The Kimota Anthology (40 page)

A MATTER OF BLOOD

by Martin Owton

The first thing Aron noticed was that the man was young; scarcely older than Aron himself. The second thing he noticed was that the man was a mess; someone had beaten him thoroughly, breaking his nose and splitting his lips. His eyes were swollen shut, the flesh purple around them. Someone had splinted his broken right arm, bound up the shattered fingers on both hands and plugged the stab wound in his side with clean linen. He lay back on the pallet, his breath rattling harshly between his ruined lips; he would live but would carry the scars to his grave.

Aron turned questioningly to Simeon.

“I couldn’t just leave him there, not after what that bastard did to him.” The boy threw his arms wide in a gesture of frustration. Aron liked Simeon, liked his openness and enthusiasm. Yet he knew that Simeon’s idealism would have had him taking on the perpetrator of this violence if the watch had not arrived when they did. The boy was an able pupil, but at sixteen not yet full grown and could easily have got himself a similar beating or worse.

“You shouldn’t have been down there anyway. Don’t you know how dangerous the taverns in the Swamp are?” Aron said.

“You live down there,” Simeon replied.

“I am not a merchant’s son with a coat that cost more than a docker earns in a six-month. Besides, I can look after myself. What is the point of me teaching you to look after yourself if you’re going to put your neck in a noose the first chance you get?”

“I got out alive. Anyway this isn’t about me. Will you listen to his story?” Simeon gestured to the injured man.

“Very well,” said Aron. “For the price of breakfast.”

“My name is Roger de Beaune,” the young man said, his words distorted by his injured mouth. “I come from Fox Hollow, a small village five days walk from here. A year ago I was happy. I worked my father’s farm and I was walking out with the most beautiful girl in the village. Then Seranna fell pregnant, and my father insisted that I put her aside. Her father threw her out of their house and I was powerless to stop her leaving the village.”

“Was the child yours?” asked Aron before he took a bite out of a warm bread roll.

“Certainly. I was all ready to make the arrangements with the priest, but father just exploded when I told him and wouldn’t hear of any wedding. He thought she wasn’t good enough for me. He was a hard man.” Roger swallowed noisily. Aron took another bite of his roll and waited for him to continue. “So she left and I couldn’t do anything. That was last spring.”

“And now you’re in Oxport.”

“My father died at New Year. The farm’s mine now, so I came to find Seranna.”

“You found her?”

“I found her in that tavern, last evening. I was going to take her away, but then he came.” Roger seemed to shudder at the memory.

“You realise what kind of women frequent The Sailor’s Ease?”

“I know what she has been driven to, if that’s what you mean. That doesn’t matter to me. I love her and I want to take her back to Fox Hollow, and she wants to go with me.”

“You’re sure she wants to go with you?” Aron asked as he speared a sausage with his knife.

“Yes certain. She wept in my arms and begged me to take her away. We were leaving when he stopped us.”

I can imagine. And what was your part in this?” Aron turned to Simeon. “I was there with a friend,” replied Simeon defensively. “I saw the fight, if that’s what you could call it. Roger didn’t stand a chance. He stuck a knife in him and then kept kicking him until the watch arrived. I couldn’t leave him there, so I brought him here.”

“It didn’t occur to you that a tavern frequented by whores might also employ someone to keep order and protect its assets?” Aron directed his question to Roger, but it was Simeon who spoke.

“How do you mean assets?”

“Do you suppose that the women just happen to frequent that tavern? Who feeds and shelters them? Who provides their fine gowns?” Aron jabbed the air in front of Simeon with his knife.

“You mean the tavern keeper?” said Simeon.

“Yes. Or someone who has an arrangement with him. And the bully is there to prevent the customers fighting and to make sure no-one forgets to pay.”

“I suppose I should have realised she couldn’t just walk out.” Roger sounded as if he was weeping, but the state of his face made it impossible to tell. “How am I going to get her out of there now?”

“The usual way is to buy her,” Aron said as he polished his plate with a crust of bread. He didn’t know whether to curse Roger for his stupidity or praise his naïve courage.

“I don’t have much money. How much would it cost?”

“Depends on how much she earns. She’s young, is she pretty?”

“Prettiest girl in the parish back home.”

