The Knight of Tanner's Square

9

The Disgraced Tosser

Dempsey ordered Harwin to the head gaoler’s quarters; he had finished dumping the prisoner’s chamber pots into the stink gulch, a pit that emptied into a gong farmer’s wagon that went to the puckerhole once a week for dumping.

He removed his gloves and dunked his hands into a basin of water to wash them as the odour made him wretch while the man charged to watch him stood motionless.

“Do you have any idea what they want?” Harwin asked the man who told him what to do, Dempsey, a short squat man twice his age and covered in pock marks.

He heard nothing but horror stories about this head gaoler, Sebastian, who cared little about him being there. He rarely saw him, but Harwin knew he was there. The agony of men screaming from the dungeons confirmed that, echoing from the floor below while he did his assigned duties.

Arlo Withers had him sent here as his punishment, a special circumstance for his protection, his captain told him. The head gaoler stayed below in the dungeons, even slept there by what his escort Dempsey said, and the man loved to bugger his prisoners, Arlo mentioned.

The man wasn’t talking to Harwin as they walked, putting some leery thoughts in his head, dreading that he was being led to an ambush by his fellow constables, who hated him and were the reason he was here.

He would glance at Dempsey, but his face was as empty as those tosspots he dumped, and he wondered if anything phased the man. They had been cordial, but Dempsey seemed simple-minded and wasn’t keen on talking to prisoners, and at the moment, that was what Harwin was.

The man pointed at him to go into a dark storage area, the quarters were beyond the stores of the dungeons. A few candles provided a faint light, and an urgency to get ready for a fight gripped him.

He had his fists clenched, ready for the worst ahead. Harwin could see shadows dancing along the light from the sconces in the dim room in front of him, but nothing else as it lay behind a corner. He was ready to hit the first one that lunged for him, his teeth clenched, and when he peered around it, inside the cramped room was Arlo Withers.

“I see you are looking well,” the captain said while studying the bleak comforts of the room they had lent him. “Sebastian doesn’t live much better than the prisoners,” his captain mentioned.

“It’s good to know you remembered abandoning me here,” Harwin replied as a huge relief came over him.

“You could have left. I gave you that option,” Arlo said, wearing a tired look.

Arlo had given him that; he gave him two choices. One was here in the stockade, the other was being shipped in a caged wagon back to Hayston. Harwin didn’t take long to decide.

“How have the last several weeks been?” he asked to change the conversation. In his mind, his incarceration had been a blur, maybe it had been months now. He had lost track of time.

Arlo wasn’t in a pleasant frame of mind, but he indulged him. The captain mentioned that they quarantined the northern mines. A fever had spread to one of them, and he had never heard of such. The rumour was that hundreds were dead, being burned to keep the illness from spreading.

“If that is so, the Guild will send the militia to raid the wards for workers. The arrests always send the commoners into riots,” Arlo told him, fearing the outcome as he sat in a wooden chair in Sebastion’s room inspecting it closely in caution before he nested.

Harwin had remembered chats with Osmond during horns discussing the madness. They would close the entrances in a chosen ward and collect any able male they could grab. The Guild viewed the outer wards as farm animals, and the misinformation the Yellow Hand had been spreading around there would lead more to sympathize with their plot to help end the Guild.

They had attacked pin holders in the outer wards, Arlo added. Only the Widow’s Ward had been spared of the savagery. “The people in Bollox and Butcher’s Wail are buying wares in the Horn now, and Jack Dobbins is lost to us. The militia sealed the entrances to keep them off the northern harvest road and out of the Horn,” Arlo said while rubbing his head out of frustration, then scoffed.

“The place has been a haven for pickpockets, strumpets, gamblers, and every sordid half-breed and Nuhrish man in Breeston for years. They should have burnt down the whole ward years ago.”

Arlo complained about the dead bodies. His men would have to send a cart every morning to pick them up. “We even found a few dead ones in the puckerhole, covered with those yellow handprints all over their faces. I don’t know what I can do anymore.” Arlo seemed to talk to himself at the moment.

He was reflecting so hard that he rambled. “The rabble in the outer wards are screaming at the bosses, wanting all the Nuhrish men gone, while others spread lies saying the Yellow Hand and the Guild are one and the same. The rumours are getting more idiotic every week; you can’t believe anything anymore.”

“I hope the commoners don’t believe the Nuhrish are the problem,” Harwin mentioned.

“They are attacking the merchants on the roads between here and Venton,” Arlo said, ignoring him, as he shook his head in disgust. “Old fat Farraway has five thousand militia with the wagons heading back and forth from Hayston, and over two thousand walking the northern roads. The men are so green, they don’t know the plains or the rocks. They ambushed two squads and lost over thirty men without a single arrest.”

Arlo mentioned that nobody was asking to join the militia or the constables these days; his list had been empty for days. Fewer and fewer bodies have worked in the mills. The Guild was getting concerned with that, their barges taking twice the time as usual to leave the docks. Arlo then let out a big laugh.

“I never thought I’d see the day when a bloke from the wards would rather starve than earn a wage.”

“What do the Ward Bosses say?” Harwin asked.

Arlo had said the ward bosses met with Drew Vickards, the chamberlain, and demanded action soon, or they were afraid the folks would riot into the inner wards. The concern was so high they sent a parchment to Aristotle Breeston, but he had heard nothing yet.

“What the outer wards need is money. Give them a decent wage and it will subdue them,” Harwin grumbled. “I don’t want to talk about this farce anymore. How is my brother?” he asked to change the subject.

“He has that inn drowning in coin. The merchants thought he was a bloody fool, buying that old strumpethouse. He has it full of people from the pier, and his tavern has been the talk, especially the ale.”

