Page 35 of Witchcraft and Fury (Chronicles of the Divided Isle #1)

SLAVERS

Algar Firebraid had been popular as a prince.

A man of high principles, he had given hope to many that his rule would be a kinder one than that of his father.

And yet a number of powerful nobles found some of his more radical ideas alarming.

His aversion to the slave trade, for instance, left many of the patrician houses fearful that his rule might bring an end to an important source of labour and revenue.

Equally, some of the more conservative politicians at court feared that any future exit of Ashwood from the international slave network could damage the kingdom’s relations with other countries.

‘Well,’ said Wyman briskly when they were out in the street, having collected their weapons at the gate. ‘It seems like we should head to the workers’ districts.’

‘Before we do that,’ said Oswald, ‘I want to hear what Solar did to rattle Jacob like that. One moment he was sitting there, not making a sound, and then he just stormed out!’

‘I went inside his mind,’ said Solar. ‘To find out the truth. ’

‘You what ?’ exclaimed Cal, rounding on her furiously. ‘Do you realise how dangerous that is? You don’t have the power to mind raid unnoticed. No wonder he reacted like that!’

‘I saw what happened to his sister. She wasn’t taken by slavers, as Jacob told his mother.

She was taken by a boy of around her own age who’s half Jacob’s size.

Jacob’s hiding the truth ’cos he’s ashamed he didn’t try to save his sister.

So he invented some tall story about being overcome by a gang of slave traders. ’

‘And why didn’t he try to save her, if it was only one single boy taking her?’ asked Bear.

‘’Cos he’s a craven, and he knows it. He didn’t attempt to help his own flesh and blood! Although, I have to admit, the other boy did look sinister.’

‘Did you find out who this boy was?’ asked Cal.

‘I was about to come onto that, if you’d just let me finish. I don’t know his name, but I have a lead. And it’s better than Lady Faylseigh’s. He wore a hide and knife badge. He’s clearly an apprentice at a tannery. We find the tannery, we find the boy.’

They fell silent, looking around them as if expecting to see a sign pointing them in the right direction. Around them the people of Wolfport went about their business, and another wretched slave gang traipsed by.

‘I noticed a fairly foul stench wafting from the north on our way here,’ said Pingot finally. ‘Could be a good start.’

‘Sounds as good an idea as any,’ said Solar in agreement. ‘Let’s get going.’

*

In the end, it was a combination of Pingot’s nose and Cal asking passers-by for directions that led them to a group of timber-framed buildings with low, sloping roofs spread out along the banks of a canal.

They were set apart from the rest of the city, a stretch of featureless land between them and any other buildings, and as they emerged from the warrens of one of the seedier residential districts and into the glaring afternoon sunlight, Solar could see – or rather smell – why.

Her nostrils were assaulted by the stench of fresh carcasses, piss and dung, and a bitter, metallic taste established itself in her mouth and lingered there.

She was tempted to take a swig from her water flask to try and rid herself of it, but dared not open her mouth lest the earthy concoction of scents overpower her.

Beside her, she saw Bear pale and heard Wyman gag.

Bracing herself, and holding a sleeve up to her nose, she strode forwards, the others following reluctantly.

Flies buzzed around them as they overtook a cart laden with animal skins, and underfoot the ground was dusty and uneven, strewn with pebbles, scraps of discarded leather and broken tools.

‘Remind you of home, Carpenter?’ asked Cal as they passed drying hides hanging from wooden racks by the canal’s edge.

‘It’s in the name,’ said Solar, resenting having to open her mouth to answer him. ‘Carpenter, not Tanner .’

They reached the door to one of the ramshackle, dilapidated buildings. Solar and Cal peered inside, the others hanging back.

Inside, barely visible in the poor light, was a lean, muscular man in a leather apron and gloves standing by a large table and covered in so much filth that Solar couldn’t make out his features.

‘We’re here with Sir Gad—’ Cal began.

‘The master is in the courtyard,’ the man interrupted brusquely, pointing a gloved finger at a closed door behind him.

‘Ah,’ said Cal delicately. ‘Well, we’ll just …’ His voice trailed off as the man occupied himself with a set of tools on the table, pointedly ignoring them.

Cal and Solar stepped gingerly inside, leading the others, and walked to the far door that the man had indicated.

Solar heard a thump and, looking behind her, saw Wyman crouching next to a table leg, rubbing his knee.

