Freyas Saga Ch. 08

Things were moving so fast. Her heart was pounding.

Nobody will ever do that to me again.

But I must get out of this bed and not be the weak little girl.

She grabbed a dry part of the sheet and wiped her face, made herself sit up straight and look at Dovid.

"Give me some clothes," she said.

"We 'aven't got time for that," said the swordsman, glancing at the door.

"I will not be in a room with two strange men," she said through clenched teeth, "one of whom raped me a few hours ago, and go on being naked. Give me something to wear. I don't care what. Anything."

"Oh, look," said the swordsman to the bookman, exasperated, "just bloody give her something."

The bearded bookman went to his bags and pulled out clothes exactly like the ones he normally wore; black breeches, a black jacket, a white shirt. He held them out to Carfryn, who climbed out of bed and then winced from the pain in her nethers.

"You bastards," she muttered. "I am wounded."

"That wouldn't've been me, love," said the swordsman. "I was careful."

"Yes, tell yourself that," she spat. "You were gallantry itself."

"Not got time for that now," the swordsman said, slowly drawing his sword and examining it.

"How do I know you won't do it again," she said. The sheer strangeness of the situation somehow

made it easier to deal with; it was all so odd that in some ways it was at her arm's length.

"I told you," he said. "Before, you were just a girl. Now you're my client. You don't turn on a

client."

"You will forgive me, swordsman," she said, "if I find it difficult to take you at your word, when a few hours ago you had so little respect for my person that you beat me and violated me."

"Yeah," he said, scratching his chin, "I'll admit it doesn't look good."

There was a knock at the door. The swordsman waved them to silence and looked pointedly at Dovid.

Carfryn had pulled on the breeches and finished buttoning the shirt. She pulled the jacket on and stood by the bed, aching, trembling with tiredness and anger and humiliation, feeling like a damp towel that god had washed and wrung out after using it to wipe shit from the arses of his children.

She glared at the swordsman. He held up a hand for silence.

There was a pause, and then the doorframe creaked, and a sharp metal object appeared in the doorjamb, and the door popped open, and the merchant and the young man came in.

***

Owyn looked at the merchant, and the merchant looked at him, and the young man, what was his fucking name, Gavan, looked at them both, and everyone looked at each other.

Talk about awkward.

"Well," Owyn said, "this is a bit of a thing, isn't it?"

"What are you doing here?" said the merchant, smiling but clearly very cross.

"Ah," said Owyn. "A very fair question, yes indeed. But I must ask you in return, what are you doing here?"

"You know what," said the merchant, his eyes glinting dangerously.

"Yes, I do," said Owyn, "but for the benefit of those others here, I'd like you to spell it out."

"And I'd prefer not to," said the merchant. "Stand aside."

"Can't do that," said Owyn. "Sorry."

The merchant boggled.

"What!" he said.

"The bookman, here," said Owyn, turning to Dovid, "sorry, mate, I didn't catch your name?"

"Dovid Berman," said the bookman.

"Yeah," said Owyn, "he's hired me to defend the lady and himself from you two. So that's what

I'm doing here. Now, 'ave you come to be horrible, or 'ave you come to 'ave a nice chat and maybe talk about the bright smiles on the faces of little kiddies?"

"Look," said the merchant, his face going crimson, "we're not here to mess about. Get out, and take the bookman with you."

Gavan, the kid, waved his spear in their general direction.

"I feel that you're not getting my meaning," Owyn said. "You do know what I do for a living?"

"You're a hired sword," said the merchant impatiently.

"Exactly. And the bookman here, Mister Berman, has hired me. What 'ave you got to say about that?"

"I'll pay more," said the merchant.

"All right then," said Owyn pleasantly, and he saw the bookman and the girl flinch and go pale. He was enjoying himself. "How much?"

"How much is the bookman paying?" said the merchant.

Owyn told him, and with satisfaction he saw the merchant's eyes widen a little. This was great. He hadn't had this much fun since he'd been a proper soldier.

"I can do better," said the merchant at last.

"Then I'm yours," said Owyn, ignoring the panic on the faces of the bookman and the girl.

"I don't have it on me," the merchant muttered.

"Then I'm not," said Owyn. "Sorry, gents. Back downstairs you go."

"Oh, for god's sake," the merchant burst out, "just fuck off, will you? Stop messing us about and get the bookman out of here."

