The Beast of the North (13 page)

I had to do it. I had to. I nodded at Twitch and got up. I walked around the tables. It was getting unbearably hot with my coat, and then I walked around, slathered in terrified sweat. Twitch was staring at me strangely and apparently, the real Naram had never walked around like I did. I picked up a coin to the silent resentment of the workers. One cursed, for apparently my unusual prowling made him ruin a flan. That, or the wine, which was apparently very strong. Naram was a drunk.

I wandered to the windows to stare out at the fine sights of the northern mountains, and I swear I could nearly see the cascading waters near our hut. Then I walked to stand right next to the hatch, which I prodded with my foot. It was not locked. Everyone was glancing at me with apprehension, and so I sighed, prayed to the gods I did not believe were listening and drew the clay bottle.

I accidentally dropped it.

It didn’t break. I was frozen with shock and relief both.

It rolled crazily across the floor, and I rushed after it. It disappeared under a table; I went after it on all fours, and there was a confused silence as I grabbed the damned thing from the feet of two of the workers. I got up, smiled and turned for the latch. I nearly screamed as I found Twitch was right there next to me. He scowled up at my face, his stubby nose near my belly, and he poked a finger at my chest. ‘Your pants are ripped. We all saw it.’

‘She was enthusiastic,’ I told him. ‘Ripped them off me, like she would peel an eel.’

‘Bloody liar. They are too small for you. You are a fake; I knew it.’

‘Knew what?’ I asked him, circumventing his rotund body, nearly falling over the hatch.

‘You are not him,’ he said dangerously, hissing softly as an ugly cat stalking a fat rat. ‘You have not told me how much your cut is today. You can make a mess of everything else, and I’d put that down to idiocy or being a drunk, feverish and having a bad rearing, but not that. You never forget your cut. No sir.’

‘My cut? It is my cut, and I decide when I ask for it,’ I stuttered in panic, for most of the artisans had turned to regard us. The clink of dies faltered.

Twitch chuckled. ‘What is it? A mask?’ he said and tried to grasp at my face. I slapped his fingers off. ‘You never, ever forget to ask for your cut. It’s as likely as my mother holding her gas. And she farts a lot. Loves it, you see.’

‘Get off me!’ I yelled. I pushed him away from me with surprising strength, for he rolled over a chair. I cursed the men in the room, all staring at me strangely. I prayed to the gods for deliverance, threw the clay jar high in the air and pulled open the hatch. It opened smoothly, chains rattling with some ingenious mechanism, and I nearly smashed my chin on it as it slid up. I dived into the hole, rolled on some stairs and saw there was a wooden cart on rails that led to the darkness. There were lights burning inside, torches. I dimly noted there were screams upstairs, and I jumped up, groping my way up to a chain to pull the hatch closed. It closed swiftly with a high-pitched rattle of chain, and I swore I could see yellowish smoke billowing for the hole.

It closed.

But not swiftly enough.

Twitch managed to make it through. He flew in and hit me before the hatch was closed, and we fell on the rails. He was over me, tearing at me crazily with a maniacal, surprising strength, and I could not get him to remove his hands from my throat. ‘You excrement! I know you are not him, but it will give me satisfaction to tear the nasty mockery of a face out of your skull!’ He slapped his fingers on my face again, grasped my cheek and began to pull. It hurt like fire.

‘I am not—’ I wheezed, fighting to remove his hand from my throat.

‘I said I know.’ He giggled. ‘And don’t fight it. Die! And I’ll get a raise!’

‘I …’ I tried to speak but could not, for the small man was puffing, and I found I could not draw a breath. I struggled and fought as best I could, trying to wrest his surprisingly powerful fingers off my throat, but could not. I began to see black dots, and then the small man flew away from me with such power he hit the hatch, which blew back open before Twitch rolled back down to me. I turned to see a booted foot in front of my face, and a plate and dark chain armored man was staring down at me, leaning on a fabulous, unblemished two-handed sword. His helmet was black, red horsehair was hanging in front of my face. Damned Brother. Red Brother, I despaired.

‘You all right, Lord?’ asked a young man’s clear voice. ‘What is going on up there?’

‘Thievery! That … imp tried to murder me. He poisoned the crafters! Go and get help!’ I panted at him, hoping to be rid of him. I stared up at the open hatch; sure we would fall unconscious.

