Some of the men looked a little awkward around these women-in-men’s-clothing, but the majority seemed to take their behavior in stride. Chris, pale face flushed red with drink, already had a small court of admirers attempting to match her drink for drink, and Winter had spied Winn dragging a blushing younger Leatherback up the stairs in the back to some private rendezvous. Becca was playing a knife-throwing game in the corner, and by the clink of coins and the groans of the spectators doing rather well.

In truth, Winter could have done with a drink herself. She had to think hard to remember the last time she’d been truly drunk-in Ashe-Katarion, with Bobby and Feor, the night before the city burned. She’d happily have split a bottle with Jane, but the presence of all these strangers made her too nervous to do more than sip from a mug of beer, which in all fairness was quite awful.

Jane herself barely indulged. She sat at a table near the door, fielding congratulations and enthusiastic, table-slapping declarations of eternal gratitude, but she kept glancing between the street outside and the door to the storeroom. The latter was where they’d stashed Bloody Cecil, bound and gagged. As for the former, she’d sent one of her girls running back to check with Min for news of Abby, and no messenger had yet returned. It was obviously preying on her mind.

Winter received quite a few congratulations, too. More than her fair share, as she saw it. Jane had put it about that the whole plan had been her idea, when in fact she’d only contributed the ruse with the barricade and the idea of grabbing Cecil himself to end matters quickly. And it’s not like that was a stroke of genius, either. Engaging an enemy in front while you turn his flank is about the oldest trick in the tactical book. If Janus had been here, no doubt he would have somehow argued Cecil’s men into laying down their weapons and turning out their pockets.