Prisoner of Fate (15 page)

‘See? You know how I feel.’ He closed the gap between himself and the taverner and whispered, ‘I need your help, Barrel Taverner. I need to know who killed my brother. I need to know who is intending to try to kill my other brothers so I can stop them. Can you help me, Barrel Taverner?’

‘
W
here have you been?’ Swift looked up at the three children standing in the entry to the ruined building. The dirty-faced and dark-eyed boy at the centre, the one who’d asked his question brusquely, was staring at her and at the stranger wrapped in a black cloak with the hood pulled up, crouching in the shadows. ‘Who’s that?’ he insisted.

‘A friend,’ Swift replied, straightening from kneeling. ‘Got a hug?’

The boy met her gaze defiantly and squared his chin. ‘No.’

‘I missed you,’ Swift said, appealing to him.

‘I didn’t miss you,’ he scowled, and ran back through the broken doorway, his two companions in pursuit.

Swift watched the three disappear into the jumble of street and buildings before she turned to the figure in the shadows. ‘Come on,’ she coaxed. ‘There’s no one else here.’

‘Who was that?’ Ella asked as she clumsily emerged over the rubble and dropped her hood.

‘Him?’ Swift asked, kneeling again to scoop water with a small white cup from a large fire-blackened bowl warming over a fire in the middle of the rubble. Faint
white smoke curled up through the gaping hole in the roof. ‘Runner.’ She reconsidered her answer, and added, ‘My son.’

‘How old is he?’

‘Old enough,’ Swift replied, approaching Ella.

Ella sniffed. ‘What’s the water for?’

‘You have blood over you. It needs cleaning off.’ Ella opened her cloak to reveal bloodstains on her breasts, stomach and over part of her left arm. She shivered, remembering how the blood came to be there. ‘Wash quickly and thoroughly,’ Swift instructed. ‘We can’t stay here.’

‘How old is he?’ Ella repeated.

Swift paused to look at Ella, as if she’d forgotten the first time of asking. ‘Runner?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thirteen.’

‘You were very young when you had him.’

‘Fourteen.’

Ella caught her breath, but Swift ignored the reaction as she headed for the doorway. ‘It’s getting lighter,’ she said. ‘The market’s already busy. We can’t waste time. Wash yourself. I’ll keep watch.’

‘How? What will I use?’ Ella asked, staring at the cup and steaming bowl.

Swift bent and fossicked in the rubble and produced a rumpled green cloth, which she tossed to Ella. ‘Use that tunic.’ She went to the doorway and stood facing out. Ella slid out of her old cloak. Naked and shivering in the cool air despite the fire, she tore strips from the green tunic and scrubbed the dried blood until her skin was red.

Swift watched the tiny laneway quietly, glancing back occasionally at Ella, admiring the girl’s beauty. Carts and donkeys and people moved along the crowded street beyond the narrow laneway, and the shouting and cries
of the market, the sound of bartering and argument filtered back. The tantalising odour of meat sizzling on an invisible cooking hearth set her mouth watering and she realised that she hadn’t eaten cooked food for almost three days while she was stalking the prince. He’d slipped out of the palace with his licentious companions and proceeded to slink and lurch from tavern to inn while Swift plotted how and when she could strike, keeping in touch with her quarry but staying invisible in the streets. She had grabbed food and drink sparingly when she could, buying from street merchants she knew she could trust, stealing from those she couldn’t, but she was sick of her rushed and spare diet of fruit and raw vegetables. She wanted cooked meat. ‘Can you see any bits I’ve missed?’

Swift turned to find Ella holding a wet rag towards her. ‘Turn around,’ she instructed, and scrubbed a streak of blood along Ella’s spine before wiping away a small spot Ella had missed on her shoulder. ‘Done,’ she announced. ‘Get your cloak on.’

‘I’ll be cold,’ Ella complained.

‘You don’t have a choice,’ Swift gruffly replied. ‘I’ll get you some clothes later.’ While Ella wrapped herself in her old black cloak, Swift tipped the water onto the fire, sending a cloud of steam hissing through the hole in the roof. Then she led the girl along the laneway and into the street.