“So you talked to him?” Harwin asked, wondering what Edmund had been doing.

“Your brother has been prodding me for your release since I tossed you into here.” Arlo laughed. “Him and that girl you rescued in Tanner’s Square, she has come to me daily to badger me. She had the whole lot of tanners there yesterday. Most arrived only wearing breeches and my quarters still smell foul.”

His captain could see Harwin wasn’t amused, shaking his head as he decided to rise from the chair. “Uncomfortable thing,” he grumbled aloud. “Anyway, you are to be released. I have your wages, and your brother brought me the coin from your uncle.” he huffs. “Stupid lummox, you’re making more than me sitting in this pit, I should just quit and move to Hayston.” the captain added.

“So, you are sacking me as well.”

“I could only wish!” Arlo told him. “I’m stuck with you until I see you in a prison cart one day.”

“Am I to report back to Tanner’s Square in the morning?” Harwin asked.

“Have you lost your wits? Your constable brothers would try to harm you if I sent you back,” Arlo told him with a stern point of a finger. “You are to report to the courts for now. Consider it a holiday. Your new duty is as a bailiff under Felix Troupe. He was my first sergeant. You treat him with respect, or I will put your arse back in here, you follow?”

Harwin could only agree. What could he say? He needed Arlo’s support more than ever. His reply was with a simple handshake and words of gratitude, or he would catch his death dumping these tosspots. Arlo nodded to the guard to release him.

His escort took him down a hallway, then opened a stockade door that led out to the front holding area used for new prisoners, pointing him to another door made of old brass where freedom awaited him. Harwin waited as the guard turned the key, pushing him along as the street awaited him.

He looked about, half-blind, adjusting to the sunlight, noticing the rear of the old counting house lay ahead of him when his eyes adjusted.

“Harwin!” Julius yelled at him, propped up along the wall behind him.

Harwin laid eyes on him in amusement. Julius was in a blue cashmere doublet with white sleeves, and leather breeches over white leggings.

He looked like Edmund had dressed him again, and he let his moustache and pointed beard grow out longer since he had seen him, waxed to a sharp spike with a merchant’s smile across his face. He approached him with one arm wide open, with a broad, brute half-breed wearing a thick cudgel on his hip following him.

“You look obnoxious,” Harwin said to him. “Who is your friend?” he asked, peering at the goon.

“This is Blunt.” Julius pointed to him. “He is a man who helps keep the hands off the girls.” The man looked up to him with gaping eyes and nodded his head in an expression of hello.

“He is everything you said. A larger version of Lord Edmund,” the brute remarked.

“Lord Edmund? What the bollocks have you been doing since I have been in a cell?” Harwin asked.

“It’s a game the fools play. They call him ‘Lord’ to make themselves feel important; they call me lord, too.” Julius said with a shrug.

“That is because you two look like a pair of rolling dandies. If your brother was alive, he would laugh himself sick.”

“That is true, but Edmund likes appearances. He thinks these fancy doublets will gain respect for us.”

Harwin laughed loud at that while Julius gave him a long glare, and soon the brute Blunt laughed with him.

“Bugger off, the both of ya. C’mon, let’s go home,” Julius said in a huff. “We got your quarters ready — your brother insisted you stay with us.” His friend was all smiles when Harwin asked how things were going.

Julius was boasting about the coin and the food, the ale, and all the people who were staying there. He was gushing about all the women who worked there, something about twins, and that had him rambling about in an obsession.

The inn was hard not to admire, even from a distance. They had transformed the ruin from obscurity into a pillar of traffic as the entire southern end of the ward seemed to bristle with people.

It stood out more when they passed the Tedford brewery, waiting for a grouping of Argyle Parsons’ wagons bursting with wheat to roll along. Harwin had noticed that Edmund had the building washed. The stone was a mottled grey, but now it shone a bright white with faint shades of pink embedded deep that resembled veins and made the structure appear to have a life of its own.

The front walk had two lads leaning against the thick, open doors banded in heavy bronze. They cleaned the lobby floor, the wood a light oak that went from wall to wall, and up the double stairs to the upper floors.

Harwin was gawking in surprise as Julius commented that they were open only a fortnight, and they had nearly three floors filled with tenants. He noticed that shutters reinforced each barred window and the place was as secure as a fort.

He counted fifteen people in the tavern as Julius pointed to an entrance that opened upon a courtyard. It had recently looked leveled with a solid stone walk that stretched for twenty metres. Edmund was in his leathers and shooting his bow into a stuffed straw man with a wooden head of soft pine. He counted three practice shafts in his head as his brother was about to let another one fly.

“He wanted me to send you to him when we arrived,” Julius said as Blunt stood like a sentry behind him.

“You have any food? I have been dining on porridge. I need an ale, too,” Harwin asked.

“He specifically—” Julius asked.

“He can find me,” Harwin interrupted him. “I need an ale. Come, let’s have one and sit. I have been dumping tosspots all morning.”

Harwin walked by his friend, found a table, and sat with Julius quickly behind him, bewildered. A tavern girl quickly approached him and nervously asked what she could do for him.

“I need something with meat and the largest horn of ale you can find, or send me two if you don’t mind. Let the lord here pay for it,” he said while pointing to Julius.

“Harwin, are you feeling well?” Julius asked, patting him on the shoulder.

“As well as a guy who has been in the stockade for over a month, and quit pointing me with your eyes out into that courtyard. I will eat first and then attend his lord’s audience,” Harwin replied while mocking him with a bowed head.

“Very well,” Julius said, annoyed. “Bethally, dear, bring us some skewers and horns. I think I will have a pair myself, seeing where this is heading.”

