Chapter 1

Had the latest lady in Benor’s life been wealthier or better connected none of this would have happened. But he was making his way home from the bed of the young wife of a corn chandler. She lived above her husband’s shop where the Wharves met the Sump. It has to be said that there are those who won’t go into the Sump, regarding the inhabitants there as mere ‘denizens,’ eating their own young and murdering each other for the price of a drink. This is nonsense, or at least it only happens in certain more select areas.

Still, whilst cosmopolitan in his tastes, Benor was making his way home along the rooftops - some of the streets he would otherwise have to walk along were unquestionably insalubrious. From below him he could hear the noises of the city, bickering families, drunks singing and the baying of a lynch mob.

It was the latter which drew him to the edge of the roof. A considerable crowd had gathered and they were following two men who were dragging a third towards a noose which had been rigged up from an upstairs window. It seemed unlikely that the victim was going to appreciate the cunning way the bed had been wedged in the window with a couple of chairs. But this allowed it to form the ‘L’ piece of a gallows from which the noose dangled. There was a heap of crates, some only partially rotten, placed carefully under the noose. This was for the victim to stand on, and off course for the executioner to kick away.

Idly, with no real intent other than to express his dislike of arbitrary ‘justice’ Benor bent down, picked up a roof tile and threw it at one of the two men dragging the third. The tile struck the man on the head and he dropped to the ground, clutching his head and cursing. The other man must have loosened his hold because suddenly the victim had broken free and was fleeing for dear life.

He sprinted away from the crowd. They roared and set off after him. Their pursuit was slowed as they were funnelled by the crates half blocking the lane. Benor crossed the roof to watch the chase, in time to see the victim run down a side alley, only to discover it was blocked at one end by a blank wall. He looked round frantically, and then scrambled up a pile of foetid detritus somebody had dumped against the wall. Standing on top of the pile he grabbed the guttering and tried to pull himself up. It was obvious to anybody watching that he wasn’t going to make it.

Benor made his way as swiftly as he dared to that edge of the roof, knelt down and grabbed one of the victim’s hands with both his own and pulled. Realising what was happening; the victim released the guttering and with Benor’s help, scrambled over the roof edge. Below the crowd howled its displeasure and spread out looking for ways up.

Benor had already worked out a route; it would have to be back the way he had come. Keeping hold of the victim’s hand he set off at a run along the roof of the winding terrace. Benor’s hope was that if he could get to the lane that interrupted this terrace they could cross before the crowd had worked out what was going on. They kept close to the ridge and bent double, in an attempt to ensure nobody could see them from the street. When they came to the lane Benor led his companion to the chimney breast. As he’d been using this route quite often he’d strung a line of black cord between this chimney and the nearest on the other side of the lane. He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a karabiner which he clipped to the line, then tied a loop of rope through it.

“What are you called?”

“Jud.”

“Here then Jud, stand on the loop, hold the rope just below that metal bit.” His companion, somewhat warily, placed both feet in the loop and took hold of the rope.

Benor asked, “Ready?” Before the other could do more than nod he pushed him off the roof and the man’s momentum carried him over to the other side. Seeing him step out of the loop and onto the tiles Benor took off his hat, rolled it up tight and placed it over the black cord. Gripping it tightly with both hands he pushed off. Less efficient than a karabiner, it took him less than half way across and he dangled there uncertainly. Quietly so as not to attract attention from below Benor said, “Push the rope across to me.”

His companion looked a bit bemused. Benor raised his voice. “The rope, the thing you travelled on, leave it clipped to the line, but throw me the bluidy loop.”

Jud bent down and caught the loop and threw it. Benor managed to get his foot on it and pulled it towards him. Then with one hand he grabbed the rope and with the other stuffed his hat into the front of his jacket. His weight was moving him slowly across the gap, but below people had started to arrive and were pointing upwards and shouting. Hastily he pulled himself hand over hand along the line and got onto the roof.

“Right Jud, stick with me, this bit is a maze, there’s all sorts buildings backing into each other. I know a route that’ll take us to the edge of the Sump; they’ll not follow us there.”

“Dunno about that,” Jud said softly.

Ten minutes later found them at the edge of the Sump, the crowd still searching for them, and their escape largely cut off. Benor leaned against a trolley-way pillar to catch his breath. He glanced at his newly acquired acquaintance, it was the first time he’d had chance to look at him.

Jud was young, Benor decided; a youth, not a man. Thin but there was a certain wiry strength. By the look of his face he was malnourished and had a beaten, defeated look. Benor raised his hand to scratch his ear and the youth cringed away from him as if expecting a blow.

Benor looked up, above them the trolley-way sat invitingly on its pillars. It was raised up on this section, firstly to reduce the gradient for the horses, but also to ensure that those who rode it weren’t forced to accept the custom of the inhabitants of the Sump. He examined the pillar. It was round and where the rendering had broken away he could see the brick. He slipped on his gloves and took his short length of rope and put it round him and the column, threading it through his trousers’ belt loops. Then slowly he started up the column, gripping with his feet, pushing upwards. When he had pushed as far as he dared, with one hand he moved the rope loop up the column until it was higher than his waist, then he leaned back, letting the loop support him while he found new places to grip with his feet.