The morning sun’s golden light made the whitewashed buildings glow and the green-tiled roofs shine. Most of the traffic was heading for the market, people carting goods they intended to sell, while a few were already moving back out, having made their purchases before the market became too busy. Swift led Ella across the street into another laneway that twisted between two and three-storey buildings where the sunlight hadn’t quite reached and the morning cold
lingered, until they emerged onto another wider street, empty of people. A grey dog growled at them before it slunk into an alley. ‘Wait here,’ Swift ordered, pushing Ella back into the lane, and she moved quickly towards a shopfront. She knocked quietly and a few nervous moments later the front door opened and a woman ushered Swift inside.

Ella clutched her cloak closer, shivering, flexing and shuffling her feet. Her bare toes felt like they were going to freeze to the damp cobbles and she wanted to get into the spreading sunlight and let the warmth soak through her cold body. If it hadn’t been for Swift, she’d be snuggled in a cosy bed with a man’s warm body against her, tired, used, but comfortable. The image of the dying man flashed into her head and she winced at the horrible memory. Swift was taking a long time.

She wasn’t used to hiding like this, not since she’d been much younger. Luckily for her, Barrel Taverner had found her with her friend, Mouse, huddled in his stable one evening. Instead of chasing them away like so many other people did, he befriended them and gave them food and a warm bed in which to sleep. Then he taught them how to serve men who gave Taverner money for their pleasure. Ella didn’t like all the men she had to please, but Taverner kept the girls protected and healthy, along with three other girls he rescued from the street, and it was a better life than she had known. An older woman, Frost, Taverner’s cook and his first girl, showed them how to control the unruly men and how to avoid becoming pregnant, and she intervened whenever Taverner was displeased—which was rare. They all worked in the tavern when they weren’t with men in the upstairs bedrooms, and when they weren’t sleeping with Taverner’s clients, they all snuggled together in Taverner’s huge bed in his private room.
Taverner, Frost and the girls were her family. It felt like Swift had stolen that. The clip-clop on the cobbled street of approaching horses’ hooves startled her and she shifted deeper into the laneway, pressing against the rough stone wall.

‘You all right, girlie?’ Ella stifled a scream as she turned to the source of the voice. A haggard old man’s face stared through slitted eyes at her. ‘I don’t bite, girlie,’ the old man rasped through rotted teeth. ‘Who you hiding from?’

‘I’m not hiding,’ she explained, fighting her fear. ‘I’m waiting for a friend.’

‘Where’d she go?’

‘Across the street.’

‘Where?’

She checked herself. ‘Not sure.’

The old man coughed and spat onto the cobbles. ‘Aaarrrgh,’ he rattled. ‘Damn these cold mornings.’ He scratched his balls and tottered two steps back into his doorway. ‘Aren’t you cold, little girlie?’ he asked. ‘You can come inside by my fire.’

‘No,’ she replied, trying to stop shivering. ‘My cloak’s magical.’ The old man’s bushy eyebrows rose, but then he shook his head to show he didn’t believe her lies and withdrew, coughing as he slammed his door.

The horse hooves echoed along the street and Ella spied the red uniforms and polished silver helmets of three of the city watch on their tall chestnut mounts. She shivered when a rider stared in her direction, and pressed against the rough stone wall as if she could push it back to escape the guard’s penetrating gaze. The rider reined in and maintained his steady gaze while his companions moved out of sight, before he urged his horse forward and disappeared. Ella remained rigid, breathing rapidly until the hooves became muffled before she edged back to the corner to see if Swift had
emerged, but Swift, with an armful of goods, was beckoning from the laneway. ‘How did you get here?’ Ella asked when she reached the young woman.

‘Circled around the backstreets. Glass warned me the guards were coming.’ Swift started pushing clothes into Ella’s hands.

‘One of them saw me. He was creepy.’

Swift stopped handing the clothes to her. ‘Did he?’

Ella nodded. ‘There was an old man too. He came out of his house in the lane.’

‘Get dressed. I think these will fit,’ she said, dropping a pair of boots at Ella’s feet. ‘Hurry up.’

‘Why are we hurrying everywhere?’ Ella protested, struggling into a loose dull-green hessian smock.

