Dragonclaw (46 page)

The Baron of Lucescere had put a high price on the head of the Lad with the Healing Hands, once the stories racing round Lucescere had reached his ears. Worse, he had threatened his soldiers with a whipping and a severe cut in their pay unless the source of all the rumours was tracked down quickly. Baron Renton knew that his rule over Lucescere was tenuous, and only maintained with great brutality and the excellence of his spies. Lucescere had been a trouble spot since the Day of Reckoning, filled with witch-lovers and rebels who worked constantly to undermine his protector, the Banrìgh Maya, and therefore him. Sixteen years of harsh rule and the public burning of any witches found had done little to cement his domination, and the Baron knew the boy's so-called miracles would be enough to cause an open uprising. Not only would he then lose the life of luxury and power he enjoyed so much, but any failure on his part would not please the Banrìgh, and he knew he must keep pleasing her at all costs.

So, despite all Scruffy's diversions and tricks, it was a hard chase through the narrow alleys of the slums, soldiers seemingly around every corner. Once or twice they were sighted and the chase grew fierce, Jorge having to pick up his ragged robes and run. Once he only escaped after diving through the half open door of a carriage-way, Scruffy slamming it shut and bolting it behind them so that the soldiers had to use their shoulders to break it down. By the time the door was smashed through, the alley beyond was empty, though if the soldiers had thought to look up they might have seen a small bare foot disappearing over the edge of the gutter as Scruffy chivvied his charges over the rooftops. Another time Jesyah was almost spitted on a spear after dive-bombing the soldiers as they emerged into an open square. Distracted by the flurry of black feathers and the raucous screeching of the raven, the soldiers failed to see an old man tapping his way round a corner, a mangy puppy at his heels. Instead, the soldiers hurried in a different direction, tricked by the sound of running footsteps that turned out to be merely two beggar children playing.

By now Scruffy had lead them down into the poorest part of the city, the huddle of shacks and shanties built into the side of the cliff below the waterfalls. Here the roar of the Shining Waters was so loud Scruffy had to yell to be heard, and their clothes were dampened by the constant spray. The uncobbled pathways were knee-deep in mud, and they made their way across the reeking slime by stepping on unsteady bridges made by broken planks and stones. Here there were no singing crowds, no gifts of bread and wine. Thin girls huddled in corners, coughing and hiding their bruised faces behind filthy rags. Men with scarred faces that caused Tòmas' heart to race with fear peered from doorways and fingered notched daggers before melting away. The puppy Jed kept up a low growl in his throat, causing Scruffy to bend and stroke his black-patched head. In several places the water roared down right past them and they had to cling to the slimy cliff wall to avoid being swept away. Far below them was the loch, while above the dark cliff loomed over them, broken by the white rushes of water. The air smelt foul, and Tòmas kept his gloved hand clapped tight over his mouth.

‘Where are ye taking us?' Jorge asked, his voice trembling a little. Although he too had grown up on the streets of Lucescere, he had rarely been in this part of the city, known as a cesspool of disease and crime. Only those who wanted to hire a cut-throat or arrange for the burning down of a rival's warehouse would venture here, and even then they would hire one of the Guild of Thieves as a go-between in preference to braving these streets themselves.

‘Ye'll see,' Scruffy answered, then embarrassed, said, ‘I mean … ye'll find out soon enough.'

Once or twice they were accosted, and each time Scruffy, his voice shrill with fear, cried, ‘In the name o' Adair the Bold and the King o' Thieves, let me through,' and each time they were allowed to pass. By now the key members of Scruffy's gang had caught up with them—the thin-legged Jay who had played the fiddle so beautifully, a lass called Finn who called out cheerful insults to the men lurking in the shadows, the two freckled lads who had played knucklebones, and a younger boy, only about nine years old, who hung close to Scruffy's shoulder. They came and went like shadows, reporting to Scruffy who would then send them off on yet another errand, to return five or ten minutes later with another summary of the location of soldiers or witch-sniffers.

‘I've thought up a diversion,' Scruffy whispered into Jorge's straining ear. ‘It's dangerous but I think it'll work. I found a lad that looks much like our Tòmas … He and a few o' the other lads have lead the soldiers back towards the palace. They'll think we're trying to get through the maze and out into the mountains that way. Finn says they've taken the bait, and the whole lot o' 'em are running like mad towards the auld Tower.'

