The Heresy Within (48 page)

“Well I don't reckon you two were murderin' no one,” he teased her,” not unless the noises have changed since I last did it.”

Jezzet stared at Betrim so he met her eyes with his usual impassive glare. “You stink of beer, Thorn.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “An' you stink o' sex but I ain't gonna make a deal of it.”

Jezzet Vel'urn snorted out a laugh and shook her head. A short while later the Arbiter made his appearance. He looked somewhat changed. The lines of his face seemed harder, more severe. His manner seemed less casual, more purposeful. Seemed a couple of days of rutting had done them both a bit of good.

“Thorn,” the Arbiter said as he sat down. It still worried Betrim how normal the witch hunter looked without his coat. Made him think Arbiters could be anywhere, there could be another in the room with him right now and he wouldn't even know it.

“Aye. Reckon I'm gonna need a few coins. Seems I gone through 'em faster than I'd hoped while you two have been... occupied. Ya got some expensive whore houses in Sarth.”

“I seem to remember we already had that conversation and it ended with a '
no
'.” The Arbiter's voice was severe, angry. Not enough to scare the Black Thorn.

“Aye well what have you two been bloody doin' fer the last two days?” Thorn waited for the Arbiter to look up before continuing. “'Cos I happen ta know who ya traitor is.”

A strained hush fell over the table as the serving girl brought over a plate of food and a mug of dark brown beer. Jezzet took a swig out of the mug and a moment later the Arbiter had himself a mouthful. Once the serving girl was good and gone Jezzet asked the question.

“How?”

“Well I ain't got no magical powers o' question askin' but ya might be surprised at what ya can get from a bit o' listenin' an' a well-placed comment or two.”

“You're going to make me ask you who it is...”

“Inquisitor Heron is the only one that lives round there. The other one...”

“Downe.”

“Aye. Her, she's got a place outside o' the city but she never leaves that big black fort o' yours.”

“Inquisitor Selice Heron,” the Arbiter said more to himself than to the others.

“Good lookin' woman if the drunkards at the
Sleeping Sickle
are ta be believed an' I don't see no reason why they'd lie 'bout it. Though one o' them claimed she used ta suck his cock, I reckon that one was lying.

“So how 'bout it? Reckon I can get a few o' those gold bits? Call it a loan if ya want.”

The Arbiter looked up from Jezzet's beer. “Sure. On one condition. You stay sober until this thing is done.”

“Well ain't that a hell of a condition.” Betrim picked up and drained his mug. “Done.”

The Arbiter nodded once, reached into his purse and slid five gold bits across the table. Betrim snatched them up. Staying sober didn't mean no beer at all and it didn't mean no whores.

The next two weeks Betrim counted as some of the dullest of his life. He spent a good portion of them baking in the hot, indomitable sun upon the streets of Sarth while watching the Inquisition main gate with fruitless vigilance. Arbiters came and went, messengers ran to and fro, servants hurried about everywhere but rarely did their three targets leave their fortress.

They took it in shifts; watching, waiting, the occasional dabble into following. Thanquil was the worst of the two companions; each day the Arbiter seemed a little angrier and the times when he saw the Arbiter known as Kosh he was worse. Betrim recognised the signs of barely restrained violence when he saw them. Jezzet was a far more sociable watch partner and a damn sight easier on the eyes but even she seemed taught and high strung. During the few times he was not on watch Betrim found himself alone and missing the company.

Fact was the whole situation stank of indecision. They discovered that the Inquisitor made for her own estate most nights just after sundown. She went in a fancy white carriage drawn by four white horses, big stallions and all of them gelded, and she was guarded by six of the city watch also clad in white. Made for a pretty sight watching all that white come from the black of the Inquisition compound, something about contrast, Jezzet said, not that Betrim knew what the hell that meant.

The tall Arbiter with the pretty face and the scythes only left the compound one day in every three, seemed even witch hunters got the odd day off and Kosh was partial to a bit of beer and cunt. When he did leave the compound he stopped off at a couple of inns; the
Golden Giant
and the
Merry Harpist.
Always he'd have a couple of drinks in each while folk came around and slid him the odd coin or two. Betrim had seen the like before more times than he cared to count, the Arbiter no doubt extorted money with the threats of righteous burning or the like. After collecting his ill-gotten bits the corrupt witch hunter would always visit the same place, a whore house called the
Pink Purse.
Seemed far too flowery a name considering what went on inside but it was a fancy place all the same, the type of place a man like Betrim Thorn couldn't even get into.

