Darien by C. F. Iggulden

Author:C. F. Iggulden [C. F. Iggulden]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780718186494
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2017-05-23T00:00:00+00:00

13

Harvest

Getting hold of costumes on the one night of the year when half of Darien would wear them was no easy challenge. Finding costumes that would allow them to carry hidden weapons was even harder. Deeds wore the long purple coat and tall hat of a bishop, with his guns strapped on beneath. After much grumbling, Elias had accepted the black robe of a sorcerer, which concealed the short sword and dagger he wore. He had refused to take a pistol, though the shiny metal things had appealed mutely to his hand. Yet the skill wasn’t there and his knack would not make him any more accurate over distance. Their best chance was to stick to the tried and tested that evening. Once again, the general’s letter of credit took a beating, with initials marked and another section of the card torn away. Deeds and Elias sank into a thickening crowd, trying to blend into the laughter and song.

They made their way back to the palace with some time still to wait before midnight. Deeds at least had seen a Reapers’ Eve celebration before and he didn’t want to be stuck out in the street when King Johannes and his courtiers were ready to come to the balcony. He and Elias staggered drunkenly to a good spot by the gatehouse around ten o’clock, still solidly shut. Glowering guards stared down at the crowds, though one or two of the young ones called remarks to passing women, who yelled and hooted back at them, either in outrage or amusement.

Deeds and Elias bought a bottle of something sticky and strong and sat on the kerb across the road, where they would be hidden from view. Deeds made a point of waving the bottle around and laughing, but Elias kept his head low, saying he’d rather look like an ill man than a fool. They were accosted twice by women demanding a kiss from Deeds, though no one asked the same from Elias. He stretched out his legs to ease stiff knees and found himself in the centre of an angry group of young men as one of them tripped and went sprawling on the cobbles. Deeds calmed them down when he poked the largest one in the stomach, winding him. It had been done with such casual confidence that the rest took the warning and left, still calling names and threats as they went. Deeds watched them go, his eyebrows raised.

‘Not drunk enough yet,’ he tutted to himself. ‘When I was their age, Elias, I’d have sunk a pint of hard liquor before setting off, even. If someone had poked me in the gut then, I’d have laid him out.’

‘You like to fight,’ Elias muttered. ‘Perhaps they don’t.’

‘I do like to fight,’ Deeds said, ‘but only the winning part. No one likes to lose. Be sure we win tonight. You’ll get … what you want. I’ll be the golden boy and right-hand man to our friend. Our friend will get his own reward.

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