The Forgotten War (140 page)

Willem spluttered, ‘Fifty crowns! No one has that sort of money!’

Odo smiled for the first time, though it was a completely mirthless one. ‘The boy is amusing, is he not? Fifty crowns is my final offer. Pay it or leave without her.’

Haelward stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘I am sure you are perfectly aware that we do not have that kind of money. Therefore you must have another proposal for us; I am quite sure you have
not come here for a simple chat.’

‘You are no fool, Haelward of the marines. Very well, if you cannot pay me, you must earn the money and I know just the way that you can.’

Haelward sat back in his chair, raising his eyes to the ceiling. ‘I am not going to like this, am I?’

Odo ignored him and continued. ‘We are currently in dispute with another organisation here, the Skor family; they are relatively new arrivals but have already bought a controlling share in
one of the warehouses and have extensive gambling interests, interests that are beginning to eat into our own. This is unacceptable. What is more, they have a fighter, Coron Degg, a Kudreyan pirate
who came here looking for work after the war. Have you heard of him?’

Haelward and Willem shook their heads. Marten, who was busying himself wiping tables close by, chipped in: ‘Coron Degg is the most feared fighter in the fleapit. He hasn’t lost a
duel in over two years. Everyone here knows him and those that come here to wager on the fights hear his name soon enough. He is fighting again in a couple of days.’

‘As you can imagine, any odds going on him are rather short. No one here bets on his fights anymore, but the visitors we have more than make up for that. Lennark Skor runs the books on his
fights. If Degg were to lose, they would have to pay out a fortune,’

‘And who is his next opponent?’ Haelward asked warily.

Odo gave a thin, barely perceptible smile. ‘It will be a fighter chosen by the Kegertsas. Normally we would bet on Degg and pick up a small profit, but if he were to lose we could make
upwards of say ... fifty crowns on the deal.’

‘You want me to fight him.’

‘Very few people here know you or remember what you did the last time you were here and those that do will keep quiet to keep the odds high. You fight him, you win, I get fifty crowns, you
get the girl and Skor loses a fortune. A desirable outcome for everyone, don’t you think?’

‘And if I lose?’

‘That would be ... bad. You would owe me for my lost wager and the girl stays with us. So you would have a major incentive to do well, wouldn’t you?’

Haelward looked at Willem, who looked horrified ‘We have important friends. Release the girl now and I could promise you sixty crowns, all to be paid in the next six months, ten crowns a
month. What do you say?’

Odo could not have looked less impressed. ‘That I have important friends, too, and they often promise more than they deliver. You fight in two days or I keep the girl. Your
choice.’

‘What do you say, Willem?’ Haelward asked.

‘Can you win?’ Willem asked.

‘I really do not know. I have never seen this man fight.’

Willem bowed his head. ‘We do not have a choice, do we?’

Haelward shook his head then turned back to Odo who was flipping his coin again. ‘Your offer is accepted. I will fight this man in two days.’

Odo stood, put the coin away and waited as one of his henchmen placed a thick black cloak over his shoulders. ‘A wise decision. Perhaps you should take the boy to the fleapit, show him
exactly what goes on there.’ He drained his goblet and headed for the door. Then he stopped and turned back towards them.

‘Just to let you know, the rules are still the same – first blood wins the fight. With Degg, though, first blood can still be quite final. Six of his last ten fights have ended in
fatalities, so, if you have affairs to put in order, then I would advise that you do so. A good night to you, gentlemen. May Artorus keep you fit and healthy, for the next two days at least.’
And with that Odo and his men left the inn, leaving the door swinging open in the night wind. Despite that, the temperature in the room seemed to rise a little with his departure.

Marten went and shut the door.

Willem leaned forward, elbows on table and put his head in his hands. ‘What are we going to do now? Can you really fight this man?’

‘I can fight him, yes; whether I can beat him is another matter entirely.’

‘But Odo stands to lose money, if you don’t win. You must have a chance, surely?’

