Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) (72 page)

“We do?”

“I should not really answer that, but seeing as
you have been a guest in the war council and seeing as you shared knowledge
that has more than once provided vital clues, I shall tell you. But it must not
be passed on. The deposit was only recently found, and it has brought great
danger. We are like the poor man who has just discovered a treasure trove
beneath his floor. No walls to his property, flimsy locks to his doors, and
merchants who would follow him back home the moment he attempted to trade. A
nation trading in these gems needs to be well fortified before entering the
market, or it will simply be invaded. We can’t even use the stones to buy arms
or hire builders. Fortunately for us, the Fenn would not want to spread the
word for fear of competition.”

“Have you ever seen an earthstar.”

“A few. You’ve seen at least two yourself at
Kultûhm. Don’t you remember?”

“I saw a speck of light at the top of a cave.”

“You saw one up close. You wanted it.”

“Oh, the gem in the crown!”

“Yes.”

Aedan sat back and considered. “How did the Fenn hear
about our deposit?”

“I’m not sure. Prince Burkhart has not told us. I
suspect he tried to look for buyers.”

“Is it as bad as that? Try to sell and the buyer
becomes a thief?”

“That’s about the way of it. The most hostile
market I know. Horrible things to have to sell.”

“Do you think news of the earthstars has reached
Vinterus?”

“I truly hope not, and so should you. If our young
prince has not held his tongue we may find ourselves in a two-front war, with
Lekrau always hovering.”

Osric finished packing his food, slung his bags
over his shoulder and strode to the door. “There’s something you should know,”
he said. “Both Holt and Captain Senbert have disappeared. I’ve checked prisons,
patrol rosters, discharges, and even asked the officers. Nothing. It’s as if
the earth swallowed them. I don’t think they will ever be seen again.”

Aedan stared, a needle of fear slipping behind his
collar.

“Keep out of Burkhart’s way, Aedan. And even
further out of Ganavant’s.”

“I always do.”

Osric glared at him. “There is nobody in Castath
for whom that is less true.” The door slammed. It was the general’s version of
a warm goodbye.

Aedan lingered for a while, staring into the grain
of the rough oak table as if he would find in it some answer to how people
could do to others what he had seen that day. And why one nation would rise
against another for a few sparkling rocks.

His thoughts produced neither answers nor solace.
He had intended to fix a meal, but his appetite was charred. Instead, he
trudged out through the city to the walls, climbed a rickety builders’ ladder,
and found his usual lonely spot between sentries where he could stare out into
the heavy darkness.

A while later, big feet slapped towards him and
Lorrimer lowered himself onto the stone. They watched the night in silence
before Lorrimer spoke.

“Still upset?” he asked.

“Still,” Aedan said.

“Me too. I thought I could handle blood, but the
people we saw today, none of them were armed, and even with weapons they would
have been helpless. What kind of cowards …” he trailed off.

“Do you think,” Aedan said, after a while, “that
anger is wrong?”

“Don’t know. Maybe it depends on how you use it.”

“Or where it comes from?”

“What do you mean?” Lorrimer asked.

“Well, I used to think real men turned their anger
into revenge, and that’s what got them to be respected. But I tried it a few
times and it didn’t make me feel like a man any more than swearing or kicking
the chickens. But when I saw that old woman today, the anger I felt was huge
and it seemed like a right kind of anger. Does that make sense?”

“I think so. Makes sense to me. I felt like that
too. So did most of the soldiers, judging by how their faces looked.”

Lorrimer was quiet for a time and when he spoke
again his voice was different. It was the voice of someone who has decided to
release a long-held secret.

“One of my uncles used to come over when he was
drunk and play this game where he would jab his knife into the table between my
fingers. I could see my father was scared, but he didn’t want to argue with his
brother-in-law, so instead he just laughed – that thin, false kind of laugh.
When he hugged me afterwards I hated it. It was like he was lying. I used to
think if he cared anything he would have got angry. If you care about people
and you really love them, you
should
get angry at the things that put
them in danger or hurt them.”

“You’ve also got to decide to do something,” said Aedan.
“I used to get angry when my father …” he caught himself, and then, after a
moment’s hesitation, decided he was tired of hiding it. If Lorrimer could lay
down his secrets, so could he. It was time.

