The Shattered Crown

TWENTY

Nobul had no idea how long they’d kept him down in the dark. Then again, it wasn’t the dark that bothered him. It wasn’t even the fact they’d kill him eventually, and they would kill him, any simpleton could work that out. It was just a matter of when and how.

What hurt him most was being helpless to do a fucking thing about it. That he was going to die helpless as a pig on the butcher’s block.

He hadn’t realised how much he’d had to live for until they caught up with him. For too long Nobul had wanted to punish himself for what happened to his son. He’d wanted to put himself through shit to try and cast off the guilt that hung round his neck like an anvil. But now he was here, now they’d got him and the punishment had started, he knew that wasn’t really what he wanted.

What Nobul Jacks really wanted was retribution. To hurt someone. To cause pain. To destroy.

Those old days of blood and slaughter in the levies, when he’d waded through guts, deafened by the screaming — that had been when he’d felt truly alive.

Nobul didn’t want to be punished — he wanted vengeance.

But it looked like fate had robbed him of that one, showing him its arse as it ran on by. Didn’t look like he had a shot at revenge anymore. Didn’t look like he had a chance at much of anything now.

It was a shame. He’d have loved to get his hands on Anton. That miserable little bastard had it coming. How much coin had they paid him? What had they promised him to be their man in the Greencoats? If Nobul ever got out of here he’d make sure Anton regretted the day he’d ever heard of the Guild. But then the chances of him ever getting out of here in one piece were pretty slim.

There was a creak of wood, a deadbolt snapping back, and Nobul instinctively drew his legs up, tensing his shoulders trying to make himself as small as possible. He didn’t know how long he’d been chained to the post but he felt the aches and pains of it. He knew what was coming and the tighter a ball he made of himself the less of a kicking he’d have to take.

Light crept into the cellar and he squinted through it, hearing someone coming down the creaking stairs. Eventually he could make out a face he recognised.

‘Rise and fucking shine,’ said the figure through the gap where his front teeth should have been. He placed the lantern and the bucket he carried down on the ground, then gave Nobul a vicious kick. ‘You’re on soon. Waiting’s over. Been sent to clean you up.’ Before Nobul could react, Toothless picked up the bucket and doused him in freezing cold water.

Nobul gritted his teeth against the shock, breathing hard as his heart suddenly pounded against his chest. Toothless moved behind him and pulled him up on his feet. His arms were still chained to the post, but he gave one last tug anyway — one last pull to see if he could free himself. It was never going to happen.

‘There,’ said Toothless. ‘Awake now are we?’

Nobul didn’t answer, just stared with hate at the bastard’s ugly face. Without warning Toothless hit him in the gut. It wasn’t the hardest or most accurate he’d ever had — a good gut punch could knock the air right out of you — but it still hurt.

‘I asked a fucking question,’ said Toothless. ‘What have you got to say?’

Nobul grinned. He showed his bloody teeth through his split lips.

‘I’m gonna kill you,’ he replied.

Toothless took a step closer, but not too close. Nobul expected another punch to the gut, but Toothless just smiled back.

‘You’re the fucking dead man,’ he said. ‘Tough, though, I’ll give you that. Must have been to have killed two of Friedrik’s enforcers. They were good men by all accounts. Two of the best. You must have some big bollocks to have gone against the Guild like that. Or maybe you’re just frigging stupid.’

Nobul stared back.

‘Been talking about you a lot upstairs, they have,’ Toothless continued like this was some cosy fireside chat. ‘Word is you had a boy as got killed. They say it were an accident but we both know it weren’t.’ He moved a little closer, almost close enough for Nobul to reach out and bite the fucker, but he was too intent on the words to try. ‘Those Greencoats what shot him were trying to catch a killer, an assassin. And who do you think sent that assassin?’

Nobul had a pretty good idea. He’d thought about it long and hard. Wasn’t a crime committed in the walls of Steelhaven that didn’t have the mark of the Guild on it somewhere. This only confirmed a suspicion he’d had for a while now.

‘That’s right — we sent him. His mark was some merchant called Constantin. He’d took what wasn’t his, what belonged to Friedrik. And if it weren’t for him, your boy might still be around. It’s a shit one, and no mistake. I’m sure Friedrik’s frightful guilty about it. I’m sure he wants to make amends.’ Toothless glanced at the pit behind Nobul. ‘Guess that’s why he’s giving you a fighting chance.’

Denny had been the one that killed Markus, Nobul already knew that, but the lad had done it by accident, only trying to do his job. The real reason Markus had died was because this Friedrik had ordered a hit and it had gone wrong. And now Nobul was about to die himself, to be slain by the very man who was the cause of his son’s death.

Toothless went back up the stairs giggling to himself, and it wasn’t long before other figures started to come down through the trapdoor. Some carried torches, others held flagons of ale and bottles of wine. There were men and women, laughing and joking, groping each other drunkenly. It soon looked like half of Northgate was there.

It didn’t take long for the cellar to fill up with the buzz of chatter and a haze of smoke from their pipes. Nobul was right next to the pit — they’d certainly given him a decent view. Whether that was intentional or not he didn’t know, but it didn’t put him at his ease any.