Owyn let the remark hang in the air for a long moment, and just stared at the merchant, who sweated and looked at them all in turn and waited to see what was going to happen.

"Sorry, mate," Owyn said at last, "you were telling me last night about some business deal you were doing, and I wasn't getting the whole point of it, 'cos I was consumed with lust for this here young lady." He indicated the girl, and didn't really bother to take in the look of outrage that he knew was crossing her face. "But maybe," he went on, "you'd do me the courtesy of remembering it."

"What?" said the merchant irritably. "Oh. Yes. Why?"

"Just, do me a favour," said Owyn.

"No," said the merchant. "I'm not going to go into all that now."

"Aren't you?" said Owyn. "Then I will. I remember now. You were telling me 'ow you'd sold a load of salt pork to a local chief, sight unseen, for a good price, when you'd paid next to nothing for it 'cos it hadn't been salted properly, and you knew all along that by the time it got to his men it'd be spoiled and poison."

"Yes," said the merchant uneasily.

"Yeah," said Owyn. "You know what, fat boy? I fuckin' hate men like you. I've been on marches where you finally get to rest up and the only thing you had to look forward to was a bite to eat, and then they come around and tell you that the meat's spoiled and there's nothing, and you've to go to bed hungry, and fight hungry, and see your friends die 'cos they were too hungry to notice that someone came up behind them. And that's your doing. You and your kind."

"Oh, remarkably fine of you to grow morals at this stage," said the merchant. "I hope, my dear, you haven't started to trust this man. It won't go well with you."

The girl was silent. Good, Owyn thought. She was still standing by the bed, looking wet, drained and angry in her ridiculous bookman's clothes. If she just has the wit to stay out of this she'll be all right.

"What's going on?" said a voice outside.

The merchant smiled and stepped aside.

Two more men entered the room. Owyn didn't know them.

"What the fuck d'you want?" he said.

"Who are you?" said one of them. Big lad with a local accent.

"I'm asking the questions," said Owyn.

"We met these chaps outside," said the merchant. "Said they quite fancied a crack at the lass. Or the crack of the lass, if you get my meaning." He laughed, but there was a slight edge of hysteria to his

laughter.

He's the weak spot, Owyn thought. He didn't like the look of the two new bastards at all, but they appeared to be unarmed.

"This is private," said Owyn. "Get out, boys."

"That the girl?" said the other man, who was smaller than his friend but looked more dangerous. Snakeish, quiet.

"No," said Owyn, "that's my fucking grandmother. Step out, boys, seriously. This isn't for you."

"What are we waiting for?" said the big one. "Stab that bastard, gut the bookman and let's get on with it."

Gavan waved his spear in Owyn's direction.

"You actually used that thing, son?"

"I've killed a man," the lad said.

"With what," said the girl, "your breath?"

"What spirit!" said the merchant merrily. "Oh, my dear, what a joy it shall be to humble you all over again."

"Stick to boys," she said to him. "From the way you used me, you clearly prefer them."

"Shut up," said Owyn. What was she doing? She was stirring it further. He had to get them out of here before they got pissed off enough to make a move.

"Oh, I'll have you," said the merchant to her, not smiling anymore. "I'll have you in every hole before we're done with you."

"You'd better have killed me before you try my mouth," she said, "or it will cost you when I bite off your manhood."

"Oh really," said the merchant, moving towards her. Owyn quickly stepped between them and

Gavan moved forward, waving his spear in Owyn's face.

"Put that thing down, son," said Owyn. "You're gonna hurt somebody."

"If you're not gonna use that fucking spear," said the big lad, "give it to me and I'll fucking kill him."

Gavan made to thrust the spear at Owyn's head and Owyn ducked easily and deflected the wooden shaft with his arm. He grabbed it, and with a jerk he yanked it out of Gavan's hand.

"Now, go downstairs," said Owyn, "and we'll forget this ever happened."

"Give me that back," said Gavan, and Owyn found himself looking at the big man's face, and something about the situation made them recognise it at the same time. They both laughed.

"For fuck's sake," said the big man to Gavan. "You useless prat."

"Really, boys," said Owyn, "got to do better than that."

He glanced at the girl. It was working, it was looking more and more like they thought it wouldn't be worth it. He just had to keep it up. She was pale and silent and angry and if she just kept her mouth shut, it would be over and nobody would have to get hurt.

"Hold this," he said, and handed her Gavan's spear.

