Herald of the Storm by Richard Ford
As Mountain leapt out into the blackness of the night, River did not pause. Planting his foot on one of the merlons he followed his brother, leaping into the void – only empty air between him and the ground a hundred feet below.
River heard the sound of smashing slate. Then a roof came at him out of the dark at frightening speed, his feet hitting the tiles, feeling them splinter beneath him. He just had time to notice the massive hole his brother had made in the roof before he toppled back towards the edge.
River grabbed wildly at some guttering, but it cracked and gave way, and he was falling again. His ribs smacked against something that briefly halted his descent before he landed heavily on the cobbles.
He couldn’t get his breath and foundered there a while, desperately trying to heave in a lungful of air.
A scream, a woman’s voice, and River barely had time to raise himself to a crouch before a huge wooden table came crashing through the window of the house. Mountain quickly followed it, his body battered and gashed from his fall. Yet he grinned as he bore down on River, who now rose with the strength of desperation.
Mountain swung in with two quick blows that River avoided. As he dodged aside he found his feet crunching on smashed glass and he deftly stooped, picking up a shard in his bare palm. The glass cut into his flesh, but rather a weapon that shed his blood than face Mountain unarmed.
His brother came in again, one mighty fist threatening to take River’s head off; but the two of them had fought many times before under the watchful eye of their Father. They had tested one another at length, and River knew that for all his strength, Mountain could never match him for speed.
River ducked, slashing twice with the glass shard, opening Mountain up across the abdomen in two matching red stripes. His brother grunted away the pain, clenching his fists and striking in again with a roar.
When they had been younger, boys barely grown, Mountain had once taken River in those meaty arms and beaten him until his eyes bled. River had known then that Mountain might one day end him and had vowed he would never be defeated by him again. Tonight he would honour that vow.
River twisted away from those lethal fists, using the momentum of his turn to power his strike. He planted the glass at the base of Mountain’s neck, snapping off the end only when it was far enough into the muscle and sinew.
His brother roared in agony, his fingers slick with blood, vainly trying to pull the glass from his neck.
As they both stood, heaving in gulps of air, River saw a glint of fear in his brother’s eyes, something he had never seen before. It filled him with satisfaction.
Without a word, Mountain turned and ran with surprising speed.
For an instant River almost considered letting him go, letting him return to their father with news that River lived and had betrayed him for the love of a woman.
But he knew he could not.
His father would not stop, and once Mountain’s wounds were healed he would be dispatched once more to kill Jay, and perhaps he would not be sent alone.
River easily followed his quarry; Mountain was leaving a trail of devastation, smashing people aside and crashing through abandoned boxes, lugs and handcarts.
They crossed an empty square, and River saw a bridge up ahead. He leapt up, planting his foot on a vendor’s dray to propel himself, then higher onto an outhouse roof. Up he climbed until he was at the first storey as his brother, now staggering, passed below him.
River leapt like a cat, dropping on his quarry from height. His brother collapsed beneath his attack, but came up fighting. River ducked a blow, planting his foot into the side of Mountain’s knee. He batted his brother’s grasping hand aside and punched forward, hitting that big thick neck with a fist powered by fury.
Mountain fell backwards, his head hitting the hard stone of the bridge as he collapsed to the ground. He was struggling, desperately clutching his throat, and River watched him wallowing in defeat, realising his father had to be sent a message.
Somewhere in the distance River could hear the sound of the militia shouting in pursuit.
Let them come … they would be too late, as they always were.
As his brother desperately tried to crawl away, River wrapped an arm around his neck, squeezing for all his might. Mountain’s grip was strong as he tried to pull himself free, but he would never be strong enough.
Steadily Mountain grew weaker, his grip slackening until lack of air caused his legs to buckle. Once his brother had sagged in his arms, River wrenched his neck sideways, giving a furious cry as the neck cracked.
He looked down at the lifeless body without pity or remorse.
