Richard Ford - Herald of the Storm

When he looked down her eyes were still closed, her body still reeling in delight. Merrick held her close, feeling her trembling in his grasp. She had fallen for him like a suicide off a cliff and perhaps he should have felt guilty for that. Then again, he was providing a service; he was giving her everything she wanted — passion, excitement. And what did he ask in return? A coin purse here, a spot of jewellery there. Was that too much to ask?

It wasn’t as if she couldn’t afford it, and plainly his need was the greater.

A penchant for the gambling tables had left Merrick Ryder with rather large debts, owed, unfortunately, to Shanka the Lender. It didn’t do to owe Shanka for too long. Not if he wanted to keep his various appendages intact. Consequently he needed coin and fast, and that was where Lady Elina came in.

So what if he’d told her his name was Lord Franco of Riverbeach, a noble from Ankavern cast out by his evil uncle? So what if he’d made up some shit about having a brother who had been helping the brave rebels of Mekkala overthrow the despotic Raj Al’Fazal, Divine Sultan of Kajrapur? So what if he’d told her his brother had been captured by the Sultan and a substantial ransom was needed to secure his release? And that they needed to meet in secret? That the agents of the Sultan were everywhere, watching, waiting? That at any minute they could be waylaid by assassins and slaughtered?

Lady Elina was a widow — a filthy rich widow, past her prime and in need of excitement. If it wasn’t for Merrick she’d be stuck on her estate: bored and fat and lonely. If you looked at it that way, he was doing her a favour.

‘You are so brave, my lady,’ he said, pulling away. ‘So selfless. I am not worthy of you.’ He turned as though to leave.

When she grabbed hold of him once more he could barely contain his grin. It was just like landing a fish — let out the line, wait for the bite, then reel it in.

‘Never say that, Lord Franco. I am honoured to help in any way I can.’

He turned to her, his eyes projecting just the right degree of concern and gratitude. ‘Oh, my lady. I am not worthy of such devotion.’

‘Oh, but you are, my lord.’

She leaned in then, grasping the lapel of his jacket and planting her lips firmly against his. Merrick barely had time to open his mouth before she’d stuffed it with her probing tongue. Her breath smelled faintly of wine and figs but this was mostly overpowered by the liberal dousing of sickly sweet perfume she had used. Despite the harshness of it on his nose and throat, Merrick grasped her firmly, pressing back against her lips, making a satisfied groan as though this was all he wanted and yearned for.

When the kissing was done and Lady Elina had gathered herself, Merrick looked at her expectantly, glancing at the myriad jewelled chains that hung about her neck. ‘Though it pains me to even say it, my love, might I beg for a further contribution to our cause?’

She smiled back at him, as she had done a dozen times before. A dozen times when she had taken one of those chains from her neck and pressed it into his hands with a kiss.

This time, however, she didn’t move.

‘This has been most pleasant, Lord Franco — if that’s even your real name — but I am afraid, as with most pleasurable things, it has come to an end.’

Merrick’s brow furrowed. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. She was supposed to hand over the goods and send him off on his merry way. What the fuck was-

‘I am afraid, my lady, that your suspicions were correct. His name is not Lord Franco.’ It was a shrill voice that echoed through the derelict chapel.

Merrick turned, his hand instinctively straying to the sword at his side, but there was no sword there. He’d needed money for his new clothes — for how was he to impress a real noblewoman if he kept turning up in the same attire — and had to pawn his blade for the money to pay for them.

In hindsight a bloody stupid move.

Three men strolled into the light that beamed down through the collapsed roof. The first two wore plain black coats, nicely stitched. They looked as if they could handle themselves in a fight. Behind them was a skinny bloke, well past middling years, in a frilly shirt and frock coat and, obviously, a wig on his big, wide head.

Merrick was already looking for the quickest exit but there was only one way out and that was blocked. He was about to try talking, the next best thing, when Lady Elina piped up, ‘Why, Ortes. How good of you to join us.’

Ortes, the one at the back, raised his head but didn’t bother to step in front of his men. ‘It’s my pleasure, Lady Elina.’

Merrick had no idea what was going on, but didn’t like it one little bit. It was time to start talking … just until he could start running.

‘I’m afraid I am at a loss,’ he said, taking a step away from the man Ortes and his dangerous-looking companions. ‘The lady and I were just conducting-’

‘I know what you were conducting. And I know you’re no nobleman,’ said Ortes. ‘You’re a back street chancer. A swindler, thief and gambler … Merrick Ryder!’

‘Preposterous! I have no idea what this man’s talking about,’ Merrick said to Elina quickly, desperate to salvage the situation, even though it was obvious he’d been rumbled. ‘Who is this man, anyway?’

Before she could answer, Ortes finally found the courage to step out from behind his men, raising his chin and clamping his hands on his hips as though some hero of legend.

‘I am Ortes Ban Hallan, Duke of Valecroft, and that,’ he pointed to Elina, ‘is my beloved aunt!’

‘Ah,’ said Merrick. ‘Well … I can assure you, this is not what it looks like.’

‘Shut it,’ said one of the black-coated henchmen, taking a threatening step forward. Merrick had never regretted pawning a sword so much in his life, but he did as he was told.

‘You see, my dear,’ said Elina, all smiles and sarcasm. ‘I’ve had my doubts about you for some time. That’s why I had you followed. That’s why my nephew has been checking up on you for the past few days.’

Merrick turned to her, at his most solemn and sincere. ‘I can assure you, my lady, this is all an unfortunate misunderstand oooff- ’

The closest henchman punched him in the gut. It was like being hit with a hammer: all the air in his lungs escaped in a violent rush.

‘No more of your lies,’ spat Ortes as Merrick dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. ‘Get him out of here — make sure he never bothers Lady Elina again.’

Before Merrick could move the eager thugs grabbed hold of him and dragged him across the crumbling floorboards.

This couldn’t be happening. How could that old trout have rumbled him so easily? How could he have been found out by a pompous, overdressed sow? Curious though he was to know, this wasn’t quite as pressing as getting himself out of his current and worsening predicament.

The interior of the chapel lurched past as Ortes’ henchmen dragged him along. Merrick’s head slammed against the threshold step as they pulled him into a back street. As he floundered in mud, his head pounding, one of them got in an opportunistic kick to his ribs.

This was getting serious. If he didn’t think of something soon these morons could do some permanent damage, perhaps even to his face. And he was happy with his face just the way it was.

As though on cue, one of his assailants pulled a knife from his black coat.

‘Now I’m gonna fucking slice your guts. It’ll be the last time you take advantage of kindly old ladies.’

Merrick held up his hands instinctively as the knife came down to slash his flesh. He cried out in anticipation of the pain and blood; but they never came. Hearing a sharp thud, he opened his eyes in time to see the knife man collapsing sideways, blade falling from limp hand. Beside him was a hulking brute Merrick didn’t recognise, carrying a wooden cosh that he’d just used to good effect.