The Shattered Crown

FIFTEEN

This was ridiculous. And dangerous.

Rag could’ve lived with the ridiculous bit — she’d seen plenty of that in her time — it was the dangerous part she weren’t too keen on.

It seemed easy on the face of it: walk into the barracks, find a bloke called Merrick Ryder, report back to Friedrik for further instructions. What could be simpler?

As she stared up at the palace of Skyhelm, soaring upwards like some fairy castle, Rag decided there were lots of things could have been bloody simpler.

It had been easy enough getting into the Crown District this time around. The last time she’d seen Krupps bribing one of the Greencoats at the gate to get in. This time there weren’t even any bribes to pay. She was in the Guild now — they practically owned the Greencoats, and all she’d had to do was stroll up, plain as day. The guards at the entrance didn’t so much as look at her, opening the gate and letting her in as though she’d been expected. They didn’t even check the wooden tray she was carrying, didn’t pull back the muslin sheet draped over the top to take a look at what lay underneath. Rag had almost burst out laughing at that — Greencoats letting her stroll right into the Crown like she was some la-de-da lady of leisure.

Once inside it weren’t hard to find the palace — it stood taller than any other building, but once she made it to the wall that ran around its edge she began to have doubts. The barracks of the Skyhelm Sentinels stood to one side of the palace, guarded by two knights in silver, their faces hidden behind full helms, nasty looking swords in their hands. Weren’t no way this was gonna be easy.

But Rag had a job to do, and do it she would. She was in the Guild now, just like she’d wanted. It was time to prove to Friedrik she weren’t just there for window dressing, weren’t just his doll to dress up and play with.

The thought of Friedrik made her stop in her tracks. Did she even want to please him? Over the past weeks she’d realised what a mad bastard he was. How cruel and mean, just for the sake of it. If she’d known what she was getting herself into, would she have tried so hard to join the Guild in the first place?

Who are you kidding? Course you would. It’s all you’ve ever dreamed of, and it’s a damn sight better than pinching for coppers and sleeping on the roof of an alehouse.

Just thinking about those days, those long gone days of cold and hunger, made Rag strangely homesick. She tried to put the thought away, tried to tell herself it weren’t her home anymore, yet somehow she was missing it. Missing her boys most of all, even Fender, though she knew that were stupid. She had a place with regular grub and a roof over her head, she was looked after, she belonged to a proper crew. It was her new family now, the family of the Guild. But then, it weren’t exactly the kind of family she’d wanted. At least on that roof with Chirpy, Migs and Tidge she’d never had to watch someone having their fingernails pulled out.

Bollocks! That was the past. This is the present. Pull yourself together, Rag, and do what you’ve been fucking told.

Even if she did have to stand witness to some horrible shit, it was better than acting mother to a bunch of street rats. It was her what got looked after nowadays. She got cared for like she’d always wanted. Had people watching her back. Now was the time to earn her keep and all she had to do was get herself into that barracks and find some bloke called Ryder.

She gripped her tray all the tighter and walked towards the guards bold as brass. When she got close she put a big smile on her face. Rag knew she wasn’t the prettiest thing a bloke might have ever seen, but there was a lot could be bought with a smile. Make yourself look harmless and it disarms people. If you’re no threat they’re likely to treat you a lot nicer. Well, that was the plan, anyway.

She’d find out soon enough if it worked.

Rag stopped in front of the two guards. They stood like statues, their swords gripped at their chests, blades pointing upwards. For a few moments she just looked at them, waiting. Neither one made a move.

With a flourish Rag pulled the muslin cloth aside, revealing the tray of goodies beneath. She had an assortment of treats — potted eel from up the Storway, fresh scallops cooked in the shell with a pastry top, smoked fish rolled in egg and breadcrumbs, little meat pies with dried fruit on. Friedrik’s cook had spent almost a whole day preparing the lot. He was a miserable bastard at the best of times, but Rag had to admit he could put together a decent spread when he wanted to.

She let the tray just sit there for a few seconds, allowing the smell to waft upwards. One of the knights looked briefly towards his companion. Then the other one leaned his sword up against the entryway to the barracks and removed his helmet.

If Rag expected him to start filling his face though, she was sorely mistaken.

‘Where did you get this lot from then?’ he asked.

She hadn’t been expecting questions.

