Something cracked hard and Venaz was reeling back, his grip torn loose. Hands closed on Harllo’s upper arms and dragged him a short distance away. Gasping, he stared up at a strange face — another boy — who now stepped past him, advancing on Venaz.
Who had scrambled upright, nose streaming blood. ‘Who the shit are-’
The stranger flung himself at Venaz, and both went down.
Coughing, tears streaming, Harllo forced himself on to his hands and knees. The two boys were about the same size, and they were of that age when a real fight had a deadly edge. They fought as would rabid dogs. Clawing into faces, seeking eye sockets, or inside the mouth to tear aside one entire cheek. They bit, gouged, used their elbows and knees as they rolled about on the roadside.
Something snapped, like a green sapling, and someone howled in terrible pain.
Harllo climbed to his feet, and he found he was holding a large round stone in his hands.
Venaz had broken the stranger’s left arm, and he was now working himself on top, fists raining down into the other boy’s face — who did what he could to protect it with his one working arm, but half of those fists got through, smashing into the face beneath.
Harllo stepped up behind Venaz, who was straddling the stranger. He looked down, seeing him as the stranger must have done when Harllo was the one lying on the ground, being murdered. He raised the rock, and then drove it down on to the top of Venaz’s skull.
The impact made him lose his grip on the stone and he saw it roll off to one side, leaving a shallow dent in Venaz’s head.
Venaz seemed to be in the midst of a coughing fit, a barely human stuttering sound bursting from his throat. He pushed himself off the other boy and rose wob shy;bling to his feet. When he turned to stare at Harllo, he was smiling, the teeth bright shards between gushing streams of blood from his nose. His eyes had filled and were now opaque. He lost his balance and reeled to one side, only to lose his footing on the edge of the road and plunge into the grassy ditch.
Harllo went to stare down at him. Venaz was still smiling, lying on his back, his cut and bruised hands making strange circular motions. He had soiled himself and the stench made Harllo step back, away, to walk over and kneel down beside the other boy.
Who was sitting up, cradling his broken arm, hair hanging over his face.
‘Hello,’ said Harllo, ‘who are you?’
Hanut Orr stood in the shadows behind the Phoenix Inn, waiting for the first of the cowardly bastards to come rushing out from the kitchen door. His man must be inside by now, stirring things up. Not long, then.
He ducked at the sound of ferocious howls echoing through the city, and then a thundering concussion somewhere to the south — but close — and he stepped out to the centre of the alley. Some shambling figure walking past had to shift quickly to one side to avoid colliding with him.
‘Watch it,’ Hanut snapped, and then he looked up into the slash of night visible between the buildings, as it suddenly lit red and orange.
It was pretty much the last thing he ever saw.
As soon as he was past the fool, Gaz whirled round, his right fingerless hand lashing out to crack with a crunch against the base of his victim’s neck. Bone against bone, and it was not knuckles that broke — they were by now too scarred, too cal shy;cined, for that. No, what snapped was Hanut Orr’s neck.
Gaz was swinging with his other hand even as the body crumpled, his left pounding into the man’s forehead, Hinging the head back like a bulbous seed pod on a broken stalk. Slap went the body, head bouncing once and then lolling way too far to one side.
He stared down, and then moaned. This was no drunk who’d been leaning against a wall behind the inn. He should have noted the man’s tone when he’d warned him off.
This was a highborn.
Gaz found he was breathing fast. A rapid pounding in his chest, a sudden heat flooding through him. His knuckles throbbed.
‘Thordy,’ he whispered, ‘I’m in deep trouble.
He looked up and down the alley, saw no one, and then set off, stiff-legged, leaning far forward, his fingerless hands drawn up under his chin. He was going home. Yes, he had to get home, and be there all night, yes, he’d been there all night-
Councillor Coll had pushed him back on to the bar, then down on to its battered surface. The severe arch forced by the position had Hanut Orr’s thug groaning in pain.
‘Is he waiting, then?’ Coll asked, leaning close. ‘Your shitface boss — is he wait shy;ing outside?’