When the militiamen reached the bridge, they would find nothing there but the broken corpse of a mutilated giant.
River would be gone.
THIRTY-EIGHT
There’d been little said once they returned to their house near The Black Hart. They’d killed some fella in the richest district of Steelhaven and didn’t have a pot of piss to show for it. What were they supposed to say?
Steraglio brooded in a corner. Every now and then he’d give Rag a dirty look; some of the dirtiest looks she’d ever seen, and they spoke all sorts of nasty. It was clear he blamed her for the robbery going tits up and she was sure he’d have shown her just how pissed off he was if Krupps hadn’t been around – though she weren’t Krupps’ favourite person either. He hadn’t spoke a word to her since they’d got back, not even looked in her direction.
Not that she minded. That night had shown her a side of him she hadn’t known about, didn’t like, and she was sure as shit didn’t want to see again. But then they’d all three of them been in on it, stabbing and kicking and punching the poor bastard till he was nothing more than a sack of bloody meat on the floor. Even Burney – big, dumb, brain-like-a-fried-egg Burney – had joined in when the killing started.
Rag wanted nothing more than to get out, to leave this place behind her, but she hadn’t. She’d stayed and suffered the shitty atmosphere and the shittier looks. Where would she have gone, anyway? Sitting in a house full of bloody awful tension, but with a roof over your head and food in your belly, was better than sitting in the rain with no roof and no food. Besides, there was still the question of the Guild. She hadn’t asked where they were on that: whether or not she still had a chance. She’d have to ask sooner or later. That was the whole reason she’d gone through with this in the first place. She wasn’t going anywhere until she’d at least managed to find out where she stood.
‘Who wants supper?’ Burney said, as they all sat around the small downstairs room.
‘How can you think of food at a time like this?’ Steraglio replied.
‘A time like what? Besides, doesn’t matter what sort of time it is, we’ve got to eat.’
‘Doesn’t matter what time … ? I’ll tell you what time it is: it’s time we were thinking about getting the fuck away from here. If the Greencoats don’t catch up with us then the Guild soon will. Too many people know it was us that did the job, so they’ll know it was us did the fucking murdering. When they find out where we live, they’ll come round here and hang us – if we’re lucky.’
The Guild? Why would the Guild come round? They’d already told her the Guild had sanctioned this. They had sanctioned this, hadn’t they?
‘How would anyone know where we are?’ Burney said, his brow creasing in confusion.
‘Because – you fucking idiot – people do. Coles was our man on the inside, gave us the job in the first place. He knows where we live. Westley – our Greencoated friend who works the gate to the Crown District – he knows our names and where we live. Everyone that goes in the Hart, they all know where we live too. But then it’s not easy for us to be discreet when we’ve got a big lumbering fuckwit like you in our crew!’
Burney’s brow furrowed even more. ‘Bollocks! It weren’t my fault everything went to shit. I wasn’t the one what untied him. And I got cut.’ He pointed to the crude bandage on his upper arm
‘No, it wasn’t you that untied him, was it.’ Steraglio looked at Rag, almost unable to contain himself.
‘All right, that’s enough,’ said Krupps.
Steraglio and Burney obviously wanted to continue their row but thought better of it. Krupps had settled into a black mood since the robbery. They clearly feared to provoke him.
It made Rag nervous. She’d thought Krupps wasn’t so bad. She’d thought he had a sweet spot for her too, which always helped. Now she didn’t know what to think.
‘Going on about it isn’t going to change anything. This whole thing’s gone to shit – but there’s always a way out.’ Krupps went back to staring at the ceiling, his handsome features framed by what little light was coming in through the window.
Rag suddenly felt she had to get out. What was she doing here anyway? There was nothing she could do to contribute, and she’d been cooped up inside since the failed robbery … if you could call it a robbery. If she slipped out, disappeared for a while, would any of them notice? Steraglio probably would; he’d have no one to glare at.
