The Demon King (18 page)

Raisa reached up with both hands and shoved at the double doors.

Scr-e-e-e-ch! The squeal of the hinges split the early morning silence. Below her, she heard Cuffs’s measured breathing break off, followed by a sleepy exclamation.

Well, there was no going back now. She thrust herself upward, slamming open the doors, squinting against the light outside. After a moment’s panicky tangle with her cloak, she was out of the cellar and sprinting across the courtyard. She heard a muffled shout behind her as she slid into the sliver of space between the buildings.

She popped out the other side like a cork from a bottle, and then she ran, twisting and turning through the narrow streets, not knowing or caring where she was or where she was heading, just wanting to put distance between her and her former captor.

She ran until a stitch in her side and a lack of breath forced her to stop and huddle in an alleyway. She stood for a time catching her breath, listening for pursuit, looking up and down the street.

Then she began to walk. She’d try to find an inn or shop that was open. Perhaps someone there would be willing to go for help, if she could convince them there was a reward in it.

But the taverns were locked up tight, the houses too, the streets deserted at this early hour. She tried pounding on the doors of some of the more prosperous-looking dwellings, but no one answered. If anyone saw her, it was unlikely they’d let her in. She must look a fright—a ragged filthy creature of indeterminate gender.

To the east, the towers of Fellsmarch Castle pricked the horizon, silhouetted against the rising sun. It was several miles away at least, somewhat farther than they’d walked the night before. Was it really just a day ago she’d crossed Ragmarket with Amon and her secret escort?

There was no choice but to leg it. She headed for the towers, navigating the twisting streets and alleys, feeling as if she walked two miles for every one in a straight line. It was like the maze in her rooftop garden, only walled in with decrepit dwellings and paved with cobbles, broken brick, dirt, and debris.

She was crossing a courtyard when a young girl ran out of an adjoining alleyway, all in a panic. She was thin, maybe a year or two younger than Mellony, with long blond hair scraped back into a plait. “Young miss! In the name of Madeleine the Merciful, help, if you please. It’s my baby sister! She’s sick!”

Raisa looked around to see if she might be speaking to someone else, but there was no one in the courtyard. “Me? What’s wrong with your sister?”

“She’s choking! Turning purple!” The girl tugged at Raisa’s hand. “Please come.”

Raisa followed the girl down the alleyway, her mind racing. Maybe here was a chance to do some good. The choking sickness had been going around. There were healers in Fellsmarch Castle Temple who had been successful in treating it. Maybe…

Suddenly she and the girl came up against a brick wall. Raisa turned and saw that they were no longer alone. Five others came out of the adjoining streets, four boys and another girl, surrounding them. Her stomach did a nauseating flip.

“Hey now,” the new girl said, squinting at her. “Where you going in such a hurry?”

Her accent said she was from the southern islands. She was older than the first girl, maybe sixteen, with dark skin and long, wavy black hair wrapped with thread into sections. She had high cheekbones, and a generous mouth. She wore breeches and a sleeveless vest, exposing muscular tattooed arms.

The girl reached out and ripped Raisa’s makeshift scarf from her hair. “What are you doing with this?” she demanded, shaking it in front of Raisa’s face. “Where’d you get it?”

Raisa saw then that all of them wore bandannas of similar weave and color knotted around their necks.

“Raggers!” she blurted. “You’re Raggers!”

The girl flinched and looked up and down the alley before she replied. “Are not. Who says?”

“Did Cuffs send you?” Raisa demanded, furious at being taken so easily. “Well, you can tell him for me that I don’t care how many cutthroat street ruffians he sets after me; I’m not—”

“Shut it!” Now the girl looked angry and frightened at the same time. “We’ve got nothing to do with whatever Cuffs Alister be up to. He not in the Raggers anymore. He don’t give the orders in Ragmarket. Now let’s see what you got in your carry bag, hmm?”

The Raggers closed in on Raisa, and she backed away until she came up against the wall of the building.

An older boy in a faded red velvet coat reached out and fingered her hair, and she slapped his hand away. He smiled, revealing a tongue bright red from chewing razorleaf. “You got any family, girlie? Somebody who might pay to get you back?” He leaned closer, and his razorleaf breath made her eyes water. He seemed jumpy and jittery, like leaf users often did.

“There you are, Rebecca!” Everyone swiveled, and Cuffs came swaggering down the alley like some pirate prince, in his clan leggings, fancy clan-made boots, and a beat up deerskin jacket overtop.

