The Shattered Crown

THIRTY-FOUR

As she got to the top end of Slip Street, Rag couldn’t work out whether she’d missed this place or not — the filthy streets, the ramshackle houses, the girls calling for punters. It was weird — there were the same faces, the same sights and sounds, but now it somehow felt different. Or maybe it wasn’t different; maybe it was exactly the same and it was her who had changed.

You don’t belong here no more. You should never have come. Never look back — it only leads to pain. Why don’t you just turn around and go back to the Guild? That’s your family now. That’s where you belong.

But Rag didn’t turn around. How could she?

She carried on walking down the street, a sack thrown over one shoulder, tramping through the mud like she’d never left this place. When she saw the Bull ahead of her she got a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her pace slowed and she came to a stop, just staring up at that roof.

What if they hated her for leaving? What if they threw things and spat at her for deserting them?

What if they didn’t?

Only one way to find out what they’d do, and she hadn’t walked all the way here for the good of her health. Tightening her grip on the sack, Rag crossed the street and made her way up those rickety stairs, the wood creaking like it was gonna give way beneath her. She’d done it a thousand times before, but she’d never been so scared as she was now.

When she made it up over the lip of the roof she expected them to be waiting, arms folded, evil looks in their eyes. But despite the noise she’d made on the way up, there weren’t no one waiting. Just that little shack made of planks sitting on the flat roof.

Rag walked across the rooftop, taking no pains to be quiet. As she got close to the shack she could hear voices talking, fast and low.

‘Getting fucking colder,’ said one.

‘I know it’s getting fucking colder, and there ain’t nothing to be done about it,’ said another.

‘We should get a fire going.’

‘You fucking get a fire going.’

They were voices Rag recognised, but something was different about them. They weren’t carefree like they used to be. It weren’t no light-hearted banter. Now there was a hard edge to the squabbling.

She peered inside. Chirpy, his once smiling face now mournful, sat staring at the empty ashes of a dead fire. Little Tidge had grown; but grown lean, and his face had a wolfishness to it like he’d seen one too many bad things. What concerned her most was the sight of Migs curled up on the floor, his long hair matted to his head.

‘What’s going on, shit stains?’ she said, expecting them to turn around and laugh or shout … or something.

The lads didn’t even flinch, just looked up at her blankly. She could have been anyone — could have been a Greencoat come to turf them off the roof — it was obvious they didn’t care.

Rag squeezed herself into the shack and took a seat on the makeshift bench. She tried a smile but couldn’t take her eyes from Migs lying on the floor.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ she asked, reaching out a hand and touching the clammy skin of his cheek.

‘Fuck do you care?’ Tidge replied.

Chirpy nudged him. ‘He’s got some kind of fever. We don’t know what to do about it. We ain’t got coin for no apothecary.’

‘So you’ve just left him lying there — no blanket or nothing?’

‘We ain’t got one. What we supposed to do?’ said Chirpy.

‘What about Fender?’ Rag asked. ‘Where’s he?’

Both the boys shrugged.

‘Not seen him for weeks,’ said Tidge.

Rag placed her sack down on the makeshift bench and knelt down beside Migs.

‘All right, little mate?’ she asked. ‘How you feeling?’

He looked up and tried a little smile that turned into a grimace and a cough.

‘What’s in the bag?’ asked Tidge as Rag wiped Migs’ clammy forehead.

‘Have a look,’ she replied.

As she wondered what to do about Migs, the other two rummaged through the sack, finding the lukewarm pie and the bread she’d brought. There was a small bottle of ale too, but the lads were too busy crowing over the food to notice it.

‘Make sure it’s shared equal,’ Rag said, as she fished around in her shirt pocket. Her hand rested on a gold crown — the only money she had left — and for a second she wondered if now was the time to use it.

What are you gonna keep it for? It’s not like you’ve got expensive taste in frigging clothes, is it? Migs is in need. Do the right thing.

She turned to see Chirpy and Tidge already with full cheeks. For a moment she could have scolded them for their greed, but she’d been the wrong side of starving enough times herself, and knew all too well how it made you forget your manners. Not that these two little buggers had any manners in the first place.