“I got angry when my father beat my mother,” he
said. “The day I decided to stand in front of him, things got really bad for
me. I thought I’d made a huge mistake at the time, but I don’t anymore. I would
rather be the person who steps in front of a whole gang to defend someone and
gets beaten up for it than the person who watches from a safe hiding. There
were times I hid, and I think the shame hurts more than the bruises would
have.”

A distant series of creaks interrupted him.
“Listen,” said Aedan. “It’s the main gate. It must be Osric’s patrol leaving.
He loves heading out at odd hours. That way nobody knows when to expect him. I
wish I was going with.”

Lorrimer did not chime in with his agreement. “If
they actually meet an enemy front,” he said, “I wonder how many of them will
make it back.”

The next morning, Brenton, the stabler, shocked Aedan with
stories of what was taking place near his home. Later, Aedan went to visit
Garald and Hayes in the Seeps. The things they told him, he could hardly
believe. It was even worse than he had thought. A reign of sickening
lawlessness was spreading unchecked.

The knowledge turned inside Aedan like a bad meal.
It shattered whatever was left of his assumptions about solidarity – that when
war threatened, people with a common enemy stood together, princes and
peasants, thespians and thieves. How, in a time like this, could men turn on
their own? Apparently, to some, their own did not extend beyond their hands and
feet, and they would turn on anyone and do anything that suited them.

Many who had run to the city for shelter had found
all that they had dreaded, and found it here within the walls that should have
protected them. Aedan remembered his first experiences – the gang that had
tried to rob his father, his encounters with the Anvil whom he somewhat hoped
to run into again, the gang he had spotted at work and that had tried to collar
him.

And then he had an idea that sent him running.

Aedan was grim as he explained. Dun’s mouth stretched into a
smile that held little humour.

“Fetch the whole class,” he said. “I’ll collect a
few of the seniors.”

It took a little time to find everyone, but they
were finally gathered in the weapons hall.

“It’s Aedan’s idea,” Dun said, “and it is a
blazing good one. For some of you it will be your first uncontrolled encounter
with the sharp end of a blade and men who will not hold back. But I believe the
time is right.”

Almost all the boys had passed their fifteenth
birthdays, a few were sixteen, and they were strong for their age. Very strong.

As Dun began to explain, the faces watching him
grew angry, then firm, and then eager.

It was afternoon in the Seeps, but already the light
had fled, along with any respectable company. Some of the narrower alleyways
were almost dark enough to warrant the use of lamps. But there was no lamp
among the group of frightened young women that skittered between the heaps of
refuse, shrieking at rats and arguing over directions in thin, frightened
voices.

They came to a sudden halt as the shapes of three
men filled the alley ahead of them. Gasps of horror escaped them when they spun
and found that the alley behind them was now blocked too. They stood, quivering,
drawing their shawls over their heads as if to hide, but it was too late.

“Pay up!” the largest and dirtiest of the men
said. “Leave your money and we will let you pass.”

The women were too frightened even to speak. Coins
clinked, some dropping on the floor as the foremost girl collected them and
handed them over.

“Now will you let us pass?” she pleaded.

“I lied,” he said with a laugh as filthy as the
floor of the alley. “I’m not much for counting, but it looks like there’s as
many of you as there is of us. One each boys!” He stepped forward and put his unwashed
hand around the first girl’s neck. The other men closed in.

“You’ve done this to many girls, haven’t you?” she
asked.

“Many,” he said with a smile of pure evil. “We all
have. And pickings have been good lately.”

“I thought so.” This time the girl’s voice was
softer. It did not sound frightened, but it was heavy with sadness and it shook
with swelling anger.

“You’re going to give me trouble, aren’t you?” the
man growled, raising a club and tensing to bring it down hard.

But the swing was never completed.

The sharp tip of a dagger sprouted through his
left arm. He shrieked and released his grip on her neck. The girl stepped
forward and plunged another dagger into his right armpit.

With a howl of agony he dropped the club which she
deftly caught and swung at his face. The blow struck with such force that it
smashed several teeth from his mouth and sent them skittering into grimy shadows.
A second blow knocked him off his feet and he landed solidly on his back. He
lay still, breath fizzing through the bloody ooze that trickled from his mouth.

Aedan pulled the shawl and wig from his head,
spat, and turned to see the other men falling under a similar wrath.

