The Bloody Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (7 page)

The four of them raced down towards the bustle and light of the main road, strides lengthening as they sensed a way out of the dark maze.

But three figures emerged out of a doorway and formed a line across the laneway, long knives in their hands.

Fallon stopped immediately, his friends a step behind him. Unlike the cloaked ones who had obviously followed them to the Duchess’s house, these were dressed all in black, with some kind of tight-fitting black hood over their face. They did not seem particularly large, but their silence and the long, curved knives they held in each hand were menace enough.

“Do we try to talk to them?” Devlin whispered.

“Bugger that,” Fallon said, and raised his crossbow and sent a bolt thumping into the chest of the middle one, the sheer force of it knocking the figure back, spinning it around and sending it to its knees.

Fallon grinned mirthlessly at the remaining two as Gallagher and Devlin brought up their crossbows.

But his grin faded as the one he had knocked down bounced back to his feet and rejoined the others. He reached down and plucked the crossbow bolt out of his chest, tossing it away.

“Not this shite again,” Gallagher breathed. “More of these boggers that just won’t die.”

“What do we do?” Brendan asked.

“Run!” Fallon cried.

They turned and tore back down the alleyway, even Brendan putting on a respectable turn of speed.

“Back to the Duchess’s house!” Fallon called.

“Which way is that?” Gallagher cried as they turned down yet another identical-looking alleyway. “I can’t get my bearings!”

Fallon glanced up but the sky was thick with cloud – no chance of seeing the afternoon sun. He looked over his shoulder to see the snatchers were chasing them. And not just chasing but gaining on them. The creatures they had destroyed in the Guildhouse had been slow-moving and shambling. These were the opposite.

“Hurry!” he cried.

The four of them sped up. They rounded a corner, bouncing off the opposite wall and using it to push themselves onwards, boots skidding on the rough and slippery cobbles. By contrast, the snatchers seemed to float across the ground.

Brendan was leading the way, arms swinging in all directions and his heavy hammer going with them. They had to stay a pace behind to avoid it. But while the other three could have gone faster, the big smith was built for power, not speed. Within a hundred yards, it was obvious they could not outrun the snatchers. Brendan was gasping for breath.

“Get out of it. I’ll hold them off,” Brendan gasped, slowing to a walk. “By the time they get past me, you’ll be clear. Just look after Nola and—”

“Don’t be a bloody idiot,” Fallon said. “We don’t leave you for anything.”

He hauled back on his crossbow string, reloading swiftly as the three snatchers slowed down, advancing carefully, ominously, not showing any signs of exertion, knives held out before them.

“How can we kill them? They just keep coming!” Gallagher hissed.

“We’ll hit them again. I’ll take the center one, Dev take left, Gall the one on the right,” Fallon ordered, snapping a quarrel into his bow.

“Loose!”

The three bolts streaked away. The snatchers were barely ten yards away and impossible to miss. All three bolts struck and all three went down – then bounced right back again.

“What now?” Devlin asked.

Fallon tossed his crossbow aside and produced one of Brendan’s throwing knives from his belt. The big smith had stripped the leather and wooden hilts away, leaving something unbalanced but pure metal.

“Let’s see if these things work,” he said.

He took a step forward and hurled the knife, which spun once, thudded onto the chest of the central figure and bounced away.

“And now?” Devlin asked, his voice betraying his fear.

Fallon pulled out his shillelagh. “We fight,” he said grimly.

He watched the snatchers advance slowly and could not stop thinking about Bridgit and Kerrin. It could not end like this. They had been ready for any normal attack but not this. He hoped Padraig was watching but could not spare the time to look up for a bird overhead.

The lead snatcher jumped high, covering the five yards between them in one effortless leap. Thoughts of his family vanished as Fallon reacted instinctively. He punched out his shillelagh, left and right, blows so fast they were hard to follow. Yet the snatcher swayed aside easily and swiveled, kicking out to sweep Fallon’s legs away.

He flipped over and hit the ground with a thud and a groan and tried to roll away from the blow he knew must be coming.

But the snatcher never had the chance to deliver it. Gallagher waded in, a gutting knife in each hand, the pair of them even longer than the blades the snatcher held. He slashed right and left, high and low, forcing the snatcher to step backwards.

But the snatcher never looked in any danger, and his companions didn’t move to support him – they stood motionless, just watching. Gallagher’s blows cut only air as the snatcher ducked and blocked with his own knives, deflecting Gallagher’s away with ease. Then he sliced back, his hands moving blisteringly fast, and Gallagher had to throw himself backwards to avoid being cut open. His arms went wide and the snatcher pivoted on one foot to kick him in the chest and knock him flying. Gallagher hit the wall and dropped his knives before falling to the ground.

