The Colour of Vengeance (33 page)

“With his entire fuckin’ army,” Henry pointed out.

“Almost certainly, but he won’t attack while my life is at risk. He will first try to pay whatever we ask with the intent to kill you all afterwards.”

Henry saw Thorn scratch at the scar on his face, seemed he wasn’t sold on the plan either. “Won’t take long fer him ta realise things ain’t right. Moment he sees either me, Henry or Bones, I reckon.”

Rose sighed. “Well of course you will remain out of sight until he is within striking distance. By then it will be too late for him and his men only fight for him for money. With my brother dead they will go with the highest bidder.”

Drake grinned. “Which will be me.”

Henry gave Thorn her best
I don’t like it
glare but he just shrugged back. “It’s better than any plan I got.”

Drake stood. “We’ll put you ashore east of Chade about a day’s walk. I would suggest anyone who might be recognised should go cloaked and hooded. That includes you, Rose.”

Swift’s sister pouted. “Fine. I shall find some clothing.”

Chade was a glowing orange silhouette at night. Like a bonfire in the dark providing light and warmth and safety. Anders had to admit it no doubt provided light and warmth though in truth that might have something to do with the fires and he was fairly certain the last thing it currently offered was safety.

Inside he knew the city must be in chaos. A war on the streets, mercenaries fighting pirates, fire threatening to engulf everything and the good people, the common people who were just trying to eke out a living were the ones trying to save their city. He’d seen how those people banded together in cases of fires; lines of folk passing buckets full of water to the fire fronts in order to quell the blazes. Men with axes trying to hack away at anything wooden before it caught fire, better to deny the deadly blaze the fuel it needed to survive than fight it at full strength. Occasionally there might even be some foolish hero willing to break into a flaming house to rescue its inhabitants. More often than not that same hero would just join the dead.

Drake Morrass had been true to his word so far. He had dropped them all off at a small landing no more than a day from the free city. Thirty of them in total; Anders, Henry and Thorn; Heavy-Hand Joan, Six-Cities Ben and their three remaining hunters; Bones, Beth and their nineteen soldiers; and, of course, Rose. Anders had rarely seen a woman look so good naked but she was Drake’s woman and that put her strictly off-limits. Not to mention the idea of angering Henry to the point of murder scared all the hells out of him.

Thorn had led them to within sight of the walls of Chade and decided they would wait there until morning. He reasoned that folk arriving during the day would look a might less suspicious than turning up in the dead of night with four hooded folk and a small unit of well-trained, better-armed soldiers. Nobody argued with Thorn and that was the reason he was the boss. Even Heavy-Hand Joan, used to leading his own crew of bounty hunters, ceded to the Black Thorn’s authority.

Tomorrow they would enter the city, find a likely place to stage the ambush and Anders himself would deliver the ransom letter to Swift’s hands. It might have made him nervous if it had been the first time he’d been involved in both a kidnapping and the subsequent ransoming but it wasn’t and this time it wasn’t even real, though it was once again at the behest of Drake Morrass. Tomorrow they would ambush Swift, kill him and Henry would finally have her revenge on the bastard who had tortured and raped her. That alone was enough of a reason for Anders to justify murder.

He’d become quite fond of Henry; she scared the life out of him sometimes and he was well aware she was a cunt-hair’s width from crazy but she also had a fierce loyalty towards her crew mates that Anders found somewhat inspiring. Not to mention she was a passionate little thing with no scruples about voicing her pleasure. He might have joined this little crew out of guilt and a debt he could never repay but he had long ago started enjoying their company and, if it were his choice, he would happily stay with them. It was just a shame it wasn’t his choice.

The thing about someone holding a knife to one’s throat from behind, Anders reflected, was that, if the person holding the knife was a novice at such work, it was a fairly easy situation to escape from. One simply had to push backwards while grabbing for the hand holding the knife. Of course an experienced murderer knew to hold the knife at the throat and place the other hand on the back of the victim’s head thus ensuring any attempt at movement would result in blood and… well… death. This, if Anders had required any further proof, convinced him that Henry was most definitely an experienced murderer. The fact that she had snuck up on him in complete silence also convinced him this was a premeditated throat slitting and not some random act of violence on her part.