Dun had instructed the boys to avoid killing
unless their lives were threatened. But this gang had a dark name; it had been
given special mention. “These men are widely rumoured to be guilty of the worst
crimes,” Dun had said. “At even a suggestion of ruthless intent, you are to use
your daggers. That is an order. Today you are fully authorised by the City of Castath
to administer capital punishment for capital crimes.”

Aedan had let the man take his neck because he
needed to know the truth before acting. He could have stabbed for the chest,
but he wanted the noose to have the final word.

The boys carried both daggers and clubs strapped
against their kirtles and hidden by thin cloaks. After what the gang leader had
said, Aedan was not surprised to see that every member of his team had used
daggers.

One of the gang members looked to be dead, or
nearly so, and the rest were either unconscious or lay gurgling and twisting in
mortal agony. Hadley was still punching the man that lay beneath him, his face
contorted with rage. No one interfered.

“Call the soldiers,” Aedan said.

Peashot jogged down the alley and returned with a
heavily armed patrol. At their head was Cameron, the polite old captain who had
spoken to Aedan on the day of his arrival, almost four years back, and who
well-remembered the young lad who had once asked his name at the city gate.

Aedan gave a short account. When he was finished,
Cameron stepped over to the leader and planted a savage kick in the man’s neck.

“Been wanting to do that for a long time. Lots of
us have heard of this Mole-Alley gang – earned a hanging ten times over. They
confessed to a capital crime then attempted to repeat it. Their deal’s done, at
last. Commander’s waiting at the gallows with the judge. I can guarantee you this
lot will be swinging tonight, dead or alive. Any of you hurt?”

“No,” said Aedan, turning to look around. The
revulsion still burned in him as he remembered the leader’s depraved boast. It
almost pushed him to march over and put his daggers to work again. It was the
first time in months he was glad to be serving the law.

The others were silent. None of them had ever had
to clean their blades before. There had been laughter in the wake of the first
two encounters as the soldiers had bound the gangs of thieves and dragged them
off to prison, but there was no laughter now.

“That’s three gangs,” said Cameron. “You boys are
doing what we soldiers could never do. Even in disguise we look like soldiers,
we smell like soldiers, and gangs have sharp noses.”

Aedan turned to his companions. “One more?” he
said.

“What do you have in mind?” asked Hadley.

Aedan was silent for a moment. “Let’s team up with
one of the other groups and take the Earl’s-quarter gang.

“But that’s a huge gang!” Lorrimer exclaimed. “One
of the most powerful in the city.”

“And one of the busiest. If they land in jail,
everyone will hear about it. It will do more than taking a dozen smaller ones.”

“I think Lorrimer’s right,” said Vayle. “Aren’t
they too big for us?”

“I doubt we’ll see the whole lot, but the soldiers
will have to be nearby for this one.”

“How? The spotters cover at least five blocks. If
soldiers are anywhere near, it will be like hunting deer and taking a brass
band along for company.”

Aedan’s eyes took on a glazed, distant look. “I have
an idea,” he said, “though it’s not going to be comfortable for the soldiers.”

The farmer who usually delivered the feed and hay to the
royal stables was nowhere to be seen on the big cart, and apparently his
children were making the delivery for him. It was not uncommon; many things
were out of order during this time. In spite of the crowded conditions in the
city, this was not a busy street, for it was a delivery track strewn with
manure and its narrowness meant that pedestrians never fared well.

Night had settled and a lantern swung near the
driver, a young, nervous-looking boy. This time, Peashot did not have to act
nervous – he was strung as tight as a harp. A bulging purse was secured to his
belt and he tapped it constantly while his eyes scanned the road.

The cart was at the darkest point of the lane,
approaching an intersection where a lone boy idled, when a wheel slipped off
the axle. The girls, who had been singing songs, began to cry as they
understood their isolation, and the boys tried in vain to lift the wagon and
replace the wheel. Peashot and Kian hopped down, walked across to the much
bigger boy, and asked if he would find some men to help. Peashot dug a silver chim
out of his money bag and handed it over, promising another if help were found.

The boy was no idler but a spotter. He would
report the situation in detail – a group of children making a farmer’s
deliveries, a few boys but no adults around, and at least one large money bag. Before
long the narrow space began to reverberate with the tramping of heavy feet. About
twenty strong men arrived, showing an eagerness that did not accord with the
mending of a wagon wheel.

The spotter indicated Peashot and spoke quietly. A
wiry man barked a few sharp orders, and two of the group ran a hundred paces down
the lane where they stopped and faced away, standing guard.