‘Erm … my uncle makes ’em. Gets his fish fresh every day.’

‘There’s a food shortage in the city and you’re wandering around with a tray handing it out for free? You’re expecting us to believe that are you?’

This wasn’t going at all well. Maybe they hadn’t thought this through properly. Maybe she should have come with wine instead.

‘Came direct from the palace kitchens,’ she answered. ‘Just what we had left over.’

‘Palace kitchens? Who in the palace ki-’

‘Oh, leave it out will you,’ said the second Sentinel, removing his helmet. ‘These smell bloody lovely.’

He placed his sword down and reached for one of the scallops. Rag moved the tray away from his grasping hand.

‘Just one each,’ she said. ‘These have to go around the rest of the barracks.’

She let him take what he wanted. The second Sentinel eyed her suspiciously, but only long enough for her to flash him another smile before he too gave in to the temptation and took one of the pies. As they both dug in, she wandered past them, holding the tray high, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Through the entrance was a courtyard, surrounded by barrack rooms. Around twenty blokes stood in the middle of the square, stripped to the waist, practising with their swords. Rag watched for a bit, spellbound. She’d never seen soldiers act with that much control before, their swords moving as one, each cut and thrust timed to perfection. She was more used to dirty brawls on the streets, biting ears and pulling hair and gouging eyes. Best she’d seen someone use a blade was years ago down near the Rafts, and that had happened so quick it was over before it began. This was like watching a dance, only with less music and more danger.

‘What the fuck do you want?’ said a voice to her left, and she snapped her head round to see a tall fella looking down at her. He wasn’t bad looking, or he wouldn’t have been if he weren’t frowning. He was stripped to the waist like the rest but he had the pelt of some great white beast draped across his shoulders. His bare chest was visible, all scarred and muscled, and Rag had a bit of trouble dragging her eyes away from it.

‘Been sent with some food,’ she said, holding up the tray.

He kept his eyes locked on hers, but reached out with a hand and took some potted eel. Held in that gaze she almost dropped the tray and made a run for it, but without another word he just turned and walked away.

Rag let out a sigh, before moving around the edge of the courtyard. There were more warriors watching from the sides and she walked over to them.

‘Got some goodies from the kitchens here,’ she said, trying to sound confident, like there was nothing out of the ordinary about a girl wandering the barracks with a tray of food. The group of warriors glanced across at her, none of them saying a word in reply. One reached out and took a pie, but the others never made a move.

Now she was here, Rag started to wonder how in the hells she was going to find this Ryder. How was she supposed to start that conversation?

Oi, lads! Anyone know Merrick Ryder?

Why do you ask?

Erm … because he’s pissed someone off in the Guild and I’ve been sent to bloody find him.

Yes, that was sure to grab her some attention, and probably a sharp knife in the ribs.

Rag was going to have to come up with something, and fast. She’d thought this might be one of those times when being ignored was a good thing, but that wasn’t turning out too well. Maybe it was time to be the centre of attention.

The soldiers at the middle of the courtyard had finished swinging their swords, and another batch of around twenty were readying themselves to take up their positions. Rag walked out onto the courtyard, right in front of them, holding out her tray for all to see.

‘Come on then,’ she said with a grin. ‘Get it while it’s going. I haven’t got all day.’

Some of the warriors looked at one another in confusion. Others tried ignoring her, but Rag was determined to have none of that.

‘What’s the matter? You’re not telling me you ain’t hungry, all that bloody sword swinging. You must be bloomin’ famished.’

This raised a smile from a couple of them, and one even strolled over, sword in hand, and plucked a pie from her tray.

‘Any good?’ she asked loudly as he took a bite.

He just nodded his reply, too busy chewing to talk.

Another of them came forward, and before he could take something from her, Rag looked him up and down and gave a whistle.

‘Ooh, you’re an ’andsome fella, and no mistake,’ she called out, trying to sound like one of the street girls from Dockside. ‘I could take quite a fancy to a big strong bloke like you. What’s your name then?’

Well, it seemed as good a place as any to start. Friedrik had told her what Merrick looked like — average height, brown hair, handsome — and this bloke seemed to fit the bill. Problem was, so did half the other lads in here.

‘My name’s Hennar,’ said the warrior, plucking a piece of fish from the tray. ‘And you don’t look old enough to have had your blood yet. So take as much of a fancy as you like, but I’m not interested, girl.’