“Expensive then, twenty, maybe twenty five gold crowns.”

“I couldn’t sell my farm for that,” cried Roger in dismay.

“So we need to find another way to get Seranna out.” Simeon’s voice was filled with excitement at the prospect of the adventure. “So I thought of you. After all, you’re the finest swordsman in the city.”

“What was the first lesson I taught you about the blade?” Aron looked hard at Simeon, knowing where the conversation was leading.

“Never draw it unless you are prepared to kill with it.”

“Correct. Now I teach the blade to the sons of gentlemen so that they can keep out of trouble. I hire out as a bodyguard to prevent bloodshed. I do not kill people for money, do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly. Maybe I’ll just take the mangy Saxish dog myself.” Simeon stuck his chin out and tried to look dangerous.

“Maybe next year.” Aron snorted derisively. “How do you know he’s Saxish? Saxe is a long way away. I’ll wager you’ve never met a Saxish clansman in your life.”

“You can’t mistake that accent. I may not be able to place yours, but I know Saxish when I hear it; my father trades down there and mimics them. He’s very good at voices.”

“No doubt,” said Aron, suddenly preoccupied with the thought of a Saxish fighter. Probably nothing to do with what had happened, but Saxe is a very long way away. “Tell me about your clansman. How old? How tall? Slim or heavy, dark or light, right or left handed?”

“Er -- large, heavy-shouldered, dark, hair in a ponytail, mid-thirties,” said Simeon.

“Left-handed, I think,” added Roger from the bed.

“Hmm.” Aron stood up and made to leave. “Nothing will be done until Roger is mended. I will think on it.”

Aron did think on it; indeed he thought about little else for most of the day.

The girl’s story was common enough; probably half the girls at the Sailor’s Ease could tell something similar. That could have been Aron’s mother’s story but for one person; his father. He’d stood by her and now Roger wants to do the same. The thought of his father brought him back to the Clansman. If he was one of the betrayers of Darien then I will kill him and if it aids the girl’s escape then so much the better. His heart leapt at the prospect of the fight but he drew himself back. But I have to be sure, it’s just possible that he’s guilty of nothing more than being Saxish. And what will I do if that’s the case? I’ll cross that river when I come to it.

It seemed to him that he had two choices: the first was to ask the clansman as subtly as possible, but that carried a real risk of starting the fight immediately, and then getting the girl away could be impossible. There was another way though.

Nearly every city and certainly every seaport in the world has an area like the Swamp. An area where most things are cheap: housing, drink, sexual pleasures and life. So it was in the Swamp; so called because it was built on land (almost) recovered from a swamp, rather than because of the creatures who lived there. Aron lived in a tiny rented room in the Swamp; it was all he could afford if he was going to eat as well. Teaching swordsmanship to merchants’ sons wasn’t that lucrative. In the months he’d been in Oxport, Aron had got to know a bit about the area. Not a lot, you’d need to have been born there to be trusted enough to know a lot; but Aron knew where to find most of the services the Swamp specialised in. In a gloomy room in a house behind a bakery in the centre of the Swamp, Aron drank herbal tea with an old woman, his stomach tight with nervous tension.

“I need to find out something. A secret a man may be hiding.” Aron spoke cautiously. He knew the woman by reputation, but had never dealt with her. “Not a girl then. I thought it would be a girl. It usually is with likely young lads like you. Still things can be found out, hidden secrets dug up, for a price.” The woman’s eyes twinkled at Aron across the table. “What do you need to know?”

“There is a man in the city. I need to know if he was at a certain place and took part in a certain act.”

“You’re a cautious one aren’t you, my lad. Give me your hand and look into my eyes.” Aron did as he was asked, his other hand curled around the knife he wore in his sleeve. The old woman’s small hand was surprisingly warm as it gripped his. She stared deep into Aron’s eyes for three breaths and then her eyes lost focus. After a long moment she gasped and her grip tightened convulsively. Then her focus returned and she released Aron’s hand.

“You’re a killer my lad aren’t you, but your heart’s clean. You should have told me before I read you.” The woman reached for the teapot. Her hand shook as she poured another cup of tea. “I’ll need something to read from, something of his. The closer it’s been to him the better. Hair’s good. I can get a good reading with hair. I can manage with fingernails if I must.” Her voice betrayed a nervousness that had not been there before.

