08 A Little Hatred: Book One (The Age of Madness)

‘I’ve a task for you, Wonderful. There’s a girl out in these woods.’ Rikke had a bad feeling in her stomach. Worse than the hunger, and she shrank against the bank like she could become one with the dirt. ‘I want her.’

A snorting chuckle from the enthusiastic pisser. ‘Well, who wouldn’t want a girl out in the woods?’ There was a silence, like the jest had miscarried. Certainly Rikke wasn’t fucking laughing. ‘How do we tell this girl from another?’

‘They say she’s got a twitchy way. She’ll have a gold ring through her nose, maybe a cross painted over her eye.’

Rikke touched the tip of her tongue to the ring through her nose and whispered, ‘Fuck.’

‘She might have some witch of a hillwoman with her. That you can kill. But the girl we need alive.’

‘Must be important,’ said the woman called Wonderful.

Nightfall gave a little hooting giggle. ‘Well, there’s the thing. She’s the Dogman’s daughter.’

‘Double fuck,’ mouthed Rikke.

‘Shhhhhhh,’ hissed Isern.

‘What happens if we catch her?’

An unhappy grunt. ‘Well, if my father gets her, I daresay he’ll ransom her back, dangle her as bait, use her to get his way when it comes to talking peace.’ And Nightfall spat out the word like it tasted bad. ‘You know my father. Plans within plans.’

‘Always been clever, Black Calder,’ came the man’s voice.

‘I see things different. How I see it, the way you break your enemy is you break what they love. Way I hear it, those old fools on the other side love that twitching bitch. Sort of a little mascot for ’em.’ Rikke heard the smile in his voice. ‘So if I get hold of her, I’ll strip her, and whip her, and pull her teeth out, and maybe get some Thralls to fuck her, out between the lines where everyone can hear her squealing.’ Bit of a silence, and Rikke heard her own breath coming ragged, and Isern’s hand tightening around her arm. ‘Or maybe I’d get my horse to fuck her. Or my dogs. Or … like, a pig, maybe?’

The older man sounded more than a touch disgusted. ‘How the hell would you do that?’

‘There’s naught you can’t do if you’ve the imagination and the patience. Then I’ll bind her up in the trees with brambles where everyone can see, and cut the bloody cross in her, and put a bucket underneath to catch her guts, and send ’em to the other side.’

‘What, her guts?’

‘Aye, in a pretty box. Hardwood, nicely carved. With flowers, maybe. Or no! Herbs. So those old fools won’t smell what they’re getting till they open it.’ And he gave a satisfied grunt, like he was talking about a nice fish he’d catch, or a nice meal he’d eat, or a nice sit on the porch he couldn’t wait to have at sunset. ‘Imagine the looks on their faces.’ And he chuckled like her guts in a box would be quite the height of drollery.

‘Fuck,’ breathed Rikke.

Isern just whispered, ‘Shhhhhhhhh …’

‘But that’s for later.’ And Nightfall gave a disappointed sigh. ‘Can’t cook what you haven’t caught, can you? My father’s offering a big gild for her, that’s sure. Whoever brings her in’ll be a wealthy man.’

The woman called Wonderful sounded like she was hardly enjoying this any more than Rikke was. ‘Right y’are, Chief. We’ll be looking.’

‘Lovely. You can get back to your pissing now, Clover.’

‘That’s all right. Won’t need another for a while, I reckon.’

Rikke heard soft footfalls moving away. Perhaps she should’ve been frozen with fear. The dead knew she’d a right to be. But what she felt instead was a boiling fury. A fury that warmed her through despite the icy water frothing to her chin. A fury that tempted her to slip from the stream with her knife between her teeth and cut the bloody cross in Stour Nightfall right then and there.

Rikke’s father had always told her vengeance was a waste of effort. That letting it go was the strong thing, the wise thing, the right thing. That blood only led to more blood. But his lessons seemed far away now, meant for a warmer place. She clenched her jaw, and narrowed her eyes, and swore to herself that if she lived out the week, she’d make it her business to see Stour Nightfall fucked by a pig.

‘I’ll be honest, Wonderful,’ came the man’s voice, the one called Clover, speaking soft like he was sharing a secret, ‘I’m finding that bastard increasingly troubling.’

‘Aye, I know.’

‘Took it for an act at first, but I’m starting to think he’s everything he pretends to be.’

‘Aye, I know.’

‘Guts in a box? With herbs?’

‘Aye, I know.’

‘He’ll be king one o’ these days, will guts-in-a-box over yonder. King o’ the Northmen. Him.’

A long pause, then a weary grunt. ‘It’s a thing no right-thinking person could look forward to.’

Rikke could only agree. She thought she saw a hint of their reflections, dancing among the black branches in the water.

‘You see something down there?’

She stiffened, numb fingers curling tight around the grip of her knife. She saw the jaw muscles clench on the side of Isern’s face, blade of her spear sliding from the water, smeared with pitch so it wouldn’t catch the light.

‘What? Fish?’

‘Aye. Worth getting my rod, d’you think?’