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A Sample Chapter

                                              Craic. Like Banter.

I’m Jack Hewler, bard, rogue, and quickly becoming the greatest fool to ever pluck a string.

You would think certain excuses would exempt you from certain things, ‘I’m not a fighter. I’ve never left this city. I’m not a thief. I’m a fucking bard’ all of these, of course, fall on deaf ears.

I learnt from an early age that there are two types of conversations, one when you want to tell something, and one when you want something. And yes, before you ask, my mother was a whore.

The one I had today was one of the latter.

I won’t lie and say it started a normal day, it didn’t, I’m the kind of wastrel that doesn’t seem to have normal days. It started with me being beaten with my own lute in a puddle of my own making.

‘Looter!’

‘The word you’re looking for is bard, innkeeper, and if you would, please stop mishandling me with my instrument. Shall I play you a song? By the narrow streets we meet? The Last Prince? Gods help me just stop hitting me, it’s expensive!’

The innkeep-who-was-a-watchman gave me an indignant look ‘I’m a watchman ye simpleton, and you were seen rummaging through the Jeweller’s on Bartle Row, what do you have to say about that?’

I stood, brushing the indignity off my jerkin, and doing my best to ignore the cool wetness in my crotch. Sorry. ‘I am… Sincerely sorry sir. But you have me mistaken, I have no interest in jewellery and certainly none in wasting a watchman’s valuable time. I was in the Inn last night, you may have guessed. There are men who can vouch for me, I got into something of a drinking contest with a fisherman, his name was Joe. Or Joel… Perhaps James?’

The watchman was nonplussed ‘How old are ye, boy’

‘Jonath- Oh. Twenty, sir.’

I heard a jangle of what could only be chains in his back pocket

‘Fooourteen sir. I am fourteen years old and cannot be arrested by an officer of the watch thank you very much and now that you mention it I recall you beating me with a lute, terrible business that so what say you and I forget this eh?’

‘Fourteen?’

‘Fifteen in a week’

‘Where’s your father then, I’ll have a talk with him, see if we can’t get ye back to the barracks for some words’

‘Ah. Where is he indeed? The Gods only know. Mother told me he was the adventurous sort, perhaps called out to… ‘I took a look around for the first thing that inspired me ‘The sea,’ I gave a false wistfulness to my look ‘A man of action, or so I was led to believe’

‘Yer mother then’

Crestfallen, I embodied that in the moment ‘Themsen’s’

He gave a booming laugh ‘Well ‘mon then whoreson, let’s see yer mammy’.

. . .

I sat on the stool outside my mother’s room, separated by only a thin veil. I heard screams, wails and guttural whimpers. False, undoubtedly, but the poet in me believed some of them were real. Perhaps love was blossoming under this very roof as I wasted what may have been my last day a free man? Mostly though, I heard my mother’s voice, disappointed, pleading, and trying to pierce the steely demeanour of my captor.

‘Just a few questions then, and can I speak to my boy? I’ll clout him if you’ll let me.’

‘The sooner we get this done with the better, but aye, I’ll give ye a minute. Just bring him right out when yer finished alright?’

She did clout me. My mother was young, I suppose, but in her profession even the young were old. Past thirty she was near enough the mother of the brothel, still, she was pretty, and I was told by my bolder patrons that she saw enough coin coming her way. It didn’t make our lentils and porridge taste that much sweeter for knowing, I’ll admit.

She gave me a mournful look, grey eyes full of pity, disappointment, and yes, probably resentment. I was her one thing that she had to put her time in, to make all of this, some of it, any of it worth it in the slightest. And I had piss on my pants and a watchman outside.

‘Oh Jack, I love you son but you’re a bloody ejit. What happened?’

‘I had a bit too much to drink is all. I know I know I know I know, you don’t want me drinking but it was in good company see? Fisherman, good man, brings in shoal, that’s worth a fair bit aye? He said he’d be happy enough to take me on a fish- ‘

‘Trawl’

‘Trawl, aye, and he said I could play for some of the fishermen, trawlermen, whogivesashit mammy, and I’d be paid a coin or two for every pound of shoal I could bring in on top of the money I’d make for barding, singing, ah you know the business’

‘Jack’

‘Mammy’

‘Shoal isn’t a fish, it’s a collective for fish. I didn’t pay for that tutor, so you wouldn’t even know your fish from your fucking nouns, and I didn’t pay so you could waste your days strumming a lute for some trawlerman as he brings in something that’d be worth what? A hundred at the market? Hundred fifty in winter maybe split between five?’