Anders let out an involuntary squeak of pain as the blade kissed his skin and a trickle of blood loosed itself, running down his neck and soaking into his collar. He knew Henry well enough to know how sharp she kept those daggers of hers and how precise she could be, any spilt blood was completely intentional. Anders waited for the end. It didn’t come.

“Uh… my lady…” Anders said, nursing an outside hope this was some sort of foreplay to sex rather than to death.

“Shut up,” she hissed close to his ear and the knife cut a little deeper into his neck. Anders couldn’t shake the feeling Henry was deadly serious about her actions and he wasn’t entirely sure he could live through another unauthorised vocal discharge.

She was alone, of that much he was certain. The others were down in the camp, some in tents but most just laid out under the stars. Anders had purposefully moved some distance from them in order to have some time to himself and now it seemed that time to himself might be his undoing. Of course, he had to admit, if Henry had wanted to kill him in the middle of the camp she could have done so without anyone lifting a finger to stop her. The boss might have been curious as to why she was painting the wilds red with Anders’ blood but he wouldn’t have stopped her. Thorn trusted Henry completely, in fact from what Anders had seen of them she was perhaps the only person he did truly trust.

For a long time Henry held him there with the knife against his throat and said nothing. Anders wondered if anyone else, perhaps those on watch, might see them but in the darkness they’d probably just assume they were locked in an embrace and keep their distance.

“You’re workin’ fer Morrass,” Henry said her voice an angry whisper.

Anders almost nodded but he realised that would likely put an early end to the interrogation and if he was about to die here he was determined to drag out his life for as long as possible, every painful little damned second.

“How did you figure it out, my lady?” he asked.

“Was fuckin’ obvious. Thorn would’ve seen it too if it weren’t for that whore wavin’ her cunt at him.”

Anders chuckled and fresh blood ran down his neck. He had a strange feeling his neck would feel as though it were on fire if it weren’t for the alcohol keeping the pain at bay.

“Why?” she whispered. Anders thought he detected something in her voice, sadness and perhaps hesitation. It was possible he might survive this yet, he just had to gauge how much of the truth it was safe to divulge to Henry; too much or too little and he would no doubt be dead before he could correct his mistake, before he could make amends.

“I don’t have a choice,” Anders said. “I never did, not with Drake Morrass. He made damned sure I never had a choice.” Most of that at least was the truth.

The dagger cut another small sliver out of his skin. “Start makin’ sense, Anders!”

“I owe him. More than I can ever repay. Drake has a flotilla, many ships but they don’t pirate. They’re gambling houses, never staying in the same place for long. Places where the rich can gather and meet and lose money.” Anders sighed. “I went there after I was exiled hoping the news hadn’t reached them yet, hoping I could still draw on my family’s credit. Drake let me in, let me place a stupid bet and only after I lost did he show me the letter he had received from my father.

Anders sighed. “I owe Drake Morrass two million gold bits,” he whispered to Henry. That much at least was the truth though he decided to leave out that he also owed his life to the pirate captain on no less than two separate occasions. “He has me over a barrel. He says
jump
, I say
how
high
. He says
suck
, I say
how hard
. He says…”

“What’s his angle?” Henry interrupted.

Anders shrugged and felt fresh blood on his neck. “I don’t know. He’s not in the habit of informing me of his goals. He just tells me what to do and when. Sometimes at least. For the most part I do what I want.”

“So why are you here?”

“Because he ordered me to be here. Our meeting in Solantis wasn’t a coincidence. Drake ordered me to find the Black Thorn, to make myself useful, invaluable to him. He ordered me to protect Thorn.”

The knife disappeared from his throat and a moment later Henry’s full weight hit Anders in the back. He toppled forwards, hitting the dusty ground front first and just managing to turn his head in time to stop cracking his nose. He quickly gathered his arms to push himself up but Henry knelt on the small of his back, grabbed a handful of hair and wrenched his head backwards. Again the knife slid round beneath his throat.