While the other lads sat in silence, Rag slipped towards the door. Just a few hours out in the fresh air. Then she’d come back and Krupps would have a plan.
She stopped when someone on the other side of the door knocked three times in quick succession.
They all looked up, held like rats in the beam of a lantern. Burney looked at Steraglio, Steraglio looked at Krupps and Krupps looked to the door.
No one looked at Rag.
Krupps nodded at Burney to answer it, and Rag saw Steraglio going for his knife. As the big fella went to the door, Krupps eyed the room for possible ways of escape. Rag suddenly felt ill and frightened. She wanted to be out the window and over the roof, but something made her stay. It was like her shoes were nailed to the floor, rooting her to the spot.
‘Who is it?’ Burney asked, his hand hovering near the door’s deadbolt.
‘It’s Coles,’ said a voice from the other side.
The lads seemed to relax a bit, so Rag did likewise.
Burney slid back the deadbolts at the top and bottom of the door and pulled it open.
Coles came flying into the room, knocking Burney backwards and over a chair. He was followed through the door by three … no, four of the biggest blokes Rag had ever seen. One of them set about Burney before he could get back up, smacking him again and again with a club covered in metal studs. Another went for Steraglio, who dropped his knife and held up his hands in surrender. It didn’t stop him taking a mighty whack to the arm and squealing like a girl.
Krupps just backed away, all slow and steady, affecting a smile. ‘What can we do for you, lads?’ he said, as the big blokes bore down on him.
One of them looked around the room impassively, his face lumpy and scarred like it had been whacked in by a woodsman’s axe.
‘Someone wants a word with you lot. I think you know what for.’
None of them protested.
‘It weren’t my fault, lads,’ said Coles, rising to his feet. He was a thin bloke, teeth all crooked and brown, his thinning hair lank and swept across his head in greasy clumps. ‘They knew who’d done it straight away. I swear I didn’t tell them nothing.’
‘Other than where to find us,’ said Krupps, but he didn’t look angry, and Rag reckoned he’d have done the same in Coles’ shoes.
‘Right, let’s go then,’ said the biggest thug.
Two of them picked up Burney, whose head was bleeding freely. As Steraglio and Krupps were hustled to the door Rag tried to meld into the corner, hoping in the confusion they might miss her.
Unfortunately, they didn’t.
A gesture with the big, studded club indicated that she should follow.
They were led through the streets. Weren’t no Greencoats this end of the city. Never around when they could be of use. The four of them, along with Coles, were ushered along, wrangled like livestock through the shadowy alleyways.
Several times Rag thought about doing a runner and not stopping till she was back at the Bull. What had she been thinking leaving her boys behind? Who did she think she was trying to get into the Guild, trying to make it big? She was a small-time picker off the streets. She should have known her place, should have kept her nose out. Now she was in shit deeper than she’d ever been, and with the Guild there weren’t no getting out of it, at least not with all the fingers and toes you started with.
They got to a doorway leading into a big old warehouse. More fellas waited for them, their faces mysterious and frightening in the uncertain light of lanterns and candles. On a crate in the centre sat a bloke smaller than the rest, mop of curly hair on his head, picking at his fingernails with a little knife. The five of them were all lined up in front of him, Burney now swaying dumbly as his head bled, Coles looking all nervous and fidgety.
The curly-haired fella looked up and smiled, like they was all there for a party, like he was dead pleased to see everyone.
‘Hello there,’ he said, white teeth shining in the lantern light. ‘Glad you could all make it.’ One of the thugs closed the big door behind them, and Rag began to feel like she couldn’t breathe, like all the air had left the room. ‘Do any of you know who I am?’
Coles looked along the line, then tentatively put his hand up. ‘Erm, yes, sir. I do, sir. You’re Mister Friedrik, sir.’
‘Indeed I am,’ said Friedrik, looking pleased that someone recognised him. ‘I’m Mister Friedrik. And you’re Coles, I know that. So who are the rest of you?’ He looked along the line expectantly.