He nodded to the other Raggers. “Hey, Velvet, thanks, mate, for looking after my girlie for me. I tell you, she’s been nothing but trouble.”

As Velvet gawked at him, Cuffs grabbed Raisa’s arm and shoved her behind him, planting himself between her and the others. He pressed something into her hand, and she felt cold metal. Her knife. She palmed it and peeked out from behind his back, head spinning with confusion.

The Raggers stared at Cuffs with the avid interest given murderers, adulterers, kings, actors, and other notorious people.

All except the tattooed girl. The expression on her face was more complex: a mixture of anger, desire, and betrayal.

She’s sweet on him, Raisa thought. And he’s jilted her.

“Get off, Alister,” the tattooed girl said to Cuffs. “The girlie’s ours.”

“Nuh-uh, Cat,” he said. “I saw her first. Not much swag for a flimper like you, but she’s pretty, at least.”

“Is she the one that beat you up?” Cat sneered. “Or was it the Southies, like everyone says?”

“What’s all that in your hair, mate?” Velvet asked. “Blood or dirt?”

Cuffs touched his head, looking momentarily puzzled. “Oh. Right,” he said, his confusion clearing. “Just trying out a new color. What d’you think?”

“He’s in disguise, mates,” Cat said. “Can’t even walk the streets as himself anymore.”

“Are you coming back, Cuffs?” a younger boy piped up hopefully. “Shares was always good when you was streetlord.” He clapped his mouth shut and darted a nervous glance at Cat.

“No, he’s not coming back,” Cat said, stepping out in front of the others, her hand on the dagger shoved into the waistband of her breeches. “It’s his fault Flinn and the others got pinched. Cuffs is poison. We gang up with him, the bluejackets’ll be all over us.”

“The bluejackets is all over us now,” an older boy pointed out. “We can’t move for the Guard. Cuffs always kept ’em bought off, at least.”

“Shut up, Jonas,” Cat said, glaring at him, and Jonas shut his mouth.

“There’s eight Southies down on the bricks,” Cuffs said. “That was a daft move. You can’t dawb your way out of that.”

It was like Cuffs had slid into his streetlord skin and began speaking a foreign language.

Cat glared at him. “You act like we did the Southies.”

Cuffs shrugged. “Who else?”

Raisa, feeling ignored, had been shifting from one foot to the other, debating her chances of making a run for it. Now she focused more closely on the conversation.

Cat snorted. “Us? We had nothing to do with it. We figure it was you. That’s who the Guard is blaming, anyway.”

“The bluejackets are blaming all of us,” Cuffs said. “Look, how could I have done the Southies? All by myself?” He grinned. “You maybe, Cat. Me, I’m good, but not that good.”

Cuffs is a charmer, no doubt about it, Raisa thought.

Cat studied him suspiciously. “You’re not with anyone else? The Keepers? Widowmakers? Bloodrunners?”

Cuffs shook his head.

“We heard you was bringing leaf up from We’enhaven,” Jonas said. “Heard you’d made a killing selling it off to pirates in Chalk Cliffs.”

“I don’t do business with pirates anymore,” Cuffs said. “They’re more likely to cut your throat than pay up.”

“How you getting on, then?” Cat asked, rolling her eyes.

Cuffs cleared his throat, as if embarrassed. “This and that. I’m a runner for Lucius Frowsley. Do some trading. Shine the gentry’s shoes.” He touched his knife. “Get in a little barbering.”

Laughter rippled through the Raggers. All except for Cat.

Cuffs noticed. “Look,” he said, going serious, “I got no idea who’s doing the Southies, but we’re all paying for it. I need your help. If you know anything…”

“How about this?” Cat said, leaning toward Cuffs. “We’ll hand you off to the bluejackets. Then maybe they’ll leave us be.”

“You can try,” Cuffs said. His voice was calm, his manner unruffled, but Raisa noticed that he straightened and gripped the hilt of his knife. “’Course, I’d not sell you out. I think mates need to hang together. But that’s just me.”

The Raggers shifted nervously, stealing glances at one another, some of them nodding.

I can learn something from Cuffs Alister, Raisa thought. He’s been here ten minutes, and he has them all in the palm of his hand. Except for Cat, who has a grudge against him.

Cuffs moved in closer to Cat, fixing her with his blue eyes, his voice soft and persuasive. “Give me a moment, will you?” He looked from her to the other Raggers, raising his eyebrows. “Please?”

