Herald of the Storm (24 page)

‘Then we will take them in.’

It was the first thing Janessa felt she could comment on. It silenced the three men.

‘Your majesty,’ said Durket with a condescending smile. ‘We simply have no room. Steelhaven is a hub for trade from the provinces and overseas. Its streets are already overfilled with waifs and strays. We have little room for visitors, let alone thousands of refugees with barely the clothes on their backs. How would we feed them? Where would we house them?’

‘We will find a way,’ she replied, though admitting to herself she had no idea where the city might accommodate hundreds of starving families.

‘That’s all very well, majesty, but the details are important. Resources are scarce, what with the war in the north. People are already panicked and scared. There will be unrest on the streets. Hunger …’

‘Then we will eat less, Chancellor.’ Without thinking she had raised her voice, all thoughts of propriety gone, but Durket’s obstinacy was too much, and the mention of hunger had been about all she could take from him.

‘Your majesty, the Chancellor speaks the truth,’ said Odaka. Janessa’s heart sank. If she was to have support on this she was hoping it would be Odaka. ‘Our resources are scant at best. We must find an alternative.’

‘But what about our trade ties with other nations? What about Dravhistan? Han-Shar? Kajrapur? Surely they can help us?’

‘You are right, majesty; they have been trading partners for many years. But they will offer us no charity. In this we must fend for ourselves. Feeding and housing so many refugees is something we can ill afford to do.’

Odaka’s words seemed final. It was clear they would receive no aid from overseas.

What would happen if her father failed, and the Khurtas ran rampant throughout the Free States? What would happen, gods be merciful, if they eventually found their way to the city walls? Unless Steelhaven opened its gates for the refugees they would be slaughtered to the last innocent child.

‘No,’ Janessa said, thinking fast. She could not allow the council to make this decision over her head. There must be a solution. ‘What about the Old City? We could house them there. And if we began to ration food now we could keep stores to last until the Khurtas are turned from our borders.’

Durket opened his mouth to speak, obviously with an objection, but he could think of none.

‘Garret?’ Odaka asked.

Janessa looked to the captain to see his face racked with doubt. Had she assumed wrongly that he, of all of them, might have agreed with her?

‘There will be problems,’ he said, his face grave, his hands locked together beneath his chin. ‘With so many new faces the Greencoats will struggle to keep the city safe, even if we put the refugees in the Old City. And anyway, it’s mostly derelict – old ruins, a haven for criminals fleeing the city proper.’

‘Then we must clean it out,’ said Janessa. Every argument against her was making her more determined. She would not be denied on this. ‘We must make it habitable. Food must be retained, requisitioned if need be. And the Old City must be made safe.’

Durket opened his mouth to speak, but Odaka cut him off. ‘If that is your wish, majesty, then it shall be done.’

And that was that. There was no further argument. Odaka’s next words showed that her wishes would be carried out despite what the others thought.

‘Captain Garret, you will inform the High Constable that the Old City is to be cleared to make way for refugees. Durket, you will levy a stipend on all farms and fisheries, and also secure locations in the Warehouse District for the storage of grain.’ They both nodded, though Durket looked as though he were trying to swallow a wasp. ‘That is all for now. Unless we receive further news beforehand we will reconvene in four days to see what progress we have made.’

Janessa stood, as did the other three council members, and Garret and Durket left the room. Odaka stared at her from across the table. Was he back to that old contemplative look – assessing her, looking for weakness?

‘You have what you wished for. But what have you learned?’ he asked.

It was a curious question, and Janessa could not work out if the regent was annoyed or proud. And what had she learned? That she had power she’d never before known? That Durket was a miserable sot?

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Odaka frowned, and she felt she had disappointed him once again.

‘You have learned that for every decision you make there will be consequences. That as the future queen of this realm you must weigh every outcome, consider every option. For every refugee who does not starve because we have requisitioned grain, there may be two children to the east who go hungry. Who can be sure their father might not grow desperate, might not take his neighbour’s calf to feed them? Who can be sure that the neighbour might not pursue him, for his own family is also hungry, and slaughter the man for his crime?’

