Page 36 of The Neverfear

The Vial

Christopher and Anya weaved in and out of the tents, their faces impassive, trying to blend in. One was full of roasting meat, another of card players, all of them armed with crossbows. Christopher listened closely as they walked past. Even here, they were talking about the bandits.

‘I heard the Astorians looted the Augean palace and stables yesterday,’ said a man. He had an eyeball tattooed on his forehead.

‘And razed a bunch of houses on Leoma,’ said another, who had a dagger etched beneath one eye. ‘An’ slaughtered a Lernaean hydra: found dead and headless on the mudflats.’

‘I’d like to get my hands on ’em,’ said the first man.

‘I wouldn’t, love,’ said the second. ‘You not heard about that tiger?’

‘Come on,’ said Anya. She did not seem to want to hear again about the tiger.

In the largest tent a stage had been set up. A band was playing, and a singing of extraordinary depth and clarity filled the room. The musicians were all centaurs but the young woman singing was human. She was tall and muscular, clad in white silk leggings and tunic, and leather arm-guards wrapped in contrasting silk.

An old woman watching the singer nudged Christopher. ‘You like her? That’s Skadi Finnesse. Half Berserker. Vigo’s chief pickpocket. Every jewel you see on her she nicked.’

‘But she’s got flair,’ said the man next to her.

‘Bet she nicked that too,’ said the woman.

‘When Skadi sings, everyone stops,’ said the man. ‘I should know, I’ve heard a lot of singers. She’s got a voice like woodsmoke on wheels. She can summon up the moon in the middle of a spit-and-sawdust saloon. I’ve seen it. Hard men think of their mothers and weep.’

‘And as she walks back through the crowd to the bar she’ll steal the gold from your pocket and the watch from your wrist,’ said the woman. ‘Let me tell you, lad: you can’t guess much from looking at a person, nor from hearing them sing.’

Ratwin came lolloping over to them. ‘I’ve checkeds the crowds. Vigo’s not here. We’d best split ups. Mes with you, Christopher, Jacques with the ex-princess.’

‘Right,’ said Christopher, and they moved towards a tent on the dark outskirts of the camp. Cheering was coming from within. No fairies hovered overhead. He looked in, then jolted back.

Two al-mirajes, both mad with fear, were fighting a kludde, their golden horns jabbing against the dog’s face. A man in black was commentating. ‘It’s not looking good for the miraj, kludde’s getting angry, final bets at thirty to one …’

Christopher had read about cockfighting, about bear-baiting, but this was worse. The al-mirajes were screaming now. As Christopher watched, a poor gold body was snatched up in the dog’s jaws. The spectators laughed, mouths open wide. Money changed hands.

Ratwin spoke from his shoulder. Her voice was serious. ‘They is not generous peoples, you sees. Vigo Nex is himself a rogues and a criminal, and I thinks a killer. But some of the peoples he welcomes is true dark. It is best not to buy up the glamours the vagabonds is selling.’

‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Christopher, disgusted.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and a guttural voice spoke. ‘Goin’ so soon, lad? Seems to me you only jus’ got here.’

Vigo Nex, dressed in silks, a goblet of whisky in one hand, bared his glinting tooth at Christopher in what might, in some circles, pass for a smile. Around his waist was the golden belt.

‘Isn’ the Berserker with you?’

Christopher was grateful for the dark. It hid his expression as he looked at the man. ‘No. He said to send his apologies.’

‘Ach, jus’ as well. It’s like makin’ conversation wi’ a coffee grinder. But you didna sound like you were enjoyin’ my fighting tent?’

He sounded suddenly dangerous. Christopher only looked at him in silence.

‘You disapprove, mebbe?’ said Vigo. ‘I should warn yer, lad, disapproval’s a dangerous thing to waft around Vigo Nex. I find it very borin’, an’ when I’m bored, I ge’ a little … edgy.’ His thumb caressed his knife. ‘Come with me.’

He led Christopher towards the lake. The bonfires were high, surrounded by dancing revellers, and next to them was set a throne and a table. Vigo sat down on the throne. Christopher watched, his eyes on Vigo’s goblet. If he had the vial, he could slip in the sleeping draught. But Anya had it, and she was nowhere to be seen.

Vigo, watching the wild cavorting of his pirates, rolled his lip. ‘Ach, I been to cremations wi’ more pleasure in them.’ He looked suddenly hard at Christopher. ‘Entertain me, boy.’

‘What? Entertain you? How?’

Vigo reached out and seized Christopher’s chin in his hand. ‘Las’ week I met a wee frog prince who wore a crown. I had hopes for him, but all his conversation was coronations an’ lily pads. He bored me, lad, an’ so I ate his legs for dinner. Don’ let me get bored.’ He squeezed on Christopher’s neck, then released him. ‘Wha’s yer talent?’