‘Six with me, and Jonathan says two hundred, and he sails once a week, two days is all, I could still do some of the singing and all that in the taverns til’ I find something better here. But mammy, I’m trying. I’m the son of- well you know Lord Bartle isn’t like to let me squire for him or any of his pasty cunts-for-kids, and I dunno what else you want honestly. Fishing’s good. Honest, aye? I’m not going to be spending my days in the barracks if I’m doing honest work’

‘Honest work is for honest men Jack, and I’ve never met a bigger liar in my life’

‘Mam!’

‘Not a bad thing. All the good heroes tell a fib every once in a while, remember? You really ought to keep trying for the squire role, big man on top says he’s holding a melee, twelve to fifteen, whoever wins gets to squire for his eldest. Stick to that, boy. You’re strong, betcha’ Jonathan saw that when he said he’d like a hand, but don’t let yourself sink to a life like – like me Jack. You deserve better. Jack for the gods sakes, I deserve better. I’ll not eek another year. Stay out of trouble, hear me? Answer the man’s questions, get your stick and practice, if you don’t make the melee you can join fish and sing all you like, but try. Alright?’

There was no arguing her. She was right, and I knew it ‘Alright mammy’.

I rushed down the stairs as Themsen gave me a shout, didn’t hear him right but he was probably wishing me luck.

‘Run backwards through a field’a dicks ye fucking lecher of a whoremonger’. We were friends like that.

‘No, you prune of a ewe, change your bloody knickers’

‘Ah, right you are’

The Watchman’s voice came booming through the wooden entrance door, left ajar

‘Come out now, I’ve wasted enough time’

‘Run backwards through a field’a dicks ye fucking lecher of a watchman’ shouted one of the whores, errant in the lounge.

Funny kind of family you find, in a brothel.

. . .

The Watchman’s name was Darren, and we sat in a rather dour room. Wooden panels, single candle on a trestle-table, dark besides. Bars on the heavy wooden doors where they’d have put glass in richer districts with less thieves and murderers taking up residence.

Well, convicted ones, at least.

I wasn’t alone besides the watchman, there was a scribe who was meant to record everything I said, I asked him how he wrote fast enough, if there was any code or something, seemed fascinating is all, I said. He just shrugged and said he writes what he can and fills in the blanks later. Bit of a shit system if you’re asking me, but they weren’t as Darren reminded me, and I suppose the real justice, real codes were for proper scribes in proper courts and all that nonsense. This was probably the only watchman who could read.

‘Serjeant Darren Axewit interviewing a Jack Hewler as suspect for the looting of Howe’s Jeweller’s on Bartle Row on the fifth day of the Month of the Bear Twelve-Fourteen AE. Before we begin, Master Hewler, do you have any questions’

Your mouth gets you into trouble, child. True enough.

‘Nah—Meaning no, obviously’ I gave a weak chuckle ‘Don’t write that, the Nah bit, or the chuckle, mind, any of this, really. Keep the no. Sorry.’

‘Where were you last night, Hewler?

‘I was playing for the Shoal’s Rest Inn. I uh, played about ten songs, maybe twelve, I don’t really recall, but I was only paid for ten. Still, the audience liked me well enough, so I think I played a little longer than I should have. That kept me occupied for nine to around…’ A soft drumbeat I was giving with my fingertips was cut short by a sharp cough from Darren ‘Uh half ten probably. After that I was approached by a man, maybe thirty, bearded, brown hair. Said he was a fisherman. Liked my songs I guess. Offered to buy me a drink. Said yes. Drank a lot. More than I could handle. We talked a bit about a business venture. Wanted me to be a fisherman. Said yes. Tried to get home. Didn’t. Probably two or three in the morning I fell asleep in the gutter. I awoke to Serjeant Axewit here hitting me with a l-‘

‘Ignore that bit Mikken’

‘Course of course’ Mikken said in a sing-song voice.

I threw my hands up ‘Well. That’s my story then’.

Darren sighed ‘The one yer sticking with at least. Tell me, ever been to Bartle Row?’

