The Vagrant (17 page)

The giant Usurperkin overtakes them easily, planting herself between them and their destination. Cradled in the crook of her arm is a man. His green eyes are soft, if not kind.

‘Good morning,’ he says quietly. ‘We’ve come to collect a goat.’

A meat runner steps forward, thin lips cutting a smile across her cheek. ‘You’re in luck. We’ve got one. Untainted and full of spirit. You see her there?’

‘Yes.’

‘You want her?’

‘Yes, that’s the one.’

‘What do you have to trade?’

Harm pauses, keeps his voice low. ‘We haven’t come to trade. The goat belongs to us.’

‘I don’t think so. The animal is wild. My own son found her, masterless and alone.’

‘Then he also found our possessions strapped to her back. Food and trade goods. We want those too.’

The meat runner turns to her son, does not like what she discovers on his face. ‘I’m sure we can gather and return your things, minus a little compensation for looking after them.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘It’s a fair offer, more than fair.’

The Hammer steps forward, naturally threatening.

In response, six people reach for concealed weapons together, like slivers of the same glass. ‘We can protect what’s ours!’ shouts the son, defiant.

‘Good,’ replies the Hammer.

The meat runner puts a hand on her son’s arm. ‘Wait! Wait. We accept your terms.’

A sack and a goat are brought forward, deposited in the space between parties. The Hammer lifts the sack, shakes it. ‘More.’

Meat runners confer in swift whispers, except for the son, whose voice breaks confidence with the others. ‘That’s all there was, I swear!’

‘More!’ demands the Usurper’s Daughter.

‘She’s running out of patience,’ Harm adds. ‘I suggest you give us what we want or she’ll kill you all, starting with the smallest and working up.’

The meat runner is quick to appease but her son protests. ‘You can’t let them rob us like this!’

‘Yes,’ she hisses. ‘I can. Which of your brothers is worth your pride? Name one and I’ll fight.’

No names are given and weapons slide back into sheathes. Another sack is prepared and left with the first.

Harm appraises the new offering. ‘Now this is more than fair!’ He notices the Vagrant approaching and gentles his expression. ‘We were right,’ he says. ‘They were traders. And look who we found.’ He indicates the goat. ‘Good news for once.’

The Vagrant’s eyes move across the people, over tight mouths and fear-pale faces, lingering on a meat runner whose fist trembles by his side. He looks back at Harm, holding his gaze till red blooms on the other man’s cheeks. Vesper shifts restlessly against his side.

A precious coin appears from the Vagrant’s pockets, instantly grabbing the Hammer’s attention. Ignoring her, the Vagrant walks to where the meat runners stand. He takes the son’s fist, unpeels, soothes with silver. Stammered thanks are acknowledged with a nod and the Vagrant takes up the goat’s chain, striding away. Scooping up sacks one handed, the Hammer follows, her face shuffling between confusion and anger.

When they are gone, son turns to mother wide-eyed. ‘Look! Look what he gave me! It must be worth a fortune!’

‘Yes it is, even more than the coin.’

‘Eh? What are you talking about, mother?’

‘The world has always been made of hard edges but it used to have other things too.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You will one day.’

‘I can keep the coin though? He gave it to me. And I found that goat in the first place!’

She sighs. ‘Or maybe you won’t.’

From a distance, Slake is a sprawling mass of vertical pipes, a giant cage topped by a smog canopy that chokes the sky. Day or night, the factory-city is as dark as it is noisy. Protruding from the city’s side is a metal umbilical, running three miles north west to join its prettier twin, Wonderland.

Since Verdigris’ uprising, few travel south of Slake and there is nobody to bother the Vagrant and his companions as they make their way past an abandoned station. Once Monocars whooshed along the route, riding the metal halo that linked Slake’s belt of satellite villages. The cars are gone now, cockpit carcasses stripped and guide cables taken, broken and given new purpose. Only unwanted scraps and pieces too large to move are left behind, rusting into the landscape.

Harm reclines in the Hammer’s arms, bouncing gently with each stride. ‘Where are we going? You know I’ll come with you, wherever it is. I just want to know.’

In answer, the Vagrant points north.

‘Yes, but how far north? To the Crag? To Six Circles? To the coast?’

The Vagrant’s face is unreadable.

‘Over the sea! You’re going back to the Shining City.’ He doesn’t bother to wait for confirmation.