The girl nodded and scurried back to the kitchen as Julius nudged him. “You recognize her? She dropped your name when we were filling positions. The gal is from Tanner’s Square,” Julius informed him with an eyebrow raised.

“She has been going to Arlo’s office every day to demand your release, the captain won’t even come here anymore because he couldn’t get any peace to drink a horn.” Julius chuckles. “I think that girl is enamoured with you.”

He shrugs as he peers around the tavern, admiring the work that has been put into the structure. “Unless she was in that kettle shop,” Harwin replied, trying to think. “Wait, I think she was the girl I nearly threw that weasel Willy Walters onto. I bet I scared the life out of her.”

“She has inquired more than once about when you would be returning this morning. Edmund finds her humorous, so he keeps her. If that bothers you, then we will let her go.”

“Nonsense,” Harwin insisted.

“She is rather plain,” Julius said, pointing to a pair of half-breed twins with honey-like skin that glistened. The two were flirting with a pair of sots that were teetering on a wooden stool next to a long table. “Those two are a different story.”

“I see you want to possess one of those,” Harwin noticed with a wide smile.

“I want to marry both and lie between them until I die.” Julius declared, wearing a lovesick stare. “I bought them each a dress yesterday.” Harwin laughed as he noticed the standing Blunt eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Why don’t you sit and join us, Blunt.”

“I have to look over the place.” the brute mutters.

“Let him sit, Julius, you have hours before the evening crowd,” Harwin said while looking around. “You want a horn, Blunt?”

“Sit, Blunt,” Julius insisted. “He will bother me until you comply, and we will skip that horn until after we close.”

Bethally returned with horns, and she greeted him with a smile and only him. “The skewers are on the way,” she said behind a pair of black eyes. She looked to be Edmund’s age or younger, thin and darker than most of the girls he witnessed.

“Thank you, dear,” Julius said as she left. The girl then glanced back at Harwin before passing a short, red-haired man carrying a tray with their skewers.

“Am I seeing—” Harwin asked.

“Don’t even ask,” Julius said, miffed. “I had no idea until they arrived in a smuggled barrel. In your brother’s odd defence, they have been making us a lot of coin. This is Morst, our kitchen boss.”

“Your brother told me about you. I was in the stocks back in Loreto then, and he said you were a good bloke.” The tiny man was a long-winded chatterbox as Harwin listened, fascinated while sipping his ale. He then bit into the skewer and it was everything Julius was boasting about. He wasn’t sure what to say as he had been privy to porridge for a month.

“This may be the best thing I have had in my life.”

“I am humbled,” Morst replied behind blue eyes under a mop of flame-red hair. “I must go back though, maybe we can speak again.” He then spoke to Julius. “We took those skinny rabbits you brought to us, Lord Julius, and made a huge kettle of stew. I am forced to make miracles around here with what dismal meat you provide.”

The short man headed back to the kitchens as Julius cursed him for his pompous complaints. “That little shart can be such a pouty girl,” he said under his breath as Harwin engulfed his skewer, while Bethally brought more horns. “You need anything else?” she asked while slightly touching his hand.

“I thought I asked him to see me outside,” Edmund said in an interrupting huff behind him.

“They did, but my belly was rumbling. You looked amused outside, so I thought a few horns would hit the spot,” Harwin answered him.

“You could have told me he was here,” Edmund bickered aloud while sitting beside him. “I have missed you, brother. That Arlo is a stubborn sort. I tried everything I could to get you released,” he pleaded.

“It was something he had to do,” Harwin explained. “If he would have gone easy on me, his men would have abandoned him. He did me a favour the best way he could.”

“Some favour,” Julius complained. “You did him a favour. That tosser you broke like a twig was on his way to getting his throat slit. You can’t harass folks and think you are above some justice.”

“I lost my wits,” Harwin replied, finishing a horn. “I am sorry, Edmund. I tried to keep it together.”

“They are calling you Sir Milkweed, Knight of Tanner’s Square,” Julius jokes. “You are garnering a reputation.” his friend remarked as Blunt laughed aloud.

“Leave him be, Julius,” Edmund said seriously. “You are home now and that is all that matters. We will have dinner tonight in your honour.”

“It is unnecessary; all I need is a bath,” Harwin protested. “I smell like piss and I need to clean my leathers.”

“I can get a lad to clean those,” Edmund insisted. “You want to see your quarters? We wanted to make it special.”

“Why are you trying to be so nice?” Harwin asked as his brother was pulling him away. “I had figured you wanted to quarrel.”

Edmund said nothing as he followed him, aggravated as he caught a few glances from the commoners. The twins smiled at him as a tall, Nuhrish girl approached in wonder to get a gander at him. Edmund introduced her as Brenda and another as Cindy while the ale was tiring his mind. “You have a lot of girls here. Is that Lucy over there? The tunic girl?”

“It is, and she’s a smart one, too,” Edmund said. “She is teaching the sisters to sew. I found a good bolt of hemp, and they are trying to dress some of this lot more appropriately. She has a knack for numbers, far better than Julius; she will be my right hand here.”

“The way she is looking at you, she wants to give you more than her right hand,” Harwin noticed as she was staring dead at his brother. “You need to give her the in and out,” he told his brother admiring her looks.

“Not you, too. I get this every day from Julius,” Edmund groaned. “He should quit wasting good coin on those twin harlots and leave me alone.”

Edmund led him up the stairs, past one floor and another as Harwin noticed the ward girl scurrying behind him. “I remember you from the kettle shop. Sorry if I frightened you.”

