The Heresy Within (18 page)

Betrim remembered another crew he had been once with big names; back before he'd earned his own, back when he was just as much of a shit as Green. The boss back then had been a man called Red Tooth, though fact was all his teeth were red. They'd also had the Night Blade, Alfyn Tether on the crew. The Night Blade was one of the most famous assassins in the wilds and one of the biggest names back then. It was said he had killed more men than the sea but none could prove any of the murders were him.

Alfyn and Betrim now they'd always gotten on just fine, Betrim had been as green as Green but he wasn't so dumb as to think he could earn his name by taking out one such as the Night Blade. Some of the other boys though didn't get on so well with Alfyn, didn't hold so well having an assassin on the crew, something about poisoners being cowards as Betrim remembered it.

Betrim had left the crew on bad terms, seems they didn't like the idea of having someone hunted by Arbiters on the team and Betrim had just killed his third. A while later he heard the rumours in a whore house; the entire crew had been found dead, all except the Night Blade, and none could say why. No cuts, no bruises, nothing. Just dead and robbed. No one ever heard of Alfyn Tether again after that.

“They got windows right?” Green asked bringing Betrim back to the present.

“Aye, barred though,” Swift said.

“Don't stop us peekin' in, finding which cell our girl's in. Can't be that many bitches bound an' gagged in there.”

They all had to stop and think about that for a moment, Swift had himself a good laugh about it too. Betrim preferred his women to be willing though, even if willing meant paid. “Green's right fer once. Get caught in Chade an' ya more likely ta be a slave than a prisoner, 'specially if you got a cunt. Shouldn't be too hard ta find her, long as they got her in a cell with a view.”

“So ya want us ta go round an' check every window?” Swift asked.

“Ya don't need to check every window,” Green replied with a grin. “Jus' everyone till ya find her.”

“I'm fast startin' not ta like you, lad,” Swift said with a punch to Green's arm.

“Got somewhere else ta be, Swift?” Betrim said still staring at the gaol building.

“As it happens. Plenty o' whore houses in Chade not had a visit from Swift in a long time,” Swift replied still grinning. “I hear there's a place in Keflin square that has southerners, black skinned an all. It'd be like fuckin' the Boss' daughter.”

“The Boss has a daughter?” Green asked.

“Hell if I know,” Swift replied. “But if he did wouldn't it be nice ta bend her over an' shove it up her arse so hard she screams.”

“The whores can wait,” Betrim interrupted as he found a good-looking spot of wall in the alley and took to leaning. Swift could be an annoying prick when he tried. “Plenty of guards about an' some of 'em patrolling. Could make things tricky. We take out one of the patrols, quiet, that'll give us some time 'fore they missed. How hard do ya reckon it is ta get those bars out?”

“'Bout as hard as it would be ta take the whole wall out,” Bones replied. “Which I reckon is pretty bloody hard.”

They were all silent for a while. Betrim leaning, Bones sitting, Swift whistling and Green pacing. Why the Boss sent them all for planning instead of doing it himself Betrim couldn't figure. Seemed to him they were getting close to nowhere.

“Chutes,” Green said, pointing. “Old buildings like this have these chutes. See, on the ground, holes leadin' into the underground fer droppin' food an' stuff.”

Betrim peered towards the building. Seemed Green was right but there was a problem. “Looks like they're barred too.”

Swift had a smug look plastered all over his smug face. “Not barred. Grated an' locked. Ain't a lock made I can't pick.”

“Looks a smallish gap,” Bones rumbled.

“Aye,” Betrim agreed. “Henry an' Swift'll fit no problem. Green too most like, maybe me. You an' the Boss ain't got a chance.”

“Looks like I'll be takin' guard duty then.”

“Aye, looks like,” Betrim agreed. “Good?”

“Good.”

They all watched from the shadows of the alley for a while longer. They'd all done similar jobs before, breaking into places and stealing stuff, or killing folk all quiet in the night, all except Green anyway. First rule is always, '
don't get caught
' and the best way not to get caught was to know where the guards would be and when.

