Herald of the Storm

THIRTY

At night the Crown District was aflame with dancing lights. The lamplighters didn’t just ignite torches in their stanchions, but also thousands of tiny candles that sat within the intricately laid out flowerbeds and lined the mosaic pathways. The various ponds and miniature waterways that criss-crossed the district were likewise illuminated by thousands of floating candleholders, each bearing a bright flame.

Rag was amazed at the sight, imagining herself as a bird looking down on the scene, which must have rivalled the starry night sky for its majesty. It was an all too brief diversion, though, as she walked across the polished cobbles with her crew. Krupps was unusually silent, stern even, as they again headed for the merchant’s house. Steraglio was his usual dark and brooding self and Burney strolled along without a care in the world. Rag brought up the rear, wondering again what she had got herself into.

She was at the back of the group and could turn around and be gone before any of them even noticed she was missing. Would it be so bad going back to the roof of the Bull? No Guild, no crew, no pot to piss in? She knew Chirpy, Migs and Tidge would be glad to see her. Fender would take the piss for fucking up her big chance, but she guessed she could live with that.

It had all seemed so easy when they’d been talking about it, before any actual robbing, but now she was racked with doubt. What if they got caught? What if someone or, gods forbid, something was in the house?

Rag shook her head, clearing out the doubt. This was what she wanted, what she’d yearned for — a way into the Guild — and now she had it within her grasp, there was no way she was going to balls it up.

The merchant’s house was in sight now, and Rag’s stomach felt like it was trying to digest half a brick. Krupps and the others were relying on her to get them in. She’d told them she was a housebreaker. She clearly weren’t no housebreaker, but she’d best learn quick. The other day Steraglio had been ready to knife those two old bags, and Rag knew he’d have no qualms about knifing her good and proper if she couldn’t come up with the goods.

As they got near to the house, Steraglio and Burney broke away. Without a word they snuffed out every candle and lantern that lined the way, plunging the immediate area into darkness, while Krupps and Rag moved up to the spiked iron railing that surrounded the house.

‘This is it then, Sweets. You ready?’

No, I’m shitting myself.

Rag nodded.

‘Okay then, take this.’ He opened his coat and pulled out what she’d learned was an iron-crow. It was a rod of metal, almost two foot long, tapered flat and bent at the end for levering things open. In this case the upstairs window.

She took it from him, hooking it in her belt, and Krupps gave her a wink and a smile, then turned towards the spiked railing and grabbed hold, bracing himself against it. Rag climbed up onto his back, planted a foot on his shoulder and kicked off, jumping over the spikes at the top of the fence and landing deftly on the other side.

She wasted no time; it wouldn’t do for the rest of them to have got over the railing only to find her still at the front door wondering how in the hells she was going to get up to the first floor.

The side of the house was lined with prominent stonework and it weren’t nothing for Rag to get her fingers in between the stone, finding purchase in the crumbling mortar and climbing up the side easy as pie. She reached the first floor in no time, growing ever more confident with the ease she was moving. Stepping out to the sill of the window she allowed herself a glance down.

That was a mistake!

She wouldn’t normally mind — she was used to running on rooftops — but it was seeing the spiked railings waiting for her at the bottom that gave her the fear. It was so bad she missed her footing on the sill, a tiny slip that would have meant nothing on the ground, but here a good dozen feet up might have been fatal. She panicked, gripping the window jamb and the brickwork so as it nearly broke her fingernails off. She felt a tug at her belt, looking down in time to see the iron-crow come loose and go sailing down towards the ground. It bounced off the paving with an almighty clang.

Rag hung there for some moments. Waiting for someone to come out and see what the racket was all about. In the shadows below she could see the lads, frozen in place, all watching for sign of movement — the same as her — but it never came.

Come on, Rag, hold it together. Just open the friggin’ window and climb in.