“She is bringing up linens for a bath,” Edmund said aloud, then whispered to him. “That bloody Julius. He thinks this is a big jape, hiring all these pretty girls, but they are headaches. He sent her up here to annoy me; he knows the girl likes you.”

“It is no bother. She is rather pleasant to glimpse upon,” he whispered back.

“You have been away for too long,” Edmund replied, rolling his eyes. “I had to put those sisters in with Lucy to keep the goons from putting their hands on them. The tall, Nuhrish girl Julius hired is sneaking in to lie with that lummox he dragged off that cart merchant.” Harwin did not understand what his brother was rambling about.

“And another thing, the twins and that Cindy are sly flirts. They are looking for a man with money, the worst of gold diggers,” he kept whispering.

“Do you need anything, Lord Edmund?” Bethally asked, interrupting his brother’s complaints. “I hope that I am not being a bother.”

“She’s no bother,” his brother remarked, changing his tone back to pleasant. “Julius sent you, so I will not annoy you by sending you back. Bring the things with you.”

“I hope my brother isn’t treating you harshly,” Harwin mentioned as she smiled back.

“I appreciate Lord Edmund,” she replied, which made his brother shake his head. “I wanted to thank you personally. I was afraid that man would have raped me if you didn’t—”

“This is not the time, Bethally,” Edmund snipped back. She said no more while Edmund took him to the upper story. The floor was red pine and sconces illuminated the entire hall, with a brazier lit in the centre lobby that met them.

They had framed many rooms, some large and a few smaller ones that Edmund remarked were for the goons, to keep them away from the girls. He had placed a pair of beds in those and remarked to him that he may need more muscle if they expand.

“That is a fine room,” Harwin admitted while glancing inside at a large post bed with a canopy overhead.

“I hope that Argyle will stay here.” The comment made him laugh at his brother. He knew his uncle was too arrogant to dwell here with commoners. Harwin noticed more modest chambers and headed there, thinking the quarters were his. Edmund stopped him, saying that one was for guests; he hoped to entertain when business presented itself.

“You are to sleep here, this one here is mine, and Julius is adjacent.” He pointed to the grouping of rooms furthest from the floor parlor.

Edmund led him inside a dark oak door to a room freshly plastered and painted. The bed was huge like the one he had in Hayston, with a feather mattress upon a floor covered with woven rugs and a large copper tub on the far wall opposite the bed.

He was admiring crafted dressers and an armoire in matching alder and a standing rack that held his leathers and blades. Linen white curtains draped the lone window that opened to the outside street and out to the piers with a good view of the Nyber River.

“This is too much, Edmund,” Harwin said. “I can’t pay for this.”

“Considering how things have been since we left Breeston, I thought we deserved something like our old home in dad’s manse,” Edmund said as Bethally put the linens upon the thick furs and wool blankets on the bed. She was stricken speechless, and it was obvious to Harwin she had never seen a room such as this.

“Thank you, Bethally,” he said as she was compelled to leave as his brother looked at her with his glaring eyes. “Lay off her, Edmund, she isn’t a bother,” he warned him as he watched her walk down to the lower floors.

“You don’t get it. I don’t need a bunch of fat, pregnant girls with this lot here. They are driving me crazy.”

“You need a few horns to relax,” he barked back. “Can you get the lads to bring buckets? I need a bath.”

It impressed Harwin when the lads arrived so fast. Edmund was boasting about the contraption he had constructed that brought hot water up a shaft like the strumpethouse they stayed in at Lonoke. “How much gold did you bury in this place?”

“Many falcons of my own, but I made it right though, and I have a few more things to finish. I am making two gold a day to pay myself back as Julius puts one in his purse. We will level things later when I get it all back, and that won’t take long,” his brother bragged.

“What can I say, brother? You are everything I told Julius. You are brilliant,” Harwin said, deflated. “Here I was, worried about you, and I am like the fool here, making one error after another.”

“I need one thing from you,” Edmund asked while Harwin looked at the steam rise from the copper tub. “The goons have bothered me to ask if you would work with them, teach them some proper skills. I bought practice weapons. They are in a small shed near the smokehouse across from the coops I hope to fill with chickens soon.”

“I will think about it. I am in a deep rut, brother. Let me soak and sleep on it.” He could see the disappointment of his brother. Harwin did not understand why he needed men trained as soldiers.

“I will check on you later,” Edmund said calmly. “Will you be joining us for horns this evening?”

Harwin nodded in hopes to appease as his brother closed the door behind him. He undressed to bathe, falling asleep in the tub and awakening in a shiver. He dried off with one of the linen towels Bethally had brought with her, finding underclothes in a chest, and he heard singing from below as the tavern must have been in a wave of merriment.

Harwin sat on his new bed, the mattress stuffed with goose down, and as he lay upon it, he got irritated. “If I had any wits, I would go back to the Frookuh,” he said aloud, pondering his choices since he had been here in Breeston.

He was getting depressed, and he knew it as he was looking up at the plastered ceiling, staring at the heavy oak timbers that held the roof above. While he glanced above, he must have drifted and was awoken again by Edmund, who shook him hard as he glared at him, alarmed. “It is late. Do you plan on coming down this evening?”

“Why does it matter, brother?” Harwin said in a groggy disgust. “I’ll train your men; please let me sleep into the morning. I am not in the mood for any more kindness.”

“Julius needs you to go with him to Tanner’s Square. He has an errand there,” Edmund insisted, ignoring his complaints. “He also wants to attend the cutlass fights that night at Biddy Mulligans. Would you accompany him?”

“I’m not for hire, or your goon either,” Harwin yelled back at him. “I’m to go where Arlo is sending me, tucked away in the courts so I can stay out of trouble.”