‘I killed a prince, in case you’ve forgotten,’ Swift said, sarcasm bristling in her voice.

‘But no one saw you.’

‘Not the point.’

‘Why? I don’t understand.’

‘Get the boots on. I’ll explain later.’

When Ella was dressed, Swift urged her along the narrow, cold shadowy twisting alley where the buildings were so close that they almost touched overhead, clambering over piles of rotting garbage, disturbing cats that scowled as the two young women passed. They crossed two wider lanes, following the twisting alley, until they emerged on a main road heading to the south and out of the city. ‘These boots are too big,’ Ella complained. ‘My feet are hurting.’

Swift squatted and pulled up two clumps of grass at the edge of the road. ‘Stuff these in the ends. Quickly,’ she instructed.

‘How much further?’ Ella asked as she pressed grass into the toe of one boot.

‘Straight down the road,’ Swift explained. ‘Not far. Come on.’

They joined the thin trickle of traffic, but Swift stopped after several paces and grabbed Ella’s arm. Two guards on the roadway were stopping traffic and scrutinising people randomly. ‘What now?’ Ella asked eyeing the guards.

Swift assessed the risk and pulled a knife from her belt. ‘Into this alley,’ she ordered, pulling Ella off of the road, but Ella stared at the knife, horrified. ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ Swift assured her, surveying the alley. ‘Kneel down.’

‘Why?’ Ella stammered.

‘Take it easy,’ Swift ordered. ‘I’m cutting your hair short. It’s too obvious.’

‘I’ll just pull the hood over,’ Ella argued.

‘That’s even more obvious,’ Swift snorted. ‘Guards get very suspicious when people hide their faces in public.’

‘But my hair.’

‘Has to go. Kneel down.’

‘Don’t make it hurt,’ Ella begged.

‘The knife’s sharp,’ Swift replied. ‘Kneel.’

Ella knelt reluctantly. Swift took hold of a hank of her blonde hair and sawed through. ‘Ouch!’ Ella complained, but Swift simply grabbed another hank and started cutting. Ella watched her hair fall around her knees.

‘There,’ Swift announced after a while. ‘Stand up.’

Ella was half a head taller than the older woman. ‘I’ve never cut my hair before,’ she said, running her hands over her butchered hair.

‘I keep mine close or bald,’ Swift said. ‘Stops lice.’ She unhitched her hand crossbow, took off her waistcoat and wrapped the weapon in the clothing. ‘Stuff this under your cloak so you look pregnant.’ Ella obediently arranged the mound under her cloak. ‘Good. You can be my wife now,’ Swift informed her. ‘Come on.’

In their simple disguise, they approached the guards and passed unchallenged, the guards smiling at the pregnant woman. Fifty paces down the road, Swift retrieved her waistcoat and bow and led Ella into a side street, and into yet another narrow, cluttered alley. ‘See that blue door?’ Swift asked, and when Ella nodded she said, ‘That’s where an old friend lives. We’ll stay there today and eat. Then you and I are going out of the city this evening to a village about half a day’s walk. We’ll stay there until I get my next job.’

‘But what about Taverner? My job?’ Ella asked.

‘You’re on holiday,’ Swift told her.

‘For how long?’

Swift shook her head. ‘For as long as it takes for the king’s men to forget that you were there when Prince Shortear was murdered.’

‘But how long will that be?’

Swift slapped her hand against her leg and swore. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ she gasped in disbelief. ‘You’re an accomplice to a murder. You won’t be going back to work for Taverner for a long time, unless you want to be a dead girl. Understand?’

‘I didn’t kill the prince. You did!’ Ella accused.

‘That’s why I’m leaving too,’ said Swift sarcastically, and shook her head.

Ella was silent. Then she asked, ‘What about your son?’

Swift glared at her, then looked away and shrugged. ‘Runner lives with his aunt. He looks after himself. He’ll be all right.’ She sighed again and started walking towards the house with the blue door. ‘Come on,’ she urged.