With a shake of his head he popped the food in his mouth, then walked away.

That didn’t really work out to plan, now did it?

‘Hey lads, these are good,’ said the soldier who had taken a pie. Next thing, Rag was swamped by sweaty half-dressed warriors, all reaching out to take a piece of food. In no time she was left holding an empty tray.

That was it; she was left with nothing, standing in the middle of the courtyard. As the soldiers began to line up to begin their training she slunk to the edge of the square. No one was watching now; it was as if she were invisible again.

Stick to what you know, Rag. Don’t bring attention to yourself.

Gently she placed the tray down so it leaned against the wall, then she moved towards the nearest door of the barrack building. She had no idea where she was going, or what she was looking for, but there just might be some clue somewhere — she might overhear some crumb of gossip that pointed her in the right direction. By all accounts this Merrick Ryder was a big-mouthed bastard, so surely it wouldn’t take long before she heard word of him.

Inside was a long empty room lined with uncomfortable-looking wooden pallets. From the look of them she’d have got a better night’s sleep on the roof of the Bull, but thankfully those days were well behind her.

She crept further into the room, checking the bunks for any names that might have been written on them. In the past weeks Rag had done her best to learn her letters, Friedrik had insisted on it. She’d already had some schooling back in the old days before her mother had abandoned her for some smooth talker from Silverwall, and it hadn’t taken much to pick it up again. Looking around though, there was not so much as a pair of initials written on anything.

As she made her way through the building Rag began to feel that old fear creeping up on her. What if someone came? What if she got caught creeping around in a soldiers’ barracks? She’d have some questions to answer then all right.

Don’t be soft, Rag. Concentrate on your business. Whatever this lot might do to you for snooping will be a sight nicer than what Bastian and Palien will do if you fuck this up.

Rag balled her fists. She’d been through worse than this. Weren’t nothing to be done about it, so best get on.

The door at the end of the room led into a little chamber with desk and parchment and ledgers. Her heart beat a bit faster as she moved forward with a quick glance to the little round window that let in the only light. No one could see in, and outside she could just hear the sound of soldiers running through their swordplay, swinging and shouting as they went about fighting their invisible enemies.

She turned her attention back to the desk. Opening the ledger she stared at the neat script and silently she thanked Friedrik for those long boring days of teaching her what the letters meant.

In the first ledger was a list of supplies going back months — food and weapons and the like. Rag moved on to the next book; a diary of some sort. She looked back through the entries, seeing it was a list of the comings and goings, realising that the lads outside swinging their swords like there was no tomorrow were most likely the Wyvern Guard. Whoever this diary belonged to was definitely pleased at their coming, writing about how grateful he was that the city was practically saved. Whoever the diary belonged to was also particularly happy about the return of his old friend Tannick …

… Ryder!

Rag breathed out, thinking for a second she’d found her man, but then it weren’t Tannick she was after, it was Merrick. Perhaps they were related. Brothers maybe?

Frantically she flicked back through the pages, seeing if there was any more word of him, but she hadn’t gone back more than a couple of pages before something moved behind her.

She stopped, placing the book down and slowly turning at the noise. There, standing in the doorway, was a woman. She was big, must have stood a good six feet tall, her shoulders broad as a bloke’s, the look on her face as grim as any fighting man Rag had ever seen.

‘Looking for something?’ said the woman, her voice deep and hard, like no woman Rag had ever heard before.

As a matter of fact I am. A fellow named Merrick Ryder. Have you seen him?

‘I’m … er … lost,’ she said, and realised how fucking pathetic that must have sounded.

‘Really?’ She said it like a question, but Rag could tell by the look on her face she already knew the answer.

Rag was floundering. ‘Yeah, can you show me the way out? I need to be off. My uncle’s waiting for me.’

The woman stared intently like she was hunting for the lies and could see them plain as the nose on Rag’s face.

Then they stood there, just looking at one another. All at once Rag’s nerve gave out. She was trapped in here, weren’t nowhere to go, nor nothing to say that would see her free of this.

A tear welled in one eye then began to trickle down her cheek. If she’d have planned it — if she’d have wanted to cry, put on an act — she’d never have managed, but this was real. She was in the shit and she knew it.

‘Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here,’ the woman said looking into her like only the truth would do.

Rag couldn’t see that she had much choice about it.