structures.
More people sat around these courtyards, women with powdered faces and dyed hair sat in several doorways in positions of splay legged invitation. A group of drunks encouraged two brawlers in a distant corner with cheers and jeers. In some upper floor, a group of musicians played a wild jig while revellers hooted and yelled. The air reeked of booze and cheap perfume and midden heaps. In one cave-like grogshop a pig roasted on a spit. A small dog trotted round and round in a circle to power the mechanism that kept it turning.
“Probably the dog’s next,” said Weasel. “If it knew what we knew it would not work so hard.”
“You obviously know something too,” said Toadface. “I’ve never seen you work hard.”
“And you’ll never catch me doing it,” said Weasel. “The Scarlet Queen does not pay me enough to.”
Rik noticed other groups of men entering through different archways. It looked like they were not the only soldiers disobeying the Mourning Time edicts. Some of the cavalrymen had managed to find their way here too, despite being relatively recent arrivals.
“Did not take them long,” said Weasel.
“Word of a good thing travels fast,” said the Barbarian, as the others disappeared through the door of the Headsman’s Axe. The entrance was through a small doorway within the arch itself. A lantern glowed over the doorway so you would know where it was. The roar of voices could be heard within. The smell of tobacco, roasting beef and booze slapped them in the face as soon as they walked in and headed down the stairs. The main bar was in a cellar, and you got to it by rickety wooden steps. Another flight of stairs on the far side of the cellar led up to the private rooms that could be rented by the hour.
“Home, sweet home,” said Weasel rubbing his hands together. His tattered uniform drooped around him, making him look more like a scarecrow than ever.
“Ale, Shugh!” bellowed the Barbarian to the landlord. “Five beers — and one each for the rest of the lads!”
Leon and Rik moved to grab a table in the corner. Shugh poured the beers. A couple of swift ones and Rik felt good. He smiled benevolently at his companions, raised his tankard and pledged; “Death’s Angels of The Seventh!”
“Best damn regiment in the Queen’s Army,” said the Barbarian as they clinked beers.
“Let’s not get all sentimental now, lads,” said Weasel, but even he seemed pleased. Leon looked at Rik and said, “It’s not like the old days in Sorrow.”
Through the magic of beer Rik could see that quite clearly. In the Regiment you had comrades who you could more or less trust, and who more or less looked out for each other. You had to. It was men against the Terrarchs. Back in Sorrow it had been dog eat dog. The big ones ate the little ones. You could trust nobody. Anybody would sell you out either for gold or to get themselves off the hook with the law or the big gangsters like Antonio or White Eye. Rik had not realised quite how bad it was till he got used to being in the Queen’s Army. It was what he had grown up with and it had taken him a long time to realise that life in the Regiment was not like life on Cheap Street.
“Shadzar, the Place of Sorrow,” said Weasel. “Now there’s a city. Everything a man could want all in one place.”
The Barbarian glanced around and caught the glances of some of the rouged women over by the bar. “Everything a man could want right here,” he said. “Except the clean mountain air of the Northlands.”
The girls made their way to the table. Rik did not recognise them from his previous visits. They were both young and pretty. Their makeup was inexpertly applied. Either they were country girls fresh in town or they wanted men to think they were. Growing up in Sorrow had made Rik cynical as well as cautious. That and Sabena. Her betrayal had cut him very deeply.
“Buy a girl a drink,” said one of them as she plumped herself down on the Barbarian’s knee.
“I’ll buy you two if you like,” said the Barbarian. “What will you do for me?”
“Trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me, eh?”
“I am sure that will be difficult,” said Weasel, producing a deck of cards and beginning to shuffle. “Who is in?”
“I’m Lena,” said the more forward of the two girls. She had dark hair and a sunburned complexion. She was pretty in an open-faced sort of way. The other girl hung back, and was shyer, or at least wanted to seem that way. “This is Kaye.”
Handsome Jan made room for Kaye next to him on the bench. Immediately he began to explain to her how attractive women found him. Kaye appeared to be doing her best to make him think she agreed. The ale kept flowing. Toadface was doing tricks with his tongue. Suddenly Weasel gave a start and took a second glance into a dark corner.
“Well, what have we here?” he said, rising from the table, leaving the cards on the table-top. Just in case there was trouble, Rik got up and followed him since the Barbarian seemed engrossed in his beer and his girl, and too busy to do his usual job of minding Weasel’s back.
Weasel made straight for the darkest corner of the cellar where a scared looking man drank alone. “I thought it was you,” he said. “Saw you coming back from the jakes.”
It took Rik a little time to recognise Vosh. The hill-man looked different, somehow more furtive and very pale. He flinched when Weasel spoke to him and fumbled at his pocket as if looking for a concealed weapon.
“It’s you,” Vosh said eventually and appeared by an effort of will to force himself to relax. From the glazed look in his eyes, Rik could tell he was very drunk.
“Who were you expecting, the Scarlet Queen? I have heard she sometimes pops in for a pint or two with the boys. Likes to see if she can find herself a likely lad to take back to the Amber Palace.”
“No. There are hill-men in town.”
“There are always hill-men in town. They come for the beer and the wine and the girls, as well as trade goods and bullets and powder.”
“You would know about that,” said Vosh, with a nasty twist of his mouth. “You and the Quartermaster.”
“Man can get his throat cut easy here in the Pit, Vosh. I would be careful about what I say if I were you.” That took all the wind out of Vosh’s sails. The defiance just spilled out of him leaving him looking deflated and very small.
“You should be careful too, Weasel,” Vosh said. “These are not just any hill-men. They were wearing purple plaid.”
“Am I missing something here?” said Rik.
“Blue plaid means they are of the Agante Clan,” said Weasel. “Same as our boy here.”
“So what?”
“So I am guessing that somebody knows who sold out our friends back in the mountains and has come looking to claim the blood debt. Am I right, Vosh?”
“That’s what I think.”
“So why should we be careful?”
“You don’t get it, do you, you half-breed bastard? Don’t think your kinfolk can save you.”
Rik was surprised by his own actions. He very casually pinned Vosh against the wall and began to slap him just hard enough to be insulting, not hard enough to do any real damage. “I’d be careful with my mouth if I were you, just like Weasel says.”
Weasel’s fingers bit into Rik’s shoulder as he pulled him away. For such a skinny man, he was surprisingly strong. Either that or Rik was drunker than he thought.
“I think what’s he’s trying to tell us, in his own charmless way, is that we are all marked by the blood debt.”
“You got it,” said Vosh. “Me because they think I sold them out for Exalted gold, you because you pulled the triggers on men who could not defend themselves.”
“Yes,” said Weasel. “That was wicked of us. No hill-man would ever do a thing like that.”
“Not the way you did. It’s one thing ambushing a man. It’s another killing men after setting demons on them.”
“We did something to offend your highly developed sense of honour then, did we?”
“Make jokes about it all you like, Weasel, but those men’s kin will follow you to the grave for vengeance.”