Before long there was a shout at the far end of the cellar. Some fat bloke was standing on a barrel trying to get everyone’s attention.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he shouted. ‘I know you’re all here for the main event, but first we have a little warm up contest to get you in the mood.’ A cheer went up from certain parts of the crowd. ‘Now, for your delectation, we have a prime example of the pugilistic arts. Our first contender plied their trade in the cellars of Coppergate for five years before moving up to the big time. It’s their third fight in Steelhaven, and some of you’ll remember the mess they made of their last opponent. That’s right, you know who it is — it’s the scourge of the Iron Pits, the hammer fisted daemon, Gnasher Arys!’

The crowd began to cheer and boo as a path opened up. Nobul was expecting some thickly muscled brute — all broken nose and knuckles — but that’s not what came. A woman strutted in through the haze. She was broad about the shoulders, her hair greased back in a topknot. When she reached the side of the pit she grimaced at the onlookers, revealing a row of yellowing teeth, sharpened into nasty-looking points.

‘Who could be mad enough to face her in the ring?’ the fat bloke continued over the jeering. ‘What kind of woman could care so little for her personal safety that she’d take to the pit with a beast like that?’

He paused, waiting for the answer. Someone chanted something that Nobul couldn’t quite make out and before long that person was joined by another voice. Soon the whole crowd was calling the name — Lady Pain — over and over again. Another gap opened up and this time the woman who appeared didn’t look like any lady Nobul had ever seen. She was almost as big about the shoulders as he was, a leather corset holding in her girth all the way up to the bosom. Her hair was shorn short, nose smashed in, jaw jutting like it didn’t take any shit.

‘Yes, you know it,’ shouted the bloke. ‘Lady Pain — Princess of the Pit, Mistress of the Melee, Baroness of the Brawl, undefeated in twelve contests!’

The two women stood at either side of the pit eyeing one another, letting the anticipation build within the crowd. The man on top of the barrel watched them, a smile growing wider on his face as he felt the atmosphere in the cellar growing. Then, without anyone’s say so, the two women jumped in.

Nobul couldn’t see nothing then. The revellers surrounded the pit, staring down, their cheers and jeers filling the cellar with a deafening racket. Every now and again he heard grunting as the pair went at it. The spectators would occasionally give a groan or a roar as one or the other of them struck a violent blow or maybe bit something off the other. Coin was bandied around the edge of the pit as several shills ran their books on who’d win. Nobul could only watch all that shouting and wonder if he’d get cheered or booed or spat on when his turn came. And he knew his turn was coming sooner or later. Only question was what sort of bastard he’d be fighting.

There was a scream that went on a bit too long. It silenced the crowd for a moment before everyone surrounding the pit erupted as one. Once the cheer had subsided, some people started laughing, a few turned away with a grimace. Nobul could see several were spotted with blood that weren’t their own.

The man took his place on the barrel once more.

‘Ladies and gentleman,’ he shouted as one of the women crawled unsteadily from the pit. ‘Our victor this evening is Gnasher Arys.’

The spectators began to clap in appreciation as the woman rose to her feet, mouth dripping with blood. Nobul doubted any of it was hers. Her right eye was closing and she clutched a hand to her ribs, but she still smiled in her victory.

‘Let’s hear it for the gallant loser,’ shouted the fat bloke as Lady Pain was unceremoniously dragged from the pit. No one seemed too bothered about giving her a clap. She looked like her fighting days were over.

Nobul wasn’t that bothered either. He had his own problems to think on. Mercifully he didn’t have to stew on them for too long.

Almost as soon as they’d carried the woman out and the crowd had gone back to its chatter, the announcer climbed on top of the barrel once more. He clapped his hands, grabbing the attention of his audience and hushing them into silence.

‘Well, ladies and gents, now’s the time you’ve all been waiting for: the main event. A one-time opportunity to witness what has not been seen within the walls of this city for a hundred years.’ He pointed over to Nobul, and all eyes turned. ‘A death sentence to be carried out before your eyes.’ One of the ladies clapped in glee as someone began to mess with the chains binding Nobul to the post. Any thought he might have had of making a break for it were dismissed by the sharp end of a blade against his throat. When he looked he saw it was the curly haired one — Friedrik — who was holding it.

‘You’ll put on a good show, won’t you, Nobul?’ he asked, as two big ugly bastards unchained him from the post, but then quickly secured his hands behind him again. ‘There’s a lot riding on this. And I’ve got a reputation to keep.’

Nobul didn’t answer as the two thugs manhandled him to the edge of the pit. All he could think about was how good it would be to get his hands around Friedrik’s throat right now. But he forgot that as he looked down into that big hole.

‘So without further ado,’ shouted the announcer. ‘Let’s get on with the dogfight.’

There was no time to wonder what he meant by ‘dogfight’ before Nobul was shoved down into the pit. Neither was there any time to try to make a graceful landing as he went sprawling in the dirt, his shoulder crunching awkwardly.

Nobul stood up, feeling the first spark of the pain, letting it feed the rage a little. The edge of the pit was surrounded now with jeering onlookers. Someone spat at him and missed, but Nobul wasn’t too bothered about that. He was more concerned with the iron grille set in the wall. From behind it he could see something thrashing and snarling, spitting its fury at the bars.