Marten came over to them with fresh ale. ‘These families never lose, my boy; they spread their betting ... bet on both sides. There will be a dozen fights over the evening and they will
come out of it with their pockets lined with visitors’ money. It has always been this way. No gangs get into gambling because they might lose. They do it because they know they will
win.’

‘Besides,’ Haelward said, ‘if I lose, he will probably rope me into more fights until the debt is paid off. If I start making him money, he will probably think of a way to keep
me here.’

‘Can’t you refuse?’ Willem asked.

‘Only if you want to see me floating face down in the harbour at dawn. No. I have to fight and I have to win – there is no other way; Marten, what is this Coron Degg like? A giant?
Small and fast? Lucky?’

‘None of those things,’ Marten replied, ‘and all of them. He is taller than you and well-built, but not excessively so. Fast, but I have seen faster... Lucky? Well, maybe a
little but the plain fact is he is good at everything. I have seen men trying to find a weakness, something to exploit in him, but none of them have succeeded so far. The most important thing maybe
is that the man is merciless and ruthless to a fault. There is nothing of the gentleman in him, just the winner; maybe that is why so many of his opponents have died. It will be tough, Haelward,
really tough; you must not let up for a second against him and you must bury that streak of chivalry you carry around with you. Spike fights are not the domain of the knightly orders.’

They had a couple more drinks and retired for the evening. Willem, though, was unable to sleep. After listening to Haelward’s rhythmic snoring for what seemed like hours an idea came to
him. Quietly he got up, checked his purse and, like a practised footpad, crept down the stairs and out of the rear entrance of the inn which was only ever secured by a latch.

The streets at night were malodorous, cold and full of people. New Perego was a town built for nocturnal activities, after all. He passed one man vomiting over the wall of a cottage and plenty
of other men passing their cheap ale, dark rivers of urine pooling into the dips and hollows of the street’s uneven surface. From the darker shadows between the houses were other noises,
noises of muted passion. Not all the girls here worked in the warehouses; others preferred the greater freedom and danger of the street. He passed groups of sailors and young men singing bawdy
songs; a heavily painted girl invited him over for a little friendly company; the tonic salesmen were still working even at this hour. He saw a couple of halberd-armed guards but, if trouble were
to break out, he could easily see them fleeing into the nearest tavern. He could hear angry words, shouting, aggression and threat from many of the people he passed. There was a barely contained
undercurrent of violence to this place that could be unleashed at the slightest provocation. Haelward would be apoplectic if he knew that he was walking around alone.

He walked into Sea Street and turned left, tasting the salt tang rising from the harbour. It was better lit here – torches burned at intervals along the seafront and the red lamps at the
warehouse windows gave the faces of the nearest passers-by an eerie, demonic tinge.

At last he was here. The last warehouse on the eastern side. The brothel owned and run by the Kegertsas. It had a great many shuttered windows in its high façade of clean grey stone, not
even counting the others to the building’s side. Where would he begin? Why was he truly here? His nerve – fuelled by alcohol, initially, but since whittled down by the cold –
began to fail him. He was about to turn on his heels when he thought again about why he was here and who was behind those implacable stone walls, maybe just yards away.

The door was of oiled dark wood. A double door, it was closed and guarded by two burly men. Was any man here of normal build? A couple of girls were there, too; despite the night chill, their
loosely laced bodices could barely contain the quivering flesh underneath. Willem swallowed, asked Artorus to forgive him, and marched up to the door.

‘Two ducats for admission,’ said one of the men, his voice a study in boredom. ‘And no weapons; we need to search you first.’ Willem paid the money and let the man pat
him down. The other man was chatting to the girls. Willem found it interesting that, although he found his situation bizarre, to these people it was just another day, as tedious as the day before.
They talked of the price of onions, the necessity of a trip to the cobbler to fix some loose stitching on one of the girl’s slippers, which tavern sold the best ale, and so forth. Just
another day earning enough to get by.