“I know this, Harwin,” Edmund said, giving him a grimace.

“Then why don’t you leave me alone?”

“You will mope here, pick fights with me, and prod others in boredom and feel sorry for yourself. I am not having you fall into those moods,” Edmund said. “I have discussed this with your captain and that is why he has seen fit to release you. He asked me to help you.”

“Now the two of you are working on what is in my best interests?”

“I am pleading with you, Harwin. That man you assaulted will never be a constable again, and your captain is trying to reform his men,” Edmund told him. “He thinks if you could learn to curb your temper, he could turn you into something useful he could build on.”

Harwin laughed at him. “I am only good at one thing.”

“Please shut your gob for a second,” Edmund said. “I built the courtyard for you. Can you train these men? Really train them while you toil in the courts. Arlo believes you can stay out of trouble there.”

“He doesn’t trust me, that is it?” Harwin said in disgust.

“Not within the confines of crooked men — his men,” Edmund said. “We discussed this for some time. I know you have never trained, but you spent time in the yards.”

“So you two cooked up this scheme to confine me, by working with your goons to see if I would like it.”

“Will you quit acting hurt and consider this? I need your help; these men are rough and one doesn’t even talk,” Edmund said while rubbing his hands through his hair in frustration. “If you show progress, then you will be given others, and maybe in time you can have a squad.”

“A squad?” Harwin replied with sarcasm. “You are trying to pull a jape on me.”

“Just please, do what I ask for tomorrow. Then we can argue over the next day if you like, just try to do one little thing for me at this moment.”

Harwin just sighed and agreed. It’s like Bitters all over again but replaced by a half-breed captain and his arrogant little brother.

He lay back down as his brother looked at him in the doorway, grumbling about how the others would be disappointed that he wasn’t coming for horns. Harwin didn’t know these people; his brother was trying to imply that everyone that was working for him was his new family. He would be damned before he would entertain Edmund at this moment.

That next morning, he arose, mumbling and pouting as he did what Edmund requested, strolling with Julius down the southern harvest road while he listened to his comrade jabber. Julius would point and twist his pointy moustache, standing with three goons who made him look like some ward boss as the eyes of the tenement dwellers along the streets were gawking at them.

They met a man who worked the kennels with some militiamen pushing three wheelbarrow carts full of dung behind him. The man was settling an old debt to Julius, and then he had his three goons push the carts through into Tanner’s Square, past the daub and wattle rows, and into the centre ward square.

Harwin saw the eyes upon them. The folks nodded to him as if they knew him. He also spotted several constables; a squad was glaring at him in hatred as they were whispering to each other with one laughing.

The goons were gagging and sweating like mules, pushing the heavy carts, except for the lummox Dudley who looked to have done that all his life. His shoulders were broad, and if he was weary, his blank face hid it well. He was tall as Edmund, he noticed as he glanced back at him, emotionless.

He tried to say something as the other two, Blunt and Hackles, were coughing at the stench but decided to keep silent. The mute was too busy studying Julius, who was talking business with a tanner that was so ugly, words couldn’t describe him. The man was short as Morst, with hair the colour of stale piss he bought from the commoners standing in lines there.

“This boy has grown since we last met,” the man said while gawking at him.

“That is the older brother, Terrence. The Knight of Tanner’s Square, you may have heard about him,” Julius japes.

“The bloke who kicked the tar out of that Tosser?” Terrence laughed back. “What is your name, lad?”

Harwin replied to the tanner, annoyed, tired of mock titles, the knight or the lord of milkweed. He peered around and observed the ward folk pointing at him, talking among themselves as he scowled.

“They like you here, sir,” Blunt told him after he caught his breath.

“You do not understand how much they hate the constables in the outer wards,” Hackles said with a cracked cough. “It honours us to be your men, sir.”

“What is this sir bollocks?” Harwin asked him.

“You are our captain. Lord Edmund told us the good news last night,” Blunt added. “We are happy to learn the art of weapons, sir.”

Harwin scoffed as the ugly tanner was boasting about how good business was with the fevers killing people in the mines. The craftsmen there and the Widow’s Ward were the busiest they had been in years. Harwin was listening to the discomfort of the conversation as the pair discussed more bodies in the puckerholes that morning.

“Between the killings and the mist, a bloke doesn’t stand a chance,” Blunt said. “That is what the Guild wants, kill a bunch of us so there will be fewer mouths to complain.”

“It is what it is,” Hackles said. “There will never be enough jobs or money for those out here. I don’t miss my place in the Wail. It is much better at Lord Edmund’s.”

Julius took what the man gave him for the dung and handed it to his goons. “That should give you some funds. That way you need not keep asking me to bug Edmund for money,” Julius told them. The remark got Harwin’s attention off of the constant glares and nods that were given to him by the blokes in the tosspot lines.

“You don’t pay these men?” Harwin asked.

“They are given a roof, food, and two horns a day. I don’t want to bother Edmund for more than that. I am still owed favours, and this was a good haul. They can run on this for a few months,” Julius was rambling about.

Bethally had found them by then, and they escorted her into the Horn as Julius discussed all the arrangements they had made. The whole thing angered him. The thought of exploiting the goons didn’t settle so well with him. “They deserve a wage.”

“We are happy with our arrangement,” Blunt said. “They have provided us with everything we need.”

He was about to get into an argument with Julius, but someone broke his mood when he felt a squeeze on his arm. Bethally was holding on to him and asked him if he was feeling better. His brother had alarmed them all that he was ill.

“I am well, I was just tired,” he replied, calming down.

“Will you be joining us this evening?” Hackles asked.