Soon the narrow track led past the last of the shanties and came to a halt at a bulge of rock, the water running down in a black clamour. Tòmas stopped in fear, unable to see how they could travel any further, while Jorge turned his blind head from side to side, unable to hear or sense anything but the tangled energies of the waterfall.

Scruffy edged his way forward, feeling round the bulge of rock. His foot slipped in the ooze and he almost fell, causing Tòmas to cry out in terror. He had found a handhold, though, and hung there grimly, water crashing onto his head and shoulders with the force of a hammer. With a massive heave, he pulled himself round the bulge of rock and was gone. Tòmas gave a little mewl of distress, but Finn was crouched by his side, reassuring him, and the oldest of the beggar boys—a thickset lad called Anntoin—was guiding Jorge's faltering steps forward.

The old man was not at all troubled by the slippery manoeuvrings required to get round the bulge for, blind as he was, he could not see the stomach-dropping fall to the loch so far below. With Scruffy pulling from one side and Anntoin pushing from the other, he got round quite nimbly, and then it was Tòmas' turn. The little boy could not help crying a little from fear and tiredness, but with Finn's encouragement and a length of old rope from Anntoin's belt tied round his waist, he slowly crept forward until the rock was pressing against his belly. Water pulverised his head and back, threatening to unbalance him, but Scruffy's muddy hand was waving from behind the outcrop and Anntoin was holding him steady. He reached out and grasped Scruffy's fingers and with a squeak, felt himself tugged round, feet flailing. He landed on his hands and knees at the mouth of a cave, great sheets of water pouring past like they had outside Ceit Anna's cave.

One by one the other children clambered round the rocky outcrop; Jed was heaved round, with the rope tied round his thin belly, then they all cautiously filed into the cave.

‘Got the torches, Finn?' Scruffy asked, and with a nod and a smile, the girl pulled three long twigs, wrapped with cloth and pitch, from under her ragged skirt. Scruffy's flint was wet and so it took them a long time to light the torches, which stank foully when at last they spluttered into flame. They lit up the dark cave, however, showing a narrow crack at the back.

‘Welcome to the Thieves' Way,' Scruffy grinned, and took the lead.

In single file they followed him through the narrow passage that wound through the rock on which Lucescere was built. Occasionally they could hear the thud of boots overhead or the distant sound of shouting, reassuring sounds in the thick musty silence of the caves. Once they heard a dry rustle and Tòmas looked round excitedly. ‘Ceit Anna?' he whispered, but there was no answer and the sound did not come again.

Here and there the passage widened into a low cave, or split into different directions, but Scruffy seemed to know his way, padding forward soundlessly on his bare feet. After about twenty minutes they came to a junction and Scruffy was just moving forward when a long arm suddenly shot out and seized him by the neck. Before he could even squeal, a long wickedly serrated knife was pressing into his throat and a hoarse voice said humorously, ‘Now where do ye think ye're going, Dillon me bold?'

Scruffy was unable to speak, but Finn dashed forward and kicked the unseen assailant squarely between the legs so that he gasped and bent over, the knife lifting from Scruffy's throat. The puppy Jed also tried to save his master, biting at the man's bare calf, but although Scruffy tried to wriggle free the man had recovered in an instant. Although his voice was even hoarser than ever, it did not lose its humorous tone. ‘Do no' go making any mistakes now, laddie,' he said. ‘I'm a gentle man mesel' and no' wanting to hurt a passel o' brats, but I am no' the only one round here, and we do no' like just anyone saunt'ring our highways. So answer me quick, laddie, or I'll be getting angry and ye do no' want that.'

Scruffy shrugged his shoulders sulkily, and tried to ease the pressure of the knife against his throat. ‘Ye be hurting me, Culley,' Scruffy whined, but the man just tightened his hold. ‘I be helping the auld man and the bairn get outa Lucescere afore the witch-sniffers get hold o' them. The streets be swarming wi' soldiers and if the bloody Baron gets hold o' them they'll burn for sure …'

The knife lifted, and the man slid out of the shadows so that he could get a good look at the little party. ‘Aye, that be the lad,' he said, and Tòmas recognised him as the thief they had befriended in the dungeons. Culley seemed to ruminate, his bearded cheeks rolling as he chewed his tongue, then he said abruptly, ‘Better be taking ye to see His Highness, for it's up to him to decide. Ye shouldna have brought strangers along our way, but since it's the lad that did save us, I be sure His Highness will no' be too hard on ye … C'mon, Dillon me bold, I'm sure ye ken the way …'

