Raiders' Ransom (15 page)

I didn't even know there was so many Families before I came here.

“It's a big top,” said Ims when we came here the other night. “They used to have them for circuses.” He lifted up his tankard. “But we got a much better use for it now!”

And you can tell what the use is from the noise coming out into the square — laughing, shouting, cursing — and the smell — sour-sweet, like old fruit. Cider!

Saru and Lilo are stood a way off, staring at the big tent. Two black-clad, sword-toting guards is eyeing them up.

“This is the raider tavern,” Saru's saying to Lilo, who looks like his eyes are going to pop from his head. “One of the only places this side of Colchester where raiders from the different Families mix without killing each other.”

“You ain't going in though, are you?” I say, catching up to them. Old Saru raises his caterpillar eyebrows.

“Why should I not?”

“You ain't Family! And Lilo ain't, neither!”

“Well then, we are very fortunate to be accompanied by a bona fide Angel, in the shape of yourself.”

“You gotta be joking! I ain't going in there dressed like this. Someone might see me.”

“I thought red was the color of your Family.”

“Red leathers! Not red … bags!”

“I don't want to go in there …” says Lilo, in a fraidy kind of voice.

“And you shouldn't, anyway!” I say. “It's only for Family!”

“Actually, Mr. Angel Isling, in this matter you are incorrect,” says Saru. “Although it is not a most common occurrence, I can say in truth I have been in there before, and returned without harm.”

“I really don't want to go in,” says Lilo, staring through the doorway into the loud smoky inside. He looks like he wants to be sick.

Old Saru pats his nephew on the shoulder.

“I am most happy to enter alone. Maybe you two can find something more suitable to your youth?”

What's he on about?

“I went in there the other night!” I say. “But I ain't going in looking like this … joke!”

And I turn and march off, coz I can't stand Lilo's uncle another second. I end up in a stall that's selling ladies' gloves, so I march right out again.

When I look back, Saru says something to Lilo, who comes running over to me.

“I'm coming with you,” he pants.

“All right. If you want,” I say. But I'm glad he's here, and without his stupid uncle.

“You were well scared back there,” I say, poking his arm.

“No I wasn't!” he says, “I was just —”

“You were scared!” I say, cheering right up. “What are we doing, then?” He looks at me blankly. “Come on, fishwits, where are we going to get a drink?”

“Mr. Sarava … my uncle said we had to be back by midnight bells!”

“That's gotta be hours off,” I say. “Will you stop being such a girl!”

And I find us a tavern.

It ain't as good as the big top — that's gotta be the best tavern in the world — but it'll do. It sells cider. It's all smoky from the charcoal burners and tallow torches, and there's plenty of men and women sprawled around drinking. So it's not so bad.

In the middle is a wooden counter, where a fat, knobbly man is guarding the cider casks.

I head straight there.

“Two jugs of cider,” I say.

“Ha ha!” says Knobbly Man. “That's what I like to see — two young guns after a bit of hair on their chests. Well,
show us yer pennies, and it's two beakers of Headbreaker coming right up.” Then he winks. “And if yer looking for anything more — the company of ladies, perhaps — why, you only have to ask yer old friend Hector!”

Lilo goes bright red, which gives Knobbly Man a right good laugh; his fat cheeks wobble, and sweat drips off his nose.

“Are you sure you want cider?” Lilo says to me. “We could get milk.”

“Why have you even bothered coming to Lunden?” I say.

“Two beakers of cider,” says Knobbly Man, slapping them on the counter. He leers at me. “Unless you want milk.”

“He was joking,” I say. How did I get landed with such a fishwit? “He wants cider, too. And he's paying.”

Lilo looks cross. But Knobbly Man's staring at him now, waiting for his money. That'll show him. Lilo pulls up his bag shirt and roots around at a purse jangling from his neck. He pulls out some coins.

“Don't you have any money?” he asks me grumpily.

I shrug. “I don't carry it. Ims does all that stuff.”

“Why, how good of yer to pay in advance,” says Knobbly Man, whipping the coins off Lilo. “Yer the kind of customer I like! And these … seven English pennies'll get you a fine night of drinking.”

He shouts at a thin girl wearing an apron. “Sharon! This lad and his friend are due another three beakers each. So make sure they get 'em — and not a drop more unless you see the inside of their wallets!”

Lilo's looking like he don't know what's hit him. “This the first time you been to Trafalgar Square?” I say. He nods. “The first time you been in a tavern?”

“Yes. No! I been in lots of taverns.” But he hasn't. Probably only left his mum last week.

I find us space at a bench, one where there ain't too much cider on the seat. And we get drinking. I don't really drink much cider at the hall, only on feast days. And then Ims'll only let me have a single beaker. But he ain't here now; I can have as much as I want.

Lilo sips at his beaker like he's worried it'll bite him.

“Thanks for this, Lilo!” I say. I take a big mouthful, and swallow it down. I got three more beakers to get through. I may as well get cracking.

“I wonder where Ims is. I wonder if he tol' Father where I went.” I look up at Lilo. “Do you think he did? My father might be worried 'bout me.”

I can see Lilo staring at me. His face is really big. And wobbly.

“Maybe you've had enough?” he says.

Course I haven't, stupid.

“Course not,” I say.

This here. In my hand. What I'm holding. Oops, spilled a bit. Anyway, this is my sixth beaker o' cider. Or is it fifth? No, definitely sixth. Coz I drank all mine, and Lilo only had one. So I drank his others. I did.

Lilo's gone wobbly all over now. Everythin's wobbly, actually.

But if I put my head on my arms, like this, it's better. Table stops my head falling off.

I like Lilo. I really do. He let me have his cider. Not like back home. No one's ever let me have their cider.