Jud stood below, watching him, as he inched slowly upwards. Finally he came to the crosspiece that supported the trolley-way. He unfastened the rope and pulled himself onto the crosspiece, sliding into the gap between the great beams the trolley-way rested on. He made his way along the crosspiece, working his way round the beams that supported the weight, until finally he could grasp the edge of the roadbed and his questing hand found one of the metal rails. He clipped his karabiner to it, fed his rope through the karabiner and then with the rope gripped tightly he swung himself out. With his feet in the loop of the rope he grabbed the railings and pulled himself up. Moments later he was lying sprawled on the roadway trembling. Muttering to himself about the stupidity of getting involved in other peoples’ quarrels he pulled himself to his feet and looked down over the rail. Forty feet below him Jud was standing pressed to the north side of the column, invisible to anybody following them.

Benor knotted his long line to the top bar of the railings, took it across the carriageway, over the other rail and then dropped the end down to where Jud caught it. It was at this point it occurred to Benor that he’d never asked if the other could climb a rope. Watching, it appeared that he could, but painfully slowly. Benor grasped the rope and tried pulling. Thin though Jud was, he was still too heavy for Benor to pull over that distance.

Benor leaned over; Jud was perhaps half way up and seemed to have stopped for a rest. One problem was that the rope hung clear of the column so the youth couldn’t even use that to help himself. More worryingly Benor could now see figures on the roof running towards them; it was inevitable that somebody would eventually catch up with them if they didn’t get a move on. He wasn’t sure whether Jud had noticed their pursuers yet.

Then he heard a noise from behind him. He turned and saw a horse team and wagon moving east towards him. The driver halted. “What you doing?”

Benor pointed over the side, “Escaping a lynch mob.”

The driver shouted something and the conductor climbed out of the back and walked to the rail. “Your mate stuck on the rope?”

“I don’t think he can climb and I cannot pull him up.”

The driver joined them at the rail, “So why they trying to lynch you?”

Benor shrugged. “I don’t know; I just got caught up in it. I just hope he can get up here before the others get to the end of the rope.”

The conductor took charge. “Right, three of us, grab the rope and let’s pull.”

Benor took the rope behind the conductor and felt the driver take the slack behind him, the conductor set the pace, “One, two, three... Pull; one, two, three...Pull.

With three on the rope Jud came up at a fair pace. When he was level with the railings the conductor let go of the rope and leaned over and grabbed him. Benor dropped the rope and hurriedly joined him and together they pulled the youth over the rail and onto the roadway. He sagged to the floor and one of the horses sniffed him with dispassionate curiosity. Benor coiled his line.

The driver looked down at the trembling figure. “Why were they trying to lynch you boy?”

Jud glanced round as if afraid somebody might overhear them, “Because Kefir Freely is dead.”

***

Benor looked at the other three. “Who’s Kefir Freely?”

The conductor corrected him, “Who was Kefir Freely.”

“I’m not from Port Naain; the name means nothing to me.”

The driver spat on the ground. “A usurer. And he dealt in souls.”

The conductor was looking over the rail. “There’s a large crowd gathering down there. I say we move.”

“Can we have a lift, and you can explain to me about Kefir Freely?”

The conductor gestured to the wagon. “Get onboard, we’re running empty back to the Dilbrook depot.”

“Thanks, Dilbrook is probably as good a place as any.” Benor helped Jud to his feet and they climbed into the wagon. The driver flicked his reins and the team started to walk on. Benor asked, a little plaintively, “So this Kefir Freely?”

The conductor made himself comfortable. “He loaned money, at high rates of interest, to those nobody else would touch.”

“How did he make it pay, good collateral?”

“Oh he insisted on that all right. He’d take anything as collateral provided he could get a price for it. So he’d take stolen goods, he even loaned to an assassin on the strength of choosing the man’s next victim. He’d accept your wife, your children, even your soul.”

“I can see the others, but your soul? How did that help him?”

From the front the driver said, “There’s mages in Port Naain who have a use for souls. You need money; you sell an affidavit granting your soul to the bearer. If you couldn’t redeem it, Freely would sell it on to a mage who needed a soul for something or the other.”

“So what happened?” Benor asked.

“Them as don’t get their souls back just never seem to thrive and they often just fail and die over the next couple of years.”

Benor nudged Jud, “So how does this affect you? I’d have thought his death would be a cause for celebration.”

“It was,” Jud said bitterly. “And they were going to celebrate by hanging me because I was his runner. My father drank too much too often, ran out of money and sold me to Jud for cash when I was little.”

Benor shook his head. “This is getting messy. Let’s go back a few steps. When did Kefir Freely die?”

“I don’t know.”

“Any idea when he was last alive, then?”

“I was in his office all afternoon tidying up. Then just before sunset Rarlan the Gorlix came in.”