Harwin had learned that they dined together before the evening crowds and usually gathered again when the tavern closed. He was looking at Julius oddly, then asked him what kind of cult they were creating here. His friend smiled back at him as they were walking back through the Horn in amusement.

“I hope you didn’t lose your appetite in the stockade,” Bethally asked while peering up at him with black eyes. She had an attractive appearance, Harwin noticed.

“I am fine. I am just getting acclimated to the freedom,” Harwin assured her as she squeezed his arm again.

She had let him go by the time they came back to the inn to avoid Edmund’s scorn. His brother had his leathers cleaned, and he was admiring his armour as Edmund made it known it was time to train the goons.

He had shooed Bethally away from him as Harwin inspected his courtyard. The goons were putting on rough hide armour and crude leather bracers that Edmund had got them to practice in.

“You are in good sorts, I hope,” Edmund asked him.

“I am ready to work with them, but they won’t be doing any work for you tonight,” Harwin told him, goading his brother for an argument.

“And why is that?”

“They are going with me to Biddy’s. They are my men, you told them last night. My men come with me,” Harwin said while swinging a practice sword. “I believe you are still as lousy as ever with a sword. You should remain here with me and train with your goons.”

Edmund stood real close so he couldn’t be overheard. “I am not letting you bicker me around with barbs to amuse you, nor make me look bad in front of my men. They are my men, under my roof, and my use. I need them here to assist me. We are short and Julius will be out with you.”

“I think you misheard me. They are going with me tonight, to enjoy time without you. Tonight will be slow, and everyone will watch the fights at Biddy’s,” Harwin said in a growling tone.

“You will pay them a wage as well. I will not see you treat them like Father did his servants. They will get treated better, or I am leaving back to the Frookuh. You want me to agree to this little plan you and Arlo cooked up, then do what I request.”

“Or you will do what? Get yourself jailed?” Edmund asked. “We are trying to help you.”

“You want to find me a purpose? Let me feel important again, so I won’t bollocks things and get myself sent back to Hayston to embarrass the Parsons clan? I know what you want. Uncle will be here soon, and you don’t want him to arrive with me in the stockade to put him in ridicule in front of the Guild,” Harwin gloated back.

“Arlo never sent a parchment south, they know nothing of my arrest. If they did, Bitters would be on his way. You two have been plotting while I have been in holding, even keeping Julius out of your schemes, haven’t you?”

“The captain and I have been in discussion for the last two weeks. You anger me so much.” Edmund’s face turned red. “You act the dolt when you have the smarts to see these things. You have always been brighter than you let on, and still, you turn things over in folly and do the stupid things you do. Help me out here for once.”

“I will be arrested by tonight,” Harwin told him in defiance.

“What do you fellows think about me giving you a silver a week?” Edmund yelled to his goons, then turned back to him. “You train them and try to have a nice time.” His brother dismissed himself as Harwin smiled wryly, throwing out one more barb.

“You are welcome to join us! The lads would be in awe of your swordplay.”

“Another time,” Edmund yelled, walking away.

He had the men take off the leathers, as he never wore them until he sparred, and started his ragtag squad by pushing up their bodyweight to build up their strength and stamina. Blunt complained while they worked on their balance as he made them stand like storks on a single leg until their ankles were burning from fatigue.

Harwin called for a break, and they ate as a group away from the others as he explained basic thrusts, parries, and angles while they chewed on bread, exhausted from the strain. Edmund had tried to inquire about their progress, but he ran his brother off with insults and told him to never bother them while they were training again unless he joined them.

After their meal, he gave them a practice dirk made of wood, and they thrust and slashed the same way repeatedly while they practiced breathing. He then made them use their weak hand as they stabbed awkwardly until even the vigorous Dudley was showing wear.

His final order was to have them bathed and take a short nap along with four horns of good ale while they dined on meat. Harwin had insisted on skewers of meat only, no more stew for his men, he told his brother as Edmund walked off in anger at such a ludicrous request.

When Julius was ready, he then had them in thick wools, armed with cudgels while they waited for him to put on his own with his dirk on his hip. “Is this necessary?” Edmund asked when he returned. “It’s not like you are going to the outer wards.”

“Yes, it is. I want them to act like soldiers,” Harwin answered him. “If you want quality men, then I suggest you buy them proper leathers and get them a dirk. I expect that from you by the end of the week.”

“You are taking quite the liberties with this agreement. I assume you will annoy me until the guild meetings are over and Argyle departs?” Edmund asked as Julius was waiting in frustration to watch the fights.

“Will you quit with this charade, so we can go!” he yelled at Harwin as he laughed pulling on his point.

The women had gathered around them, and he could hear the giggles as he wondered how ridiculous they probably looked. The patrons from the tavern had been gaping at them in odd looks as they stood in the inn’s lobby.

The mute Dudley was the stoutest of the lot by far. He looked as blank as when they started and Harwin was curious if the man even knew or cared why he was being put through this. The other two were eager to go, with Hackles coughing in fits as he was uncomfortable with Harwin’s glare. Blunt was doing his best to act the proper way, his eyes forward and doing his best to not look pitiful.

“That was a good first day,” Harwin complimented them. “Tomorrow will be just like today. We will folly a little tonight and then get a good, long rest. If you thought today was bad, then you have nothing to look forward to tomorrow. I like my men to become hard as iron; pain is the tonic that expels weakness,” he remarked, remembering how Bitters told it.

“Will you end this folly!” Julius yelled at him.

“You heard the lord, you men got your coin from this morning, let’s observe some combat.”

He could hear Julius grumble as they walked down the alleys to Biddy’s. “You are having a fun jape, aren’t you, Harwin?” His friend mumbled that several times as Harwin walked alongside him.

