The Shewstone Page 12

  Somehow, Matt kept her feet going, the same even pace, looking straight ahead, not faltering, not hesitating. The rowdy boys were gabbing among themselves, laughing and posing like drunken bravos. If they dared stand brazenly on the doorstep, it could only mean there was nobody in the house to challenge them.

  Still, Matt kept walking. She glanced up at the building as she drew level. The front window of Edmund’s study had been broken and boarded up. A heavy dent marked the street door. Apart from that, nothing was changed. She passed the doorstep, close enough to reach out and touch the nearest lout. They must have seen her, but paid no attention, not looking past the clothes and hair.

  Matt caught a few words.

  “…know what the boss is gonna do?”

  “We’ll find out in time, you can count on it.”

  “As long as I get my share. I’m not fucking gonna let…”

  Then she was past them, walking away—away from her home. The voices faded.

  What had happened?

  At the next junction, Matt turned off into a side street, then hitched up the damned surcoat and ran. She could not help herself. It might not be sensible, but she had to put distance between herself and the building that used to be her home.

  Common sense reasserted itself a short way around the hillside. The last thing Matt needed was to catch the attention of anyone looking for her, and some of Gilbert’s boys would be doing that, she had no doubt. She stopped in a small square set around a bird-splattered statue of King Swidhelm I. A flight of steps branched off in one corner. Matt stood at the top, leaned her elbow on the stone handrail, and caught her breath. She stared, unseeing, at the port below. What had happened?

  The sun burned down like always. The sounds of the city were unchanged. Seagulls screeched overhead, and the air smelt of salt and tar. Matt closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, waiting for the shaking in her hands and legs to fade. What had happened?

  When Matt opened her eyes, she was calmer and knew what to do. Forcing her legs into a comfortable stroll, matching her garb, she set off across Fortaine to the once genteel, but now unfashionable, northern fringe. Here the city had overflowed the old walls and spread into the surrounding countryside. The buildings were large and well-built, but run-down. The people were entrenched and minded their own business.

  The Jolly Wagoner was an old style wooden framed tavern, three stories high, with a sprawling collection of out-buildings. For as long as Matt knew, Edmund had rented a room here, a permanently ready bolt-hole, a place to hide in a crisis. Few had heard of it—Edmund and Matt, and Pearl of course, because she knew everything. Even trusted gang members who had worked for Edmund’s father and grandfather were not in on the secret. Edmund’s uncle Ted had been the last to make use of the room, three years earlier.

  The barman did not look up when Matt entered. “Can I help you?”

  “You have a room reserved for Robin of Thule,” Matt said.

  “Top of the stairs, on the right.” The rhythm of clinking bottles did not falter.

  “Is there a key?”

  “Master Robin collected it yesterday.”

  “He is upstairs now?”

  The barman did not answer. He had been well paid for his silence and had said all that was needed. Matt ought to know better than ask, but the surge of relief had overwhelmed her. Edmund was already here. She should never have doubted him. If not for the wretched surcoat, Matt would have leapt up the stairs three at a time. She burst through the door.

  The room was an average size, with a bay window providing a view over Fortaine. The walls had not seen fresh paint for decades. The floorboards were bare, stained, and warped. A round table, two narrow beds with foot lockers, and a huge lopsided wardrobe was all the furniture. A man was sitting, slumped, on the side of one bed. He jerked, half standing, when the door opened, but sunk back on seeing Matt. And he was not Edmund.

  Matt stared, slack-jawed, as her head tried to catch up. Ricon was so unexpected it took seconds to recognise him, and he did not look his normal self. His clothes were always stylishly scruffy, but she had never seen him look unkempt or dirty. Now, his hair was uncombed and he had not shaved. The brown stains on his shirt front had to be dried blood, and the sleeve was ripped. His eyes were red rimmed slits.

  “Ricon? Where’s Edmund?”

  The tears that welled up and spilled down Ricon’s cheeks answered her, even before he spoke. “Edmund’s dead. They killed him. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Matt’s knees buckled. She shoved the door closed and collapsed onto the bunk facing Ricon. “Gilbert killed him?”