Gingerly she reached out, feeling down to the bottom of the window, praying and praying that it would be open and she wouldn’t need the iron. She pulled, feeling the window give a little, and allowed herself a smile. Easy as cutting a dead man’s purse. Another tug and the window slid up wide enough for her to get in. Rag eased herself over, holding on to the frame and sliding her legs then the rest of her body through the gap.

And she was in.

It was dark inside, darker than night — took time for her eyes to adjust. Even after waiting what seemed an age she still couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead. It ain’t gonna get any better just sitting here.

She began to move, looking for the door. As she did, she kept quiet as death, questions of all sorts starting to go through her head. What if the merchant was here? What if he did have a dog? A fucking big dog with fucking big teeth?

She reached the door, opened it a bit and waited, listening for any hint of man or beast. When there was nothing, she made her way down the stairs as quick as she could, and turned the handle of the door.

Only it didn’t open.

Looking closer she saw there was a big deadlock keyhole staring at her like a big laughing mouth. What were you expecting? Through the stained glass in the door she could see the other three had made it over the railing now and were waiting on this side. Waiting for her to let them in.

Desperately Rag looked around for a key. There was a chest of drawers and she rifled through it, pushing aside papers, a spyglass, a letter opener, some big wooden blocks for fuck knew what, and all manner of shit besides, but no key. Two pairs of boots sat in the hall and she turned them upside down, getting more desperate with every breath, but still no key. If she had to look through the whole bloody house she could be here all night. That would go down real well with the blokes sat outside like bloody lemons.

She stood in the hall, feeling the panic rise, feeling the tears welling up. Then she saw it, all shiny and silver, hanging on a hook on the wall by its chain.

Bloody key!

Rag almost snapped that chain as she grabbed it off the hook, jamming it into the lock and hoping on hope it was the right fit. When the deadbolt turned she let out the breath she’d been holding for the gods knew how long.

Krupps pushed his way in the door almost before she’d had time to open it. ‘Nice one, Sweets,’ he said as he quickly moved past her, closely followed by Burney.

‘Trying to wake the whole fucking neighbourhood?’ said Steraglio, brandishing the iron-crow she’d dropped, before following the other two up the staircase and leaving her to shut the door behind them.

As she followed she could hear them going to work, shifting furniture, sifting through drawers.

‘I thought you said it would be here,’ said Krupps, his voice a harsh whisper in the dark.

‘It fucking should be,’ Steraglio replied. ‘Coles told me it was under the merchant’s bed.’

‘There’s nothing under there but a bloody bedpan. Now where is it, you fucking dolt?’

Rag paused at the top of the stairs, having no desire to get between the two men while they squabbled.

‘Mind your fucking mouth,’ said Steraglio, and she could see through a chink in the door he had stopped his frantic search and was staring at Krupps.

‘Or what?’ Krupps replied. He too had stopped his search, his right hand creeping towards the inside of his coat.

‘Oi, lads!’ Burney’s voice seemed way too loud in the dark house, but Rag was relieved when she heard it. ‘This what you’re looking for?’

Both Steraglio and Krupps rushed to the room Burney was searching in.

‘Yes,’ said Krupps. ‘Nice one, Burney. At least there’s one person I can rely on.’ Rag moved to the doorway of the room, and saw the three of them standing over a huge chest. ‘Right, cop hold, Burney, and we’ll get the fuck out of here.’

Burney bent down, managing to get his arms around the chest, but when he tried to lift it, it wouldn’t budge. Krupps and Steraglio looked on, their expressions turning from relief to concern as Burney huffed and puffed, pushing and pulling the casket with all his quite considerable might, but the thing simply would not move.

‘Is this thing nailed down?’ Burney said finally, as he collapsed on top of it.

‘Fuck,’ said Steraglio, stomping off to one corner of the room, seething with anger.

‘This has got to be a joke,’ said Krupps. ‘Coles is having a laugh! “One casket,” he said. “Just grab it and leave,” he said.’

Rag had no idea who this ‘Coles’ was, but she guessed he would be in for a right kicking when Krupps got his hands on him.

A sound from downstairs diverted Rag’s attention from the squabbling men. She turned, taking a step down then stopping dead.