Kessick on the other hand was not so free with his time. The man only ever seemed to leave the Inquisition compound to report to his heretical Inquisitor and he did that once every two days, always taking the same route and always careful to check for people following him with regular stops and the occasional waiting in alleys. Kessick would be the easiest to kill, Betrim reckoned, the man was too predictable. They could wait, ambush him three on one and Betrim could add a seventh to his list.

Still Thanquil hesitated. The Arbiter himself wasn't one for sharing his plans with the Black Thorn and while Jezzet might be on the inside, she wasn't giving much away either, counselling to be patient and wait while the Arbiter came up with a plan.

It came as a surprise when the Arbiter made a decision. Betrim was sat down stairs in the common room enjoying some bacon and a morning beer when Jezzet appeared and asked him to follow. The Arbiter was standing at the window of their room when they entered, leaning against the wall, looked like a nice spot; lots of light, no way for people to get behind or beside you and a commanding view of the entire room. A real nice leaning spot and no mistake.

“Shut the door,” the Arbiter said, his eyes still seemed cold and hard and his voice was flat.

Betrim did as he was asked and proceeded to lean against it. Truth was it weren't as good a spot as the Arbiter's, doors always had their problems, especially if someone was trying to break in with an axe, but it weren't far off.

“Tomorrow,” the Arbiter said.

“Aye, 'bout fuckin' time, way I see it,” Betrim replied. “Too much doin' nothin' an' not enough killin' makes a man edgy. So which one we doin' fer first?”

“All of them.”

That gave Betrim a fair sized portion of pause. The three targets were never seen together which could only mean they were splitting up. “Ya reckon that's a good plan? Ain't never been too good with numbers but at last count only one of us here ever killed an Arbiter 'fore.”

“If we kill just one and the other two find out before we get to them... we won't get another chance. It has to be all three at the same time,” he paused. “Tomorrow Inquisitor Heron will be at her estate, Kessick will be making his way there to report and Kosh will be doing his rounds. We take one each; kill them before they know what's happening.”

“That easy?” Betrim snorted.

“That easy.”

Betrim grinned. “Reckon ya want me killin' Kessick.”

The Arbiter nodded. “He already knows what Jez looks like and I... I'll be taking Inquisitor Heron.”

“On ya own?”

“On my own.”

Betrim sucked at his teeth, always annoyed him he had two missing but he wasn't crazy enough to have metal ones put in their place.

“Now would be the time to voice any concerns, Thorn,” the Arbiter said still staring at Betrim.

“Aye. Ya reckon ya can do it? I don't reckon she got ta be Inquisitor on looks alone though she's sure pretty enough. Way I hear it told there's a big difference between you Arbiters an' them Inquisitors. So...”

“She's no Inquisitor. No more than if you wore a dress would you be a woman. Selice Heron may wear the title but she is nothing more than a heretic. So yes. Yes I reckon I can do it.”

Betrim held his tongue. He couldn't say he was confident and if truth be told the Arbiter didn't look like he was either.

“Tomorrow,” said the Arbiter, “two hours past nightfall. Thorn, you take Kessick on his way to meet with Inquisitor Heron. Jez, you'll meet up with Kosh at the brothel. I'll find the Inquisitor at her estate. After they're dead, if all goes well we'll meet back here.”

“What if all don't go well?” Betrim asked.

“Then some of us won't meet back here with the others,” Jezzet said with a half-smile.

“Aye an' what if he's one o' the ones that don't come back?” Betrim asked pointing at the Arbiter. “I ain't doin' this out o' the goodness of my own heart. If you die, Arbiter, how do I get paid?”

Thanquil paused for a moment, frowning, then walked over to his pack and started rifling through it. He tossed a small dagger, its blade no longer than a hand, to Betrim. Thorn caught it and drew the blade to get a better look at it. Seemed well made, good steel, not worth two hundred gold bits though. There was some sort of writing on the blade.