‘Listen, and listen good,’ she said. ‘Migs needs medicine, and you’re to get it for him, understood?’ Before either of the lads could protest she held up the gold crown. Both of them gazed at it as though it were all the gold in Queen Janessa’s treasury. ‘This’ll be enough. Don’t let the apothecary scam you. Just tell him Migs has a fever and you’re willing to pay for anything what cures him.’

Chirpy nodded, but Tidge was still staring at that gold crown. Rag thought it best if she let Chirpy take charge of it, and flicked it to him. He snatched it from the air and had it away up his sleeve in a heartbeat.

‘You’re not back to stay then?’ Tidge asked.

‘No, I’m not,’ she replied, and felt an unexpected twinge of regret at the words.

‘You just left without a word. Didn’t even say goodbye.’

‘I know,’ Rag said. ‘But there were things I had to do. Things I had to take care of alone. I thought Fender would be looking out for you, but it looks like he lied about that.’ And not for the first time.

‘We can take care of ourselves,’ said Chirpy.

Rag glanced around the little shack that looked more rotten than ever.

‘Yeah, it looks like it.’

They just sat then, nothing more to say. The lads kept eating — had most of the pie and bread. Rag was pleased when she didn’t need to remind them to save a portion for Migs. When they’d finished she stood up, gave them each a nod, and made her way out of the shack.

‘You coming back?’ asked Chirpy, as she made her way over the roof and towards the stairs.

Well, are you? Will you even bother to come back and see if Migs is okay? There’s a tough winter coming, and worse if the Khurtas get through that wall. Are you gonna come check on them, or are you just gonna look to yourself?

‘Aye, I’ll be back,’ she replied, not looking over her shoulder. Not wanting Chirpy to see the same lie on her face as he heard from her lips.

How could she promise to come back? She already had enough to deal with. Hells, she might not even be alive tomorrow.

Maybe you should have told the truth. Maybe you should have let them know they ain’t going to see you again. That you only came out of guilt and it hasn’t made you feel no better.

But she couldn’t do that neither. She was just a coward and she knew it. Only bothered about herself. She’d spent years looking after a crew of lads and look where it had got her — screaming for help on a rooftop while one of them bled his last out through a hole in his throat.

They were better off without her. Better off fending for themselves than getting mixed up with Rag and her shit. And it was shit all right — following her round wherever she went, stinking her up good and proper.

Who are you trying to kid? Don’t try to pretend you’re protecting them. You’re running away, just like last time.

Rag stopped at the end of Slip Street and took a glance back. If she never saw this place again it would be too soon. Saying that, what waited for her elsewhere might not be much better.

As she made her way through the streets towards Northgate, Rag began to get that heavy feeling in her stomach. If Slip Street had held daemons for her, there was a tavern somewhere on her route that held trouble ten times worse, and no mistake.

She’d let that man Nobul go free. What kind of payback would there be for that? Would Friedrik know it was Rag what let him out? Would he be waiting with something sharp and pointy just for her?

Only one way to find out.

The thought of running away crossed her mind, though it was only fleeting. She’d learned how to survive in this city, and that was all she knew. How would she live outside it? Find a job in some backwater village? Get work on the land?

Rag the farmer? Do me a fucking favour.

Friedrik’s tavern was quiet when she reached it. The street was dark — no lamplighters would be along this end of Steelhaven any time soon, and she paused at the threshold.

Last chance, Rag. Take it or leave it.

Rag turned the door handle and walked in.

She had no idea what she’d been expecting. Anger? Certainly. Uproar? Probably. Carnage? Yeah … but not like this.

The place looked smashed to pieces. There were corpses everywhere, many of them naked. The lads were doing their best to clean up; Yarrick and Essen were carrying a body to one corner where there was a pile of the dead. Even Harkas was helping, wiping blood off a tabletop with a soiled rag. Shirl, still looking worse for wear, stayed out of the way, too injured to help and too scared to leave.

Rag looked across at the shadow standing in front of the fire. All she could see was his back as he stared into the dying embers.

Rag wanted nothing more than to run. She should have taken that chance, should have fled when she was outside and the going was good, but she was here now. Had she brought all this about? All those people dead — and because she’d let Nobul go.

