‘The fact is,’ ventured Temple, ‘we will soon be building on this plot.’
‘How you going to manage that with me here?’
‘I was hoping you could be persuaded to move.’
The beggar checked every part of his bone for further sustenance and, finding none, tossed it at Temple. It bounced off his shirt. ‘You ain’t going to persuade me o’ nothing without a drink.’
‘The thing is, this plot belongs to my employer, Abram Majud, and—’
‘Who says so?’
‘Who… says?’
‘Do I fucking stutter?’ The man took out his knife as if he had some everyday task that required one, but the subtext was plain. It really was a very large blade and, given the prevailing filthiness of everything else within ten strides, impressively clean, edge glittering with the morning sun. ‘I asked who says?’
Temple took a wobbly step back. Straight into something very solid. He spun about, expecting to find himself face to face with one of the other tent-dwellers, probably sporting an even bigger knife—God knew there were so many big knives in Crease the distinction between them and swords was a total blur—and was hugely relieved to find Lamb towering over him.
‘
The man looked down at his blade, perhaps wishing he had opted for a smaller one after all. Then he put it sheepishly away. ‘Reckon I’ll just move along.’
Lamb gave that a nod. ‘I reckon.’
‘Can I get my trousers?’
‘You’d fucking better.’
He ducked into his tent and came out buttoning up the most ragged article of clothing Temple ever saw. ‘I’ll leave the tent, if it’s all the same. Ain’t that good a one.’
‘You don’t say,’ said Temple.
The man loitered a moment longer. ‘Any chance of that drink do you—’
‘Get gone,’ growled Lamb, and the beggar scampered off like he’d a mean dog at his heels.
‘There you are, Master Lamb!’ Majud waded over, trouser-legs held up by both hands to display two lean lengths of muddy calf. ‘I was hoping to persuade you to work on my behalf and here I find you already hard at it!’
‘It’s nothing,’ said Lamb.
‘Still, if you could help us clear the site I’d be happy to pay you—’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘Truly?’ The watery sun gleamed from Majud’s golden tooth. ‘If you were to do me this favour I would consider you a friend for life!’
‘I should warn you, friend o’ mine can be a dangerous position.’
‘I feel it is worth the risk.’
‘If it’ll save a couple of bits,’ threw in Temple.
‘I got all the money I need,’ said Lamb, ‘but I always been sadly short on friends.’ He frowned over at the vagrant with the underclothes, just poking his head out of his tent and into the light. ‘You!’ And the man darted back inside like a tortoise into its shell.
Majud raised his brows at Temple. ‘If only everyone was so accommodating.’
‘Not everyone has been obliged to sell themselves into slavery.’
‘You could’ve said no.’ Shy was on the rickety porch of the building next door, leaning on the rail with boots crossed and fingers dangling. For a moment Temple hardly recognised her. She had a new shirt, sleeves rolled up with her tanned forearms showing, one with the old rope burn coiled pink around it, a sheepskin vest on top which was no doubt yellow by any reasonable estimation but looked white as a heavenly visitation in the midst of all that dirt. The same stained hat but tipped back, hair less greasy and more red, stirring in the breeze.
Temple stood and looked at her, and found he quite enjoyed it. ‘You look…’
‘Clean?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You look… surprised.’
‘Little bit.’
‘Did you think I stunk out of choice?’
‘No, I thought you couldn’t help yourself.’
She spat daintily through the gap between her front teeth, narrowly missing his boots. ‘Then you discover your error. The Mayor was kind enough to lend me her bath.’
‘Bathing with the Mayor, eh?’
She winked. ‘Moving up in the world.’
Temple plucked at his own shirt, only held together by the more stubborn stains. ‘Do you think she’d give me a bath?’
‘You could ask. But I reckon there’s about a four in five chance she’d have you killed.’
‘I like those odds. Lots of people are five in five on my untimely death.’
‘Something to do with you being a lawyer?’
‘As of today, I will have you know, I am a carpenter and architect.’
‘Well, your professions slip on and off easy as a whore’s drawers, don’t they?’
‘A man must follow the opportunities.’ He turned to take in the plot with an airy wave. ‘I am contracted to build upon this unrivalled site a residence and place of business for the firm of Majud and Curnsbick.’
‘My congratulations on leaving the legal profession and becoming a respectable member of the community.’
‘Do they have such a thing in Crease?’
‘Not yet, but I reckon it’s on the way. You stick a bunch of drunken murderers together, ain’t long before some turn to thieving, then to lying, then to bad language, and pretty soon to sobriety, raising families and making an honest living.’
‘It’s a slippery slope, all right.’ Temple watched Lamb shepherd a tangle-haired drunkard off the plot, few possessions dragging in the muck behind him. ‘Is the Mayor going to help you find your brother and sister?’
Shy gave a long sigh. ‘Maybe. But she’s got a price.’
‘Nothing comes for free.’
‘Nothing. How’s carpenter’s pay?’
Temple winced. ‘Barely enough to scrape by on, sadly—’
‘Two marks a day, plus benefits!’ called Majud as he dismantled the most recently vacated tent. ‘I’ve known bandits kinder to their victims!’
‘Two marks from that miser?’ Shy gave an approving nod. ‘Well done. I’ll take a mark a day towards the debt.’
‘A mark,’ Temple managed to force out. ‘Very reasonable.’ If there was a God His bounty was only lent, never given.
‘I thought the Fellowship dissolved!’ Dab Sweet pulled his horse up beside the plot, Crying Rock haunting his shoulder. Neither of them appeared to have ventured within spitting range of a bath, or a change of clothes either. Temple found that strangely reassuring. ‘Buckhorm’s out of town with his grass and his water, Lestek’s dressing the theatre for his grand debut and most of the rest split up to dig gold their own way, but here’s the four of you still, inseparable. Warms my heart that I forged such camaraderie out in the wilderness.’
‘Don’t pretend you got a heart,’ said Shy.
‘Got to be something pumps the black poison through my veins, don’t there?’
‘Ah!’ shouted Majud. ‘If it is not the new Emperor of the Plains, the conqueror of great Sangeed, Dab Sweet!’
The scout gave Lamb a nervous sideways glance. ‘I’ve made no effort to spread that rumour.’
‘And yet it has taken to this town like fire to tinder! I have heard half a dozen versions, none particularly close to my own remembrance. Most recently, I was told you shot the Ghost from a mile’s distance and with a stiff side wind.’
