CHAPTER NINETEEN

The ferry arrived in Sea Forge by dawn’s early light, the smog shimmering with a dirty yellow glow. Buildings loomed, their silhouettes shrouded in a filthy veil of fog. The harbour was already a hubbub of activity, crowded with ships of all shapes and sizes. Galleons overshadowed fishing trawlers as the boat from Mudflatt squeezed between them, searching for a spot where it could dock. Trick looked about, amazed by the filthy splendour of the city as it towered over them.

No sooner had they disembarked than crowds of beggars were closing in. Women, children and old folk, all crying out for help, food, change, anything the warriors could spare. Trick had a stale husk of bread in his schoolbag which he handed over to an old crone. No sooner had he done so than an elderly man started wrestling with her for it, and the two quickly became lost in the crowd.

‘Better to give nothing at all,’ said Zuma grimly, ‘than gift them something that will get them killed.’

Toki was leading them through the market traders and fishermen, sniffing out their destination. Trick looked at his travelling companions, each of the colourful warriors sticking out like sore thumbs. Not that Trick could talk – he was still wearing skinny jeans, a maroon school blazer and battered old trainers. What a group they made. Mungo was behind Toki’s shoulder, insisting that the Viking was lost, while Kazumi and Zuma flanked Trick.

‘Those two know where they’re going?’ whispered Zuma. ‘They’re two arrows shy of a quiver.’

‘We were told to come to Sea Forge, so that’s where we’ve come.’

The group passed by a row of gibbeting cages, each one occupied. Some of the accused still lived, though they had been beaten and starved. Signs were tied by cord to the hands and feet of many of the men. They each bore the same legend: THIEF. Fearful, weary faces watched the group as they passed by.

‘Your plan was to come here, then what?’ asked Zuma. ‘And who gave you advice? You’re very trusting.’ He paused beneath a swinging gibbet, the thief within the metal cage murmuring for mercy. ‘Some might say foolish.’

‘Hold your tongue,’ hissed Kazumi. ‘Trick is our leader.’

‘And who made a boy your leader?’

Kazumi snarled. ‘You challenge him, you challenge us all.’

Zuma chuckled. ‘No offence was intended. I’m just concerned by your … uncertainty about your direction. I’m hired to help – it’d be good to know the next step.’

Trick chewed his lip. The group was headed to the Broken Shield Inn for three reasons: to recruit more warriors, to find Ravenblade and to put a plan into action to topple the warlord Boarhammer. However, he was in no hurry to divulge everything Kalaban had told him at his Tangle Falls hideout. After all, his other companions were by his side out of loyalty and camaraderie. The same couldn’t be said for the Aztec. Gold had brought him on to the team.

‘Nobody’s keeping you here, Zuma,’ said Trick, turning to the Jaguar Warrior and giving him a confident stare. ‘You want to stay, maybe you should show a little trust of your own.’

The man raised his hands peaceably, shutting up. Trick felt his chest puff out, pleased to have managed the mini uprising. Ahead, Toki and Mungo had come to a halt outside a rickety shack that seemed to be held together by gull droppings. Parchment sheets covered a noticeboard on one filthy wall, including a wanted poster that bore the image of a character known as the Shield Maiden. Apparently, escaping the deadly prison of the arena was deemed a crime in Boarhammer’s eyes. This breakout had led to a bounty on her head of two hundred gold. Toki pointed at the parchment.

‘Shield Maiden! My Norse kin – she is here, in the city!’

‘Two hundred gold,’ said Zuma, his eyes lighting up as Toki glowered at him.

A man sat on the doorstep, smoking a long twisted pipe as he looked out over the docks. A sign swung above his head bearing the words HARBOUR MASTER.

‘Can I ’elp you?’ he said, blowing a choking cloud of smoke into Mungo’s face.

‘Old man!’ said Toki in a loud, boastful voice. ‘Where might one find brave soldiers of fortune who would overturn a tyrannical warlord?’

Trick rolled his eyes, pushing his way past the not-so-subtle Norseman towards the bemused official.

‘Excuse me, sir. We’re looking for a particular tavern. Could you help us, perhaps?’

The harbour master sucked hard on his pipe. ‘Ain’t from round ’ere, are ye?’

