CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Trick fought back the rising panic, breathing hard within his sackcloth hood. He had no idea where he was being taken, as the man in black had blindfolded and bound him once they’d escaped the bedlam of the Broken Shield. Their pace had been hurried, with the stranger shoving him frequently, urging Trick onward whenever he slowed. They had descended steps and the sound of dripping water echoed around the cold corridors they traversed.

Through his blindfold, Trick could tell that daylight had been replaced by torchlight, glimpsing flickering flames through the thick hessian shroud. Occasionally Trick heard voices, muttered greetings, as his captor passed acquaintances. None seemed concerned that he dragged a boy along as his captive. Trick eventually detected the ground underfoot change from slippery rock and stone to floorboard and carpet.

‘Well then, Kuro! Take the bag off. Let’s see what you caught!’

Trick felt the hood’s cord slacken, then it was whipped off, leaving him momentarily blinded. His hands remained bound behind his back as he slowly blinked, taking in the surroundings. They were in a cavernous, man-made chamber, the ceiling supported by ornate stone columns. Some of the walls were honeycombed with openings, within which the ruined remains of coffins could be seen. A series of waterways criss-crossed the floor, an old forgotten sewer system winding its way through the abandoned tomb. A body floated slowly by face down, a dark trail clouding the water in its wake. Torches burned in sconces and the flickering light playing over the catacombs conjured a Haunted House vibe.

Trick felt as though he was in a Halloween funfair, and the ghoulish mob surrounding him only heightened that effect. They did not wear uniforms, unlike the Skull Army. Instead they were clad in light leather, with studded breastplates, tattered cloaks and dark fatigues. They were a ragtag bunch, and Trick saw them for what they were: burglars, footpads and pickpockets. Kalaban’s warnings rang in his ears and Trick realized with dread that this was the Thieves’ Guild, which meant that their master, Gorgo, wasn’t far away.

The crowd parted as three men strode closer. Two nasty-looking ruffians flanked an ox of a man clad in shining steel. One had a bloated, swollen face, while the other was a rat-faced fellow. The bodyguards hissed, shoving the others aside and kicking them clear as their master followed.

Their leader’s suit of plate armour caught Trick’s eye – it was hard to miss when all the others were dressed in leather. Round his waist he wore a weapon belt loaded with a dozen deadly knives. He held one in a big paw, flicking blood from the blade; he was responsible for the corpse in the water, Trick figured. His black-clothed captor stepped away from him, blending into the shadows of the stone pillars. The armoured man whistled.

‘Eyes off Kuro and back on me, worm. You and your friends caused a stir in the Broken Shield, I hear.’

‘We caused nothing, sir,’ said Trick, remembering to sound respectful. He had to charm this Gorgo, if such a thing were possible.

‘Quit your lying right now. I’m Gorgo, the guildmaster, see? There’s nothing goes on in the docks that I don’t know about, and that includes you and your poxy pals rocking up earlier today.’

‘Master of what guild, my lord?’

The big man laughed, the belt of daggers rattling upon his metal hips.

‘The Guild of Thieves, of course! Boarhammer might control what happens above, but below ground, in the sewers, tunnels and warrens that riddle Sea Forge, I’m the boss. There ain’t a crawl space I don’t know about beneath this city. Pipes, worm! The latrines and drains of the poor and the rich – they’re our means of getting everywhere. The Bog Baron, some have called me, but it cost ’em their tongues. If it’s good enough for the rats, it’s good enough for us. Me and my vermin have every square inch of Sea Forge mapped, above the cliffs and below, from the dunnies in the docks to the bath in Boarhammer’s bedchamber. So, when I tell you to speak, you speak, right?’

Trick nodded as the guildmaster continued.

‘You’ve got a hundred heartbeats to spill your story. If I don’t like what I hear, Shiv and Clubb here will get to play with you …’ His two henchmen chuckled, the bigger of the two licking his bulging lips.

Trick cleared his throat as the corpse continued to drift by. He’d never been one for stirring speeches. He looked around the room at the thieves. None of them appeared especially happy, their dour faces reflecting their grim lives. Trick’s mind went back to the gates he’d seen, blocking the cliff road that led up to the city above. The germ of an idea was forming.

‘My name is Trick Hope, sir. I’m not from Sea Forge – you can probably tell – and I’m certainly not here to cause any trouble with you. My beef’s with Boarhammer up there,’ he said, pointing upward.

‘I’ve seen what he and his master have done to the Wildlands. You’ve heard of the village of Warriors Landing?’ There were some grunts of recognition from the assembled thieves. ‘Well, it’s no more. Burned to the ground. Many butchered and those who remained have been enslaved. The Skull Army brought them here. They’re destined for the arena. Entertainment for Boarhammer and his cronies.’

He saw some of them glancing at one another.

‘Can you stand by and let that happen?’ he continued. ‘I know that it’s just some village on the coast, but who’s next? It won’t be long until he starts trawling the docks for more “entertainment”, believe you me.’

‘There’s already been folk disappearing,’ said someone at the rear of the cavernous room. Gorgo glared over his shoulder and growled as Trick carried on.

‘I saw those gates too, on the cliff road. That’s your only way out of here, yeah? I can’t imagine Boarhammer allows any of you guys to climb out of the mire. He wants to keep you where you are, where you know your place. You’re at the bottom of the heap down here, just like everyone in the docks. It’s the same everywhere – sewage rolls downhill, doesn’t it? They’re pooping on you, Boarhammer and his wealthy friends, from on high in Sea Forge city. He needs stopping. The Skull Army need stopping. Am I right? Who’s with me?’

There was a chorus of muttering, even the nodding of heads, until Gorgo yelled angrily.

‘Shut it, you lot! The worm’s had his hundred heartbeats. We’ve heard what he has to say.’

Trick stared at Gorgo hopefully. The guildmaster stepped closer, his armour grating as he loomed over the boy.

‘You come here, filling my lads’ heads with stupid notions. Take on Boarhammer and the Skull Army? In this city? They own Sea Forge, worm. Ain’t nothing happens in this city without Boarhammer’s blessing. That was a good inn, the Broken Shield. Did a lot of business there, I did. Always a balancing act, keeping all those firecrackers, psychopaths and nutjobs in check under the one roof, but we managed, somehow. And you know what’s happened since you and your pals caused your kerfuffle?’

Trick didn’t answer. Gorgo continued.

‘The Skull Army turned it over. Bagged what warriors they could – those they didn’t kill or scare off – and dragged them away to fight in the arena. Then they put a torch to the place. It’s rubble now. You’ve damaged my business, worm. Big time. And you have the gall to ask me to help you? You get my lads riled up looking for a fight, you’re as good as putting the knife in ’em yourself. My lads know their place: by my side, down here, below ground.’

‘But all those people the Skull Army has enslaved – you can help set them free! You have men, weapons. You know the city better than anyone, I reckon.’ Trick looked at Gorgo imploringly. ‘Please, show some kindness, Lord Gorgo. Some charity.’

The big man spat on the floor. ‘Charity begins at home, worm.’ He turned his back on Trick. ‘Shiv! Clubb!’ The two thugs who shadowed the guildmaster suddenly stepped forward, their faces lit up with ugly grins. ‘Take him to Blood Beach and feed him to the carrion crabs. I don’t want his body turning up.’ He then addressed his gang. ‘And, you lot, let this be a lesson. Any thoughts of uprising, of revolt, of taking the fight to Boarhammer up top, you’ll face the same fate.’

Trick was about to beg for mercy, but the henchmen had him in their grasp. Within moments he was being dragged backwards into the darkness towards Blood Beach and the carrion crabs.