Two patrols circled the big stone building; each one was two men strong. Wasn't much to guard given that most of the prisoners were transferred to the slavers guild soon as getting caught. Each patrol took near fifteen minutes to circle the place so if they took out a single patrol they should have... numbers never did make sense to Betrim but he reckoned they should have about thirty minutes to get in, find the bitch, free her and get out.

As far as Betrim could see it should go nice and smooth. Of course there was always the possibility of getting lost inside the building, running into more guards than expected or even Swift not being able to pick the locks like he claimed. Always so much that could go wrong, that was why Betrim hated the planning. Again he considered the option of charging in, axe in hand and again he decided the most likely outcome of such would be certain death. Gaol breaks were never easy.

“Right then,” Swift said. “I'll check the windows, Bones'll be my ladder an' Green can stand watch. Thorn, go get the Boss told of the plan.”

“Wait,” Betrim said. He saw something, something he hoped he was wrong about. Just a short distance away, being escorted by a couple of guards was a man. Betrim couldn't see the man's face but he didn't need to, he could see the coat and he knew those coats all too well. Instinct told him to back further into the alley, further into the shadows and the Black Thorn always obeyed his instincts.

“What ya seeing, Thorn?” Swift asked, made nervous by Betrim's backing away. Weren't often the Black Thorn backed away from anything.

Betrim ground his teeth together. “I see an Arbiter. There, between those two guards.”

The other three men turned as one and peered towards the man. Bones stood up and backed away a step, Swift made a sound somewhere between a moan and sigh and Green just scratched at his leg.

“You sure, Black Thorn? Looks a little short for an Arbiter.”

“You're a bloody idiot, Green. There ain't no height requirement on being an Arbiter. Jus' so long as ya a murderous bastard who likes ta burn folk.”

“Sounds fun ta me,” the little shit replied with a smirk. Betrim would have knocked a few of his teeth out if Bones hadn't been standing in the way. Instead he backed away further into the alley.

“I'll go tell the Boss of the plan. You lot keep watch. Wait till that witch hunter is gone 'fore casin' the place.”

“Reckon he's here fer our girl?” Bones asked, his hunched form towering over the others.

Betrim didn't have an answer for that. He just shrugged, turned and walked away.

One gaol looked much like another, or so it appeared to Thanquil. He'd been in a few during his time, never found himself locked up inside one though. They tended to consisted of cold grey stone, cold metal bars and cold angry prisoners. In this particular gaol they seemed a bit short on the prisoners.

Despite the general warmth of the city of Chade its gaol managed to remain cool and damp. There was a steady dripping sound of water throughout the entire building and many of the walls and floors seemed wet and slippery. Some of the cell bars had started to rust though none of those cells were occupied. No doubt the guards just shoved the prisoners into the better maintained cells and left the others to rot.

The tenants looked dirty and smelled worse. In fact there was an overwhelming stench of sweat, blood and human waste throughout the building. The cells contained no beds, no furniture of any kind and only a bucket in each for the prisoner's waste. They were not intended for any sort of comfort. The few prisoners there were tended to be huddled in corners or laid out on the floors shivering in their sleep.

One prisoner, a man looking to be in his middle years and with a great shaggy beard that might once have been grey but had long since turned brown with filth, rushed forward at the sight of Thanquil and made a grab at him through the bars. The guards swatted away his hand with wooden cudgels and cursed at him. As the man fell backwards with a shriek of pain Thanquil saw what few teeth he had left were broken and brown. He'd seen that sort of abuse before, no doubt the guards kept a few prisoners away from the slavers for periodic beatings. Nothing made a weak man feel strong like someone weaker to beat upon.

“'Ave mercy,” the man spluttered between his broken teeth.

One of the guards laughed and spat at the man in the cell. “Mercy from an Arbiter? You must be addled as well as a thief.”

“Arbiter?” The man's eyes were bright and frantic. Again he moved forward, gripping hold of the iron bars. “I'm a heretic m'lord. I swear it. Done bad things. Deserve ta be dead.”

“You ain't a heretic, just a bloody thief,” the guard with the broken nose shouted and pushed the prisoner in his chest with the cudgel. The prisoner fell backwards, landed with a yelp of pain then tried to stand up. One of his legs gave way beneath him and he crashed back to the cold stone floor and then lay there whimpering like a beaten dog. Both guards laughed and then herded Thanquil along. There was nothing he could do for the poor man.