Benor interrupted, “He did business with Gorlix?”

“No, Rarlan was somebody who could get rid of bodies for you; he had a nest of Gorlix across in the warrens. Pay him a fee and he’d take the body away, he’d even take living ones.”

“Reminds me of a song they’re singing in the bars at the moment,” Benor said, “the first line goes something like, ‘Wonderful place is sweet Port Naain, folk always ready to give,’” Benor softly sang the jaunty music hall tune.

I know it, “Elegant surroundings, excellent beer,” the conductor sang.

“Not much of a place to live, my dears, just not much of a place to live,” added the driver over his shoulder.

“Anyway, sorry to interrupt, Rarlan the Gorlix had come in...”

Jud continued, “He had a package with him, a biggish thing, like you’d bundled a couple of cloaks together. When he came in he held it up and said, ‘Got it for you.’”

Jud was silent, and the conductor prodded him with his toe, “So then what happened?”

“Freely sent me out in a hurry to collect a debt from an old widow woman down Manrag’s Gill. I suppose he didn’t want me about when they opened the package.”

“Isn’t Manrag’s Gill near where I first saw you?” Benor asked.

“Yes. I got there, hunted up and down a bit and finally found her in a neighbour’s house. I was talking to her, she was explaining as how she hadn’t actually got the money with her then, but would have it tomorrow. Her other neighbours came along and joined in, which often happens. I tried telling them it wasn’t my fault, and if she didn’t pay me Kefir Freely would only turn up to collect his money. But at that point someone from the back of the group shouted that Kefir Freely was dead. Well, I told them it was news to me, and they said they’d seen Rarlan the Gorlix throw his head out of his office window into the street and the kids were kicking it round like a football.”

“Aye well, they’d know it were his head,” the conductor commented.

“Why?” Benor asked.

“Clean shaven, totally bald, big ring in one ear, and wore a domino mask,” the conductor replied.

“He wasn’t bald, his head was shaven as well, I was the only one he’d trust near him with a razor,” Jud said. “But Rarlan the Gorlix appeared at this point and said that as the master was now dead, they might as well kill me as well, and at that point somebody started building a gallows. That was where they were taking me when you hit Rarlan with the roof tile.”

Benor shook his head. “Well I don’t think you’re going back there in a hurry. Seems the entire Sump was out there looking for you.”

The driver looked back over his shoulder. “No surprise - Kefir Freely could well have been the most hated man in the Sump.”

The conductor rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “Might have been the most hated man in Port Naain, they loathed him the full length of the water front.”

“You’re probably right,” Jud said. “That’s why he always wore the domino.”

Benor sat and looked out of the back of the dray. They were entering Dilbrook and would soon be at the terminal. He was wondering what to do with Jud. Obviously he couldn’t take him back to the wharf, somebody might recognise him. He finally came to a decision but decided not to mention any destination in front of the driver or conductor. He wasn’t sure how much they’d gossip. As they crossed a small square he said, “Jud and me’ll get out here, thanks for the aid.”

The conductor just smiled, “It all helps pass a long night.”

Benor stepped down off the back of the wagon and Jud jumped down after him. He led the youth across the square and down a side street. The youth had sunk into some sort of apathetic daze. It was obvious to Benor that he couldn’t just abandon him here; he’d probably still be sitting there tomorrow. He waited until he could no longer hear the sound of the horses’ hooves and doubled back on their path. “I’d prefer to keep your destination a secret from everybody if I can,” he said, by way of explanation.

Jud seemed to pull himself together a little. “Thank you for looking after me, despite being a stranger. With Freely dead I should think everybody I know wants to kill me.”

“Then we’ll just have to find you a new circle of acquaintance.” Benor grinned at him in the hope that it might cheer him up a little, and they made their way towards the northern edge of Dilbrook. Soon they were at the back of the Cartin mansion. Benor opened the back gate as quietly as he could but as he pulled it open he was sure he heard a bell tinkle somewhere in the distance. He and Jud slipped through before he closed the gate after them. Then they made their way across to the stables. Benor took his time, keeping to the middle of the yard as much as possible, avoiding shadows. He wasn’t surprised to be met at the door of the stables by a man with a drawn sword. He peered at the dark figure silhouetted in the doorway. “Taldor Vectkin?”

“The same.”

“Benor Dorfinngil. I’ve someone with me who really needs to hide for a while.”

“Why, is her husband angry?”

“It’s not a she, it’s a ‘he’ and he’s just escaped from a lynch mob.”

Taldor lowered the sword and spat onto the cobbles of the yard, “Scum. You’d better come in.”

He led them back into the stable, up a stone stairway into a loft above. At the top of the stairs Taldor lifted the shutter on a lantern. In the light Benor could see that the loft had been split. One end was used for fodder; the other had been separated off with timber panelling and was now a bed chamber.

Taldor sat down on the bed, pointed to a chest and said, “You might as well sit down and make yourself comfortable, I suspect this is going to be a long story.”