Brotherband 4: Slaves of Socorro (42 page)

A dark mass flew across the open space by the bend in the alley and Gilan’s arrow hit it before it had gone two metres. He cursed as he realised he had been tricked. The
dooryeh
had thrown a cloak across the gap and he’d shot it. While he did so, two more of them dashed across the gap and made it to the cover of the stall.

‘Feel free to take a hand any time you like,’ Gilan said mildly.

But Lydia shook her head. ‘I’m not as fast as you. I’d be wasting darts.’

He smiled. ‘It’s a wise person who knows their limitations,’ he said.

There was a cracking noise of splintering wood from the stall where the
dooryeh
had gone to ground. Lydia frowned.

‘What was that?’ she asked.

‘I’d say they’re breaking through to the next stall,’ he said. ‘They’ll work their way down from stall to stall until they reach us.’

There were five stalls between the one they were sheltering in and the one where the
dooryeh
were concealed, each one only a few metres wide. Gilan cursed. While they were talking, another two
dooryeh
had darted across the alley, diving into cover in the stall.

‘I’d better keep my eye on things,’ he said. ‘If you have any ideas, remember to speak up.’

There was a short pause. Then Lydia replied:

‘What about the roof?’

F
rom their vantage point at the top of the tiers of benches, Hal and the others had a clear view of the dark bulk that was the slave market. They had been crouching in the shadows of the roofed structure over the gateway tunnel, waiting for something to happen.

For what seemed like an age, the slave market remained dark and depressingly silent. Then they heard the faint sound of shouting, followed by the clanging of an alarm bell. As the warning was passed along from one person to the next, they made out the word, ‘Fire!’

More shouting followed – indistinct and muffled. The words couldn’t be made out but the tone of alarm was all too obvious.

Another bell began clanging. This one was closer and Hal realised it was in the guard area of the arena itself. Lights began to show in the windows of the guardroom opposite them, and orders were being shouted. After a few seconds, a stream of half-dressed, half-armed men began to make their way out of the ground-floor doors. The massive gates creaked open and the men formed into squads and headed at a jog for the gold market.

The main garrison building was thirty metres away and lights were coming on there now as well. Hal realised that the time was right. The level of confusion would be at its highest now, as men asked what was happening and ran to take up their stations.

He tapped Jesper on the shoulder. ‘Let’s go.’

Jesper had the rope ready, tied to the base of one of the fixed benches. He tossed it over the edge, letting it fall into the sand-floored tunnel leading away between the tiers. He wriggled over the edge and went down the rope hand over hand. Stig followed, then Thorn. The old sea wolf could manage the downward climb easily enough. He wrapped one end of the rope round his upper right arm, above the club-hand, taking up the tension in the bight of rope around his arm. Then he seized the rope with his left hand, clamped his feet together over one of the knots, and lowered himself over the edge of the railing, sliding down rapidly to the sand below.

Hal was close behind him and they grouped together before the large wooden door that led into Mahmel’s office. Jesper sorted through his supply of keys and picks and finally settled on one. He inserted it into the lock and turned slightly. Then he inserted a pick with a rounded protrusion on it and ran it gently into the lock, his eyes closed in concentration. He felt the tumblers of the lock as his curved pick slid over, depressing them.

Then there was a distinct click and he opened his eyes and grinned at Hal.

‘After you,’ he said, making a bowing gesture.

Hal drew his sword. The sound of the steel rasping gently against the leather and brass of the scabbard was reassuring. Holding it down by his side, he turned the door handle and pushed the door inwards, flattening himself against it to allow Stig and Thorn past him, as they had arranged.

The two Skandians leapt into the room, their soft boots making barely any noise as they moved lightly and stayed on their toes. Seeing the way clear straight ahead, they fanned out left and right, advancing into the room with their weapons ready.

The room was empty.

Mahmel’s table, the main piece of furniture in the room, was neatly covered with a light piece of cloth. His chair was pushed in against the table. There was no lamp and the only light came through the large open door behind them. Hal pointed to a lantern on the table.

‘Get that lit,’ he ordered and Stig moved quickly to comply. The wick caught and the yellow light flared up, casting giant, wavering shadows of the four Skandians against the walls in the room.

‘Nobody home,’ Stig said, relaxing. He lowered his battleaxe to rest its head on the floor as he surveyed the empty room.

‘There’ll be plenty downstairs,’ Thorn said.

Jesper was already moving to the second locked door, sorting through his picks again. Dimly, through the open door, they could hear the cries of alarm and the strident clanging of the two bells.

‘I’m surprised nobody’s come up to see what that’s about,’ Stig said, but Hal shook his head.

‘They probably can’t hear it down there. They’re quite a way below ground.’

It also occurred to Hal that the dungeon guards were probably briefed not to react to alarms heard outside the slave market. Their job was to contain the slaves in the vast prison pen below the arena, nothing more.

‘Are you two going to stand there nattering all night?’ Jesper asked. He had the door to the top of the stairs open. Once again, he gestured for the others to go before him and, once again, Stig and Thorn led the way, weapons ready to greet any guard who might be on his way up the stairs.

But the stairs were deserted. They crept quietly down to the first turn and paused. Stig leaned around the wall and peered down. The stairway was lit by torches set in the walls, as they had seen on their first visit. The flickering yellow light showed the stairs were empty. Stig gestured for the others to follow and they went down. As Hal had surmised, the thick walls cut off all sound from above. The only noise evident was the soft pattering of their sealskin boots on the stone.