‘I didn’t think—’

‘Then you must start,’ Odaka said, making no attempt to hide his anger.

‘If you disagreed with me then why did you not speak out? Why did you go along with my request?’

He looked deep into her eyes, his anger dissipating. ‘You will one day be my queen,’ he answered with a bow. ‘And I live to obey.’

With that he left the war chamber, leaving Janessa amongst the trinkets and trophies of kings long dead.

H
ad it been three days? The amount of vomit on his shirt said it probably had been. Three days since he’d met with Bolo and been offered those pitiful girls. Of course he’d refused – what else could he do? He wasn’t an animal, after all.

Was he?

Of course he was a fucking animal, otherwise why would he be doing this in the first place. And he might not have taken his fill of those girls, but it hadn’t stopped him running straight to the Verdant Street whorehouse and taking his fill there.

Merrick could barely remember the last two nights of drinking and whoring. He thought to check his purse, but he knew it would be empty.

Now that was a problem. He’d been given a full purse, been told to do his thing. He was pretty sure that meant paying off the Harbourwatch and any Greencoats that might be on patrol around the wharfside, rather than wasting it on whores and wine. Though frankly, whores and wine were never a waste.

He sat up, looking down at his bare legs and his flaccid cock, sitting there beneath the hem of his shirt all useless and stubby, and his head began to swim. A wave of nausea hit him and he lay back down, head sinking into the goose feather pillow. It would have been nice to lie there forever. To forget the world outside, forget the debts he owed, forget the job he had to do. Forget Bastian and Friedrik and Shanka and Bolo the fucking Slaver.

But they would not forget him.

He forced himself to sit up, biting back the sick feeling, swallowing down the bile. Gradually the room stopped spinning and he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Whose room was this anyway? Lilleth’s? Meagan’s? Not that it mattered – after a while every whore’s chamber looked the same.

Merrick pulled on his britches, and fumbled with his sword belt until he finally managed to fasten the buckle. There was no bowl of water to wash with, not even a half-empty glass of wine to wet his parched throat, but then that was the way with whorehouses: they were all smiles on the way in and not even a polite ‘fuck off’ on the way out.

He stumbled down the stairs, ignoring the prone bodies lying around, trying to avoid looking at the other patrons as they tried to leave without looking at him. Not that he shared their shame. He’d been here too often to feel that sting any more. Nowadays he didn’t feel the sting of anything much, which was most likely why Bastian and Friedrik had picked him for this job in the first place.

It was cold out on the street, and busy for so early in the morning. Someone was noisily selling fruit at a foul-smelling stall right outside the brothel, but Merrick had no money for food. Besides, if he didn’t get to Palien soon, hunger would be the least of his worries.

He tripped more than once, still feeling the after effects of his revelry. Not that it had been much fun – a couple of drunken fucks and the rest of the time lying in a stupor. Still, it had at least served to kill a couple of days, numb the dread feeling inside him. That kind of service couldn’t be counted in gold or silver.

Somehow he managed to make his way to the Northgate slums unhindered. It was as though the scum and footpads knew he was coming, and knew to stay out of his way.

The Guild had a hundred safe houses throughout the city, and Merrick Ryder was in the privileged position of knowing more than a few. The one where he was to meet Palien was hardly one of the nicer ones, though. It stood on a street corner, stretching up three storeys. How far it dug down into the shit and sewers below, Merrick had no idea, and no great desire to find out.

Before he could even knock, the door opened a crack, and a big figure looked out. Merrick recognised him; he was one of the thugs that had rescued him outside the derelict chapel. Merrick had always been good with faces, especially ones that had saved him from a stabbing and then dragged him halfway across the city by the scruff of his neck.

The man said nothing, just opened the door and nodded for Merrick to enter.

It was dark inside, dark enough for someone to be lurking in wait with knife in hand, but Merrick had already done all this back in Bolo’s lair; already braved the dark – and lived. Besides, if the Guild wanted him dead he’d already be lying in the street with his head smashed in or floating down the Storway with his throat gaping wide, so there was nothing to fear here. He hoped.

