Prisoner of Fate (25 page)

C
hase eased into the warm tub water and sighed with pleasure. He ducked his head under to rinse his hair, resurfaced, wiping the moisture from his face, and ran his fingers through his locks to break up the tangles. Then he leaned against the wood and watched the steam drift through the dull candlelight.

It felt good to be in a familiar room. As brief as the journey through the Joker’s tunnels and the rescue had been, he’d had enough adventure to last for a while. He ended up finding a beige canvas bag instead of a legendary magical weapon. He’d almost believed Sunlight’s fantasy. The old tunnel that dipped under the ocean, the cleverly hidden secret door with its kangaroo-tooth locking mechanism, even the small casket the attackers stole seemed to corroborate what the old man had told him, but in the end it turned out to be an empty promise. And it almost cost him his life.

Sunlight’s granddaughter also was a disappointment, but then he expected a rich woman to be rude and distant. He was, after all, nothing more to her than a thief, one of those unfortunate creatures that survived on the other side of the river. If she didn’t have her looks, she’d be a complete bitch, he decided. At least she
paid him for his work. He refused it initially, out of pride more than any other reason, but he capitulated when she insisted, reasoning it was money a rich woman like her would never miss anyway. Besides, he could buy food for Passion and Jon, and himself. He told her what her grandfather expected her to do with the bag and in so doing absolved himself of further commitment. He completed what he had promised to the old man to ease his conscience.

It was strange to have a conscience. It stopped him stealing from other poor people in the Foundry Quarter, but it drove him to break into houses and businesses over the river. Sometimes he couldn’t understand how his mind worked. He closed his eyes and let the warm water soothe him.

‘Chase.’ He opened his eyes to see Mouse sliding into the water. ‘I thought you needed company,’ she said, ‘especially after sleeping in a tunnel with the Joker.’ Chase smiled politely. ‘Besides, I missed you,’ she continued. She leaned over the side of the tub to lift a small pottery flask from a shelf and Chase watched as she poured a measure of amber liquid into two cups. She held one towards him.

‘No,’ he said quietly.

‘Go on,’ she urged. ‘Have some fun. You need to relax.’

Chase lifted a wet hand out of the water and accepted her offer, and spilled a little of the amber liquid onto his hand. She smiled coyly and returned the flask to the shelf before she took his hand to lick the spilt euphoria. She poured a little onto her own hand and offered it to him, and giggled as his tongue tickled her skin. ‘See?’ she cooed, grinning. ‘You needed this.’

‘Chase!’

He started, as if waking from a dream. ‘Chase!’ A hand shook him and he opened his eyes to a frightened
face. ‘Chase! Get up! Now!’ His sister, Passion, wrenched his arm to pull him out of the bed. ‘Come on! Please, Chase!’ She bundled him towards the door.

My clothes. Where are they
? he wondered, trying to make sense of what was happening. He was in the corridor. Flames. He coughed from smoke.

‘Chase! Run! Run!’ Passion pushed him. Rose appeared in the thickening haze, grabbed his arm and pulled him forward, and his ears filled with a crackling noise. They lurched through the back door of the Perfect Pleasures into an alley that ran along the rear of the buildings. People were gathering in the narrow space, lit by golden-red firelight. Soft rain drifted from the dark sky. Chase could see flames leaping out of the brothel’s roof to join more flames on adjoining roofs. ‘Where’s Mouse?’ he asked, remembering what had transpired. Somebody pushed past.

‘She’s safe,’ Passion replied.

He stared at the burning buildings, his mind still scrambling through the residual euphoria fog. Panicky people who were desperate to escape the fire jostled him as they pushed past. ‘We can’t stay in the alley!’ Rose yelled above the crowd noise.

Passion took his arm. ‘What about my clothes?’ he asked, as she dragged him through the crowd away from the fire.

They emerged on a side street intersecting the Main Way where an even larger crowd was watching the drama unfold. People ran back and forth carrying water buckets in a futile attempt to stop the fire spreading, but the Perfect Pleasures was already an inferno, as were the buildings either side. ‘Here,’ Rose said, hoisting a horse blanket over Chase’s shoulders. ‘It’s not pretty, but it will stop the little old ladies getting excited.’ Chase slid the blanket down to his waist and fastened it firmly.