  “He was in on it, but it wasn’t him or his men. It was that red-haired bastard.”

  “How?” That one word took all the breath Matt could summon. A steel fist was crushing her lungs.

  Rather than answer, Ricon lurched to his feet and staggered to the table. Five wine bottles stood on it, three were empty, and the fourth uncorked. He took a long swig and then held out the bottle. He was drunk, Matt realised, and she did not blame him. The wine was cheap and sharp. It stung the back of her throat when she swallowed but filled a need.

  “What happened? Tell me.”

  “It was when they came to pick up the stone. There was the two from before, but this time they’d got some local muscle. Hired to guard the merchandise, so they claimed. Edmund insisted the two rowdy boys stayed in the hall while he and the foreigners went to his study. I was in the room next door. They’d barely closed the door when the yelling and banging started. Footsteps rushed past my room. I was out in time to see the redheads run downstairs. They both were holding swords. The leader had blood on his. Raff was on duty outside. He heard the racket and came in, but the rowdy boys were ready and pounced on him. Pearl came running from her room, but this fucker he…he…” Ricon’s composure unravelled further. “He ran her through.”

  “Pearl. But she…” The first tear slid down Matt’s face. “Why kill Pearl?”

  “Why kill anyone? I didn’t get a chance to ask.” Ricon looked like he was going to be sick. “People were shouting. I heard our folk coming from the back. I was about to go and help, then the front door got kicked in and Gilbert’s thugs were all over the place. We were outnumbered. It was hopeless. That’s when I thought of Edmund. I rushed to the study and he was lying there on the floor, blood all over.” Ricon was now crying in earnest.

  “I held him. He was still breathing…just. I shoved the table in front of the door to give us time. I was hoping…” He shrugged. “I don’t know what. Edmund told me about this room. Said you’d come here. Said I was to give you this.”

  Ricon held out a gold signet ring. Edmund’s ring. The ring that had belonged to his father, and grandfather before. Matt looked at it, lying in her palm. Her vision blurred as her eyes filled. She could force no words through her clenched teeth.

  “Then he died. In my arms. I kissed him and he died. There was banging on the door. The table wasn’t going to hold for long. I had to leave him. I jumped out the window. Gilbert had some bugger with a crossbow waiting. Lucky for me he was a lousy shot. Missed me and smashed the glass. I hit the ground and took off.”

  Matt dragged herself to her feet, drained the bottle, and stumbled to the window. Why? The strangers had offered an insane amount of money for the Shewstone, money they most likely did not have. Gilbert would not have asked a fraction of the amount for his help. Hell’s fire, after the last bust up between the gangs, he would have probably done it for free.

  The joyless, sunlit world outside the window was swimming in tears. The first sob shook Matt’s shoulders. She heard a creak from the bed and then Ricon’s arms went around her. For a long while, they stood, holding each other. Their tears mingled as they fell. The loss was a physical pain, tearing at Matt’s heart. Air burned her throat as each wrenching sob was dragged into her lungs.

  Eventually, the storm eased and Matt was able to speak. She stood, her head resting on Ricon’s shoulder, again s
taring out the window.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “This town’s not safe for you and me. Now I’ve spoken to you, I’m heading over to Port Baile, and having a word with Tobias, tell him what’s happened. He’ll know what answer to give Gilbert.”

  Matt nodded slowly. Tobias was Edmund’s cousin, who ran the Flyming operation on the northern side of Pinettale. She had met him a few times and got on well enough. The cousins looked much alike, but Tobias lacked Edmund’s easy charm and flare. He was slower to laugh and quicker to anger, and something in his eyes spoke of a hard, cruel streak, missing in Edmund. He might not be such a good man to have as a friend, but was a worse one to have as an enemy. Gilbert would not escape payback for the part he had played.

  Ricon rubbed Matt’s arm. “How about you? Will you come with me to Port Baile?”

  “No.”

  “You can’t stay in Fortaine.”

  “I won’t. Not for long anyway.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “I’m going to find the red-haired bastard who killed Edmund.”