‘Remember,’ shouted a voice, and Nobul looked up to see Friedrik looking down with a grin, waving his knife like he was conducting an orchestra. ‘It’s not the size of the dog in the fight … it’s the size of the fight in the dog.’

Nobul wanted to tell him to go and fuck himself with his little knife, but before he had the chance someone pulled the grille up.

A hundred pounds of angry pit bull came tearing at him. Its ears were pinned back to its head and strings of slaver covered its snout. Nobul just about had time to back up to the wall of the pit before it leapt at him. He ducked, rolling away and came up on his feet but the pit bull was already after him. From above came the sounds of people cheering the dog on, willing it to tear his bollocks off.

He took a step towards it and kicked out, but the beast was faster, ducking his foot and lunging at his outstretched leg. It bit at his thigh, but got more of his trews than the flesh of his leg. Nobul tottered as it pulled backward, its thickly muscled haunches doing their best to drag him over, but all it managed to do was rip away a mouthful of cotton and some of his leg with it.

The crowd roared in appreciation of first blood, and Nobul gritted his teeth against the pain. He had little time to spit his curses before the dog was at him again, this time aiming for his ankle. Nobul jumped back, doing a stupid fucking dance around the pit as the animal tried to take another lump out of him. There was laughter from above, a shrill woman’s laugh that only served to make him angrier, and as the dog came in again he stamped down. His boot hit the pit bull’s head and it gave a yelp, scrambling back before attacking again.

It jumped at him and Nobul twisted, not quite far enough. Jaws clamped around his arm pulling him off balance and the weight of the pit bull sent him sprawling. It let go, and Nobul knew what was next — it would be after his face. He tried to twist away, but the dog was too fast. It went for his throat, but only got his ear. As the beast ripped half his lobe away Nobul grunted at the searing heat of it and could hear the snarl right down his earhole.

Fury bubbled up in him.

Fuck this bunch of bastards and their jeering. And fuck this dog.

Nobul kicked out with his legs as the dog reeled back with his ear. Before it could come in again his head shot forward and he bit down — his teeth clamped just over the pit bull’s eye. There was a pained squeal as Nobul brought up his knee, driving it into the dog’s ribcage. It howled again as a rib cracked. Scrabbling away in panic, the dog ripped its eyebrow away from Nobul’s jaws and fled to the other side of the pit where it slunk in fear and pain.

Nobul staggered to his feet, spitting out the dog’s flesh and heaving in a laboured breath. The pit bull cowered, whining in one corner and the crowd’s noise seemed to subside for a moment. There was shouting from above and someone bundled their way through. Another snarl and there, at the lip of the pit, was someone big and grim, holding another fucking dog on another bloody chain.

‘Get in there,’ he commanded, wrenching the chain from round its neck. It needed no more encouragement, jumping in and coming on as ravenous as the first had been.

Nobul’s mad was up now. He had tasted blood. Had raw flesh between his teeth. There was no fear — this was battle, plain and simple. Kill or be killed.

Nobul rushed at the dog, heedless of its slavering jaws. It leapt at him, aiming for the throat and they smashed into one another, both of them going down, writhing in the dirt, snarling and biting and screaming. The dog bit his shoulder and he sank his teeth into its paw. It yelped, wrenching its limb away, but Nobul was in no mood to let it escape. As they rolled around on the floor of the pit, even with his hands behind him, he somehow managed to tangle the chain fastening his wrists around the dog’s throat. It struggled in his grip, trying to escape, chewing at his forearm as Nobul arched his body and squeezed the chain tighter. He gritted his teeth, pulling with all his might. The dog strained every muscle taut, desperate to escape.

The revellers looked on in disappointed silence when the pit bull finally went slack in his grip, tongue lolling from its mouth like a raw slice of steak.

Heaving in ragged breaths, the pain starting to leach into the wounds the dogs had left, Nobul rose to his feet. They all looked down at him now, every face seeming disappointed. He wanted to remember all those faces, wanted to keep them in his mind’s eye so later he could find every one of them and make them pay for what they’d watched.

Not much chance of that, though. So maybe he’d best give them something else to remember him by.

The first dog still cowered in the corner of the pit and Nobul walked towards it as it whined in panic. It had nowhere to go, nowhere to run.

‘You cunts want a show?’ Nobul yelled. ‘You want to see a fucking dogfight?’

The pit bull yelped as he struck it with his boot and tried to make itself smaller and smaller as he kicked it again and again. It didn’t even try to defend itself or make a run for it as he slammed in with his boot, grunting, spitting blood, eyes wide, seeing nothing but hurt and pain and death. Before long the dog wasn’t moving no more.

Nobul turned back to the crowd to scream at them that he’d won, that he didn’t die so easy, when someone threw something over his head.

In a moment he’d been wrestled to the ground and his legs bound. There was nothing he could do but just lie there and wait to be kicked to death just like that dog. But it didn’t happen.

They just left him lying in that pit with the two dead fighting dogs, as the sound of the disappointed onlookers slowly drained away.