A Tailor's Son (Valadfar) (16 page)

While Paul was becoming the second Rakta Ishvara to plague
Neeskmouth, Harold awoke early. He left the house while Muriel was
still asleep upstairs, his plan being to find a paperboy selling the Times
before the guard had even slept off their hangovers. The wind outside
was the coldest yet and the clouds threatened something worse than the
downpours Harold had grown used to in the past couple of weeks.
Their fluffy outer edges and the yellow colour promised snow. Hoping
it would hold off until he was back at Muriel’s house, Harold walked
past the few other early risers and beggars, the tall stone buildings
helping to shelter him from the harshest of the winds. The beggars had
lit fires burning whatever rubbish they could find in the streets to stave
off the cold and huddled around them like flies around a dung pile.
Above him, Harold could hear the wind testing the tallest structures,
nature battling against man. As Harold walked below he half prayed the
wind would send them toppling down onto him, an easy escape from
what Harold imagined he would soon be facing, but the huge stone
buildings had survived two wars with the Dragons, and the occupation
of the city, and it would take more than a strong wind to uproot them.

His daydreams occupied him and it was not long before
Harold found a young boy selling papers from within the archway of a
closed bakers. He did not call out as normal, no banter, and no shouts
in his pre-teen voice of what news had befallen the city. It seemed to
Harold that the bitter cold had managed to curb his vigour for selling
the few sheets of print, even with the residual heat escaping from the
cooling stoves inside. When Harold dropped the tuppence into the
boy’s hand, he muttered out with frozen thanks and stuck a rolled up
copy of the paper into Harold’s free hand. Harold left him to his
statue-like vigil over Meadow Road and walked to a secluded side street
close by. Shadowed and sheltered from the bitter cold, his only
company a couple of pigeons roosting above him, and a rather grumpy
and defiant looking rodent sat cleaning its tail on the spokes of a carts
wheel, Harold began to flick through the pages taking in the details of
William’s latest victims.

There had been another two prostitutes found dead, the
number of dead already creeping into dozens. Nothing else seemed
important at first glance. There was a poorly printed picture of John
Johnson, the lord mayor of Neeskmouth harbour and a puppet to
Malcolm Benedict. The article beside it went on to explain how he had
been proud to open Waters-edge barracks. Neeskmouth seemed to be
moving so fast it had left Harold behind. His family’s little summer
cottage seemed like a different world and Harold pined for it so much.
Disheartened, he crumpled the paper under his arm and made to return
to Muriel’s house. Still being no closer to finding William, Harold had
but one choice left. Harold had to read the guard record of the case and
for that, Harold would need Muriel’s help. He’d hoped that the
morning papers would have some magic solution to avoid the obvious
insanity of what he was going to do next.

Harold arrived back at Muriel’s home before ten o’clock. To
his surprise she was awake and answered the door quickly. It was a
surprise as neither of them had been sleeping properly. Harold had
hoped she would have rested in until at least noon, to make up for the
restless nights, and to ease the blackening bags that had begun to hang
under her eyes like aged leather saddlebags on an old donkey’s back.

“Where have you been? I’ve been worried.”
She said, before sliding
aside slightly, just enough to tease, forcing him to press too close than
was proper in order to get in again. Harold was sure it was on purpose
this time. He felt a small warm caress of breath against his neck as
Harold crab-walked his way past. Once free from the confines of the
entrance, Harold turned and waved his paper at her.

“I was just getting this. I thought it might give me some clue as to where
William is.”
Harold explained. Muriel shook her head and closed the
door a little harder than necessary. The aged wood creaked under the
sudden pressure before falling silent. If the woodworm lurking inside
the damp maple could talk, they would have told Harold that she was
not at all happy with his idea of going after William.

“
You’re still set on that idea, then?”
She said cupping her hands
and blowing into them to remove the chill that opening the front door
had created.