“How much?” The knot in Aron’s stomach unwound.

“Ten pieces of silver. Oh, you meant how much hair?”

“I meant both,” Aron said evenly.

“Just a few strands, so long as it’s got a root.”

Aron finished his tea and stood up. “I’ll be back.”

Aron next saw Simeon two days later for his lesson. Aron pushed the lad harder than usual during the two hours, to reinforce the lesson that Simeon was not ready for a real fight. Afterwards they sat in the shade and drank small beer. “So have you thought about it?” gasped Simeon, out of breath from his exertions. “Roger’s getting stronger day by day.”

“I’m glad to hear Roger is recovering,” said Aron, who was sweating only slightly. “I’m still thinking about it. Have you thought about it? Do you know who runs the Sailor’s Ease? Do you know how much trouble he can cause you? Are you prepared for the consequences if we go through with this? You could have to flee the city. What’s your father’s view?”

“My father supports my action in this. He just doesn’t want me to get hurt. He trusts you to look after me.” The lad’s dark eyes flashed defiantly.

“Thanks a lot. And what about the rest? Do you know if there are any more Clansmen in the city?”

“I hadn’t thought about that.”

“I have. That’s why I’m still thinking, particularly about the Clansmen. Ask your father to find out, he must have the contacts.”

Indeed Aron was still thinking and still gathering intelligence, torn between his lust for vengeance and the caution that his instructors had instilled into him. One thing certainly favoured them; the landlord of the Sailor’s Ease was a notorious drunkard who owed money all over the city. It was unlikely that anyone would rush to his aid in the event of his losing an asset such as Seranna. As days passed and Roger recovered, Aron could no longer put off the decision. Oxport was an unlovely city, and his own circumstances were not particularly favourable. He could easily move on. Almost without making the decision, he’d arrived at the conclusion that it all depended on the girl. If she wanted to be free then he would help her.

The Sailor’s Ease was a two-storey building with windows set in the steeply sloping much-repaired roof; the walls bowed, the roofline sagged dramatically and weeds grew in the gutters. Aron walked up the street towards the tavern, avoiding the larger puddles, taking in the evening scene. There were quite a few people about; none looked prosperously dressed, indeed some were truly in rags, and all had a wary and suspicious cast to them. The clientele of the tavern were similarly shifty, from what could be seen of them by the light of a few candle lanterns and the fire. There were at least two games of dice proceeding in two of the corners. A group of sailors, living up to the tavern’s name, caroused in a third corner with a number of girls who seemed more gaudily attired than anyone else.

Aron sat in one of the many dark corners and almost instantly a potboy was at his side asking what he wanted to drink. Aron ordered a mug of ale and looked around. Beside the stairs a large swarthy man in a leather waistcoat, his black hair caught in a ponytail, sat and cleaned his nails with a dagger. Unmistakably a Saxishman.

“My name’s Seranna -- would you like to buy me a drink?” The voice had a soft country burr to it. Aron turned to see a dark-haired girl smiling at him, only the smile didn’t reach her eyes which remained dull and lifeless. He could see how she had once been pretty before she got so thin.

“Seranna. That’s a nice name - - why don’t you sit down?” Aron tried to make his voice warm and welcoming. The girl’s eyes didn’t change.

“I know somewhere we could go that’s quieter.” Her voice did not convey the enthusiasm that her words implied.

“That sounds fine to me,” said Aron, keeping his voice low. “Ten silver pieces.” There was no invitation in her voice this time. Aron reached into his pouch. The price was about what he had expected; enough to rent his room for a month. Seranna walked towards the stairs, the Saxishman looked up at her, caught her gesture and stood up blocking Aron’s path. Aron held out the money, the Saxishman took the coins and bit each one in test. The coins passed and he stood aside glaring hard at Aron in silent warning. Aron avoided meeting his eyes and followed Seranna up the narrow stairs, along a corridor and into a room that was almost completely filled by the bed that she sat down on. Aron sat down beside her trying to ignore the powerful stink of stale sweat from the mattress.

“What happened to the baby?” That certainly got Seranna’s attention. Real expression entered her pretty face for the first time and she jumped as if Aron had slapped her.