‘We came to you for answers, not questions,’ said Zuma, tossing a bronze coin into the old man’s lap. He pocketed it swiftly while Trick glanced at the Jaguar Warrior. He shrugged. ‘Not like I gave him any gold, is it?’

‘I might be able to help you,’ said the old harbour master. ‘There are plenty of taverns and inns in Sea Forge where you’ll find a fighter or two.’

‘The Broken Shield Inn,’ said Trick. ‘Have you heard of it?’

‘Who hasn’t? It’s where the gladiators drink. A tough old dive is the Broken Shield. You want to go straight down Kipper Street, right up Lobster Lane and you’ll find it overlooking Speaker’s Square.’

‘Right you are,’ said the Aztec. ‘And you never saw us, right?’

The harbour master arched a bushy white eyebrow until Zuma tossed him a second coin. ‘Never saw who?’ he said, looking lazily away.

‘Good man,’ said the Jaguar Warrior before turning back to Toki and Mungo. ‘Lead on, fools.’

As they walked, Trick noticed many black-armoured soldiers passing through the crowds, intimidating the locals. The Skull Army. They were a mean-looking bunch, their dark shields and breastplates daubed with garish flashes of colour: bloody eyes, yellow fangs, blue flames and green tears. Perhaps these marked out their rank or the platoon they belonged to. Either way, Trick wasn’t in a hurry to be questioned by one of them. His memories of his encounters with the pair at Warriors Landing still made him shiver.

A wall of rock rose behind the docks on which a second city seemed to sit above the first. While the harbour was full of ramshackle fleapits, the higher towers and mansions were clearly homes to the wealthy and influential of Sea Forge. An enormous arena perched on the clifftop overlooking the entire harbour, flags fluttering from its curved walls. Gates at the base of the cliffs stopped the poor from rising higher, and a winding rocky road carried those with money up out of the smog. Trick shook his head wearily.

When the party finally reached Speaker’s Square, they found it heaving with bodies. Trick kept a firm hold on his schoolbag, knowing full well that pickpockets were probably at work around him. If they came near him, they’d be getting a staff to their downbelows. Everywhere he looked, he saw beggars and homeless souls, blocking every doorway and loitering in every alley. This was squalor, like something from a Dickens novel. Market stalls sold goods fresh and foul, captains called for crewmen, and crazies stood on boxes, preaching to the passing masses. To his surprise, one voice seemed to find Trick’s ears over the din, and he stood on tiptoe to see over the ocean of heads.

‘The Black Moon rises! The Chosen One comes! Evil’s end is nigh!’

Trick gasped. Was he talking about him? Mention of this Black Moon certainly tied in with what Kalaban had said. A brute stepped before him, blocking his line of sight. Trick ducked, stepping into a woman carrying a basket of fish heads and almost bowling her over. He apologized, back on his toes as he searched for the owner of the voice, but there was no sign. Someone seized him by the elbow, making him jump.

‘Come,’ said Kazumi.

‘But the voice –’ began Trick.

‘The inn is this way and we are separated from our companions. Let us escape the crowd.’

He was led through the throng, closer to the cliffs and the inn. The Broken Shield was extraordinary: three storeys high, with parts of it constructed from timber, while others were carved out of the rock face it stood against. The occupants of this part building, part cavern spilled out on to the veranda, ale sloshed down the steps and shouts came from within. High above the door a sign swung from rusting chains: a great black wooden shield with a dark, dirty sword buried through its middle. Toki, Zuma and Mungo stood before the inn, waiting for Kazumi and Trick.

Trick looked back at the bustling crowd and blanched. He kept seeing Boarhammer’s men-at-arms moving among the civilians.

‘They’re everywhere in Sea Forge,’ replied Zuma with a derisory sniff.

‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this,’ said Kazumi, her hand reaching for the naginata on her back as she squinted across Speaker’s Square. ‘I spy the black helmets of the Skull Army bobbing in this sea – there are sharks among the sprats.’

‘Into the inn, then,’ said Zuma, backing away towards the Broken Shield.

Mungo and Toki needed no further prompting, and stepped across the booze-soaked threshold. Zuma followed, with a wary Trick and Kazumi in tow. The boy looked back as he went in, unable to shake a rising feeling of dread as he entered the Broken Shield Inn.