Herald of the Storm

FORTY-NINE

Rag’s feet were like two lumps of meat on the end of her ankles. She’d been walking round for a day and a night but all these streets looked the same, all these warehouses had the same brickwork and slate roofs and big wooden doors. It was like she’d been walking round in circles.

When first she ran from the Greencoats’ barracks she’d been elated, couldn’t wait to get back to that bloke from the Guild and show him what she’d got. Now she just wanted shut of it in case the Greencoats caught up with her.

She was too stubborn to just ditch it. Rag hadn’t been through all this to throw everything away now. She was gonna hold on to that head until she found the right place or the Greencoats caught her, and that was just the way of it.

Rag had always been good at hiding in plain sight. She could probably have walked right up to the palace wearing King Cael’s rotting head as a hat and no one would have noticed, so wandering the streets with a bundle under her arm hadn’t garnered much attention. For the first time in a while, Rag was glad that no one gave a damn about her.

She was about ready to sit down and give up, walking down one abandoned road for what she thought must have been the umpteenth time, when she realised one of the vast wooden doors was ajar.

Rag glanced up and down the street, sure it was familiar. Dusk was fast approaching and even if this was the spot, would there be anyone still inside?

There was only one way to find out.

Rag peered in, pressing her face to the darkness. She couldn’t see more than two feet in front of her, but there was a sound coming from inside, a soft purring sound like the biggest cat she’d ever come across had fallen asleep.

This weren’t no time for trepidation. If she was gonna get what she wanted, if this was all gonna be worth the pain and hassle and blood and gore, she’d have to walk in like she meant it. No pissing about.

She grabbed the door and pulled it to one side. It protested noisily, rusty hinges squealing as its big bulk moved aside, shedding light on the interior of the warehouse and the dusty floorboards within.

Bloodstains on the wood, smear marks where someone had been dragged off.

This was the place, all right.

Rag stepped inside, following the telltale sound of snoring until she found him. He was lying on his back, hands crossed over his fat gut, leg dangling idly over the side of an old wooden crate. She didn’t recognise him as one of the thugs from the other night, but she had to take a chance. He had to be one of the Guild’s men. Why would he be here otherwise? He didn’t look like a vagabond sleeping rough; his clothes were too clean and it didn’t look like he’d skipped any meals recently.

Now, what was that bloke’s name? It had been mentioned more than once the other night but she’d been so scared she’d hardly taken any notice.

‘I want to see Friedrik!’ she demanded, her voice echoing through the abandoned warehouse.

The man on the crate sat up like he’d been stabbed in the arse, hand reaching instinctively to the dagger at his belt.

‘What? Who the fuck are you?’

They stared at one another, he with a bewildered expression, her forcing a look of determination onto her face.

‘I said, “I want to see Friedrik.” You’re one of his boys, ain’t you?’

The man nodded. Then shook his head. Then just looked confused.

‘What do you want with Friedrik?’ he asked, still sitting on the crate, obviously not feeling in the slightest bit threatened, even though if she’d felt like it she could have slit his throat while he slept.

‘I was here the other night, remember? I have what he asked for.’

Recognition slowly dawned on the bloke’s face, then he smiled. ‘You’re that little thief what helped kill the merchant. You best be off, lass. If Friedrik catches you he’ll cut your ears off for the laughs.’

‘We had a deal,’ she said. ‘I’ve come to claim on it.’

‘Look, girl.’ He was serious now, like Rag was starting to get on his nerves. ‘Piss off. I’m not summoning Friedrik here for some urchin who’s got too big for her boots.’ He glanced down at Rag’s bare feet. ‘And you haven’t even got any fucking boots. On your way, I’ve got sleep to catch up on.’

With that he lay back down on the crate.

Rag had just about had her fill of talking.

She walked forward, unwrapping Krupps’ head from the blanket that was now mostly congealed to the dead flesh. With that, she plonked it on the fella’s lap.

‘What the fu …’ he managed to say, before he saw the beaten and mashed face of Krupps staring up from his crotch and his words turned into a scream. With the back of his hand he swiped the head off him like it was about to bite his cock off.

‘Hells, what are you doing?’

‘I told you,’ said Rag, keeping her calm as best she could. ‘Me and Friedrik had a deal. Now go and bloody get him.’

He looked down at that head, which stared up blankly from battered eyelids, then back at Rag. Without a word he lowered himself down from the crate, careful to avoid the head like it was a snarling dog, not taking his eyes off it as he walked past, then rushed from the warehouse.

Rag had no idea if he was coming back, but she thought it was probably best to wait. What else could she do?

She picked up Krupps and placed him gently on top of the crate, then sat down next to him, feeling the fatigue of the past few days begin to settle on her like a sack of turnips.

As she waited she thought about her roof at the Bull. About Chirpy and Migs and Tidge. Even Fender. And she thought about Markus — about how if he hadn’t ended up dead she probably wouldn’t have been here, sitting on a crate in a dark warehouse with a severed head, waiting for a crime lord to come and see her.

