Rag padded slowly towards the light until she was stood beneath it. She knew she was exposed here, but just couldn’t get that mischievous thought out of her head. Absently, her hand strayed to the inside pocket of her coat and she pulled out the letter Bastian had given her. She looked at Yarrick, who saw what she was doing. She reckoned he was too scared to care, because he said nothing as she broke the seal and took a look.
Even as she read she knew it was wrong, and when she saw what was writ on that little bit of parchment she mouthed a silent curse. Cursed Friedrik for teaching her those letters. Cursed her curiosity. Cursed herself for getting mixed up in such a shit of a business.
But she’d seen it now, and there weren’t nothing she could do about that. There just weren’t any unknowing something once you knew …
They were going to open one of the gates. In her hand was a message to the Khurtas telling them when and where: the Lych Gate on the following night. Bastian and the rest of the Guild were going to open a gate and let the Khurtas wander right into the city.
Rag stared at those words, reading them through a third time, just to make sure she understood right. There was no mistaking it. Surely this couldn’t be allowed to happen. Surely she couldn’t be the one to deliver a message to the Khurtas that would see gods knew how many innocent folk get slaughtered because of what she’d done.
So what you gonna do, Rag? You gonna lose that there message? You gonna pretend you delivered it and try to con Bastian into thinking the Khurtas are on the way? He’ll cut your throat if he finds out. Hells, he’ll most likely cut your throat just for the laughs, but if he gets a sniff you’ve gone against him he’ll kill you surer than shit, and it won’t be quick.
Rag rolled the letter back up and tucked it in her shirt. ‘Let’s go then,’ she said to Yarrick, before moving back off through the shacks.
The further they went through the Rafts the deader and darker the place got. There was no more chatting in houses, no more torches to light the way, and the wooden platform underfoot got slicker and more rickety with every careful step across the river they made. More than once Yarrick slipped on the greasy planks but to his credit he didn’t cry out and give them away.
Before long they’d almost made it to the other side of the river. There the Rafts petered out, joining the Old City, and Rag slowed up, peering through the dark for any sign of their contact.
‘What now?’ Yarrick asked, breathing hard. Despite the lack of light she could see his head glistening with sweat, even in the cold of the night.
‘How the fucking fuck do I know, what now?’ Rag answered, her own fear coming out as annoyance, not that she felt even a bit guilty for it.
The pair of them stood in the dark, just listening. From the north they could hear the sounds of battle. The night sky was lit up with fire and alive with screaming and shouting. As scared as she was, Rag was not a little relieved she weren’t stuck in the middle of that.
There was sudden movement from the Old City. Though they could hardly see in the black, it was obvious someone was coming. Rag froze, feeling Yarrick do the same as the figure walked close, not making a sound. She peered through the night but couldn’t make out any features. It could have been anyone, maybe someone from the Rafts or the Town, desperate and alone. Maybe they’d come tooled up and on the rob.
As the night was suddenly lit by a mass of burning arrows, Rag saw it weren’t no desperate robber.
The face was painted in a mask of black and white stripes, the eyes were deader than a fish’s, hair all shaved and tied back in a knot. He was naked from the waist up, body lean and painted just like his face, and in the brief flash of light Rag was sure she saw the glint of a blade.
She held her breath as the night darkened again. Yarrick was next to her; she could hear him breathing hard and it was obvious he’d seen the Khurta too. She only hoped he didn’t do or say anything stupid enough to get them killed.
Another flash of light, and this time Rag saw the Khurta had moved. He was standing right in front of her now, same blank expression but this time palm held out like he wanted her to pay some kind of toll.
With a shaking hand, Rag reached in her pocket and took out the rolled-up message. There was no doubt in her mind that handing it over was the wrong thing to do, but she’d be fucked if she was gonna try and double-cross Bastian now — not with this evil-looking bastard standing right next to her.
She pressed the paper into the Khurta’s hand and felt him take it from her. Another shot of fire brightened the night, and in that light Rag saw the Khurta had disappeared, leaving her and Yarrick wheezing and trying not to shit themselves.
‘Can we get the fuck out of here now?’ said Yarrick, not even trying to hide the fact he was almost crying like a baby.
‘Shit right we can,’ Rag replied, turning back towards the city and padding off as fast as her feet and the slick wooden boards would allow.
The pair of them made good time back through the Rafts. Rag didn’t give a damn about stealth now, she just wanted to be away from this place as fast as she could, and Yarrick certainly weren’t complaining neither.
They’d made it to about halfway back when Yarrick grabbed her shoulder.
‘What the fuck’s that?’ he asked, pointing up towards the wall that ran northwards.
Rag squinted through the gloom, seeing something glowing atop the battlements in the distance.
‘Fucked if I kn-’
A bright ball of flame catapulted from behind the wall before she could finish her sentence. It soared towards the Rafts, and was swiftly followed by a second and a third. Rag could only stand and watch in awe as the first ball of flame went over their heads, smashing into the shacks behind them and exploding in an inferno of light and heat.
It reminded her of the mess those ships had made of the southern half of the city, but this time it weren’t the enemy doing the burning.
‘What the fuck?’ shouted Yarrick, as the other two balls of fire smashed into the Rafts behind them, each one closer than the last.
‘Move,’ Rag yelled, not waiting to see if Yarrick had the sense to heed her warning.
Already there was more fire in the sky. Rag could feel the heat at her back — whatever they were using to burn the Rafts it was doing its job, and no mistake. Must have been oil in those burning missiles, and it didn’t take a magister to work out what would happen if they didn’t move sharpish.
She could feel the heat as more fire shot overhead. Sense the explosion rip through the shacks behind and the vibration of it shake the boards beneath her feet.
You need to move that arse of yours, or you’ll end up so much charred bone at the bottom of the Storway.
Another explosion ripped up the ground behind her, knocking her over. Rag’s head hit the hard wooden boards and she floundered for a moment, trying to regain her senses and get the fuck moving.
Something whined in her ears, something high-pitched that set her teeth on edge, and it wasn’t until she stumbled to her feet that she realised it was Yarrick.
He was on fire, just standing there screaming. Rag took a step towards him but thought better of it. Weren’t nothing she could do now anyway. She squinted, wanting to shut her eyes, but she forced herself to look as he dropped to his knees, the fire consuming him, burning hotter than the hells as the oil that had spilled all over him took flame. He tried to say something, maybe begging for her to help him, but she couldn’t quite make it out as he began to choke and writhe. Rag felt sick to her stomach as she watched on helpless.
You can’t stand around staring at this all night or you’ll be bloody next.
Feeling a short sting of guilt Rag dragged her eyes away, setting off at a run before another ball of fire made ashes out of her too.