“You're my only frien',” I say to him.

“That's not true,” says wobbly Lilo.

I wan' to shake my head. But I can't. It might fall off.

“Thing is, you don' get proper friens until you're a full warrior. When you get your name.”

He doesn't understand. Probably coz he's spinning around so much.

“You're a fisher, right?”

His spinning heads all nod.

“Fishers is jus' fishers. See? But warriors is made. Has to fight their way up.”

“So?” says Lilo.

“So you has to fight. Other boys. Your age. Firs' to be a sword boy, then shiel' bearer, then prentice, then warrior.” I stop for a breath. Speaking is making everything wobble and spin more.

I wish it would stop.

“An' my father's Boss, ain' he? So I got to be bes' at fightin', don' I? And I am. Bes' knife thrower in the Family. So I don' got friens. See?”

Lilo nods his wobbly heads, then shakes them.

He's all right, Lilo. Even though he's a stinkin' fisher. And a bit girly. I try to tell him.

“Tha's why it's funny what Ims said, 'bout you being my frien'. Coz you're only a fisher. So I won' never have to fight you. Which is a good job, coz I'd kill you no problem.”

Lilo's big faces stare at me.

“Yeah. I bet you would,” he says.

But I wouldn't kill Lilo. He's my frien'.

“Have you got friens?” I say.

Lilo's mouth goes even more wobbly. He looks sad.

“Yes,” he says. “I've got a best friend. Since we was really little. He's called Andy.”

“Why ain't he here?”

“He had … to go away. He might never come back,” says Lilo, and now he looks really sad. Like he might cry, even.

“I'll be your frien',” I say. But Lilo shakes his head.

“You're a raider,” he says.

“And you're a stinkin' fisher!”

But he's right. It is a problem.

Oh. I know.

“You could become Family,” I say. He looks surprised. “You know. If your father or someone cast you out. You can get Family protec … protection.”

I look at his wobbly face.

“Will your father cas' you out? D'you think?”

“I'm going to ask the barman how long it is till midnight bells,” he says, and gets up.

Maybe his family will cas' him out. Then he won't be a stinkin' fisher no more. It'd be honorable for him to be my frien' if that happened.

So I'll jus' wait here for him to come back. Head on arms. Tha's best. Maybe eyes shut, too.

Mr. Saravanan's waiting outside the raider tavern, looking tired. His hair's all wet and there are dark stains all over his clothes. He stinks of cider, but he ain't drunk. Not like Zeph.

“I am afraid I was involved in a small unpleasantness,” says Mr. Saravanan. “Lucky for me, it was nothing too serious. By raider standards it could even be called playing. But I am now a trifle soaked.” Then he smiles, whispering just to me, “I have found out what you need to know.”

In a louder voice he asks, “So, how have you two been?”

“You can see for yourself,” I say, which is true, cos I'm pretty much holding Zeph up, he's that drunk. It's taken me a good while to drag him over here — he was leaning on me the whole way, and nearly falling over pretty much every
step he took. Now he's standing at an angle, staring toward the raider tent.

“I ain't 'fraid to go in there, you know,” he slurs.

“It would seem our young raider friend has drunk as much as I have had thrown at me,” says Mr. Saravanan.

“I feel sick,” moans Zeph.

Then — right next to me! — he throws up.

“You're disgusting!” I shout, jumping away from him.

Zeph looks at his pile of vomit, then at me, and I think he might start crying.

“I thought you was my frien',” he says.

“All right!” says Mr. Saravanan. “It is definitely time to go!” He hoicks Zeph under an arm and starts walking. Zeph bounces like a rag doll under Mr. Saravanan's arm as far as the edge of the square.

Then he groans, “I feel sick!”

Mr. Saravanan puts him down quick as you like, and Zeph starts hurling into a pothole. While we're watching him, and it ain't pretty, Mr. Saravanan tells me quietly about what he's been up to.

“I found my mission to be rather easy. In fact, very easy. They were talking of little else but the raid on your village. Interestingly, it seems that the girl was taken by the Angel Isling Family, and the raiders from the other Families are wondering how they knew she was there, whether there will be war with the English, and what the Family council in Norwich will have to say about it all.”

“But Zeph's Angel Isling, ain't he?” I say. “And he just told me his father's the Boss.”

Mr. Saravanan stares hard at Zeph.

“Now
that
is very interesting.”

Zeph throws up again, and moans out, “I think I might be dying.”

“This young man is probably the most useful person you could have met in London,” says Mr. Saravanan quietly.

“The most annoying, more like.”

Zeph finally finishes vomiting, and turns a white, shiny face to look at us.

“I'm dyin' and you don' even care,” he says mournfully. And suddenly I find myself walking over and patting him on the back. Even though he stinks.

“You're not dying,” I say. “And you'll feel better when you get home.”

He looks at me, blue eyes wide, blond hair plastered to his forehead.

“I can't go back to my father's ship. Not like this.”

Mr. Saravanan smiles, and I reckon it's a good thing Zeph's too drunk to see what kind of smile it is.

“You are very lucky,” says Mr. Saravanan, “having such good friends as Lilo and myself. You can stay with us tonight and go back to your dragonboat tomorrow.”

As we're walking back, we have to stop for Zeph to be sick again. While he's splattering cider over the moonlit mud, Mr. Saravanan whispers, “It seems Angel Isling was in fact
contracted by someone to raid your home village. There was a great deal of discussion about who it may have been.”

I remember the Scottish man in the study: “This is hardly going to plan.”

“My own conclusion is that the Scandinavians would be most likely to be behind such a plot,” says Mr. Saravanan. “They are always interfering.”