He ignored his grumbling. His mood would brighten up after he had a contest to bet on. Edmund wouldn’t be interested in these types of follies. Julius was waiting for him to return so he could play again. The place was filling up quickly when they arrived, but Julius had already made sure they had a table waiting on them at a good place to see the entire fighting area.

The woven hemp fence that surrounded the cutlass area came to the belly of most men. The floor was circular, and a fat man was bellowing out in a huge voice about the first fight when they sat down.

It began with two ward boys who quickly came down the stairs to the circle with cutlass gloves on their hands. They were sipping on their first horn as Julius was barking over three tables with a man on who would win.

Julius took the smaller man from Bollox as he took on a slightly older and thicker lad from the Wail. The fight was sloppy as Blunt and Hackles were screaming for the Bollox lad to support Julius, who was following the action of wildly swinging fists, engrossed until a large gong interrupted the action so the fighters could rest.

The wagering got hotter as the men stood while the loud barker yelled into a wooden horn to stir up the patrons. Biddy was making the rounds, seeking out the men who liked to bet in silver or gold to keep them satisfied.

The fever between the pauses was when people drank the heaviest, and the better the contest, the more they drank. Harwin thought over two hundred were observing the contest, swearing and bickering as barmaids arrived with carts full of horns.

After the pause ended, Julius had doubled down his bet and found two others to wager a copper on as the fighters swung wildly upon one another and the voices screamed louder.

He watched while the bigger man leaned on the other with wild swings as the other hid under his guard. The smaller one would slip away as the other stalked him until the gong rang, and the crowd cursed the lad from Bollox for being a coward.

It grew louder, and Julius had seven more bet a copper against him as Harwin started his second horn. The coughing Hackles found a man to wager a copper with, choosing the little man to win as Blunt mocked him for being an arse-kisser.

Most wanted the larger lad, and after the barker shouted to begin, the fight got quicker. The smaller lad jabbed and moved away as the other chased. Julius laughed loud; he knew the lad. “I got this one, Harwin,” he yelled in excitement while slapping him along the back with his lone arm.

The lad kept jabbing and moving in and out as the bigger lad was tired, then he banged on him with punches from angles until he had the bigger fighter trying to pick himself up from his knees. As he staggered upward, he quit as the losers who bet on him began a barrage of insults, but his face was a mess and he had one eye slammed shut in a swollen bulge of yellow and black.

Julius was counting his coppers as some called him a cripple from afar while Blunt stood up and glared at them. “I’ll bust your stinkin’ face if you say that again,” he yelled as another table laughed aloud.

The next match was a man from Lonoke who looked like a half-breed. His skin was olive, but he had sharp strands of red in his hair with freckles all over his chest. His back was covered with red hair as well, and Julius told him they called him the Orangutan, whatever that was.

“It’s an ape from the Island of Elbe.” Harwin laughed out loud while the crowd knew of him and none wanted the other man, who was a lean Nuhrish lad that looked to be sixteen and lost.

He was peering around in amazement as he looked as if he never stood in a cutlass circle before. They howled as the Orangutan had swarmed and bruised him with so many knees to the lad’s gut he would empty blood from his bowels for a fortnight.

The Nuhrish lad was hard, and he took more than he needed as the crowd cheered on his toughness. Soon, the carnage was over as the Orangutan blasted him with a forearm or two before the freckled man put him away with a huge uppercut to the chin. The barker gave out a roaring laugh as Biddy’s goons had to pick the man up and haul him up the stairs.

“That one earned his coin; what a slaughter. He is trying to hype the man to take on the Crusher, the best of Biddy’s lot,” Julius whispered to him. “He is fighting an Elbish man for the last fight.”

“Listen up, you raving fools!” the barker shouted. “You know how we love blood, and Biddy always delivers. Who here is a tough man that has the sand to stand in the circle, fight for the glory of great Breeston, and ten silver in their pocket?”

A Nuhrish lad stood up under a cloak and demanded a fight. The barker told him to enter the circle, then he yelled in his horn for another. Several poor lads who must have stolen coppers to pay to get inside were yelling aloud. The barker gave them all a look over as Harwin was sipping his third horn.

“I see it’s true, the half-breed released you. The captain mentioned it this morning, and here you sit all arrogant that you beat one of your brothers.” The voice made Harwin turn, and it was Erik, the sergeant that Arlo had to escort them after their arrival.

“I did my punishment. I am here, not bothering anyone,” Harwin replied as he noticed Blunt stand up to look the sergeant down. “That is unnecessary, Blunt. We are enjoying horns, Erik. Would you like to share one with me?”

“I don’t drink with Panheads. You have a collection of odd ones with you. Where is this brown man from? Ethelly or Raines, perhaps, probably a criminal with papers on him.”

“I am from Raines and lived in the Widow’s Ward for several years. I am no criminal, tosser,” Hackles coughed out.

“Who gives a bollocks,” a man shouted from the group at Erik’s table.

“Hello, Sully,” Harwin hollered back. “I see you have your fellow sergeants with you. Let’s not get this out of hand,” he mentioned to Erik, who was standing up as the fight began. The sergeant glared at him, then sat as the crowd yelled to kill the Nuhrish man as Harwin turned to watch the fight.

Julius was pulling his point as the ward boy had jumped on the back of the taller Nuhrish lad and rained down blows upon his ears while trying to hang on. The crowd laughed as the boy fell off into the dust and ate a straight right hand when he tried to rise, sending him back on his backside, then the two got into a scrum and the barker yelled at them to break.