“Bastard!” Devlin had a sword and dagger and he thrust with the sword, only for the snatcher to melt away, knock his sword hand wide and stab back at his throat. Devlin threw up his dagger desperately and knocked the death blow aside, so it merely nicked his shoulder rather than burying itself in his neck. But if the snatcher was disappointed he did not show it. He just stepped inside Devlin’s next thrust and rammed his elbow into his jaw, spinning the farmer around and down.

“Looks like it’s just us,” Brendan said, hefting his hammer.

He swung the huge weapon in a wide blow, forcing the snatcher to jump backwards. But then the snatcher darted forwards, trying to get within the swing of the hammer before Brendan could strike again. The big smith swayed back from a gutting blow of a knife and tried to bring his hammer around, but it was too big and slow and the snatcher was too fast. He raised his other knife and paused for a moment, as if enjoying the moment contemplating how to kill Brendan.

Then Fallon swept out his shillelagh at ankle level, not even trying to get to his feet, slamming it into the back of the snatcher’s heels.

The snatcher stumbled but managed to regain his feet and spun, cat-quick, knives reaching out for Fallon. But he had turned his back to Brendan, who needed no second invitation. His hammer swept around in a massive blow that smashed the snatcher from his feet and flung him into the wall, his head flopping at a strange angle, his shoulder grotesquely smashed from the impact.

Fallon rolled to his feet and checked the other two snatchers, but they were still motionless, and reacted not at all to the collapse of their leader. Gallagher and Devlin got up too, picking up their weapons. Warily, the four of them approached the fallen snatcher. Fallon jabbed him with the end of his shillelagh but there was no movement. He used the staff to flip the snatcher over, revealing a head flattened in and wobbling on a broken neck. There was no movement and the snatcher was leaking blood and brains through a huge tear in the black hood that had covered his face.

“Is it dead?” Gallagher asked.

“Don’t know. But let’s make sure. Hit him again,” Fallon told Brendan.

The big smith took a step forwards and swung his hammer once more, flattening the snatcher’s head and spraying the wall behind with blood, brains and teeth.

The body twitched but did nothing more.

Fallon faced the other two snatchers, still unmoving.

“So they’re not like those other creatures. They can be killed without fire,” he said triumphantly. “Let’s get these boggers.”

He thought the snatchers might run but instead they moved forwards, knives at the ready.

“Knock them over and we’ll finish them off,” Fallon told Devlin and Gallagher. “Use the crossbows.”

As his friends frantically tried to reload their weapons, Fallon held his shillelagh at the ready, trying to keep the snatchers at bay. They had to be afraid of Brendan’s hammer, he reasoned.

But these two showed no emotion at all, let alone fear, and were just as fast as the other one and twice as dangerous, because there was no playing with them. Fallon gave ground before them, using his staff to punch out at their heads, trying to stay away from their knives and feet.

They slashed and cut and sparks flew from the end of his shillelagh when they struck its iron tip and Fallon was horribly reminded of the time he had taken on Eamon and been humiliated. He did not have Hagen to save him this time, either.

But he did have Gallagher and Devlin. They reloaded and both loosed at the snatcher on Fallon’s right. Struck by two bolts, the snatcher went down like a sack of potatoes. Instantly Fallon thrust his staff at the other’s face, checking his advance for a moment.

It was all Brendan needed. He stepped out from behind Fallon and swung his hammer in a brutal arc at the fallen one. The snatcher was trying to get back to his feet but the hammer landed with a sickening crack on his back and sent him writhing to the cobbles. Brendan swung the hammer again and pounded the stricken snatcher’s head flat, the iron head of the hammer ringing against the cobbles.

“Now there’s just one,” Fallon said, advancing on the final snatcher.

The figure backed away a little, crouching, and Fallon wondered if he would run for it – and how they could hope to catch him if he did.

Instead the snatcher jumped high in the air, foot lashing out towards Fallon’s head. Fallon reacted instinctively, shillelagh whipping out to crack into the snatcher’s knee as he slipped away.

The snatcher landed lightly, but then his knee buckled under him and he went down. Fallon slammed the end of his staff into the back of the snatcher’s skull, bouncing it off the cobbles, then Brendan swung for a final time, almost ripping the head off with the force of the strike.

The four of them looked at each other and the three bodies, panting with the exertion and the reaction to the chase through the alleys.