The lads told him their names: Steraglio, Burney, Krupps; then it came to Rag. She looked up at the man, trying her hardest to hold back the tears. Should she play on that maybe? Should she hope he wouldn’t hurt a little girl, especially one that was blubbing her eyes out?
No. Even though Rag was scared to death she wouldn’t do that. She weren’t no coward …
‘Rag,’ she whispered. Either Friedrik had excellent hearing, or he didn’t care what her name was.
‘So, I guess you all know why you’re here?’
There was a pause as the five of them waited to see who’d be the first to speak. It was Coles that broke the silence, and not in a good way.
‘It wasn’t me, Mister Friedrik,’ he said, dropping to his knees. ‘I never wanted to. It was his idea.’ He gestured along the line at no one in particular. ‘They said they’d kill me unless I went along with it. I’ve got two kids, Mister Friedrik. Only bairns, they rely on me. Their mother’s sick. I had no choice. Please, Mister Friedrik …’
As Coles carried on with his begging, Friedrik glanced wearily to one of his men. The big bastard walked forward and smashed Coles over the head with that studded club. Rag could hear the crunch as it split his skull open, and he fell forward. She glanced to where Coles lay, a bloody mess, his eyes staring blankly. As much as she’d wanted him to shut up, she had to admit that had been a harsh way to do it.
‘Now,’ Friedrik continued as though nothing had happened. ‘This is all very vexing for me.’ He heaved himself off the box and began to pace in front of them. ‘I’m as eager to encourage business ventures as the next man. I don’t mind a bit of healthy competition. If someone wants to make a name for themselves then I say “good luck” to them. But you see, we had an arrangement with poor old Barnus. You could even say we were friends. So when someone comes in and shits all over the deals I’ve made, I have to make an example. I’m sure you understand.’ The lads nodded, but Rag was too scared to move. ‘Now, I’m nothing if not a reasonable man, so here’s the deal: I’m always looking for new blood. You’ve shown yourselves to be a bunch of forward-thinking go-getters. Shit, you must all have balls of steel to have done what you did without permission from me. So I’m willing to make a vacancy available in my organisation. Only one, though. So whichever one of you can bring me the heads of the other three gets to join my club. Feel free to start any time.’
&
He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Steraglio pulled a knife from his sleeve and stuck it into his neck. As he drew it out a stream of blood shot from Burney’s throat. He had enough time to clap a hand to the spurting hole before he collapsed with a bubbling grunt.
Steraglio turned, but Krupps was already moving, grabbing the wrist that held the knife and punching forward. They both went over, Steraglio pulling Krupps on top of him. Everyone just watched them.
The pair of them rolled around on the filthy floor, all the while that knife held desperately between them. Krupps got in a head butt, Steraglio bit into Krupps’ arm, and they both moaned and groaned and whined as they scratched and clawed at each other on the warehouse floor. It was vicious, like two wild dogs scrapping over a bone, and Rag felt herself growing sicker every moment.
Krupps’ strength eventually won out. He managed to roll Steraglio on his back, both hands on the knife, twisting it to point down at Steraglio’s throat. And now it moved so slowly, closer and closer, and Rag could see the panic in Steraglio’s eyes.
‘Wait,’ he said, his voice high and desperate. ‘Krupps, wait. Please, just fucking wait.’
Krupps didn’t. He pushed and pushed and the knife finally pierced Steraglio’s neck. Rag could see the blood, a trickle at first as Steraglio began to gag, then a flood from his neck and from his mouth as, with a final effort, Krupps shoved the knife in all the way to the hilt.
Steraglio continued to struggle, spitting blood as it bubbled out through his mouth, but Krupps just kept the knife there, waiting for his ‘friend’ to die. When he’d finally stopped moving, Krupps pulled out the knife and struggled to his feet, breathing hard. He looked at Friedrik, who stared back, unmoved.