The fight was then a volley of swings and then a grapple as the two were trying to grab one another with difficulty. The gong rang as the betting increased, and Julius was finding takers as he bet on the Nuhrish man for two coppers to one.

Harwin would glimpse over. He noticed that Erik and Sully were glaring at him. They had six others at their table and they were chatting aloud with looks of hatred as two of them yelled out to a barmaid for horns.

“You are not popular with those,” Blunt said, amused. The man had gulped two horns to his one since they arrived. “I suppose we might send horns over to them; that usually soothes the temper.”

“Nonsense, Blunt,” Harwin blurted out with a laugh. “There isn’t a one over there that worries me. I think you should keep your coin and not concern yourself with the likes of them,” he said as the gong sounded. The Nuhrish man had busted the other along the lower lip as it exploded in a bloody pour that gave the other a nice red beard.

“You can hide under Arlo’s protection for a little while longer, but when you get back to the wards, then you are ours, Lord Milkweed,” Erik shouted over during the pause.

“Why don’t you piss off, tosser!” Julius yelled back. “We are here to bet and have fun. If you don’t like my friends, then go somewhere else.”

The constables laughed aloud at that. “The cripple who shares a bed with the younger brother,” Sully Nickles yelled back.

“Don’t let my constable brothers raise your ire, brother,” Harwin remarked, doing his best to remain calm. “Get your mocks out and over with. I am not losing my temper.”

“You aren’t a brother of ours!” another shouted.

Harwin shrugged back as the pause ended with the Nuhrish man punching the ward kid into darkness as he went prone along the circle. The barker yelled for another, and it was silence from the other ward lads, who had enough of a gander of their friend as they took him unconscious up the stairs to where a healer looked over the combatants.

A lad stood, and then another, as the barker looked them over, Harwin stood and when the crowd noticed, they screamed out in excitement, laughing as if it was a jape. The Knight of Tanner’s Square, they shouted in between horns, and they weren’t all in mocks, he thought. The other lads sat back down as the crowd laughed, and the barker quickly yelled for him to enter the circle.

Julius protested, then sat back down and groaned. “Damn you, Harwin!” he could hear him yell as he walked down the steps into the circle. Harwin looked back to the constable’s table and waited to see if any of them would call.

He could see another stand from a different table, another as well, but none of the constables stood until three others joined as hopeful challengers. It was then that Sully Nickles stood as a challenger, screaming aloud and drunk from ale when Julius hopped up and offered the others who stood two silvers to sit back down.

They at once fell into their seats and left Sully Nickles alone as the barker yelled for him to enter the circle. He had a look of shock, glaring around with an angry face as Julius sent the goons with coin to pay the others.

The sergeant scowled at Julius and found his arrogance again, walking down to the circle after he downed a horn. Sully looked upon him as the crowd jeered aloud. “You are a dead man, tosser,” one older man yelled at him. Harwin knew he was an intimidating figure. He was over a foot taller than poor Sully and outweighed him by ten stone.

“You should have stayed the craven, Sully, but I admire your zeal, sergeant,” Harwin told him with a smile. “This will not end well. Be pleasant now and I won’t try to hurt you.”

“Up your puckerhole, Panhead,” Sully yelled back with spittle on his face.

The barker shouted out as the crowd was full of yells and curses, some laughed as Sully looked around in fear, and then with a mad charge, he ran as fast as he could toward him. Harwin lifted a boot, his face ran into it and it spun him in such a fashion he somehow landed on his face and chest.

Harwin waited as the laughs rolled out, but Sully didn’t stir as he rolled him over. The grime of his boot was all over his chin and the man’s jaw was a mess of broken teeth and blood.

“The Knight of Tanner’s Square!” the barker yelled out like a fool as the crowd answered back in howls. Harwin climbed the steps and noticed the constables had migrated along to the other side as Biddy’s goons carried Sully Nickels up to the healer.

He sat back in his seat as some patrons offered toasts for the assault on the tosser. His eyes were fixed while the constables glared back and then left as others jeered them along until a fight busted out into the crowd that sent Biddy in a huff. His goons grabbed a few and thrown them out while the next fight was about to begin.

“You took his face off with that boot, sir,” Blunt said, laughing aloud.

“I probably did more harm than good. I will get a visit from Arlo Withers tomorrow when he hears about it,” Harwin complained.

“He gave you no choice, sir,” Hackles backed him.

“We should come back to the next fights in a fortnight. Surely we can find another constable for Harwin to beat on,” Julius laughed as they watched a fat, hairy man from Jack Dobbins beat a half-breed by smothering his face in his flesh until he passed out.

They pooled their coin, and won over a hundred coppers betting on a white-haired Nuhrish man, who beat another with hair of black and blond, a wild contest that lasted past seven gongs and had betting in a frenzy as each pause created a drunken hysteria.

The final fight had them deep in horns, and it ended in a whimper as the Crusher knocked the dark Elbish man out in two punches and threatened to whip any man in the tavern who whistled insults at him.

It was a perfect night for Harwin, the best since he returned from Loreto. They were all drunk or close — maybe Dudley wasn’t, but Harwin had forgotten he was there at least a dozen times as he sipped his ale and said little, and laughed as the others were deep in mocks.

Biddy then had his barker yell into his horn out loud, ending the commotion as his goons shouted down drunks, pointing the mob out the door as they followed the crowd in bitter slurs, pushing the mob out to disperse into the street.

They walked through the alleys a different way and found themselves near the brewery. Up above, the lanterns gave out a faint light, and when they approached a dark shadow near an alley, Harwin heard footsteps.

He could feel hands reach to grab him, something surrounded them, and all he could see as a cudgel came down upon him was the colour yellow.