The door handle was turning.

‘Someone’s here!’ she whispered. It was still loud enough to silence the lads.

As she stood frozen to the staircase, the door opened and a man strolled in. He held a lantern in one hand, which shed a stark light on the walls, and he walked across the entrance hall until he saw her standing there, and froze in his tracks.

Rag and the man stared at one another. In the lantern light she could see he wore a fine hand-stitched jacket, a wide sash holding in his generous girth and pantaloons tight to his flabby thighs, as was the style in the richer parts of the city.

He held her gaze, then slowly smiled. ‘What have we here?’ he asked, his voice deep and rich. ‘Find anything interesting, my dear?’

She opened her mouth to answer, but before she had a chance, Krupps and Steraglio erupted from the shadows, grabbing hold of the man. There must have been another staircase elsewhere in the house and they had managed to sneak down and come at the merchant from a room off to one side.

‘As a matter of fact,’ said Krupps, ‘we have found something.’

Before the man could speak they bundled him off into the side room they had leapt from. He dropped the lantern to the floor where it started to burn the intricately woven carpet and Rag moved forward, picking it up and stamping out the meagre flames.

She could hear them in the next room, shouting and knocking over furniture as the merchant noisily protested. There was a sound that could only have been a punch followed by a pained cry.

This was all going wrong — they said no one would be hurt.

Rag moved to the entrance to the room, her lantern illuminating it, and she saw they were tying the man to a chair with some rope. Burney was with them now, standing over him menacingly.

‘Barnus Juno, I’m guessing?’ Krupps said. There was a level of threat in his voice Rag had never heard before. It frightened her.

‘Who are you? What do you want?’ Barnus asked, clearly terrified.

‘I think you know what we want. Now where’s the fucking key to that chest?’

Barnus glanced at each of the three men in turn, but found no hope there. Each looked as ruthless as the next: Burney with his brawn, Steraglio with his drawn blade and Krupps with his calm menace.

‘I don’t have it,’ Barnus replied.

Even Rag could tell he was lying.

Krupps gave Burney a nod, and the big man put a fist in Barnus’ gut, then one to his jaw.

‘Careful,’ said Krupps. ‘We need him able to speak.’

Barnus spat blood and what might have been a tooth. ‘I promise you, I don’t have it.’ Burney hit him again and he gave a low groan, followed by a strangled sob.

Rag wanted to run in between them, to tell them to stop, to leave the poor bastard alone and get out as quick as they could before they went too far.

She didn’t move, though. She knew it would be stupid to get in the way. It had been stupid to come here … to trust these men. They weren’t the crew she thought they were. They’d lied to her: there wasn’t supposed to be anyone here. No one was supposed to get hurt, but here they were, beating this poor bloke to shit.

Before they could hit him again there was an insistent rapping at the door, and everyone stopped.

‘Barnus? Are you in there?’ It was a woman’s voice, high pitched, haughty.

Barnus opened his mouth in warning but Burney clapped a hand over it before he could make a sound. Krupps and Steraglio swiftly crept past Rag, moving to either side of the door, ducking low so they couldn’t be seen through its stained glass arch.

‘I heard a noise, Barnus! Are you home?’

The handle to the door turned, and Krupps clamped a hand over it. With his other hand he reached into his jacket and pulled out a blade, more cleaver than knife, whilst the woman on the other side struggled to open the door. Steraglio licked his lips, brandishing his own blade, as though willing the woman to enter so he could stick her with it.

This was too much! They were gonna kill that merchant and now they were gonna kill some stupid old woman. Something had to be done.

Rag meowed loudly.

Why she did it she couldn’t say — it didn’t even sound much like a fucking cat, more like someone had stood on a rusty nail, but it was all she could think of at short notice.

The woman’s face appeared at the glass and she peered inside, but clearly it was too dark for her to see.

With a quick grumble about being woken in the dead of night, she walked away.