H
ordemaster Sharpeye Fist saluted as he entered and stood at attention, pushing his early morning sleepiness aside. Warlord Shooter Roughcut raised an officious eyebrow and dismissed his attendant soldiers, but after they left his office his expression eased and he held out a friendly hand to the tall Kerwyn Hordemaster. ‘Nice professional performance, Fist, but you can relax.’

Fist dropped his formal pose, focussing his gaze on the Warlord’s thickset frame and stern features. ‘I came as you requested.’

‘Take a seat,’ Roughcut instructed.

Fist sat on a wooden stool, one of five in the office space, and Roughcut sat opposite. ‘I won’t take up too much of your time. I’m sure Prince Shadow keeps you busy enough without the usual chores associated with your role.’ Fist didn’t alter his expression at Roughcut’s deliberate remark concerning his work for the prince, so Roughcut cleared his throat and continued. ‘You, no doubt, know all this, the rumours are plentiful, so I’ll be blunt. Prince Thirdson is preparing to sail with an army against a group of rebels in the northern mountains. It should be a single
cycle affair and, as Warlord, I’m going with King Hawkeye’s blessing. The old man is very near death and may even die while we are away. Prince Shadow’s manoeuvrings to take his father’s throne haven’t gone unnoticed.’ He watched Fist’s scarred face for a response, but the Hordemaster remained impassive. Roughcut smiled wryly and continued. ‘King Hawkeye turns a blind eye because he doesn’t believe Shadow has the backbone to actually do anything about Prince Inheritor’s right of succession. I beg to differ with the king. Prince Shortear’s unfortunate accident warns me other plans are afoot.’

‘Prince Shadow had nothing to do with that, my Lord,’ Fist calmly replied. ‘You have my word.’

Roughcut paused and looked down, ruminating on Fist’s interruption. When he raised his head, he said, ‘Then you really do have a problem.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘My men have tracked down the assassin who killed Shortear.’ Roughcut watched Fist’s face as he spoke. ‘A young woman. A professional. She learned her trade, so I’ve been informed, from old Killer Dagger of the Guild.’

‘Dagger was hung six years ago,’ Fist reminded him, ‘and the Guild is outlawed.’

‘She’s very good,’ Roughcut continued, ignoring Fist’s information. ‘In fact, word in the city is that she’s the best currently working the trade. The corporate bosses hire her to eliminate their enemies and pay high prices for her services because she always fulfils her contract. But perhaps you already know that.’

Fist rose indignantly. ‘Prince Shadow has never employed
this
woman.’

Roughcut met the Hordemaster’s angry glare with a calm manner, and said, ‘She has disappeared. Do you know anything about her whereabouts?’

Fist stared at Roughcut again and said with controlled rage, ‘You are making a very big mistake, Warlord, in suggesting Prince Shadow’s implication in this murder, and when he learns of it you may rue your accusations. I’ve personally been hunting her down.’

‘So you do know about her.’ Fist flushed red with fury and embarrassment. Roughcut allowed another wry smile to grace his lips. ‘The king has asked me to find the answer to this problem. If you already know the answer, shouldn’t we be working together on this matter? Of course, if the answer is that his second son is killing off his other sons to inherit the throne, how do you think King Hawkeye will respond?’

Fist stiffened, but a matching smile creased his cheeks. ‘With respect, Warlord, but wasn’t it you who warned me that speculation can cost a man his head?’

Roughcut acknowledged the reminder with a gentle nod, saying, ‘For me, speculation is no longer a viable option. I sail north today. But for you, my friend, my speculation may save you losing your head. The young woman’s name is Swift. She’s Shessian and she’s dangerous, and if she’s not working for your prince you’d better speculate with unerring accuracy in my absence. King Hawkeye, while he lives, will demand it.’ He rose from his stool and held out a hand to shake. ‘May Jarudha guide your luck.’

Ella sat against the gum tree on the grassy hillside, soaking in the sun-drenched scenery. The sharp blue midday sky was laced with grey-white clouds and the soft breeze drifting through the trees brushed her bristly blonde hair. An eaglehawk drifted on the air currents, searching the landscape for a tasty morsel, wings shifting precisely to catch the updrafts and hold the bird aloft.
I wish I could fly
, she thought and sighed.