“What the bogging hells were they?” Brendan asked, speaking for them all.

“Was it a trap or a test? It’s almost as if we were being matched against them,” Gallagher said.

“Well, if this is some game of Aidan’s, let’s change the rules,” Fallon said. “Let’s see how they were able to shake off a crossbow bolt.”

He kneeled down by the first one and used one of Gallagher’s knives to slit open the strange black tunic the snatcher wore. He swore softly.

“What is it?” Devlin asked.

Fallon tore the fabric open so all could see. “He has some sort of armor here but that surely can’t be all, for there are rents in it.” He probed the metal links with his borrowed knife. It felt different from chain mail, much finer, lighter and better forged, but no chain could stop a crossbow bolt at that distance. He ripped more fabric and then hauled up the vest of mail to reveal the snatcher’s skin.

“It looks like wood or something,” he said aloud, poking at it with the knife. Sure enough, it resisted the knife tip. It felt like he was poking at a piece of firewood. “What could do this to a man?” he wondered aloud.

“Nothing good, I’ll warrant,” Gallagher said.

“But why this elaborate scheme to have them ambush us? What game is Aidan playing? Does he merely intend to torment us until putting us out of our misery? And is Dina in on it?” Fallon growled.

“At least he let us out of the rooms for a while to get some fresh air,” Brendan said with a shaky laugh.

Fallon snapped his fingers. “Aye. We are out. So let’s use that. My gut tells me the snatchers have a hideaway around here. We check if there are any empty homes and go knocking.”

“What if there’re more of them inside?” Devlin asked. “And what of the men who followed us from the castle?”

“We’ll use Brendan’s hammer to do the knocking,” Fallon said grimly. “And they learn there is something scarier than the snatchers out there. Us.”

Bridgit looked out across the city of Adana and unconsciously rubbed her hand across her stomach. Each day was getting slowly easier to deal with. Every time despair attacked her, she fought back by thinking about escape and returning to Kerrin and Fallon. A never-ending parade of children wanting attention helped as well. The nights were harder, but she had a plan to help there.

She had spent two days examining what Ely did and said, while taking every opportunity to speak with her, to see if she could catch the young woman out. But it all seemed as though Ely was the answer to their problems.

“Ely, tell us about the other Gaelish around,” she said.

“There are more of us. I don’t know how many but this is not the first time I have been used to translate for Kottermani with Gaelish slaves,” Ely said steadily.

“Where are they now?” Bridgit asked, liking the way Ely called the Gaelish “us”. “These other Gaelish?”

“A few would be in Adana, the rest scattered around the Empire. Most are not like you,” Ely said.

“Few are, my dear,” Nola said with a bark of laughter.

“No, I mean you are families and have children. The ones I have come across before, they are usually single men or women. The men tell me they were taken from fishing boats, the women were usually sold.”

“Sold? Who would sell a woman?” Riona asked indignantly.

“The brothel who owned her,” Ely replied.

Bridgit sighed. It sounded like the slaving had been going on for years – many years, if Ely was anything to go by.

“Did you ever meet a nobleman? He would have called himself the Duke of Lunster,” she asked urgently. “He would have demanded to speak to a high-ranking Kottermani.”

“I have never heard of anyone like that,” Ely said with a shake of her head. “But perhaps he is elsewhere.”

“He was the one who started all this. I think if we could but find him, we could get some answers,” Bridgit said, with a touch of frustration.

“Let’s worry about getting out of here first,” Riona suggested.

“So what will happen when my people are put up for sale as slaves? Will they stay around here, so they can still see their children?” Bridgit wondered.

Ely shook her head. “That will not happen. They will be sent all over the Empire and will never see these children again. And once the children reach sixteen summers, they will also be sold and sent away.”

Bridgit looked at her friends. “Then we have our time. We must get out of here before our people are scattered to the four winds.”

“Bridge!” Nola exclaimed, pointing at Ely with her head.

Bridgit smiled. “She is coming with us. And will help us.”

“Do what?” Ely asked.

“Escape, of course,” Bridgit said easily.

She kept her eyes on Ely and saw the young woman’s eyes widen, her face betray her surprise, before her usual mask fell back in place.

“How?” Ely demanded.

Bridgit smiled. “Now that is a good question. We have to get out of here, just after evening prayers. Now I think I know how to do that. But that just puts us into a city filled with people who hate us. We have to get onto a ship. How do we get the rest of our people out first?”