This gang was cautious and well organised. One of
them stood apart. He was tall and deep-striding, and the other members parted
before him as he walked into a shadowy section of the road and watched. Aedan
marked him. Though he gave no orders, his mere presence dominated the gang.
This, surely, was the mastermind who led the city’s most cunning group of
outlaws. They were not murderers but they were thieves, and dauntingly successful
ones.

Peashot stood atop the wagon, pointing down at the
wheel. He did not want to provide an easy target for a snatch and run.

Six men came up, three on either side of the wagon,
squeezing past the mules, eyeing the boxes under the seat.

“What you got in there boy?” the wiry man asked.

“Nothing,” said Peashot.

“Well then you won’t mind if we take them along
with us.”

“They are my father’s.”

“Not anymore. And that there money bag – you’d
best hand that over.”

One of the men began to climb up to the driver’s
seat. Peashot unhooked the money bag and slung it at the gangster’s head,
knocking him down and scattering coins all over the road so that they tinkled
and called in sweet voices to greedy ears.

As soon as the attention was off Peashot, the
three boys and seven girls dashed off the front of the cart. They demonstrated
surprising agility as they ran along a beam separating the mules, and sprinted
away, screaming. Even the girls dodged between the gang members with uncanny
ease, passing them and making good their escape.

A large girl, who might have answered to the name of
Warton, was not that light on her feet. Someone tried to stop her. Instead of
screaming for help, she raised two club-like fists and punched her way free.
Her assailant landed on his back with a thump and a rapidly swelling eye. Five
of the children went straight, five turned into the adjoining alley.

But then they stopped and spun around.

“Scatter!” It was the tall man in the shadows whom
Aedan had singled out earlier. The man was hardly visible, but his voice moved
the gang like the touch of a whip.

They turned and ran towards the exits the children
were blocking. These children were behaving strangely though. They seemed to be
sowing seed, seed that bounced and skittered over the cobbles with hundreds of
metallic tings, unlike coins – thinner, sharper.

The gangsters thundered towards them and did not
slow down at the sight of this puny barricades of children, and the apparently
senseless littering meant nothing to them. They made no effort to avoid the
little bits of metal. This gang would rush past like wind and vanish into the
shadows beyond, organised, silent and strong. But there was neither
organisation nor silence in what now took place.

The little bits of metal were caltrops – sharp,
four-pointed bladelike stars with one point always raised to the sky.

Howls of pain filled the air as the upward-facing
blades slipped through boot soles and sank deep into flesh and bone. Some of
the blades even emerged on the other side. The shrieking thieves collapsed onto
more steel points – the caltrops were everywhere now – but none of them could stand
again until they had pulled the spikes from their feet.

At the same time, the wagon burst open like a
termite-infested log. Soldiers threw off hay-covered panels and poured out
front and sides. They cut off the third escape and worked their way forward,
knocking down any thieves still on their feet.

The soldiers clanked about as if they were running
with pots strapped to their boots, and this was, in fact, not far from the
reality. The steel plates under their soles did make the cobbles slippery, but
it saved them from the more immediate concern of a road with teeth.

No gang could put up much of a fight under the
circumstances. The children kept throwing the little four pointed horrors under
the feet of any gangster who was attempting to make a stand.

Aedan had not forgotten about the two who had
taken up sentry positions further down the road behind him. They were still
there – he could see their outlines – but then they turned and jogged away, only
now there were three. He assumed the third was the leader who had slipped past.

Twenty-two men were arrested, many of them well-known
members of the criminal elite. Cameron was actually laughing with delight. Most
of the soldiers had seen the whole performance through spy-holes; they were
grinning as they led their wincing prisoners away.

The boys took off their disguises and lit lamps while
they cleared the road of caltrops.

“What gave you this idea?” Peashot asked Aedan.

“Remember when we were making our first swords –
the day I went to the forge barefoot? I was a cripple and the rest of you were
fine.”

Peashot grinned. “Might have given you a good idea,
but I’m still going to remember that as one of the stupidest things you ever
did.”

It took some time to clean the street and it was late
when they made their way back to the academy. As they trudged homeward, the
mood was lightened by the memory of thieves hobbling about and howling and sitting
down, and then springing up howling again. It was a quiet group, though, with much
on their minds, and the laughter was punctuated with long silences.