The thought made her snigger, all alone in the dark.

‘Who’d have thought it, eh?’ she asked.

Krupps didn’t answer. He was starting to whiff a bit, and was getting interest from a few flies, but it wasn’t the worst thing she’d had to put up with over the past few days, so she didn’t hold it against him none.

‘They say talking to yourself is the first sign of madness.’

Rag almost screamed, but managed to hold it in as the curly-haired man she knew as Friedrik entered the warehouse. He was flanked by two burly-looking thugs. The man she’d found dozing on the crate skulked behind them, as though he was scared of something.

Friedrik looked at her, then the head, then back at her again. ‘Apparently we had a deal? Remind me again?’

Rag eased herself off the crate. She knew this was an important moment — one of those times that shapes how the rest of your life’s gonna turn out — so she fixed him with her best stare.

‘You said if one of us brought you the heads of the others we could join the Guild.’

Friedrik gave her a sideways glance. ‘Is that what I said? Are you sure?’ He looked to the men at either side of him. One Rag recognised as the man who’d killed Coles with a cudgel.

They both just shrugged.

‘No, I don’t remember saying that,’ said Friedrik.

Rag felt panic grip her stomach. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been swindled before, hadn’t been treated like a prat, but this was just a piss-take too far.

‘Yes, you fucking did! You said it right here, not more than two days since.’ She instantly wondered if she’d gone too far.

When Friedrik smiled, she relaxed a bit, but then a smile from the bastard who ran the Guild could mean anything.

It might mean he was gonna cut her tongue out.

He strolled forward, looking at Krupps’ head. ‘Mmm, now you mention it, I do remember saying something like that. Don’t remember this fellow, though, but then he’s clearly not as handsome as he once was. What do you reckon, lads?’ His thugs laughed; a forced laugh at a shit joke. ‘Yes, I may have opened a vacancy, but obviously I wanted a new recruit who could work for me, hurt for me … kill for me. Is that you, little girl?’

Rag thought on it. A killer she weren’t, but then she’d had to do a lot these past few days she thought she weren’t suited to.

‘I’m a pincher,’ she said.

‘Ah, a pickpocket. I’ve got plenty of those. What would I need another for?’

‘Because I’m the best there is.’

Friedrik laughed at that. His men laughed at it too.

‘A bold claim, little girl. How are you going to prove it?’

She could feel herself getting angry now and did her best to swallow it back down. It weren’t the first time she’d been duped. It weren’t even the first time she’d been laughed at, but now this bastard was just taking liberties. Rag didn’t make claims lightly. She was the best — better than anyone this bastard had ever seen.

‘That bloke there,’ she said, gesturing over her shoulder at the one she’d found sleeping earlier. ‘Tell him to pull his knife.’

Friedrik frowned. ‘Tell him to what?’

‘Pull his knife. Tell him.’

Friedrik glanced towards the man and shrugged. ‘Go on then.’

Rag kept her eyes fixed on Friedrik but she could hear the man fumbling at his belt, could almost feel his panic and his embarrassment as he went for his knife, only to find it wasn’t there.

‘Ain’t got it, has he?’ she said, reaching round to the back of her britches. ‘’Cos I pinched it from him earlier, right in front of his fucking eyes!’

With that she darted forward, knife in hand. She’d never been any good with blades — they’d only got her in trouble before, but this wasn’t like any of those times. This was for a game with the big boys, and if it took pulling a blade, then a blade was what she’d pull.

She leapt straight at Friedrik, that knife shooting forward, and she saw his face light up with panic. He tried backing off but he wasn’t quick enough and she was on him like a tomcat on a rat. He staggered back under her weight as she pressed the knife to his throat.

Behind she could hear his minders rushing forward, but they wouldn’t be quick enough.

‘Tell ’em to fuck off, or I’ll cut you open!’

In a panic Friedrik held up his arms. ‘Fuck off!’ he yelped at his men.

And there they were: her with a knife to his throat, and his men just looking on, not a clue what to do.

‘So,’ Rag said, suddenly feeling like the deck was stacked in her favour. ‘About that vacancy you were gonna open in your club.’

‘Yes, that vacancy. I think I remember now. A slot’s just opened right up.’ He was trying his best to smile, but the knife at his throat made it that much harder.

‘So we’ve got a deal?’

‘Yes. Shit yes, we’ve got a deal.’

Slowly she let him go. He was the ace in her deck, and removing that knife from his throat would be giving it away. It was a big chance she was taking, but sooner or later she was gonna have to trust him to keep his word.

When he was loose she could tell his men wanted to move forward, wanted to do her harm for laying a hand on him, but Friedrik just shook his head.

‘Well, little girl. Looks like you’ve earned yourself a seat at the grown up table.’

She nodded, but didn’t allow herself a smile. At least not yet.

‘My name’s Rag,’ she said.

Friedrik looked at her and smiled. Then held out his hand.

‘Welcome to the Guild, Rag.’