  “How?”

  “Not sure yet, but I will. If I have to track him to the ends of the earth, I will.” Matt stood up straighter and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Tell Tobias not to worry about the man who stabbed Edmund. He’s taken care of. Tell Tobias I give my word. I’m not going to rest, until I’ve put a blade in the fucking shithead’s heart.”

  Chapter Five

  The last time a priestess had been expelled was forty-three years before. Apparently, she had, “in a state of extreme intoxication, shouted lewd and outrageous accusations” at the Sister Oracle of the day. Even so, she might have got away with a lesser punishment, had she not done it in the Sanctuary of Anberith, during a Laudation of the Irresistible High Tide, in front of over three thousand startled Fortaine citizens.

  Eawynn had always been amused by the story. Reading between the lines, it was the inharmonious breakup to another “special friendship.” It did not sound so funny now, and nothing was ever said about what happened to the ex-priestess or where she went, after she was thrown out.

  An hour before dawn, the cell door opened. Vigilant Sister Chancellor stood there with two assistants. “Are you ready?”

  Of course she was not ready. How could she be? Eawynn fought the ridiculous urge to hide under the bed or cling to the bars of the window so they must drag her out.

  Vigilant Sister Chancellor’s eyes softened in sympathy. “Take heart. The Abrogating Ritual of Expulsion will be over quickly.”

  The ritual did not worry Eawynn as much as the thought of the days, months, and years to come. She had not wanted to be a priestess, but the temple was her home. Life inside its walls was safe and familiar. Outside, she had nothing, not even the father who had abandoned her.

  Her father. By all accounts he had gone bravely to the block, greeting the executioner like an old friend. Eawynn took a deep breath to steady herself. She was her father’s child. After all, that was what this was really about.

  The roar of crashing waves sounded subdued in the darkness. High tide was yet an hour away. A stiff breeze came off the sea, snapping at the ring of torches in the Inner Sanctum of Sea and Moon. The ghost-white pillars swayed in the churning light. Beyond this ring, the moonless night was utterly dark, except for stars peeking through rips in the cloud.

  The first time Eawynn had celebrated the new moon here was just three months ago, when she had made her vows as a priestess. Two times since her head had been shaved as an offering to Anberith. This month, she would keep the half-inch-long stubble. The infirmarian’s razor would not be called upon for Oblation of the Avowed Supplicants until after she was gone. Who would have thought her time as a priestess would be so brief?

  Vigilant Sister Chancellor guided Eawynn to the middle of the sanctum, prompted her to kneel, then stepped back, leaving her alone on the cold flagstones. The other priestesses were present, all fifty-eight of them, forming a complete circle inside the pillars. Even Meticulous Sister Recorder had left her sickbed for the show. Eawynn knew them all, had seen them every day, had heard everything there was of note about them. Some she had thought of as friends. Even those she disliked formed part of the only family she could claim. And they were gathered, twitching in anticipation, to see her cast out. The Abrogating Ritual of Expulsion was a novelty, and they might never get to witness it again.

  Most Reverend Insightful Sister Oracle stood before the statue of Anberith. She raised her arms in a suitably dramatic fashion. “Beloved sisters. This is the saddest of days. One of our number has fallen so far from grace that her presence taints our precious community. Though it tears at our hearts, our duty to Anberith, our beloved goddess, demands we purge ourselves of this pollution. The vows of the woman, once known as Dutiful Sister Custodian are set aside. She no longer has a place among us. We can only pray that with true remorse and penance, our lost sister may earn Anberith’s forgiveness.”

  Eawynn could feel the tingle of excitement running around the circle of watchers.

  Insightful Sister Oracle gestured to those standing behind Eawynn. “Remove the robes she no longer has a right to wear.”

  The two assistants helped Eawynn to her feet and then tugged the sea-green robes over her head. Her drawers and camisole went next. Eawynn kicked off her sandals to stand utterly naked in the torchlight.

  Never had she felt so isolated and vulnerable. She restrained the pointless urge to cover her breasts or pubic hair with her hands. There was nothing the others had not seen before in the washrooms or infirmary. Yet on those occasions she had been one of many, going about her duties. Here she was alone and on show.