She saw Ely glance around. “How will you get the children through the streets? And have you thought what might happen if they catch you? Children will die.”

Bridgit sighed. “I know the risks. But I cannot let everyone be sent away for a life as a slave, away from their children. And I certainly cannot raise these children to be slaves. It is worth risking anything to avoid that.”

“But I thought your husbands and the rest of your village was coming for you?” Ely asked.

“I know they are trying. They will not give up. But we are running out of time. We cannot wait for them,” Bridgit said, her hand stealing down to touch her stomach. “And if we can get back to Gaelland, we are safe. You will love it there. No more slaves. No more fear. You can live free.” Even as she said those words she knew they were not really true. They were tied to their liege lord just as ruthlessly as slaves here were bound to their masters. And they had to work as hard to pay their taxes and feed their families. She pushed those thoughts aside, because they would not help here. And at least no Gaelish lord, not even Meinster, killed men as cruelly as Sean and Seamus had died.

“My mother told me many stories of Gaelland. But I have never been there. Would the people accept me? I don’t look the same as you,” Ely said nervously.

Bridgit reached out and held her hand. “We would accept you. That is all that matters.”

Ely gave her a smile and Bridgit squeezed her hand one more time.

“You have been through the city. You know the way. Can you guide us? Can you help us think of a way to get the rest of our people out?”

“But how are we even going to get out of here ourselves?” Ely persisted.

Bridgit did not even have to glance at her friends to know they were staring at her and questioning what she was doing. But she had to know one way or the other about Ely. Tell her everything and then watch her like a hawk.

“We need to go out to the market again. We saw an apothecary stall where they were making up powders to help the sick. We shall tell them that some of the children are not sleeping and need a sleeping powder. Then we shall mix that up in the juice of some of those oranges to disguise the taste, and give it to the guards.”

“It will not be strong enough. The powders for a child will not be enough to make a man sleep,” Ely objected.

“True. But we shall give it to them in the afternoon, to give it time to work. They will be sleepy and slow, at the very least. So, we are outside: what then?”

“All your friends will be chained up and locked away,” Ely said. “You will never get them out.”

“We need files,” Bridgit said calmly. “Nola here, her husband is a smith, and he uses files to smooth down metal. Where can we get one?”

Now Ely looked really alarmed. “What is a file? Is it a weapon?”

“No.” Nola spoke for the first time, her voice scornful. “It is long and thin metal rod, with a rough surface. It might take them half the night but they can use that to break the chains.”

“We could never get such a thing.” Ely shook her head. “There is no reason for us to have them and no way for your friends to hide them all.”

Bridgit gave Nola a smile. “It was a good idea,” she told her friend.

“Well, we shall need something. Unless there’s somebody else like Brendan who can bend metal,” Nola said grimly.

Bridgit waved her hand at her friend. “Next time they are here, we shall ask them how they are tied up. I am sure we can work out something,” she said.

The three of them turned to face Ely.

“Are you with us? Will you help us get home, and free yourself?”

Bridgit kept her eyes on Ely’s face as she spoke and was relieved to see the young woman meet her gaze evenly.

“Anything is better than life here. I will help you,” she said.

Bridgit winked at her friends. “Good. Because tomorrow night I am getting out of here,” she said. It would be the perfect test for Ely. If the girl went near the guards, it would be the last thing she tried.

*

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Nola asked.

Bridgit glared at her. “Of course I don’t want to do this! But I have to.”

“It is so risky,” Ely fretted.

Bridgit grabbed her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Stay strong and I shall be back. Panic and you will betray me,” she said sharply. “All you need to do is keep calm, understand?”

Ely nodded unhappily and Bridgit pulled the hood up over her head, adjusting the scarf across her face so that only her eyes were showing. She had seen some women dress like that on her visits to the markets. Ely had explained these were usually women of quality who wanted to protect their faces from the harsh sun. The lower born, of course, had no reason to worry about their faces. That suited Bridgit’s purpose, for women of quality were rarely bothered on the streets. She knew it was a fearful risk, and she was putting a brave face on while her stomach churned and gurgled with nerves. She had visited the privy twice already in the last turn of the hourglass and felt like going again – except this had to be done at the perfect time.

When the call to prayer went out, the two guards on the front door would turn to the east and begin to pray to Aroaril. That was their chance. She had watched them from the window several times and reckoned it was a clear count of one hundred before they returned to their watch.

“Ready?” she asked the others.

“We are,” Nola confirmed.