Above him, on the table, a container holding a silty brown solution sloshed dangerously.

‘Come on,’ she said, hauling him to his feet and casting an apologetic glance at the tannery worker, who glowered knives back at her.

Cal opened the door, and as Solar stepped through she realised that the foul odour that had assaulted them since they had emerged from the residential quarter had been nothing but a taste of what was to come.

It was, quite simply, the worst thing she had ever smelt.

Before them was a three-sided courtyard, with the space where the fourth wall would have been open to a canal.

Numerous tall vats were arranged in neat rows, workers milling around them.

Between the vats, and dominating the courtyard, was a large pool of water, with topless workers submerged to above knee height in a foul, murky liquid that had so many unidentifiable objects floating in it that it could almost have been described as more solid than fluid.

Solar saw what she thought were clumps of hair and flesh, and this theory was confirmed when she raised her eyes to the far side of the pool, where men were scraping anything that wasn’t skin from fresh hides and straight into the water.

The hubbub of activity slowly came to a stop as, one by one, the workers noticed Solar and her aristocratic, luxuriously dressed companions standing watching them. Just as everything stilled completely, Pingot staggered against the wall and vomited onto the ground.

‘What in the name of the underworld is going on here?’ bellowed a rough, powerful voice. ‘No one said you could take a break! Keep at it!’

The speaker strode into view from around a vat. He came to a sudden halt when he caught sight of the students.

He was cleaner than the other workers, tall and well-fed, though still Solar suspected his vest would be a different colour were he to wash it.

He was bald, with a sun-tanned face and short beard that was more salt than pepper.

His green eyes sized them up, suddenly on guard.

His expression didn’t waver as he regarded each of them, showing no flicker of surprise at Pingot’s state.

‘And just what brings the likes of you to my tannery?’ he said slowly, voice just carrying over the resumed noise around him.

Cal introduced them and their intention of finding a seventeen-year-old apprentice.

The tanner nodded, frowning, and bade them follow him to the far side of the courtyard, where, in another pit half-full of yet more vile liquid, a young lad was repeatedly stamping on something that might once have belonged to a cow.

‘Think I might stay back here. Wouldn’t want to … get in the way,’ said Pingot weakly.

‘I’ll look after you,’ said Bear quickly.

‘Me too,’ said Wyman. ‘I honestly think if I get any closer to that pool of … whatever it is … I’m going to puke my guts out too.’

‘Just shout if you need us Cal, Solar,’ said Oswald, slumping down to sit a safe distance from Pingot .

Jaws set, Solar and Cal followed the master tanner between the vats and along the pool’s edge, muck, flesh and mud squelching beneath their feet.

‘Don’t know what the likes of you could want with the lad, but your business is your business,’ the master tanner muttered in a tone somewhere between outrage and curiosity.

‘What’s his job?’ asked Solar.

‘It’s an important one, to be sure. He collects pigeon dung from rooftops mostly, but recently I’ve started him in the pit you see before you.

The pigeon dung all goes in there, see, then we add water to it to get it the right consistency, and then he treads for about three hours, barefoot, on cow hide submerged at the bottom of the pit, kneading it with his toes and heels.

‘Oi, Olin,’ he bellowed at the boy as they got closer, ‘magical trainees want to see you. What trouble have you been getting yourself into?’

Before the boy could answer, the man turned to Solar and Cal. ‘If he’s been breaking into houses instead of collecting pigeon dung, it’s nothing to do with me.’

‘No, it’s not that,’ said Solar, suddenly coming to a halt, unwilling to go anywhere near the pit and whatever fresh smell awaited.

‘I can see from here that’s not who we want.

Too tall, too blond. The one we’re after is much shorter, and skinny.

Black hair and dark eyes. Wears a tanner’s badge.

About the right age to be an apprentice. ’

The master tanner paled visibly. ‘That’s my lad you’re talking about,’ he said, voice quiet.

‘Your lad?’ asked Cal, animated. ‘Your son?’

The tanner didn’t reply, but it was obvious from his expression that it was true.

‘Can we speak with him? Where can we find him? ’

‘You will not be speaking with him,’ said the tanner, stepping up close to Cal. He was a big man, and almost tall enough to stand eye-to-eye with Loveday’s apprentice. He jabbed a finger at Cal’s chest, leaving a greasy stain on the embroidered linen of his shirt. ‘And you are going to leave. Now.’