Past more cells and past more prisoners some in even worse condition than the middle aged man, very few in better. The guards of Chade seemed to be little more than thugs one and all. No doubt most of them were recruited from the legion of sell-swords that littered the free cities looking for work. Those men and women were interested only in coin and paid no heed to the suffering of their fellow humans.

The steady dripping sound of water somewhere continued and the building seemed to grow even colder. The guards stopped in front of a heavy, wooden, iron bound door. This was no ordinary cell; there were no bars, only solid stone wall. The first guard; the one with a greasy lock of straw-coloured hair falling to his shoulders and a permanently sour face pulled back a metal shutter on the door and peered in. Then he closed the shutter again, took out a large key ring and proceeded to open three locks on the door before pulling back a heavy metal bar and pushing the door inwards and stepping back to allow Thanquil to enter.

“After you,” Thanquil said with wave of his hand.

The two guards looked at each other and the man with the sour face shook his head. The broken nosed guard then stepped forwards and, with a deep breath, walked into the room. Thanquil followed a couple of steps behind.

Inside the cell was dark, only a small window no more than half a foot across, even less in height and barred with cold iron, lit the room. The gloom was near complete.

“A lantern please,” Thanquil said to the guard.

The broken nose shook back at him. “She can do things with fire.”

“A lantern. Now,” Thanquil left no doubt it was an order and, with a nod from broken nose, Sour Face rushed off to fetch one.

The cell didn't smell as bad as the rest of the building. It was cool and humid and there was the metallic scent of blood in the air and salt. It almost smelled of the sea.

At the far end of the cell, as far away from the door as was possible, a figure was chained against the wall. Heavy metal manacles held the woman's hands tight against the wall just above her head and her ankles were manacled to the floor out in front of her. Dried blood and blisters showed around the edges of the metal and even in the darkness Thanquil could tell the skin beneath the metal was red and raw.

The woman's mouth was wedged open with a heavy padded leather thong strapped tight between her teeth. Blood and bile stained the thong. A bloody piece of cloth had been tied around her head to cover her eyes and her head hung limp from her shoulders. Dark black hair hung from her head in short, limp strands.

The rags the woman wore were ripped and tattered and brown and soiled with what looked like both blood and urine. They only just stretched down to her knees and hung loose off one shoulder; her left breast was visible through one of the tears and looked small and pale but unmarked.

“She has not been raped,” Thanquil said to the guard.

“Fuck no.” The guard's voice was quiet, little more than a whisper. “None of us dare go near her. She's... wrong.”

Sour Face returned with a small lantern and placed it on a sconce on the left wall before retreating from the cell with haste. The light flickered casting mad, jumping shadows around the room. With light the woman looked an even more wretched thing. Her head bobbed a little at the introduction of light but there was no other movement.

Thanquil studied the woman for a time. A thin drop of spittle leaked from her mouth and dropped onto her chest, soaking into her rags but she made no sign of moving. Thanquil turned back to Broken Nose.

“She's been like this for weeks.”

“Aye,” the guard replied. “She's not been fed nor watered nor anything. Nobody comes in 'ere, we jus' make sure she's not gone every day. They say she's been killed twice. She jus' don't die.”

Thanquil stared at the woman a while longer. She looked to be no more than twenty years of age, treated horribly and broken from the mistreatment but something didn't feel right. She felt almost like a beast playing dead but waiting to strike.

Thanquil decided to throw caution to the wind and approach the woman. Broken Nose spoke from behind. “Careful, Arbiter. She's... magical.”

Thanquil glanced back at the guard. He was standing just a couple of paces behind, fear plain on his face. “I'll be fine guardsman.”

He crouched down in front of the woman, she made no move. He put his hand on her forehead, still no movement. He lifted her head up, the bandage tied around her eyes was dirty with filth and dried blood, more blood had run down her cheeks like red tears. Thanquil took his hand away and the woman's head dropped. Other than her shallow breathing she seemed more corpse than living.