Deadhouse Landing

She waved, disgusted. ‘You kidding? Everyone on this island’s a damned smuggler.’

He offered her a grin. ‘Like Nap, I imagine.’

She snorted her agreement. ‘Yeah. I guess so.’

He studied her sidelong: petite, with a pert nose and hair hacked so short it stood on end, like fur. A kid, really. Yet so serious all the time. ‘How long have you been on Surly’s crew?’

She looked quite startled, almost jumping. ‘I’ve always been with m’— that is … a few years.’

It seemed to him that she’d been about to say, “m’lady”. ‘So … she’s Napan aristocracy. I thought so.’

The girl scowled ferociously, her lips clamping tight.

‘Fine. It’s all right.’ He peered about through a night mist that was too thin to be deemed rain. ‘Which way?’

‘They started with the best places and are working their way down the rungs.’ She gestured. ‘Let’s try the waterfront dives.’

They headed down the gentle slope that led to the waterfront. Here all he could hear were the waves striking the shore and the distant creak and groan of the vessels at moorage. Then the light of a swinging lantern in an alley betrayed movement. He pointed Amiss to the roof of the neighbouring building and headed in.

He heard voices raised in argument and came upon the rear of a crowd of Geffen’s thugs gathered at a door harassing a very frightened-looking fat fellow in a stained apron.

‘Take it and pay us later, then,’ a woman said, and he recognized their earringed friend.

The fellow, the proprietor no doubt, was wringing his hands in his apron. ‘I’d really like to, really. But I’m all stocked up, you see. Got no room…’ and he gave a laugh that was like a strangled titter.

‘You’ll take it anyway,’ the woman snarled. ‘Consider it an advance from Geffen. He’ll collect later.’

The innkeeper laughed nervously again, almost wilting in sweat. ‘I would! Really! But there’s no room back here…’

The woman gestured to two of the muscle with her. ‘We’ll make some room.’

The two surged forward, only to rebound from a new figure that had suddenly replaced the fat proprietor in the doorway. This one filled it like a solid wall.

‘Out of the way, y’damned beersot,’ the woman warned.

‘No fighting in the bar,’ the huge fellow rumbled in a voice like a thumped empty barrel. The woman snapped her fingers to urge the toughs forward once more. They straight-armed the huge figure only to rebound again as if having run into brick.

Dancer drew his batons and raised them to rest each on a shoulder. ‘I have room in a warehouse I know,’ he announced.

All heads turned his way. The woman emerged, having pushed her way through the crowd of street muscle. ‘You again,’ she sneered. ‘Look at you – standing there bold as brass all alone. Time you were taught a lesson.’ She snapped her fingers again to urge the hired thugs forward. The gang drew truncheons and other short clubs. Dancer counted twelve and he didn’t wait for them to sort themselves out; he waded in immediately.

He smacked knees then skulls as the owners of the knees sank. He pressed forward, attacking. Incoming blows were blocked and returned with counters to elbows, knees and heads. Anywhere to inflict maximum damage with least effort. The ruffians fell before him while the woman retreated between them, her eyes growing ever more huge. The sharp crack of hardwood on bone echoed in the narrow brick channel of the alley.

The last of the twelve fell from multiple blows to the knees, stomach and skull to sprawl unconscious at the woman’s feet. She stared now at Dancer in open disbelief. Behind him lay a carpet of thugs either out cold or clutching knees and heads and groaning in pain. ‘Why are you here?’ she breathed, awed despite herself. ‘Why is someone like you wasting your time on this wretched island?’

‘That’s my business. Now I suggest your employer catch the next ship out.’

She shook her head. ‘I know him. He won’t.’

‘Then we have a problem.’

Her hand strayed to the knife at her belt and he gave her a warning look; the hand slipped away. ‘Yes,’ she stammered, ‘yes, we do.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Lee.’

‘Lee? Really. Well, my name’s Dancer. And I’m calling your boss out. Either he abandons all claims to any territory here in the city, or I’ll come for him. Is that clear?’

She nodded, her jaws clenched tight.

‘Very good.’ He nodded that she could go. She backed away up a portion of the alley then turned and hurried away into the misting rain.

Dancer turned to the giant who still blocked the back door. ‘What’s your name?’

The man frowned down at him, looking puzzled, then announced, ‘No fighting in the bar.’

Dancer raised a brow; Right. He called loudly through the door, ‘The liquor’s all yours. I’m sure you have room for free casks.’ Then he picked his way between the fallen out on to the main street.

As he left the alley he heard the proprietor asking cautiously, ‘Is it safe?’

Amiss joined him on the street, grinning. ‘You were a big help,’ he complained.

‘They said you were good – but I didn’t know you were that good.’

‘Thanks … I think.’

‘Teach me?’