  “Make the sickness of her soul visible to all.”

  One of the assistants handed Vigilant Sister Chancellor a large, floppy brush. With it, she slapped yellow paint across Eawynn’s face and breasts and then over her stomach. The watery paint trickled down Eawynn’s legs in rivulets, while more dripped off her jaw. The smear that seeped between her lips tasted of sawdust and flour. At least it would wash off.

  “Now beat her from our midst, never to set foot on this hallowed ground again.”

  Vigilant Sister Chancellor swapped the paintbrush for a yard-long cane. Each assistant grabbed one of Eawynn’s wrists, stretching her arms out horizontal. The first stroke surprised Eawynn, a line of fire across her shoulders, hurting far more than she anticipated. She clenched her teeth, refusing to cry out. A drop of blood landed by her foot. Vigilant Sister Chancellor might be kind-hearted, but she would always fulfil the requirements of her role to the letter.

  After the required five stripes, the assistants released Eawynn’s hands. Now she was free to go. Eawynn turned away, wanting to run, to escape, but she would not give them the satisfaction. Her father had walked calmly to his death. She would walk from the temple.

  By the time she passed between the pillars, Eawynn had received another four strokes. Still, she refused to run, but now that Vigilant Sister Chancellor had done all her duty demanded, the cane landed with appreciably less weight. A few other sisters accompanied them through the temple grounds. One was Redoubtable Sister Door-warden, needed to unlock the atrium door. Eawynn did not turn her head to see who else.

  The flickering torches sent the statue’s huge shadow leaping around the walls in a frenzy as they crossed the Sanctuary of Anberith. Eawynn and her escort passed the statue and pool, approaching the final gateway. The blows from the cane were now infrequent, no more than light brushes, like a farmer guiding a cow to market.

  They stopped at the main doors. Outside, the rest of the world lay in wait. Abruptly, the fight left Eawynn. She just wanted to be gone, but Benevolent Sister Almoner stepped forward and pointed to a side doorway. “In here.”

  Eawynn was too sick at heart to ask why.

  The small room contained a row of large wicker baskets. Benevolent Sister Almoner lifted a lid. “You may select clothes from those
that have been donated for the poor.”

  Eawynn stared at the jumble of cloth, unable to make sense of what she was looking at. The ebbing wave of emotion was leaving her dazed.

  Benevolent Sister Almoner sighed loudly and pulled out a dark brown item. “Put these on.”

  The loose pants had clearly been intended for someone shorter and fatter than Eawynn. They barely reached to her mid calf. Vigilant Sister Chancellor helped her into them and tightened a string belt around her waist. Benevolent Sister Almoner found a grey shirt which, judging by the smell, had belonged to a fishmonger. The rough material stung the cuts on Eawynn’s back as she pulled it over her head. A pair of woven hemp sandals were handed to her. Eawynn slipped them on her feet, although they were frayed and unlikely to see much more service. In a last act of charity, Benevolent Sister Almoner pressed a loaf of hard, dark bread into Eawynn’s hands.

  When they left the storeroom, Redoubtable Sister Door-warden was already holding open the small wicket gate, set in the outer door.

  Eawynn stood before the exit and stared out at her dark, hopeless future. Her legs would no longer obey her. What was out there for her? A hard shove sent her stumbling. Her foot caught on the lower beam and Eawynn fell through the doorway. She crashed to the cobbles in the square outside.

  Eawynn tried to muster the will to stand.

  “Has there been trouble, Sister?” a confused male voice asked from the darkness.

  Three temple guards stood by the huge door, dressed in long grey cloaks and stylised sea crest helmets. One held up a lantern.

  “Nothing you need worry about,” Vigilant Sister Chancellor answered. “She was one of our number, but no more. She is cast out. Just see she doesn’t try to return, or do anything stupid.”

  The wicket gate closed. The guards continued to stare at Eawynn and, despite their instructions, looked as if they were still trying to work out whether they ought to do something.