The merchant stood, irresolute. It was four against three, but the four were now unarmed, apparently. The merchant held up a knife, but nobody paid him any attention.

"Been in the wars, have you?" said the big man.

"Yeah," said Owyn.

"Me too," said the big man. "Where'd you fight?"

"Here and there," said Owyn.

"Name a place," said the big man. "Brierson Field? Wudwotha? I was at Wudwotha."

He pulled open his shirt, and Owyn peered cautiously. Sure enough, the bloke had the Wudwotha sigil.

"Nice," he said. "I wasn't actually at Wudwotha, but I was at Grims Farm, two days earlier." He

managed to pull down his leather jerkin far enough to show the bloke.

"Grims Farm," said the big man, nodding respectfully. "Heard that was fun."

"Got a bit tasty, all right," said Owyn.

"What you doing now?" said the big man. "Just making a living?"

"Just making a living," said Owyn. "Nothing personal."

There was a silence, and they all stared at each other.

"Well," said Owyn.

"Well," said the big man. "This is a pain in the arse, isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Owyn. "Look, sorry, lads. Not tonight. Not any night. All right?"

There was another silence. Gavan was giving the girl his best and most lethal stare, but he was spoiling the effect, Owyn noticed, by drumming his hands nervously on his legs while he stood there. The girl stood absolutely still, holding the spear in what looked out of the corner of his eye like a throwing grip, the tip of it pointing at the ceiling.

"Oh, sod," said the big man, turning to his friend. "This was meant to be easy, but I'm not that bothered, are you?" His friend shrugged. Owyn enjoyed the dismay spreading over the merchant's face. The big man turned back to him.

"All right," he said. "We'll be off, then. Take it easy, mate."

"What?" said Gavan, looking incredulous.

"You too," said Owyn amiably. "Much obliged, lads. Peace and quiet, eh?"

"Peace and quiet," agreed the big man. He looked at the girl.

"Ta-ra, love," he said. "Some other time, p'raps."

She stared back at him, her blue eyes glittering. She really was a looker, Owyn thought.

The local boys turned and they heard them walk down the corridor, down the stairs, and the door bang shut behind them. The merchant was sweating and he managed to make a ghastly smile.

Gavan was almost hopping up and down with frustration and impatience.

"Well, we had to try," he said. "You were worth it, my dear."

"We're not going," said Gavan.

"We are," said the merchant.

"You are," said Owyn. "Fuck off and don't come back."

"FUCK!" said Gavan, actually punching one fist into his other open hand, a gesture Owyn had never seen before.

"It's blue balls, son," said Owyn. "You'll get over it."

Gavan backed towards the door, staring at Owyn and the girl with loathing.

"I'm not finished with you," he said, to her. "I'm having you again."

"No," she said.

"Tell her to give me my spear back," he said to the merchant.

"Laddie," said the merchant, "if you can't hold on to your own weapon, it deserves to end up in the

hands of a girl."

"She can't keep it," said Gavan. "It's mine."

The girl glanced at the spear, tossed it in the air lightly and caught it overhand, and then abruptly whacked it against the floor. The tip bent. She whacked it again and the tip bent over completely.

"You're fucking breaking it!" Gavan wailed. She stared at him, and hit it twice more, and it snapped in two places, near the point and about halfway along its length.

She knelt down, still watching Gavan, who was now hopping frantically from foot to foot, and she picked up the bits and threw one of them into the fire. The fire, which had died down, flared up. She picked up the longest bit and, still staring at the boy, she broke it over her knee and tossed the fragments on top of the flames. Finally she threw the last piece into the fire, metal point and all. The

flames licked up cheerily.

"You fucking bitch!" Gavan said, on the verge of tears.

"Now come and get me," she said.

He started forward and she didn't move, but the merchant grabbed his shirt.

"Don't be such a bloody fool," the merchant barked. "She's trying to provoke you."

"Let him come," said the girl, pale-faced and tight-lipped.

"Let me get her," Gavan bawled. "I'll fucking kill her."

"Go home, son," said Owyn sharply. "You're over-tired."

"I've killed a man," Gavan bellowed. "What have you fucking done, you whore? Eh? What have you done? Have you killed anyone?"

"No," she said.

"Get that twat out of here," said Owyn to the merchant. "Before he does himself a mischief."

"I'll fucking kill you all," Gavan screamed, trying to run at the girl, who just stood there, waiting for him.