‘Sea?’ asks the Hammer.

‘Yes. How to explain? Try and imagine living water that moves on its own and goes on as far as the eye can see.’

The Hammer scowls. ‘No.’

‘Alright, can you imagine a puddle?’

‘Yes.’

‘Imagine a puddle so deep you can’t see the ground through it, so deep you could jump into it and move around inside.’

‘No.’

‘Ooh!’ echoes Vesper.

The Hammer growls and a small head vanishes into the shadows of the Vagrant’s coat.

‘You’ll understand when we get there. Some things you need to see for yourself.’ He pats her shoulder plate and turns back to the Vagrant. ‘We have enough supplies to bypass Slake but I’ve never been north of Wonderland. Do you know the way?’

The Vagrant keeps walking.

‘That’s not an answer.’ Harm looks for support, gets none. ‘We need to talk about this!’

The Vagrant stops.

‘Thank you. I know this isn’t easy for you but—’

Turning, the Vagrant breaks into a run, passing him, arrowing for the station. His retreat starts a charge into cover. Moments later they all hunker down in the rusted shelter, panting. The Vagrant’s eyes are on the sky. A swarm of shapes hang there, grey specks against the clouds. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the scope and looks again.

A score of Bonewings glide overhead, silent and sinister. The Uncivil’s hand is evident in their making. Each one is a ribcage, grown and splayed out. Wings of skin stretch between the curved, white fingers, studded with eyeballs, dry, unblinking.

They pass by without comment.

‘Do you think they saw us?’ Harm asks as the Vagrant stands up. He gets a shrug for an answer. ‘We need to be under cover when they come back. If we follow the old ringway we should come across a settlement before too long.’

The Vagrant nods. They hurry out from the station, making the most of empty skies.

The Knights of Jade and Ash travel into the Uncivil’s lands unmolested. They have picked up the trail of the Malice and, despite the bearer’s head start, they are gaining ground. The commander finds evidence of battle near the mountains, a muddling mess of tracks firing in all directions, footprints crossing, one on top of the other, making strange new shapes. From the chaos comes a line of tracks, heading north, aligned.

The knights travel day and night without complaint until they are rewarded with a distant glimpse of their prey. They see the bearer, another man and their pet, and walking alongside them, a familiar figure, large and armoured. They are unnerved by the sight. The Hammer that Walks and the Malice? Together? The knights quiver with unspoken questions. Why does the Usurper’s Daughter walk with their enemy? What does this mean?

With a sword, one of the knights points out a flurry of shapes in the sky. Bonewings.

The commander stops. The Uncivil lies to the north east in Wonderland but the Malice is taking a path to the north west. Their primary goal remains unchanged but now the commander knows the depth of the Uncivil’s rebellion and his essence burns with rage. She must be brought to heel.

The commander makes no effort to hide, setting a march toward Wonderland.

Without hurry the Bonewings glide past, glassy eyes snatching reflections of the knights, keeping them.

The villages blend, one seeming much like another, personalities deleted by demands from the hungry cities. Their inhabitants work hard tending the last of the great harvester wheels or working the crops by hand, till life blurs surreal. Those with spirit to fight have already fled or died or, in the case of a few, been converted by the Uncivil to keep the peace.

In fits and starts the Vagrant travels, pulling the goat behind him. Irregular flight patterns make the Bonewings hard to predict and several times Harm holds his breath as they pass over. Only the Hammer is unaffected by the tension.

They have circled a quarter of Slake’s outskirts, moving anti-clockwise, away from Wonderland. So far nothing has come for them, neither have they been challenged. The locals are too tired, too altered to care about the strange group travelling through.

The apparent lack of threat is unsettling. Without actual trouble, the mind has space to invent. Imaginary evils are conjured, behind doors, under rocks, hiding in wait just out of sight.

A thick tower stands before them, heart of the next settlement. Bubbles of blown plastic stick to its side in artificially arranged growths, each one housing a family unit. Around the tower are rings of arable land, sharing sprinklers that once worked automatically. People dot the area, seeing out their shifts, docile.

‘Hold on,’ says Harm. ‘Something’s not right.’ All turn their attention to the green-eyed man, except the goat, who is keen to get closer to the rows and rows of edible stalks. ‘This seems familiar. Have we been here before? Maybe we’ve gone wrong, got turned round somehow?’

‘No!’ says the Hammer.