Thorn and Stig reached the bottom of the stairs, facing the massive wooden door set in the arched opening in the stone wall. Jesper moved forward, his lock-picks ready. But Thorn put out his left hand to restrain him. Jesper looked at him, puzzled, then Thorn gestured for Hal to move up to them. They could see a thin line of light underneath the door.

‘Lights are on,’ Thorn said. ‘Where’s the table?’

Hal closed his eyes, visualising the layout of the room. Thorn, of course, hadn’t accompanied him and Jesper on their previous visit. He pointed ahead and a little to the right.

‘There,’ he said. Thorn stared in the direction he had indicated, fixing it in his mind, then asked in the same quiet voice:

‘Is it end on to the door or set crossways?’

‘Crossways,’ Hal said promptly.

Thorn nodded in satisfaction. That would make things easier, he thought. ‘And the bunks?’

Again Hal pointed. ‘To the left of the door, ranged along the left-hand wall. And about three metres from the door,’ he added, before Thorn could ask.

‘Good.’ Thorn paused, setting the positions in his mind, preparing himself for sudden, blindingly fast action. He glanced at Stig. ‘You got that, Stig?’

Stig nodded confirmation.

‘I’ll go for the table first,’ Thorn told him. ‘You go left and take care of anyone who’s trying to get out of the bunks.’

‘Got it,’ Stig said. His voice was calm and matter of fact. But Hal could see his hand clenching and unclenching on the haft of his battleaxe.

Thorn turned to Jesper.

‘Jes, can you get that lock open without making too much noise about it?’ he asked.

Jesper smiled. ‘Trust me.’

Thorn rolled his eyes to heaven. ‘Why do I never trust people who say that to me?’ he asked. Then, before Jesper could answer, he motioned towards the door with his club-hand.

‘Open it and get out of the way,’ he said. Jesper stooped over the lock, his two picks sliding into the keyhole and his sensitive fingers feeling the movements of the tumblers inside the lock’s mechanism as he teased them open. He took a little longer over this lock, as he wanted to avoid any unnecessary noise.

Then a soft
click!
was audible to them all. He glanced at Thorn, making sure the old warrior was ready, then turned the door handle and threw the double doors wide open.

He felt Stig and Thorn sweep past him like a hurricane as he moved to his right to stay clear. Hal, sword in one hand, saxe in the other, moved in behind them to provide support wherever necessary.

The guardroom was lit by three lanterns and a brace of candles on the table. After the dimness of the stairwell, the light inside was positively brilliant. Four of the guards were seated at the table, directly in front of Thorn. They looked up from their dice game, frozen with shock at the terrible sight of Thorn, massively built and his wild hair flying out underneath his black watch cap, storming towards them. For a moment, all any of them could see was the massive club that formed his right hand.

Then, one of them, slightly faster on the uptake than the others, began to rise, just as Thorn kicked the heavy table over. The two guards on the far side went down under it. The two on the side nearest Thorn were caught by a quick back and forth sweep of his club, thudding into their skulls and sending them sprawling to either side.

Stig went round the table at a run. There were three men dozing in the bunks. They’d taken off their chain mail and leather armour and were wearing undershirts and trousers. Drowsily, they came awake, trying to work out what was happening.

Before they could, Stig’s axe had done its work, sweeping backwards and forwards to send two of them back to sleep. Like Gilan earlier in the evening, Stig drew the line at actually killing the men, unarmed and defenceless as they were. He used the flat of his axe blade to hit them and knocked them senseless. The third man actually made it out of bed. He was on Stig’s left and the young Skandian drove into him with his shield, the heavy metal boss in the centre crashing into the man’s ribs and the force of the impact hurling him back against the stone wall. His head hit the stone and he too resumed his all-too-briefly interrupted slumber.

One of the two men pinned under the table finally disentangled himself and shoved himself back along the floor, away from Thorn’s terrifying club. He scrambled on hands and knees to reach the rack where the guards’ weapons were stored. He’d just got his hands on a sword when Thorn’s small shield swung in a wide arc and hit him on the side of the jaw. He went down, limp as a rag. The other man pinned under the table wisely made no move to extricate himself. He lay back on the floor, hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

‘Where’s the eighth man?’ Thorn demanded harshly. Four men at the table and three asleep. There should have been eight in the room, according to what Mahmel had told them.

‘Maybe he called in sick,’ Jesper said.

Then, from an inconspicuous door behind Thorn that had so far gone unnoticed, the eighth man erupted into the room, charging straight at Thorn, an iron-studded club in his hand.

Thorn whirled to face him, but trod on the unconscious body of one of the men from the table. He staggered and lurched awkwardly, desperately trying to recover his balance as the club began its forward arc, aiming to shatter his skull.

‘T
he roof?’ Gilan said, puzzled. ‘What about it?’

Lydia gestured up to the ceiling in the stall where they had taken shelter.

‘That bit doesn’t look too substantial,’ she said.

Gilan looked up and agreed. The ceiling was made up of thin sheets of wood supported on battens. It was more for appearance than strength.

‘If we break through there, we can get to the outer roof, smash through a few tiles and run for it. I noticed the other day that there are walkways set along the roof – presumably so workmen can walk on them without breaking the tiles.’