"You won't beat him, girl, you've got him too angry," said Owyn, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She swatted his hand away and picked up a bottle.

"Let him come," she said to the merchant.

"Come on with me," said the merchant, and dragged Gavan backwards towards the door.

Gavan strained forward so hard that his shirt tore, and he lurched forward with outstretched hands towards her. Owyn raised his sword to swing it, ready to hit the lad in the stomach and wind him without wounding him.

The girl lifted the bottle.

Then something large and heavy hit Gavan in the head, and he stumbled sideways, tripped over his

own ankle and fell over, crashing to the floor. His head struck one of the drying irons by the fire and there was a nasty crunching noise.

He lay on the floor, twitching slightly, and blood started to well across the floorboards. His head was obscured by the large, heavy object that had struck him and was now sitting on his skull like a big, angular, black bird. It was an enormous book.

Everyone turned and looked at Dovid, who was staring down at Gavan's body, appalled.

"I merely meant to stop him," he said in a weak voice.

Owyn went over to the boy and knelt down and lifted the book off him. It dripped blood onto the floor.

The drying iron had pierced the boy's skull at the temple and his brains were on it. He was still twitching a little, but after a moment he was still. Owyn touched a hand to the boy's neck, and after a moment withdrew it.

"Bugger," he said quietly.

"Oh my god," said the merchant.

"You all saw," said Owyn. "He fell over."

"May I speak with you outside?" said the merchant.

Owyn glanced at the bookman, who looked like he wanted to burst into tears, and the girl, who was looking at him and the merchant both with undisguised dislike and contempt.

"You can speak with me in front of these two," he said.

"It's a delicate matter," said the merchant.

"Then choose your words with care," said Owyn.

"Very delicate," said the merchant.

"Just out with it," said Owyn, who disliked beating around the bush.

"If I could have your ear for a moment," he said.

"He wants you to help him turn the bookman in," said the girl. "There'll be a bounty."

"It was an accident," said Owyn. "The lad fell over."

"After the bookman threw a book at him," said the merchant. "Now, I think you need to consider where you stand."

***

Carfryn saw the mercenary pause, and then give the merchant a strange look.

"What you mean by that, exactly?" he said.

"Your client killed this boy," said the merchant, doing his best to sound reasonable.

"It was an accident," said the mercenary.

"Is anything ever really an accident?" said the merchant. "I'm afraid that this will not look good. I

mean, good luck recovering your fee from the bookman when he's swinging from the nearest tree."

"If you are proposing something," said the mercenary slowly, "maybe you should out with it."

Oh, you would, she thought, staring at the mercenary's cruel, gloomy face with its broken veins. Of course you would. You would sell us to the highest bidder.

The bookman was trying to protect me.

Why did I break the damn spear? I am stupid. It was because I wanted to do something.

"The bookman needs to be taken to the manor house and placed under the lord's protection, so he can be tried," said the merchant. "I know that, as the young lady says, there will be a considerable bounty for turning in a bookman who's killed an innocent man."

"He wasn't an innocent man," said the mercenary. "He raped the girl."

"So did you," said the merchant.

"So did you," said the mercenary.

"That's irrelevant," said the merchant. "Our duty is clear. This bookman is as unreliable as all his kind and he must be turned over to the lord, preparatory to being found guilty of murder."

"And we would get the generous bounty," said the mercenary.

Carfryn was wondering if she could get the bookman over to the window and they could just jump out, but glancing at him she saw that he was frozen in his seat, rigid with fear.

"We would," said the merchant. "Split evenly."

"How else would it be split?" said the mercenary.

"Well, no other way, of course," said the merchant. "Of course it would be even."

"You hypocrite," she said to the merchant. He ignored her.

"Well, the thing there is, it was an accident," said the mercenary. "He wasn't trying to kill the lad, and throwing a book at someone isn't normally fatal."

"Don't be so obtuse," the merchant snapped. "You know what's right here. Let us stop talking and

do it."

"Hold on," said the mercenary, smiling good-humouredly. "I just want to consider this a moment

longer. See, I have a contract with the bookman. He's already paid me a deposit."

"What does that matter?" said the merchant. "Keep it and hand him over."

"No," said the mercenary with maddening calm, "that wouldn't be right."

"Never mind the deposit!" the merchant barked. "He's only a fucking bookman!"

"Steady on," said the mercenary. "I've got nothing against bookmen as such."

"Then give it back to him," said the merchant.