“That dagger has the same charms as my sword. Take it to any reputable weapons dealer in this city and you'll get more than enough gold to cover my debt to you.”

“Aye?”

“Aye.”

“An' what 'bout the pardon? Seems I remember something about ya stoppin' the Inquisition from chasin' me. No more Arbiters comin' after me.”

“You don't need to worry about that.” The Arbiter turned and looked out the window.

“I reckon I do.”

“You don't.” The Arbiter's voice sounded terse.

“No?”

“No.”

The Black Thorn might have sighed if he was the type of man to sigh, instead he growled. “And why the hell not?”

The Arbiter turned and took two steps towards Betrim, his hands were clenched into fists and his voice was coarse and angry. “Because they've never been after you, Thorn. Not once has the Inquisition ever sent an Arbiter after you.”

Betrim felt his jaw clench and his teeth grind together. “That ain't true. I been attacked by you witch hunters plenty o' times.”

“Have you really, Thorn... Think back, if you can. Was there a single time the Arbiter attacked you, I wonder.”

Betrim tried to remember back. Six Arbiters he'd killed and only one of them did he give a chance to fight back. “Back in Chade, you...”

“No, Thorn. You attacked me. The Inquisition has never been after you.” The Arbiter snorted out a laugh. “There's actually a standing order to leave you be.”

Betrim shook his head. “No...”

“Yes. You're not a heretic, Thorn, just a petty criminal with a habit of murdering Arbiters. To the Inquisition you're just a mad man not worth taking the risk to hunt down.”

The Black Thorn took a menacing step towards the Arbiter, for the first time he realised just how much taller he was. He towered over the witch hunter by almost a foot. “You said, back in the wilds, you would get me a pardon,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“I lied, Thorn. To get you here, to get you to help me. There's no pardon needed but I knew...”

The Black Thorn's right fist connected with the Arbiter's face and he went sprawling across the floor. Jezzet was on her feet with her sword drawn before Betrim could take another step.

“Don't do it, Thorn,” she warned her voice as sharp and dangerous as her blade.

The Arbiter coughed and spat out some blood and then struggled to his feet and spat again, this time a tooth hit the floor with the red spittle. He walked over to Betrim and stood there again, within striking distance. A big red mark lit the left side of his face, the Black Thorn knew it would be black and blue in a couple of hours.

“I still need your help, Thorn.” Betrim had to admire the Arbiter's stones. Not many men would take a punch from the Black Thorn and then ask for his help.

“Tomorrow. Kessick. Two hours after nightfall.” Betrim turned and stalked towards the door, near ripping it from its hinges as he opened it. “Don't reckon I'll be comin' back here after.” The Arbiter said something but Betrim didn't hear it over the slamming of the door behind him.

By midday Betrim found himself in a tavern drinking away his dwindling coin supply. By sundown he was stinking drunk and bleary eyed. Seemed the whole world was determined to sway around him. Drinking on your own held its perks but if truth be told Betrim would have preferred a drinking partner or two. Bones or Swift both liked their drink and knew how to put it away. Henry and the Boss, neither drank much around the other but if you got them alone they would empty a few mugs. Jezzet, back when Betrim first knew her, was well known for getting so drunk she often forgot which way was up. Even the Arbiter, lying bastard though he may be, would do for a drinking partner. But the Black Thorn had none of those folk with him, he had no company but himself and the beer and the truth was right now he far preferred the beer's company to his own.

“I came here...” he told his beer, pointing an unstable finger at the dark brown liquid. “I came here ta help. I thought... I dunno, maybe I reckoned I could do some good.”

A man beside Betrim glanced at him, shook his head, and then said something funny to his three friends. They all laughed. Betrim ignored the drunkards.

“An' they... they lied... ta me,” he slurred at the mug of beer. “They... they lied. And I never once attacked him... part from that first time but I thought... I reckoned it was him... it was all of 'em. I just... and they...” He sighed, both the best and worst thing about drinking was the fog and right now it was very foggy in the Black Thorn's head.

“The first one... the first I... well he was lookin' fer me cos o' what I did so I killed him first. Damned if that weren't the right thing ta do,” he said to the man on the other table who was looking at him again. “First time was... well it were messy but first times always are. Gotta get 'em out o' the way.