She hesitated, then waved the rest of them off. They shuffled to the open end of the alley and huddled there. Velvet scowled, shooting dark looks their way.

“What about her?” Cat hissed, nodding at Raisa.

Cuffs gave Raisa a little push toward the closed end of the alley, keeping himself between her and the way out. “Stay there,” he growled, then withdrew a few paces to talk to Cat. Raisa pretended to ignore them, all the while straining to make out their conversation.

“Who is she, and what’s she to you?” Cat tilted her head toward Raisa.

“Just some girlie who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he said. “I gave my word I’d let her go.”

“Your word?” Cat laughed bitterly. “Good luck to her, then.”

“Cat,” Cuffs said, extending his hands, then dropping them, “I never made any promises.”

“No. You didn’t.” Her expression said promises were implied, if not spoken.

“I had to leave the life. I had no choice. It had nothing to do with you.”

Cat stared at him incredulously. “Had…nothing…to do with me? How do you figure that?”

Cuffs tried to patch it over. “What I mean is, I didn’t leave because of you.”

“You didn’t stay because of me neither,” she spat. “Anyways, what makes you think I care where you go or what you do?” Cat shook her hair back. “The bluejackets pinched three of my runners because of you. They’ll be torturing them now, trying to make ’em tell where you are. They’ll torture them dead, because they got no idea.”

Cuffs stilled and focused. “I heard there was three Raggers taken. Flinn and who else?”

“Jed and Sarie too,” Cat said.

Cuffs glanced toward Raisa, lowered his voice. “Where are they keeping them?”

“Southbridge Guardhouse,” Cat said.

Raisa heard Cuffs’s intake of breath. “Bloody bones. Gillen?”

Cat nodded. “As if you cared.” There was a certain challenge in her stance, an expectation of disappointment. “You know I don’t spill nothing to the bluejackets. But I’d give you up to save them.”

Cuffs stared out into space, a muscle working in his jaw. “First, I need to settle the girlie. Will you let us go then?” Raisa understood the gesture. He was submitting to Cat, recognizing her status as streetlord.

“Fine,” she said, her face expressionless, her voice flat. “Off you go. Just don’t ever—”

“Meet me at the far end of South Bridge tonight,” he interrupted. “I’ll help you spring Sarie and the others.”

Cat studied him appraisingly. “How do I know you won’t bring the Guard with you?” she said. “How do I know you won’t sell us out?”

He gripped her elbows, looking into her face, his voice low and fierce. “Because this time I am promising.”

Ragmarket was waking up around them as they headed uptown. Somehow, Han needed to shed the girlie before they ran across a nosy bluejacket or some other troublesome person. Only now he felt somehow confident she wouldn’t turn him in.

Every time he looked at Rebecca, she was studying him through narrow green eyes, like he was a cypher that needed solving. He was beginning to think he preferred the wide-eyed terrified look. How much of the conversation with Cat had she overheard?

“That Cat, she was your sweetheart, wasn’t she?” she asked him, as if she were privy to his thoughts.

“Not exactly,” he replied.

She rolled her eyes, in that way girlies had.

“What?” he said irritably, skirting a large pile of potato peelings at the curb. Could be worse, in Ragmarket.

“Obviously she thought so.”

“Well, she’s with Velvet now.” Why was he telling her this? Han decided to change the subject. “You know, you look good in breeches,” he said, running his eyes over the display. “Very—ah—shapely,” he added, grinning and demonstrating with his hands.

That shut her up. She blushed bright pink, and there was no more talk of sweethearts.

She did look good in breeches, in fact, and it wasn’t that he was dazzled by the novelty of it. Clan girls wore leggings, after all.

In the camps they told stories of tiny beautiful wood nymphs that would catch you in their snares and challenge you with riddles. Rebecca could’ve been a character in any of those. Her waist was so small, he could have spanned it with his hands, but there was a wiry toughness to her that appealed to him.

Glancing sideways at her, he wondered what it would be like to kiss her.

Leave it alone, Alister, he thought. You got trouble enough. Whoever she was, she had powerful friends.

“I’m going to leave you on the Way,” he said, pulling her by the hand, pushing between the delivery wagons and crowds of laborers and shopkeepers in the narrow street. “There’s lots of traffic this time of day, and it should be safe. You can easily walk back to the castle close.”