On the slope opposite to where she sat, a shepherd was driving a dozen sheep, accompanied by a child and a brown dog that was working in unison with the shepherd’s arm movements. She gazed down the slope at the village, counting the seven buildings clustered along a shallow creek among the scattering of red gum trees. A narrow rail-less wooden footbridge arched over the creek, connecting the five white and grey huts on the closer side to the small inn and the shepherd’s hut on the far side. Three black dogs gambolled along the creek bank, circling and chasing each other, and in the village two women were talking outside a hut, arms laden with washing. White smoke curled lazily from a stone chimney.

The third hut in the village row belonged to Swift’s friend, a middle-aged woman named Sparkle Pondwater who welcomed Swift and Ella with a warm smile and open arms. But the bigger surprise for Ella was Swift’s daughter, Jewel, a dark-haired urchin child with big eyes. Unlike the boy, Runner, Jewel leapt into her mother’s arms and smothered Swift with kisses, demanding to know why she’d been away for so long and wanting answers to her curiosity about Ella. ‘When can I go with you, Mum?’ Jewel had asked, when Swift sat her on the table inside Sparkle’s two-roomed hut.

‘When you’re a bigger girl,’ Swift told her, laughing at her daughter’s impetuosity.

‘When I’m big like that girl?’ she asked, pointing at Ella.

Swift glanced at Ella and nodded. ‘When you’re big like Ella you can come with me.’

‘Is that next year?’

‘No. Next year you’ll be six. Ella is fifteen.’

‘Is that the next year then?’

Swift grinned. ‘Nearly.’

‘Why does she wear her hair like you?’

‘It’s easier to brush,’ Swift replied.

‘Why does she have a funny name?’ Jewel asked.

‘Her name’s not funny.’

‘Yes it is. It doesn’t mean anything. What’s an Ella?’

Swift laughed. ‘It probably means something in another language.’

‘Like what?’ Exasperated, Swift grabbed her daughter and tickled her ribs to end the questioning.

Sparkle Pondwater fed the hungry visitors a warm breakfast the first morning in Littlecreek. She asked Ella what she did and where her family lived. ‘I live in the city,’ Ella explained. ‘I work in a tavern. That’s where my family live,’ but after eating Ella retreated to the sunshine and the hillside to avoid more questions.

As Ella stared down the hill, Swift emerged from Sparkle’s hut, with Jewel clinging to her, and mother and daughter climbed the hill through the thick grass between the stands of mallee trees, startling a flock of topknot pigeons that scattered into the air. A crow perched in a mallee tree cackled at the scene. Swift seemed slimmer, diminished against the country landscape, and the image of the murderer who killed the prince didn’t fit the figure laughing at her daughter’s antics, but the razor edge to Swift was evident to Ella in her lean figure and her sharp features, and even when she reached Ella and dropped beside her in the grass, her eyes glittered with an intelligence that warned she was more than she seemed.

‘I’m going to see Keeper and the sheep,’ Jewel announced, and she skipped across the slope heading towards the shepherd on the far side of the shallow valley.

‘That one loves animals,’ Swift said, laughing. ‘I wish I could stay out here with her.’

‘What are you going to do with me?’

Ella’s abrupt question made Swift’s smile dissolve. She turned to the blonde-haired girl and said, ‘I’m going to ask you to stay here.’

‘I don’t want to stay here. I want to go back to the tavern.’

Swift sighed and looked across the hillside, watching Jewel’s progress. ‘If it was that easy, I’d let you go back,’ she said quietly, ‘but you know who I am. You saw what happened. The king’s guards would just take you away, torture you, get the truth, kill you and come looking for me. Is that what you want?’

‘But why did you kill him?’ Ella demanded.

Swift snorted and pulled a grass stalk. ‘I could say that I was offered a good price to do it. And that would be true.’ She twisted the stalk and met Ella’s gaze. ‘But I don’t just kill for the sake of money. Not any more. He deserved to die.’

‘Why?’

‘What do you know about Prince Shortear?’

‘Nothing. He seemed nice enough.’