They had spent the day before fashioning a long rope, using robes and sheets tied together. A group of fishermen’s children had tied them together. Bridgit had been a little nervous to trust not just her own but also her unborn child’s life to them, but they had grown up tying knots and repairing lines and nets for their fathers. If they failed, they went hungry, which was the best way to learn. Riona had tried each one, unable to loosen them despite her farm-bred strength.

“Still, lucky for you that you’ve lost some weight with this Kottermani food,” Nola said with a half-smile.

Bridgit stepped up onto the chair they had placed by the window, slipping her foot into the loop made at the end of the makeshift rope. Nola, who had powerful shoulders and arms from helping out at Brendan’s forge, adjusted the three robes she was wearing to pad her shoulders and then placed the rope over her right shoulder and braced herself against the window frame. This trailed back across the room and into the corridor beyond, where Riona, Ely and a dozen of the biggest and oldest boys and girls took up the slack, ready to slow her descent.

Bridgit looked down into the street, glancing both ways to see nobody around. That was to be expected, given all those around were expecting to hear the call to prayer and getting ready to obey it. But there was always the chance of something going wrong. At the front of the house, not ten yards away from where she was about to descend, the two guards were chatting together. Bridgit wiped sweaty hands on the front of her rope and adjusted her grip on the makeshift rope.

The trumpet call to prayer made her start and she watched with a mixture of fear and determination as the two guards immediately turned away from her, kneeling down and placing their foreheads on the ground, hands out flat before them, chanting the prayers. All around came the same noise and Bridgit signaled to the others, not making a noise. Ely slipped a mattress over the edge of the window so that their rope would not rub against the wood, then stepped back to take her place pulling.

Bridgit swung her legs out into space and slithered down the mattress, looking up to see the strain on Nola’s face as the weight came across her shoulders. They had practiced this at the rear of the house the night before and it had gone well. But then there was only a tiny risk of discovery.

Bridgit tugged on the rope, then clutched tight as it began to descend, the long chain of teenagers and women walking towards the window, lowering her as they did so. She slithered down silently, hanging on for dear life and offering up a silent prayer to Aroaril that everyone else would continue with their own loud prayers. She was also counting in her head, so she had an idea when the prayers would finish and the guards resume their duty.

She glanced down and saw the ground rushing up at her and had to stifle a cry of concern. But her pace slowed right down and she touched down lightly. The use of colored robes had helped here, for they had worked out when a red robe was getting towards Nula’s shoulder that Bridgit would be almost on the ground. She reached down with her left foot and stepped onto the cobbles, then slipped her right from the loop and tugged the rope twice.

Almost before she had finished the second tug, the rope vanished upwards, being whisked away at a fearsome pace. Without watching, Bridgit turned and strode swiftly down the street. The prayers were still going on and she was still counting, having reached fifty already. She had to balance silence with speed, and drove her legs hard, feeling her calves burn as the count went on and she strove to reach a corner.

She reached it as she hit a count of ninety, and turned to her right. She knew that way lay an alleyway they had used to return from the market and that it had usually been quiet at such times – but who knew what it would be like now?

She let out a gasp of relief when it proved empty and leaned against the wall, her heart pounding, while the prayers finished. She could hear the city slowly resuming its business around her but she stayed in the alleyway for a further count of two hundred, letting her heart calm down, before emerging and walking back slowly the way she had come.

The guards did not give her a second look as she strolled past, forcing herself to go slowly and not look up at the house, although she knew her friends would be watching for her.

After prayers, the city life was winding down, with people hurrying home and shops closing up for the night. The scarf and hood she was wearing not only marked her as someone who should be given room to walk – they also allowed her to look around without seeming to. This part of the city was worryingly busy now, although she hoped it would be much quieter when they attempted a similar trip in the dead of the night.

Still, seeing plenty of other women and children out on the street was reassuring. Obviously none had scores of children around them but they made it feel safer.

But this road came to an end and she turned left, heading towards the area where the field slaves were kept. Almost immediately the tone of the street began to change. There were fewer women and more men and unconsciously she lengthened her stride, aware that she was getting more people looking at her. Beneath the long robe she wore she held a sharpened piece of wood flat alongside her forearm. It was a chair leg the children had spent the best part of the day rubbing along stones to create a sharpened end. It was enough to make her wince if she jabbed her finger onto it but it was hardly a fearsome weapon.

On and on she walked, sometimes taking the wrong turn and having to make her way back, but it all looked possible. Late at night, when nobody was around, she was confident she could get the children through these streets safely. There were numerous little alleys where they could hide in darkness while others went past, and nobody had taken much notice of her.