forgetfulness is quite natural so soon after arriving. Quite natural. Anyway I really could not resist. What stories. What stories you must have to tell.’
‘Now, I don’t want you answering this question hastily -’ Havoc leaned across the table with a glitter of a grin – ‘but do I look like a wandering player? Somebody to caper and tell tales for you for the price of a mug of wine? You know my name. I don’t know yours, nor your face. And we’re waiting for somebody. And it isn’t you.’
‘But would it not be nice if it was.’ The small stranger was turning his hat about and about, a slight tremble in his gloved hands. ‘Would it not be nice if Havoc Gray was glad to see me and if I could be of service to him. And I hope that I can be. For it is sadly true that there is no life without toil. And what makes toil bearable is our choices. Who we choose to work with.’
‘So…’ Havoc moved his stool closer to that of the smaller man. ‘I think I can sniff out what you’re about. You think now I’m here I’ll be wanting to find myself a company of steady-mettled boys, and you want to join early before I have a chance to look around, is that it?’
The hat-twirler wet his lips, and then cast a fleeting glance over his shoulder. Within that tiny instant Havoc had grabbed him by the collar and tipped him back in his chair so that he was in danger of crashing to the floor.
‘No,’ said Havoc, so quietly and deeply that his voice was almost inaudible. ‘No, that’s not it. You looked over your shoulder when I pushed you out of the lines you had rehearsed. That means there’s others behind you. They’ve sent you trotting in ahead like a little dog to test the ground for marsh. I have heard it all before, more times than you’ve been smiled at. Everywhere I go, little gangs and brotherhoods come fawning and threatening and saying that I must throw in with them. Well -’ Havoc leaned forward a little, so that the smaller man was tilted at a yet more perilous angle – ‘I throw what I like, when I like, with whoever I like, and for no master. And if I see your face again I’ll be throwing you.’
The smaller man had gone very still, perhaps trying to make himself limp and unthreatening so as not to startle Havoc into carrying out his threat. His face was frozen, almost expressionless. Great gleaming blobs of perspiration bloomed silently on his unfurrowed brow like dewdrops swelling on a leaf. It was almost beautiful.
Havoc tugged him back upright, so that the smaller man’s chair righted itself with a clatter. The little man stared down into his hat, and then set it back on his head with the greatest of care. He stood unsteadily and tripped off between the tables without another word.
When he was almost out of sight, Havoc got to his feet.
‘Havoc!’ Jade caught at his sleeve. ‘Where you going?’
‘He has my name. And he’s off to report now. Bit of business I need to deal with.’ He glanced around the table, then smiled at Mosca and pushed at her chin almost roughly with the ball of his thumb as if wiping away a smudge. ‘You don’t need to know,’ he said, and gave a wolf’s grin. ‘Stay here, all of you. This won’t take long.’ And off he strode.
‘Haggard’s Teeth!’ Jade beat the heels of her hands against the top of the table in frustration. ‘We said we’d stay together!’
‘He can look after himself,’ murmured Perch.
‘I know!’ Jade gave a furious sigh. ‘It’s not him I’m worried about! It’s us!’
Mosca was only half listening to this exchange, her gaze following Havoc and his quarry. As Havoc’s boots struck the sawdust-covered floor, the small man seemed to sense him, turned and saw him. He froze, panic again giving his face a stillness not unlike a trance. His gloved hands, however, fluttered before his chest like frightened moths. As Havoc took a step forward, the little man took a few faltering steps backwards directly away from him, into one of the nearby passages. Then he gave a half-witted twitch of the head, turned tail and sprinted down the passage. Again Mosca felt she was up in the rafters, watching the mice. Little mouse, witless with fear. Running the wrong way. And here she was, just watching. Becoming a part of it by doing nothing.
Mosca realized that she was digging her fingernails into the tabletop, and that they were full of grime and splinters. Her mind’s eye was too vivid, and she could not shut it off. Little man running in terror down a dead-end passage, Havoc at his heels. Havoc with his twin daggers and the sword with the ugly bludgeon-like handle. Her new friend Havoc. She looked at Jade and Perch. Both of them were staring steadily into the foam of their cups.
‘Havoc knows what he’s doing.’ Perch took a rapid, angry gulp. ‘We’re going to need money, aren’t we?’ He rubbed at his long chin. ‘Well, aren’t we?’
‘And how do we know that that little worm had any?’ hissed Jade.
‘Surely you heard it?’ Perch gave her a sly glance. ‘When he was swung back in his chair. That jingle at his belt. That’ll be a purse, and a full one at that, and I’ll warrant Havoc heard it too – hey, what’s wrong with you, Mye?’
Mosca had leaped to her feet, causing the table to totter. She hastily lashed Saracen’s leash to the table leg, then scrambled and squeezed past the neighbouring tables and ran towards the passage down which Havoc had disappeared.
She hesitated at the mouth of the passage, just as the little stranger had done. Then she balled her fists and sprinted into it before she could decide to do something more sensible.
The passage ended at another cellar, this one still in use as a buttery. It was full of great barrels, some two yards in diameter. Most were perched on pairs of long wooden rails. One particular pair of rails, however, appeared to have tilted, and tipped one great barrel off on to the floor. It had probably tried to roll all the way to the wall, but had been brought up short by the body of the man lying in its path. Somewhere under its massive weight was presumably what was left of his head.
Mosca stood on the threshold and quivered. She hoped the cask had split. She hoped the darkened pool around the cask was wine. It smelt like wine. She wondered if she would ever be able to bear the smell of wine again.
A jingle at the belt. Well-made gloves. An offer of work.
Not a frightened little mouse. Not a mouse at all. Cat.
Locksmith.
Whoever the nameless, nervous little man in the hat had been, he was now nowhere to be seen. The corpse on the floor was that of Havoc Gray.
There was a step behind Mosca, a very deliberate step. She almost turned, but some instinct screamed at her not to do so.
‘What in the world are you doing here, little miss?’ The voice was unfamiliar, reasonably educated and so close that it was almost in her ear.
Boom, sounded Mosca’s heart. Boom.
‘I’m…’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m just standin’ here. And not turnin’ round.’ So I haven’t seen your face, whoever you are.
‘You came down here at quite a run. Looking for someone?’
Mosca shook her head slowly. ‘Not any more.’
‘That man down there – he wouldn’t happen to be a friend of yours, would he?’
Mosca forced herself to breathe evenly and shook her head again.
‘Face don’t look familiar,’ she whispered.
She felt a warm gust of breath as the person behind her gave vent to a small burst of laughter.
‘Oh, that’s quite good. What a sensible head you have on your shoulders. And what a good place for it that is. Little miss, do you know how to play hide-and-seek? You stay exactly where you are without turning round, and you count. You count all your fingers ten times. But when you are done… you do not play seek. You walk out of here very slowly and calmly and you never say one single word about any of this as long as you live. Do you think you can play that game?’
Mosca nodded.
‘Good.’ The steps moved away, more softly now, punctuated by the occasional faint jingle of metal on metal.
Mosca stared down at her own shaking hands and counted her fingers. And counted them again. And again. If