In the dimness he could make out a tiny candlelit room beckoning him on. At the doorway his confidence took a blow to the gut as he saw Palien.

Tall and lithe and athletic, his hair and moustache waxed and coiffured, not a hair out of place, as always. Merrick had met him a few times before, been drawn in by his charm and looks, which was odd, as usually Merrick was the one doing the charming. His past experience had also taught him how dangerous Palien was, and explained why he wasn’t looking forward to this one bit.

‘Where the fuck have you been for the past three days?’ Palien said as Merrick entered.

‘I was doing as I was told. Organising the smooth transaction of goods.’ It wouldn’t do to explain how he’d been pissing up the last of his coins from the Guild on cheap wine and whores.

‘So you weren’t dipping your wick on Verdant Street?’ Palien raised one eyebrow a full inch higher than the other.

‘Well …’

‘I don’t really give a fuck what you were doing, Ryder. What I do give a fuck about is whether you met with Bolo and sealed the arrangement. And I’ve been waiting here three days to fucking find out.’

‘I got a little bit waylaid.’

‘
I don’t give a fuck!
’ Palien’s voice almost raised the roof. At his yell, the thug at Merrick’s shoulder stood a shuffling step back, as though the comment had been directed at him.

Merrick felt his heart beating faster. Time to put Palien at his ease, perhaps.

‘Everything is good with Bolo. I finalised the deal. We drank on it.’
And I threw it up outside
. ‘He tried to barter on price but I made it clear we’re not to be trifled with …
you’re
not to be trifled with. He already has some merchandise.’
And it looked in a sorry state
. ‘I told him it wouldn’t be a problem getting more.’

As Merrick spoke, Palien’s raised eyebrow slowly lowered until it was level with its fellow.

‘It won’t be a problem getting more,’ Palien confirmed. ‘What have you done to square the dock? Have the bribes been paid, or have you pissed all that money away?’

‘That’s all coming together nicely.’
Kind of
. ‘But as a matter of fact, the money you gave me for that side of things may not cover it.’
Because I have indeed pissed all that money away.

Palien simply stared, giving no indication he had even heard.

Merrick had been here before, staring hard bastards in the face. Usually he would be able to run away or talk his way out, but right now there was nowhere to run and no excuse he could think of, so he just stared back. Palien was waiting for him to crumble, for him to admit either he still had the money or he’d spent it. Fact was, he didn’t have the money, and if he told Palien it was gone, there would be unpleasantness.

And Merrick really wanted to avoid any unpleasantness.

Despite the chill of the room a bead of sweat broke from the nape of his neck and ran down the back of his shirt. A bang behind made him jump, and it was with relief that he heard the muffled sound of voices as Palien’s attention was redirected to the doorway.

Another henchman walked in, his face sheepish, like he was scared for his life for interrupting. Beside him was a second figure, not as tall as the thug, but very much larger than life.

He was foreign, an easterner, most likely Dravhistani, his clothes woven from bright silks, his hair covered by a headwrap usually worn in the Eastern Kingdoms. A sash held in his generous waist and over one shoulder was an ornate bag which Merrick noticed he clutched to his side protectively.

‘Erm … he’s here,’ said the henchman.

Palien began to raise that eyebrow again. ‘Yes, thank you. I can fucking see that.’

He turned his attention back to Merrick, reaching behind him, and for a second Merrick felt the bite of panic. He thought about reaching for his sword, but that would have been the dumbest thing to do. If Palien was reaching for a blade killing him wouldn’t solve anything.

Luckily he wasn’t. He grabbed a coinpurse and threw it to Merrick.

‘You’d better make that last,’ Palien said. ‘If you need any more you’d best sell something, and looking at you it’s not likely you’ll get much for your arse.’

‘Of course. This should do nicely.’

‘Fuck off then. As you can see I have a proper guest.’

Merrick didn’t wait. He nodded at the three men – only the foreigner deigned to nod back – and left as fast as he could manage.