‘We’d better go home,’ Passion suggested. ‘Jon will
be worried.’ Still groggy from the drug’s effects, Chase hesitated, fascinated by the chaos and writhing flames lighting the night sky, and he only moved when Passion tugged firmly on his arm, obediently following his sister away from the chaos.

‘No one has any idea why someone would want to burn down the Perfect Pleasures,’ Rose said.

‘Competition?’ Chase asked.

‘Not any that Mister Whoreson knows of,’ Wahim replied. ‘He says he’s paid all the right people for protection and none of the other traders have problems with us. In fact, I’ve heard that a couple have offered Mister Whoreson money to rebuild.’

Passion lifted Jon from her knees and stood to fetch a mug of water from the bucket on the cupboard. ‘Maybe it was an attack from a disgruntled customer,’ she suggested as she poured her drink. ‘Anyone else thirsty?’ The small gathering shook their heads.

‘I was talking with Whitewood who saw the archers,’ Wahim told them. ‘He said they were professionals. Only someone important or rich could afford trained professionals to burn down a building.’

‘Were we the target?’ asked Mouse.

‘No doubt about it,’ Wahim confirmed. ‘Whitewood said our roof was hit by six flaming arrows. They had some special fluid because the flames spread really quickly over the whole roof.’

‘So why us?’ asked Passion, but no one had an answer.

‘Where do we work now?’ Mouse asked.

‘Guess we have to work from our homes, until Mister Whoreson rebuilds the Perfect Pleasures,’ said Rose.

‘
If
he rebuilds it,’ said Wahim. ‘He might buy another place. Or he might just leave it alone.’

‘He needs the money,’ Passion argued.

‘No he doesn’t,’ Rose told her. ‘He’s a very rich man because of all the work we do on our backs for him.’

‘But he’s got some serious gambling debts to feed,’ said Wahim. ‘I think you’ll find we’ll all be working just as hard as ever, and very soon.’

Chase rose from his chair. ‘I’ll leave you to talk. I’m still looking for work as well.’ He stooped to pick up Jon and hugged the boy. ‘Look after your mother,’ he said, and kissed Jon on the forehead. He lowered him to the ground, and withdrew.

As he stepped outside, he heard Passion’s voice and she ushered him outside into the alley. ‘I had a visitor while you were away,’ she said. ‘Swift.’

‘Where is she?’ Chase asked.

Passion glanced up and down the alley. ‘She killed the prince.’

He was astonished. ‘Shortear?’ he asked. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘But how?’

‘She’s an assassin.’

‘Swift?’ Chase asked, still struggling with the news about his sister.

Passion looked around nervously again and said, ‘Yes.’

‘But—’

‘Listen,’ Passion insisted. ‘She told me to tell you to keep away from the Joker too. She said it’s too dangerous.’

‘But where’s Swift? Is she all right?’ he asked.

‘She said we have to watch and be careful in case anyone works out that she’s related to us,’ she told him. ‘If we hear anything at all, we have to get out of the city.’

‘And Swift?’ he persisted. ‘What about her?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘She said it was better if we didn’t know anything about her.’

‘And Runner? Does he know?’

‘I haven’t seen Runner for a long time,’ Passion said.

‘Go back inside,’ Chase said and hugged Passion. ‘I’m going to see if I can find out anything about what’s going on. I’ll ask around for where Runner is too. All right?’

‘Be careful,’ Passion urged. She kissed her brother and retreated into the cottage.

He looked up at the overcast sky and guessed the time to be slightly before noon. The time tower would undoubtedly chime soon. He was the solitary pedestrian between the tightly clustered two and three-roomed single-storey poor houses, so he was surprised when three men turned into the lane a few paces before he reached the street. He nodded to them in greeting and made to pass by, until he realised they were staring at him and that they were strangers. And they stepped into his path—and produced daggers. He turned and fled.

He sprinted the length of the lane, past his cottage, only glancing over his shoulder to check that his pursuers weren’t stopping there. They didn’t.
Good
, he thought,
I’ll lead them away from home.
At the intersection, he turned right and veered across the street, dodging a horse and cart, and dashed past a group of men who looked up to see what was happening. He ran hard along the street and turned into a familiar dead-end alley, one he knew well from his youthful capers. At the end was a low house wall, the top just within reach of someone making a running jump using a foot on a brick jutting from the wall for added leverage. The ploy was simple. Gain a few precious seconds on a pursuer who didn’t know the trick and get a good look at who was pursuing as you vaulted to the top. He jumped over a broken box in the alley, accelerated and leaped up the wall, grabbing a roof beam to haul himself up.