“What choice do I really have?”
Harold answered. The thought of
the summerhouse flashed across his mind once more. He could always
take Muriel with him, and then she would not even have to work again.
Harold could look after her. He wanted to be more than friends.
However, if he left with her, then it would leave his father and mother
at William’s mercy. He could not take the risk of the violent
monstrosity that had devastated the guard wagon and the Queens and
now countless poor lifeless girls across the city crossing paths with
them. If William was left to roam the city and Harold had turned and
run like the coward he felt he was, then he would never forgive himself
and besides, someone had to protect the other poor working girls.
Somehow, Harold had gone from being a junior tailor to a prostitute’s
hero overnight. He wondered, if he did vanquish this would-be demon
or renegade mage whether he’d get his own statue in Celebration
Square, but it did not take long for the image of the polished marble in
his imagination to warp to an old man holding a knitting needle. The
stone face warping to one of sadness and then of pain as the images of
the guard wagon took over and Harold could taste his own blood.
William stood triumphant in front of Harold’s cold lifeless face
grinning. Harold shook himself from the daydream before the fear
paralyzed him.

“
Honestly Muriel I would rather not have to face down a cold blooded
killer. I would much rather go back to working at my father’s shop but someone has
to do something and it seems I am the only one who knows who is really at fault. If
I run the guard will still be looking for me and while they waste their time many more
girls will end up dead.”
Harold voiced the explanation more for his benefit
than Muriel’s. Harold guessed that that is what really makes a hero. It is
not someone who is unduly brave. It’s not someone as strong as an ox
and fearless, a warrior fighting down hordes of enemies. It isn’t
someone who travels the world making a name that kings will
remember for generations to come. It isn’t even someone the bards
sing of. No, Harold knew, deep down inside, right there and then at
that moment, that a hero is someone who having no choice does the
right thing – regardless of how bloody idiotic it is.

“You have somewhere to go, if you were to run I mean?”
Muriel asked
and the question stumped Harold. The girl was quick; he had to give
her that.

“Yes and no, but that’s not the point. I have to do this
.” Harold said,
trying to shrug off the question. He daren’t say yes, if he told her about
the summer house and she wanted to go with him. As scared as Harold
was for the people of the city and his family Harold knew if she said she
wanted to run away with him he would have gone in an instant.
Muriel’s strong demeanour returned and she began walking towards
him. Harold wondered if she was as robust as she looked, or if it was a
front she put on enabling her to cope with her lifestyle and the slander
poured onto her by her clients. Muriel sighed, but beneath the
frustration on her face, Harold could see she was glad he had not taken
his chance to run away and had instead chosen to help her. As Harold
seemed to at almost every moment he spent with her, he thought of
what her story was and if anyone had been there to help Muriel before.
He wondered if he was the first to show her kindness or whether her
life had been a good one until something changed. He wanted to tell
her he’d give his life to making her happy but he didn’t know how to
find the words.

“
Come on, take a seat you’re making the place look untidy.”
She said
pulling out her chair around the table. Harold joined her, keeping his
chair back so things weren’t too cosy. Harold wanted nothing more
than to cuddle up with her, to break down and cry against her shoulder
but he had to be strong, if not for his sake then for hers.

“
Thanks for not running away, Harry. I need you around.”
Muriel
admitted, and the room fell silent. Before Harold had time to reply, not
that he had any words to use, she continued.
“So what have you learnt from
the paper?”
She said changing the subject and looking away, her gaze
staring out of the window into the world outside. Harold knew she had
spoken so quickly because she was not ready to hear the words they
both knew would have followed. Harold needed her too, and she could
tell, but instead of taking the chance to tell her how he felt they spoke
of William and the damnable newspaper.

“Nothing much at all really it was a waste of time, but I had to try.”
Harold said, shrugging his shoulders. “
Oh, there was one thing. The Water’s
edge barracks are open.
” Harold jested as it was the only thing he could
remember from the whole paper, purely because of the balding fat
faced lord that had stared out of the paper at him.

“So you think William’s there?”
Muriel said, as serious as a judge
in response. Harold had no choice but to actually laugh aloud,
something he had not done in weeks. It felt great and when Muriel
realised her mistake and joined him with a giggle the world seemed to
slow down and pause. Another spark for her fluttered through his heart
and Harold saw her bite her lip gently. They sat in silence for a few
moments, probably only seconds but with the tension between them it
may as well have been hours.