Krupps let out an audible sigh. ‘Right.’ He walked into the room where Barnus was still tied up, Burney’s hand still over his mouth. ‘No more titting about. Tell us where the key is, or my friend here’s gonna cut out your eye.’

Barnus sat there in total panic.

‘Right, you little shit,’ said Steraglio, reaching forward with his blade.

‘Wait! Wait!’ Barnus squealed. ‘It’s in the main bedchamber! Under the mattress.’

Krupps looked at Burney and Steraglio unbelievingly. ‘Did neither of you two think of checking under the mattress?’

With that, all three moved off as one in their haste to find the key and open the chest. Rag stood rooted to the spot, watching as they almost fell over one another in their eagerness to rush up the stairs.

Slowly she looked back at Barnus. His eyes were wide with fear, blood trickling from his mouth. He stared at her pleadingly.

Rag checked out the staircase the lads had used. She knew full well they’d probably kill the merchant. None of them was wearing a mask, and even in the gloom she was pretty sure Barnus would remember the faces of the four ruffians who had terrorised him. The lads wouldn’t leave a witness for the Greencoats.

She moved to the chair, desperately fumbling with the rope that tied the merchant, listening all the while to the sound of furniture being moved and footsteps clapping along the floorboards upstairs. Finally she teased the rope free and stood back.

Barnus flashed a smile of thanks … then backhanded her across the face, knocking her back on her arse and smacking her head.

She was dazed, couldn’t get up, but she could still see him fumbling for something in his desk drawer. That something glinted in the candlelight; it could only be a blade.

‘I’ll teach you bastards to steal from Barnus Juno,’ he said, his eyes wide with animal fury.

Someone was coming down the stairs now, and the merchant darted into concealment.

Rag was too stunned to speak.

Burney walked in, his brow creased with consternation.

‘It’s the wrong key, you fuc-’

He cried out in pain as Barnus buried the blade in his upper arm. Before Barnus could withdraw and stab again, Burney reeled back, taking the blade with him.

‘You fuckers! Do you know who I am?’ Barnus screeched, leaping forward, his hands like claws, but Burney was able to fend him off with a swipe of his other arm. He pulled the blade clear, but the bloodied weapon fell to the floor as Barnus came at him again. What the merchant was trying to achieve, Rag had no idea, but he was clearly no match for the big bastard he was attacking.

As Burney pushed him backwards, Krupps and Steraglio hurried in.

‘What the fuck?’ said Krupps, staggering as Barnus landed a blow against his jaw.

Steraglio was not about to suffer the same punishment and drew his knife, just as Rag managed to find her feet.

She tried to shout no or stop or something, but found no words. Steraglio had stabbed Barnus three times — in the chest, abdomen and thigh — before the merchant even knew he’d been struck.

Then it was like a pack of dogs taking down a bear — the first one had drawn blood and the rest knew their prey was on its way out. Burney struck next, smashing his fist into the merchant’s neck. Krupps, fast recovered from his crack to the jaw, drew his own blade, and soon all three of them were attacking in a frenzy, stabbing, punching and kicking Barnus to the ground. The merchant’s squeals of agony were masked by the three robbers’ cries of hate.

Rag watched helplessly as they made a bloody mess of the man they’d come to rob.

When it was over and Barnus had stopped moving, Krupps gave her a look. His eyes were accusing enough; he didn’t need to say the words.

‘Let’s get the fuck out of here,’ he said, moving towards the door.

All three of them bundled out of the house. Rag only paused for a second to glance down at Barnus, his fine clothes soaked in dark blood. Then she followed them.

The gate stood wide. Barnus must have left it open when he came home. With nothing to stop them, they were off into the night.

As she ran, Rag realised there would be payback for this.

She wanted to flee from these men and what they’d done, to escape the inevitable retribution that would soon be pursuing them, but where would she go? Who would take her in now?

She could go straight to the Greencoats, but why would they believe her? How could she explain she hadn’t meant any harm — that no one was supposed to get hurt?

So she followed the three men, knowing full well she was just as guilty of the murder as those who’d done the deed.