He’d warned her too — told her if she fucking hung around she’d end up dead just like them. And she’d believed him … mostly. She couldn’t have expected this though, could she? Surely it weren’t her fault?

Slowly she crossed the tavern to where Friedrik was stood. She didn’t say nothing, just stood behind him. Rag knew better than to interrupt him when he was lost in thought. Shirl and his bruises were enough of a lesson not to get on the wrong side of Friedrik. But then there was every chance she’d already got on his wrong side. Only question was, would she be able to lie her way out of it?

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Friedrik said, not looking round from the fire. Rag couldn’t tell if he was angry or not, there was neither joy nor menace in his tone.

‘I … I ran away,’ she replied, not knowing what else to say. ‘When it all kicked off I ran away into the night and I was too scared to come back.’ If she tried half-truths maybe he wouldn’t sniff out the lie in what she was saying. She’d already proved she weren’t no good at lying back when that woman Kaira caught her. No use chancing it now.

‘The lads said it was your idea they leave. Your idea the place was left unguarded. I said it couldn’t be true, that you’d never be so stupid.’

‘Yeah, I did say that, but I didn’t think-’

‘You didn’t think?’ Friedrik turned round, and she could see his face was grave, like he’d just been to a funeral. Or a dozen funerals, all at once. ‘Do you expect me to believe that? It’s something I’d believe of Shirl or Essen or Yarrick, but not you. You’re always thinking, Rag. Always one step ahead — that’s why I like you. That’s why I keep you around.’

‘I just meant … I didn’t think there were no danger.’

He stared at her, those eyes burning deep like he could see through the lies. ‘Well, clearly there fucking was, because it’s like a butcher’s shop in here. Rare cuts lie all around. Chop chop chop.’

As he punctuated his last three words with three slices of his hand, Rag swallowed.

‘It all just happened so quick. I had to get out. There weren’t nothing I could do.’

‘It happened so quick? Yes, I’m sure. A deadly man, our Nobul Jacks. But I’m wondering; how did he manage to get loose? Know anything about that?’

Rag thought hard. What could she say? What did Friedrik think she knew?

‘That toothless bloke,’ she said. ‘He was taunting the fella in the cellar. Couldn’t keep away. I told him to leave well alone, but he just wouldn’t. Maybe he dropped his keys.’

‘Really?’ asked Friedrik, looking genuinely interested. ‘How clever of you to work that out when I never even mentioned he had a set of keys. How would you know that?’

You and your fucking mouth, Rag.

‘Just a guess. How else would it have happened?’

Friedrik glared at her. It was obvious he knew. Obvious he was just dragging this out for the show.

‘Where is he?’ Friedrik asked, finally.

‘Who?’

‘Nobul Jacks. The man in the fucking cellar.’ He was talking through his teeth now; she’d seen it a dozen times — always just before he stuck something into someone and they screamed and screamed, but he carried on sticking like he couldn’t hear their pain.

‘I don’t know. I just ran. I ran away.’ She could feel tears welling in her eyes. Behind her the lads had stopped with their business and were watching what was happening. Rag knew she’d get no help from them.

‘Where did you run to? Back to his house? He must have been in a bad way, Rag. Did you see to his wounds and then come back here? Where the fuck is he?’

‘I don’t know, I swear it.’

Friedrik reached out and grabbed her arms. His fingers dug in deep and she almost cried out in pain. Almost.

‘You’ve been gone all night and all day. Where have you been? Tell me now or I’ll-’

‘I went to find Merrick!’ she shouted. ‘That Merrick Ryder fella, like you wanted.’

Friedrik’s brow softened all of a sudden. ‘What?’

‘I ran and I was on the streets and I didn’t know what to do and I knew you’d be angry and I went to find that Merrick and he’s meeting me later.’

Friedrik let go of her, a smile taking over his face. ‘Why didn’t you say that in the first place?’ he asked. She stared at him, at his smiling face, wondering what kind of mad bastard just changed on a coin toss like that.

‘Well? What are you waiting for?’ he said. ‘Lead the way.’