Swift smiled grimly. ‘There was nothing nice in that little rich Kerwyn boy’s body, Ella. He treated Shessians like you and me as toys.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Ella complained. ‘Who wanted him dead?’ Swift shrugged. ‘You mean you don’t know?’ Ella asked in amazement.

‘No. And I don’t ask either. That’s how it’s done.’

‘But what if it’s for bad reasons? Or someone evil is hiring you?’ Swift’s eyes strayed into the distance and she squinted against the light, lifting her hand to shield her eyes. When Ella got no answer to her question and saw that Swift was staring earnestly, she shifted her gaze to discover that Swift was watching two riders galloping along the track towards the village. ‘Who are they?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Swift replied. She stood and descended the hill, quickening her pace, with Ella following, and by the time they reached the huts the riders were approaching quickly and the village dogs were barking. Swift glanced across the stream to check that her daughter was remaining on the hillside with the sheep and Keeper the shepherd. Sparkle emerged from her hut while the two women who’d been talking by the road retreated to their doorways. Swift’s hand moved to her long-bladed knife.

‘You’re not going to kill someone?’ Ella asked nervously.

The riders reined in short of Swift and a young man with wild dark eyes, matted black hair dishevelled by the wind, swung down from his saddle and strode up to her. ‘They know,’ he announced, catching his breath. ‘They’re coming here.’

‘How?’ she demanded.

‘Old Barrel Taverner,’ the young man explained. ‘Hordemaster Fist took him in.’

‘And?’

‘They staked him,’ the young man said, ‘at the gates,’ and spat to show his distaste for the king’s law, but when Ella choked on a cry he glanced at her, asking, ‘Who’s she?’

‘A friend,’ Swift replied, and turned to Sparkle. ‘I need food—easy to carry. And water.’

‘Where will you go?’ the young man asked.

‘Better you don’t know, Nail,’ Swift replied. ‘Keep Jewel safe. And see to Runner. He needs to see you occasionally. He’s with Passion.’

‘Take my horse,’ Nail offered. ‘She can carry both of you.’

‘If I
could
ride,’ Swift sarcastically replied.

‘I can ride,’ Ella announced. Swift turned in surprise. ‘Barrel taught us how to ride,’ Ella explained, wiping a
tear from her cheek. ‘We used the horses that guests left at the stables to practise and Barrel had an old carthorse, Fifteen, that we rode to market.’

‘It’s done then,’ said Nail to Ella, pointing to his horse. ‘Her name is Clear Moon. I bought her as a filly.’

‘You stole her,’ Swift retorted.

He grinned sheepishly and said to Ella, ‘It doesn’t matter. She’ll look after you until it’s safe to come back.’

‘What about Sparkle and the others here?’ Ella asked.

Nail laughed. ‘They’ll be safe with Whitebark and me. If the soldiers come, we’ll have good stories ready. But you have to go now,’ he urged Swift.

‘How much of a start do we have?’

‘Half a morning. Maybe less,’ he explained. ‘I rode here as soon as I learned what happened to Taverner. Fist was already marshalling men to search for you. I heard a rumour some were coming here.’

Sparkle came from her hut with a bag of provisions and the other two women were carrying water bags and fresh damper. Swift looked up at Jewel on the hillside. ‘Look after her,’ she pleaded. ‘Tell her I’ll come back as soon as it’s safe.’

‘I’ll tell her,’ said Nail. He went to touch Swift affectionately, but she avoided him by taking the provisions from Sparkle and tying them to the saddle. Swift hugged Sparkle and they kissed. ‘Why must you always be running?’ Sparkle asked as Swift pulled away.

‘It’s Jarudha’s Will,’ Swift replied. Ella mounted the bay mare and stroked her mane, whispering her name, as Swift reluctantly accepted Nail’s help to clamber up behind Ella. She grabbed the girl’s slender waist and said warily, ‘Easy. I haven’t done this before.’

‘Just hang on,’ Ella told her. She prodded the horse into a walk with her heels, prompting Swift to tighten her grip on Ella’s waist.

‘Good luck!’ Nail called.

‘Go with Jarudha’s protection!’ Sparkle added, wiping her tears. Ella snapped the reins, Clear Moon moved into a canter and Swift held on for her life.