‘Ooh!’ agrees Vesper.

The Vagrant shakes his head and Harm bows to the majority.

Doors at the base of the tower stand open, welcoming. Nobody questions them as they go inside. The Vagrant finds an empty bubble for the Hammer and another for everyone else. Sleep comes quickly.

In the morning Vesper wakes first but ensures the Vagrant is only moments behind.

‘It’s good you put the Hammer next door,’ Harm says quietly. ‘I wanted to talk to you about her. I’ve been thinking about how best to handle her and I’ve got a few ideas.’

Shifting the baby to a comfortable feeding position, the Vagrant turns his head to listen. After a few minutes his eyebrows raise.

When the Hammer opens her eyes, she finds two men standing over her. Naturally, her fists clench, violent.

‘Hello,’ says Harm. He crosses the curved floor with the Vagrant’s help and sits next to the Usurperkin, one leg bent, the other forced straight out in front. ‘We wanted to know how you’re feeling.’

‘What?’

‘Are you in pain?’

The Hammer frowns with childlike energy. ‘Why?’

‘I’ve been looking at your armour. You never take it off. At first we thought that was because you didn’t want to let your guard down but it’s more than that, you can’t take it off.’

The Hammer’s fists do not relax.

Harm looks at the cast on his leg, then at the unarmoured place on the Hammer’s arm. Her forearm is studded with metal bolts. Once they fixed a bracer in place, now they are redundant. Some stand proud and ugly, others hide just under the skin, all cause discomfort.

‘The stories say the Usurper gave you the armour in person.’

An already broad chest swells further. ‘Yes.’

‘But it hurts all the time.’

‘Yes.’ Her head tilts forward, then up again, angry. ‘No!’

Harm flinches away, toppling backward onto the Vagrant’s open palm. ‘I’m sorry. We know how strong you are. We know you can take the pain but what we’re trying to say is that if you don’t want to, you don’t have to.’

Her too-small lips part but no words come.

‘It’s up to you. Things can be different.’

Giant fists raise, open and plaster themselves over her face. Her body shakes with sadness, each sob ringing the armour like a dolorous bell. Harm edges closer, reaching out to rest two fingers on her exposed skin. He is careful to pick a place where the green is unbroken. In time, quieter tears spill.

Shyly, the Hammer reveals her face. ‘Will you …?’

‘Yes,’ answers Harm. ‘We’ll help you.’

Neither of the men are surgeons but Harm does what he can. The Hammer keeps still as the green-eyed man works. Only her face moves, twisting with pain and something else, well hidden. As the first metal plug clunks onto the cloth, staining it with ooze, the Vagrant gets up. He is eager to take Vesper and the goat for a walk.

They stay outside for hours. Vesper enjoying the sputtering sprinklers, the Vagrant wary and watching the sky. Meanwhile the goat orbits on the end of her chain, terrorizing the shoots.

A man is moving around the outer band of crops. He is bent low by his labours, fighting the stubborn weeds. Eventually he kneels opposite the Vagrant, separated by a few feet of foliage. Head down, he speaks.

‘That’s good, keep looking up, pretend I’m just like the others.’ The Vagrant does as he’s asked. ‘I’m a friend and a servant of the Winged Eye, just like you.’ The man intones his identification, soft, intricate. ‘There’s somebody who’s come a long way to meet you. She’s waiting in Slake. I’m to take you to her. Are you ready to leave?’

The man glances at him. The Vagrant shakes his head.

‘Why not?’

The Vagrant gestures to his throat, shakes his head.

‘I see. Well, I’ll be waiting here when you are. Be quick though, if I can find you it won’t be long before they will.’

The man says no more, going back to his weeding, drifting away from them.

Returning to the bubble room, the Vagrant finds the Hammer asleep. Wadded bandages poke from holes on her body like flags of surrender. Harm slumps pale against the wall next to a stack of gory armour and rivets.

‘Worse than I thought,’ he replies to the Vagrant’s questioning eyes. ‘It was awful. Some had been grown over, some were … underneath her—’

The Vagrant holds up a hand.

‘I’ll spare you the details.’ Harm shakes his head. ‘You know, maybe it’s pain as well as the taint that drives Usurperkins.’

They both regard the sleeping figure. Stripped of her armour, the Hammer looks only slightly giant, her face almost human. One hand rests across her chest, surfing with each breath. Otherwise she is still, effigy-like.