“Why?” she hissed at him.

“I don’t know,” Anders wheezed. Rarely had he ever found himself in such a precarious position. “Maybe he knew Thorn would go after Swift.” Another half-truth but Anders sure as all the hells wasn’t about to admit that Drake had ordered him to subtly steer Thorn towards vengeance on both Swift and Kessick.

For a long time there was silence, Henry said nothing but nor did she remove the knife from Anders’ throat. Eventually the pressure on his back increased and Henry’s hot breath tickled his ear.

“I’m watchin’ you, Anders. One wrong move…” she let the threat hang.

“Are you going to tell Thorn?” Anders asked quickly.

That seemed to make her pause; her mouth still just inches from his ear. “Got any reason I shouldn’t?”

“I don’t want to be kicked off the crew,” Anders said and it was the truth. He really had come to like the other members, to think of them as comrades.

“Thing ‘bout bein’ a second. Sometimes ya gotta know when the boss don’t need any more distractions. I’ll keep my mouth shut ‘til Swift is dead but after that… I’ll let the Black Thorn decide what ta do ta ya. See how forgivin’ he is these days.”

The knife disappeared from his throat and Henry shoved Anders’ face into the ground, then the pressure on his back was gone. By the time he regained his feet and looked around she was nowhere to be seen.

The last time Anders had set foot in Chade it had ended with a beautiful woman in a deep-blue dress, a glass window and something very close to death. He hoped this time would be a little less eventful but deep down he doubted it.

Chade’s streets were emptier than he had ever seen them; they weren’t quite deserted but those that did move about did so quickly and quietly with downcast eyes and determined purpose. For such a large city, a city that thrived on trade and commerce, it seemed to be more of a ghost town. Furtive eyes peered out at Anders from the windows of nearby buildings but disappeared the moment he looked for them.

Then there were the bodies. Anders was walking down Traders Row in Goldtown, usually one of the busiest streets in all of Chade. On a normal day more gold bits would change hands on this street than the rest of the free city put together. Today only a few of the shops remained open and those that did were heavily guarded but no one dealt with the bodies on the streets. Some looked like mercenaries, some looked like pirates and some looked like the good people of Chade with no connection to either side of the fight but all were most certainly dead. Huge swarms of blood flies gathered on the corpses, bustling for space to lay eggs in the dead, rotting flesh. Here and there a stray cat or mangy dog would steal from an alleyway to tear of strips of flesh from the bodies of people. Thorn would say
Meat is meat
, Anders knew, but the sight made him uneasy all the same. The human scavengers were the worst though; picking through the dead for anything worth a damn. Some corpses had been stripped of everything, even their small clothes, and lay in the baking sun naked and mortifying.

To hear Rose tell it the only people not suffering from this street war were those of the slaver’s guild. They were, if anything, profiting from it. Gangs of slavers were apparently stealing out both day and night to snatch up folk wandering the streets on their own. Even with the war there was never a shortage of people in Chade and while the slavers guild might not be able to sell their merchandise in Chade at the moment they could easily throw them onto a ship and trade them in the other free cities or maybe even Sarth. No pirate would harass a slaving vessel, there was simply no point so the slavers were free to roam the seas as they saw fit.

Anders shuddered at the thought of being attacked by a group of slavers looking to take a healthy, well-educated man such as himself. His blooded heritage might save him from being taken but someone with his skill-set would earn a hefty price as a slave. He quickened his pace and silently cursed the boss for not allowing him to get blind drunk before undertaking his more than a little dangerous task.

Swift had set himself up in a large, ostentatious manor. Anders had long ago noticed that those who weren’t born to money tended to enjoy showing it off when they had any, though he had to admit many who were born to money were just as bad if not worse. His father, however, had always been a
less is more
minded fellow.

The walls outside Swift’s manor were high and guarded, the gate was solid and guarded and the grounds outside were guarded. It seemed Swift was taking no chances in being the target of an assault. If the bastard had any idea about waging a true street war, Anders reflected, this place would be little more than a diversion and his true residence would be elsewhere, somewhere close by but unassuming.