They were pushed and pulled through the tunnels at a great rate, at last coming to a high-roofed cave where men of all shapes and sizes lolled around a massive barrel of whisky. By the looks of it, the barrel had been breached many hours before, for the men were full of jollity and temper. On a rough wooden seat by the fire was the old man whom Tòmas had healed in the dungeons, the one they called King of the Thieves. Standing behind him was his daughter, a wild-eyed, wild-haired woman with a cutlass thrust through her girdle, and a
sgian dubh
protruding from her boot. She recognised Tòmas immediately and came forward in a rush of gratitude which did much to disarm the hostility of the robbers milling around.

The King of the Thieves knew all the beggar children by name, a feat which both impressed and unnerved them. Finn, in particular, was disconcerted, her disquiet deepened even further when the old man continued smilingly, ‘And do no' worry, lassie, I be sure ye had nothing to do with the death o' auld Kersey and if ye did, well, who am I to be blaming ye?'

Finn went white, and shrank back into the shadows, but the old man only nodded and smiled and turned to Jorge. ‘Och, it be the blind prophet himself, inciting revolution in my city. No' that I be minding, o' course, chaos and confusion helping the honest thief to make a living. Still, all these soldiers do me no good and the cursed witch-sniffers are even worse. If I find ye've led them to me, well, a quick death is all you'll get from me.'

Scruffy shook his head violently, and told the thieves how he had organised a diversion in the shape of another small fair-haired boy. ‘Och, that'll be young Connor, I imagine,' the old man said and, with an expression of awe, Scruffy nodded, telling how Connor and his sister Johanna had been deputised to lead the soldiers astray.

‘Och, well, let us just be hoping they are no' caught too soon,' the daughter said. ‘They'll rip the lad to pieces for deceiving them.'

The unhappiness on Scruffy's face deepened.

The old man lit a strange pipe, which bubbled and hissed as he pulled on it. Foul-smelling smoke billowed round them, and they coughed and wiped their watering eyes. ‘Dillon me lad, ye ken I do no' take kindly to strangers being shown the Thieves' Way, or even being told about it. This is my kingdom down here and I decide who gets to walk my roads. Normally I'd be telling the boys to toss ye o'er the cliff and the Shining Waters would be doing their justice, but my heart is divided on this one. I'm real grateful to this here lad for the touch o' his magic hands that got us all out o' that blaygird dungeon, and the King back to his rightful throne.' He patted the timber of his seat. ‘However, I canna be letting just anyone wander my roads, without hindrance or payment, and if word got out that I'd let ye, weeeelll …'

Jorge stepped forward and bowed his grey head. ‘Your Highness, please forgive us our intrusion on your private ways. If it were possible, we would have chosen to walk elsewhere, but since the lad here touched and healed those in the thieves' gallery and led them to freedom, the soldiers have been hard on our tails.'

If he had hoped to remind the old man of his debt to Tòmas, the thief's next words seemed designed to remove any hope of being allowed to pass. ‘Och, that be true, the lad's accused o' witchcraft, is he no'? Wi' a price on your heads. I mun be thinking o' the profit that'd be bringing me.'

Scruffy bounced forward, indignation running high, not noticing the twinkle in the old man's eyes. ‘Och, ye canna be betraying him to the redcloaks for blood money! He's only a wee lad and he saved ye!'

The King of the Thieves smiled and drank deeply of the cup he held in his hand. ‘I can be doing whatever I please, young Dillon,' he said, when at last he raised his head again. ‘Though so bold ye are I'm reminded o' your da, the brazenest piece o' swagger the Thieves o' Lucescere have ever ken! Well I remember how he came to me when ye were just a runt, and your ma lying sick wi' the whore sickness eating her vitals away. It's Dillon the Bold ye be, just like your da!'

As Scruffy's chest swelled and he drew himself up an inch or two, the thief's expression darkened. ‘That's no to say I like the boldness though, lad. Ye're so sharp ye'll cut yersel' one o' these days. Keep a humble tongue in your head, else ye'll be carrion meat afore ye're grown. If I be letting ye pass it's for the lad's sake, and the auld warlock, who I remember well from aulden days before this blaygird upstart Banrìgh got the country into such a mess and mucken. So for his sake and the wee laddie's, I'll let ye pass and no' because ye got a bold tongue, young Dillon!'