We did not. It was silent as a grave up there.

The Red Brother chuckled and shook his head. He approached Twitch and leaned to grab him by his collar. He heaved powerfully, and while I was far from a weak man, this one was hugely savage. Twitch flew up through the hole into the room. The man climbed some stairs to gaze in. ‘Who was trying to do this theft? That small one?’ he asked with an amused voice, his huge butcher’s sword dragging behind.

‘That thing, yea. Said he has help outside. I escaped … Can you breathe up there?’

The helmet went up and down. ‘Yes, but it is an unfortunate sight. They are dead. Not breathing. Come up, then.’
Dead?
I cautiously followed the man to the room. It was true. All the artisans looked dead as poisoned mice.
But they were not, were they?
They had fallen into a strange stupor and done that so fast some were still holding the dies, and all their eyes were wide open, the whites showing. The Red Brother was grunting in rage, fingering his massive sword. He was nodding to himself and staring around, and then he bent to ruffle the clothing on Twitch. He came up with a key. ‘You said this one claimed to have help outside? This key is for the outer door, and you got yours?’

Shit,
I thought. ‘Yes … but surely you must go and get more men? Guards? Your Brothers?’

‘The Brothers are guarding the king and the queen. The Mint is my duty today. I can handle this,’ he said, almost happily. ‘Help me with the other door. Use your key.’

‘My key?’ I said dubiously.

The dark helmet turned to regard me. ‘I said I’ll go out and see if there are any more out there,’ he noted. ‘I’ll make sure they won’t try again. And I’ll take some for questioning.’

‘But—’

‘The key!’ he yelled, his eyes smoldering behind his helmet’s eyeholes.

‘Here,’ I said, gave him the key, cursed miserably under my breath, and hoped Molun and Kallir were ready.

He shuffled with the lock on the latch, kicked it open, then pulled my key, and deftly opened the door. He stepped outside, his sword at the ready; the baleful mask and armor were making him look very dangerous indeed. His huge sword came to the side, held with one steel gauntleted hand.

Molun and Kallir were there, wearing the guards’ uniforms. Their shock at seeing one of the Brothers was beyond comprehension.

‘And who are you, I wonder,’ the Red Brother said to himself, staring at the two thieves. ‘Surely not the men who brought you here?’ This was addressed to me.

‘They look like them,’ I said, inching out to the yard. There were people stopping on the Thin Way to stare at the unusual confrontation. ‘They wear armor and carry swords, and I don’t really pay attention to them. Ever.’

Molun grunted and swiped his hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘We are his guards. He is a drunk damned fool.’

‘His guards?’ the Brother said with amusement. He murmured something. The gauntlet glinted. His sword hand glowed; I thought.
Was it possible?
Then the air moved gently. He rocked and tilted his head at Molun. ‘I think not. I know you lie.’

‘I tell you … ’ Molun said, and Kallir shook his head, silencing him. I cursed myself as I grabbed Larkgrin. I shuffled to the side of the knight and tried to make up my mind.

Kallir made up his, spat, and drew his sword.

The knight roared and charged forward, the huge sword flashing in the air. Molun rolled away. Kallir did not, but tried to parry the deadly weapon. The impact was such the rogue bit his tongue through, fell as if a god had kicked him, rolled into the dust, hit his back on a wall, and I saw his arm was obviously broken, bent unnaturally to the side. The huge sword swished up and then came down and so died Kallir, the surprisingly fast weapon splitting him in half. I stared at the sight incredulously, the bloody meat and a mess of armor that had been a man just moments before. The monster of a knight tore the weapon out, and Molun was backpedaling from him. ‘Surrender?’ the beast asked, amused. ‘Drop the steel. You have no hope.’

I whispered, ‘Larkgrin.’ The weapon flared up and grew from my hand, twisting out and the mysterious symbols glowed. The bird on top of the staff looked fragile, but I thought of the tree mother had felled and wanted to push the bird into the Brother’s back. The onlookers stared at the spectacle in awe, but the masked Brother was herding Molun, unaware of the danger. He kicked Molun, and the thief flew to his rear, nearly unconscious. I prayed, cursed, and charged him.

At that time, the knight looked to his fist. There was my key dangling from it. And it was not attached to the bone.