At the top, he turned. The first pursuer was leaping up the wall, but with a well-timed kick to the man’s face Chase sent him tumbling to land at his colleagues’ feet. One hurled a dagger that Chase dodged, the spinning blade whistling harmlessly past, before he scrambled over the wall and dropped to his feet in the adjoining alley. A few quick paces on, he entered the black-painted door of a low-ceilinged, darkened tavern, the Fat Wombat.

The same man, Plug Lager, had owned the tavern for as long as Chase could remember. Lager’s simple philosophy was that his tavern was a refuge for all manners of people, the exceptions being those who were wealthy and those who were intent on violence in his tavern. In the Foundry Quarter, Lager’s reputation for being ruthless at keeping the peace in his tavern was so legendary that even the king’s men, the soldiers assigned to watch duty in the Foundry Quarter, never pursued a criminal into the Fat Wombat. They simply awaited another opportunity to make an arrest when the person being sought re-emerged from the refuge.

‘Problem, son?’ a deep voice inquired as Chase stepped into the dark, smoke-filled common room. Four low-flamed lanterns sat on purpose-built stands at each wall, oozing dull light into the space.

Chase turned to a thickset, broad-shouldered bodyguard staring at him. ‘Just need to take it easy,’ he replied.

The bodyguard nodded knowingly. ‘I’ll keep an eye out,’ he said, and he reached up to the ceiling just above his head and tugged a thin wire.

Chase, knowing that in the rear of the tavern a group of bodyguards had just heard the ringing of a small bell calling them to duty in the tavern, thanked the man at the door and headed for a table and chair in the darkest corner. He saw six other patrons in the
common room after he took his seat. Two were at separate tables, quietly watching him. Four were playing a card game closer to the dead hearth. All six were smoking.

‘Can I get you a drink?’

The boy’s unexpected question startled Chase. ‘Where did you come from?’ he gasped.

The boy grinned, his teeth pure white in the semidarkness. ‘Scared you, didn’t I?’

‘Right now, I’m not in the mood for tricks,’ Chase sourly replied.

‘Fair enough,’ said the boy, though he kept grinning. Chase guessed he had to be no more than thirteen years old. ‘So? What do you want?’

Chase fished inside his trousers for a penny and passed it to the boy. ‘A beer.’

‘Done, sir,’ the boy said, and pocketed the coin as he walked towards the short bar that was squeezed into the opposite corner.

A door opened near the bar and four men in black trousers and tunics emerged. They separated and moved to different tables against the walls where they took their seats quietly and melted into the shadows. Chase saw the card players look up for a moment before resuming their game. One man at the table looked towards Chase. When the boy returned with a tankard of foaming beer, he placed it on Chase’s table and said, ‘Mister Plug says can he come and sit with you?’

Stunned by the request, Chase hesitated before replying, ‘Yes.’

The boy grinned again and headed for the bar. Chase was observant, but he couldn’t see anyone else. Then he sensed soft movement beside him and the wall moved. A large figure appeared and sat at his table. Plug Lager. ‘Beer good?’ the taverner inquired in his customary gruff voice.

‘Fine,’ Chase replied.

‘It’s been some time since I’ve had the pleasure of your company, young Chase. How’s your sister?’

‘She’s fine.’

‘Good.’

The tavern door opened, letting the dull daylight spill in. Chase looked up to see a man enter, close the door, and speak briefly to the bodyguard. He approached the table where Chase and the taverner sat and bent to whisper in Plug Lager’s ear. Plug nodded, watching Chase as he listened. Message completed, the messenger returned to the door. It opened briefly and he left.

Plug leant forward across the table. ‘Word is you have some friends who don’t like you.’

‘I don’t know who they are,’ Chase explained. ‘They just came after me.’

‘These three are professionals. They come in here from time to time to keep out of harm’s way or to spend some money they’ve earned. They don’t come cheap. You’ve made a very powerful enemy, my young friend.’

‘How?’

‘You’ve been seen with the Joker. That’s not a wise move. Plenty of young men she’s had dealings with have ended up floating in the river or out to sea.’

‘That’s done with,’ Chase told him, but his memory flashed to the assassins who attacked the Joker’s small party in the cave.