Satisfied with his search, the man opened the door just wide enough to admit him. Willem stepped through, completely unsure of what to expect. Would it be a simple waiting room? Would it be a
decadent lounge, furnished in plush red velvet, in which various young ladies would be reclining? In fact, it was neither – it was a plain room with a bench and two people who came over to
him as soon as he saw them. The first was a woman with a white-painted face, make-up thickly applied probably to disguise her age. The second was a man, but it was the woman who spoke to him
first.

‘Hello there, sweetie; I bid you welcome to our establishment. What is it you wish of us? If you have the coin, then anything can be provided for you. And I mean anything. Nobody leaves
here disappointed.’

Willem’s nerves started to show. He started to stammer, something he rarely did these days. ‘I ... I ... w...would like a ... a girl.’

‘Well, you are in the right place here. Any particular type? Young? Old? Fair or dark? We have them all here.’

‘I know exactly what he wants,’ the man cut in. He came and stood next to the woman, and Willem saw that he was in fact one of the heavies that had arrived with Odo when he came to
speak to them. ‘Do you want me to check if she is free.’

Willem’s nervousness went. The cheek of these people – as if Alys belonged to any of them here. ‘Yes.’

‘I will be five minutes. You will have to pay like anyone else, though – five ducats for half an hour, more for extras, but Monica here can tell you about those if you are
interested.’

He disappeared through a back door. Willem briefly saw a staircase before it was closed again. Monica looked at him with interest. ‘Your girl works here?’

‘Yes,’ said Willem, ‘and if I was anything like a warrior, I would come here sword unsheathed and just take her away from all of you.’

‘You would never get out alive,’ Monica said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘Though this is just the right place to unsheathe your um ... sword, if that is what you want. Now, as
the man said, five ducats, please.’

Willem stumped up the cash and sat down. Shortly after the man returned.

‘Follow me.’

He led Willem deep into the building. What had once been large storage rooms had been converted long ago into dozens of smaller cubicles, some framed in stone, others in barest wood. Curtains
served as doors here and, judging from the noises he could hear, most were fully occupied. The place was a maze; he would never find his way out unassisted. They went up three flights of stairs,
down several corridors and around two or three sharp corners. Finally the man stopped at the last room in one corridor. It was gloomy in the lamplight; the dark curtain was pulled fully over the
door frame. Behind him as he leaned back against the wall, waiting, Willem felt a window shutter; he guessed they were somewhere along the side of the building.

‘In there,’ the man said. ‘You have half an hour. I will get you when it is up.’

Willem pulled back the curtain and went inside. The room was as gloomy as the corridor, one lamp lit it dimly. He saw a table, a small storage trunk and a simple bed covered in a thick mattress.
And Alys. She was sitting upright on the bed watching him.

Seeing her for the first time since her abduction caused a tidal wave of emotion to well up inside him – concern, relief, happiness, despair. Choking it off as best he could, all he could
manage to say in as even a tone as possible was ‘Hello.’

‘Hello,’ she answered back. She had make-up on and her hair was loose behind her. She was wearing a long nightdress of cotton that had fallen off her shoulders and with its laces
loosely tied so that it barely covered her breasts. She became immediately aware of her immodesty and quickly pulled the laces taut. ‘I am sorry,’ she said, ‘it is how they like
it here.’

Willem walked over to her and she stood so that she faced him. Her eyes brimmed with tears and he was not so far behind. They hugged, silently.

Eventually, she released him as the strength in her arms waned. She spoke, as though reciting a speech she had practised many times in her head. ‘Willem,’ she said, ‘I thank
you for your loyalty and courage in pursuing me here; it must have been difficult and not without danger. But I must ask one thing of you and one thing only, and that is that you leave here and
forget me. Go back to Tanaren City. Learn from Cedric and become the great scholar you deserve to be. I am no longer worthy of you. Please do this, find another lady more deserving, I beg
you.’

Willem was taken aback for a second. ‘No, I have come here t...’

‘I am no longer worthy of you!’ she half shrieked, half sobbed, at him. ‘Every night the men come – six, seven or eight a night – and I do not refuse them for I am
nothing but a coward. There is no escape from this place. I will become diseased and will do nothing but produce bastard children until I am no more use to those that own me. Now
leave
me
!’