I am not sure what saved me. Instinct, luck? Instead of striking the Brother with the deadly staff, I fell onto my belly on the dust and the huge two-hander swished over me. I rolled away in panic as the man stalked closer. His eyes were fixed on the staff. ‘What in Odin’s name! That—’ He concentrated, his hand glowed again. ‘Ring? And his staff! Finally!’

‘Is mine,’ I hissed. ‘Not Morag’s!’

‘Yours? A paltry Lord of the Coin?’ he laughed, and then his helmet nodded. ‘Thief? No. There is something else here. I cannot tell if you lie. Strange, strange! Surrender now. In fact, just pass out.’ He rushed forth, terribly fast for an armored man, grabbed me by the coat, and smashed his helmet into my face. I swooned and tried to hit him with the powerful staff, but he blocked me and got ready to crush my face again, but with the hilt of the sword.

I changed my face to Valkai’s. It flowed like a wax and settled, and I leered at him, though I was terrified.

He hesitated, confused. ‘What? Oh, Ymir’s ice-cold ass! I know—’

And then Molun’s blade entered his knee, and he howled. The Red Brother lifted his sword and cursed, trying to turn, but Molun stabbed at him again, and his sword went through the shoulder armor and chinks in the chain. The Red Brother fell on Molun, and I fell with him. The warrior let go of me in the tangle of bloody armor, legs, and I fell to his chest on my knees. ‘Get up, you lout.’ Molun got up from under the large, armored body, hissed and kicked the Brother hard. The man didn’t make a sound, nor did he move. Molun pulled me up. ‘Stay here, growl at the bastards. Those. The ones looking on.’ He nodded at the crowd of onlookers. ‘Sand’s going to torch a house up the street, Maskan. Make Valkai seen here, and I’ll fetch what we need. Shit luck with Kallir, but we have to carry all of the gold. The Bear will be happy.’

I turned to look at the dozen or so people in the crowd. My imitation of Valkai the Heavy was spot on, for I heard the name whispered in the crowds. ‘Stay back, or the Jesters will slit your faces. Stay away, and you will do fine!’ Then I waited for Molun.

It took forever, the people were whispering, and I grew restless. Finally, Molun rushed out, carrying two heavy sacks of gold flans and dropped one in front of me. He grinned at me, dipped into his sack, and threw an arch of gold to the crowds. Most of the onlookers forgot their apprehensions as they went on all fours, gathering riches. Shrieking happily, they smiled like children. ‘Compliments of the Jesters! And Magor can hump a goat, our ugly king!’ he yelled and pulled at me, whispering. ‘Poor Kallir,’ Molun lamented. ‘He was my only friend, Maskan. I’ll talk with the Bear tomorrow on how to honor him. Mix with the crowds, change the face, get to the safety and good luck,’ he said and indicated the sack with a heavy nod, then hefted it at me.

The bag burst asunder.

So had Molun.

He died, for the Brother was leaning on the wall, having just swung his blade one last time, and so Molun died at my feet, his ribcage peeking from the ruins of armor, his face a mask of terror as death took him. A sea of gold covered his crumpled corpse. I roared, growled, and charged the Red Brother. He saw me coming but did not lift his sword for some reason. His sword went down. I struck at the Gargoyle and Larkgrin whirred in the air as it hit the stubborn knight on the helmet. The hit was incredibly hard, the helmet spun off to the shadows, the man fell to the wall, and my weapon hovered over his face. ‘Maskan? That is your name? And Bear? We don’t know Bear’s real name. We will. The White Brother knows a spell to find you, now that you have a name,’ he grinned with bloodied gums, terribly hurt, and I cursed for Molun had given away my name. And Bear’s. He was a beautiful, blond man with innocent blue eyes, and it was hard to believe he was so proficient and savage with a weapon. ‘Valkai the Heavy? Naram? But in reality, Maskan. You are a strange creature. But perhaps not so strange. We will find you.’

‘It is just gold,’ I hissed. ‘The Jesters covet it and should you come for us, we will kill the lot.’

‘Jesters?’ he said grinning. ‘Oh, we will come for the Jesters. We must! After this, we have to purge them, so you get your wish. My brothers will do it happily. But you are no Jester. And we will find you. Listen. These friends of yours? You do not understand—’