“
No, no I don’t”
Harold said with a smile. “
But I have an idea where
I might find out.”
Harold said, forced to re-focus. He wished things had
been different and he had time to investigate the tension further, but he
did not.

“Oh?”
Muriel’s brow wrinkled and sent a little line down her
nose no bigger than the width of a penny’s edge. It was the first time
Harold had seen it and he instantly adored it. He really had become
smitten.

Harold understood how silly it would have sounded if he had
told anyone that he had fallen for her so quickly. Even crazier was the
thought that she seemed to mirror his affections. It was the stress they
both were going through, each second felt like days and they both
knew that the end for them may be closer than ever. It made them
shake off the normality of thought and let their hearts make the orders
for their bodies to follow. It was instinctual, beyond the control of
thought or logic. He knew he should not have spared a thought for
loving her and should have been shocked and horrified by everything
that had happened, but he wasn’t. It helped to think that the growing
feelings for each other kept them from having nothing but horror in
their lives. If he didn’t have Muriel to fight for then Harold could not
see how he would have kept his sanity. No, it was love that kept him
going. That love, that drive was what gave him the strength to say the
words that came from his mouth next.

“
I need to break into the guard station. They’ll have the case notes there.”
Harold explained. Muriel’s face dropped. She blinked a couple of times
and her mouth fell open, as a fish starved of water.

“
Are you mad
?” She asked, leaning forward in her chair. If they
had had the money for strong drink, Harold was sure she would have
downed the bottle at that point.

“It’s the only way and I need your help.”
Harold said, hating himself
for having to ask, but he had no idea how he could manage it alone.
The same guppy-like expression mixed with one of anxiety occupied
Muriel’s face for a while before she relaxed into the strong woman
Harold had come to know. The fire that drove her forward blazed and
she spoke with a refreshed determination that still shocked him.

“What do you need?”
She asked coolly. She really did amaze him
with just how quickly she adapted to any situation and Harold almost
felt embarrassed at how weak he seemed in comparison.

“I don’t know yet. We need to get inside the station somehow and read the
reports.”
Harold said, feeling a little foolish that he didn’t actually have a
plan on how to achieve it.

“
For Sacellum sake, Harry, this is madness!”
Muriel exclaimed and
she was right. Harold had never paid much attention to the guard
station and had no idea of how to break in, or where to go once he
succeeded.

“
Madness or not, I have to do it. Will you help?”
He said and to his
relief Muriel nodded in reply. Together they spent the day sat at the
table, making plans to get into the station.

His savings wearing thin, and the trip into the market more
risky than it was worth, had meant only two pots of tea and a whole day
later they had come up with a plan. It was risky but they thought it
would work, although it relied heavily on the incompetence of the city
guard. During their discussions Harold remembered they had taken in
an order by a junior constable a couple of days before everything had
gone so very wrong. He had been around the same build as Harold,
maybe a little fatter but with a few quick adjustments his uniform
would fit him. Harold left Muriel’s almost straightaway to begin work
on it. While Harold hid in the back of the tailor’s shop, busily amending
the uniform, Muriel was, much to his disgust, out working the streets.
It was risky and Harold hated the idea of it, but at least she was not in it
for her normal few pence. She was after a guard officer, or his badge to
be exact. They met back at hers around noon and she had been
successful in getting the brass shoulder buckles from the officer’s
uniform. Harold did his best not to think of how she did it. Harold
changed quickly, pulling the whole uniform together. The long blue
coat, crisp and firm around him, its brass buttons done up to the neck.
The shoulder pieces slipped under the lapels on his shoulders. Harold
reached for his top hat from his bag of belongings and was ready to go.
The plan was simple, Harold would pretend to be a guard officer and
Muriel would play herself. They would simply walk straight in the front
doors and head towards the cells. Once out of sight of the officer on
the front desk, they would then begin looking for the files.