‘Once or twice. I was asked to open for Ernest Claxon, you don’t know him, but he’s a pretty big bard from Muras, I was really quite honoured, it was after Lord Bartle hosted him, but he still played at the Penny Cross Tavern, they couldn’t find one and I happened to be in the area so…’

‘And why did ye happen to be in the area, Jack?’

‘Ah this was about three months back, mind. But I was in the area cause mam, that’s my mother, wanted me to try for squiring one of the Lord’s sons. It didn’t really work out as well as it could’ve but ah, the kids seemed to like me well enough to tell me to try for the melee next week so that’s probably what I’m up to next to tell the truth.’ I was sweating, rambling, and all in all a bit of a mess, but Darren seemed more bored than accusatory, he probably just wanted me gone.

‘Said you agreed to be a fisherman, now a squire? Thought you were a bard? Having trouble making ends meet, Jack? Maybe needed some jewels or gold to tide things over?’

Ah shit. They want to throw someone in a prison it seems. They may not even care if it’s you that did it.

Time for an appeal of the heart. Gods help me I hope the Watchman has one.

‘Ever had a mother, Serjeant?’

He looked at me for a few seconds, then, probably deciding to humour me, gave a nod.

‘Probably had plans for you, right? Be someone, do something, might have even pointed you to a few tradesmen, or wanted you to open a farm, get married have kids, all that nonsense, aye?’

So far so silent Jack, not too late to go back.

Cowards go back.

‘Well my mam has plans for me, become a squire, maybe a knight, maybe get myself a castle if I’m good enough at knocking ponces and nonces off their horses’

A stifled laugh from Mikken gave me courage to go on.

‘Well my ma has a good heart, but I’m near fifteen and I think I have a better idea of what I’m good for than she does, gods bless her. Might be I’m meant to be a bard, I’m a half decent singer, made a few maids cry if I’m being immodest. Honestly though, there’s no money in it, and maybe there is money in a castle and all, but do you look at me and say, stalwart defender of the realm, man of virtue, Knight? I don’t think so. So, fish, aye. Decent wage if you’re decent at it, so I don’t see why I can’t keep my options open.’

It was quiet but for Mikken’s scratching until Darren gave a sigh, an apology, and escorted me out the barracks that were oh-so-nearly my prison. Warning me, telling me to stay out of trouble, and reminding me he knew where I lived (I didn’t live in the brothel, but I didn’t have the heart or inclination to tell him) he turned me out into the bustling streets of Tuvanan. My home city.

Then I saw her.

. . .

Brown hair, brown eyes, swarthy skin, with an accent that sounded like she was being prodded to finish her sentence as quickly and with as much alacrity as possible. It excited the young and wearied the old. She was tall for a girl, about five feet and eight inches, a full two inches taller than me, to my more masculine shame, though she was nineteen. I had seen the woman about, asked after her. Sometimes she had stolen my shows, and sometimes I hers. She hadn’t been long in town, perhaps two months, and I knew next to nothing about her save for her name.

‘Hullo Caillen’

‘Master Hewler, I see you’ve been given the old talking to by our brave protectors.’

‘Ah yes, lovely people. Even quite handsome with just the one candle in the cell’

She gave a good-natured laugh. A nice one. Like spring. I don’t know, I only really write songs to get girls, I have the cart before the horse in that regard I suppose. Still, she was pretty, and I was happy to finally meet her proper.

‘Well, sir, walk with me, I have a show to make.’

‘So long as it’s not at the Shoal’s Rest’ I said half-jokingly. There were only so many inns in our small city, and so far, she had stolen three from me. One for eternity, for I’m a bad loser, and two for several nights of patronage.

‘Ah, you know it then!’ Bright smile knowing exactly what she was inflicting

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me’

‘I am, actually. I’m playing Themsen’s tonight. That’s where your mother works, is it not?’

‘Ah. Yes. Word gets around, doesn’t it?’

The journey got awkward after that, pleasantries were exchanged though, and two bards walking through the streets cut a fine figure even when we weren’t on the better side of Tuvanan, so I felt I stood a little taller after my near emasculation by the hands of mother and law on that day.

We made our way through cobbled streets, crowds so thick you could scarce move, and even at the best of times the poorer alleys were hardly enough for three to walk abreast, and with stalls and crowds we slipped through, weaving sideways, ducking under crates and the less perceptive of our fellow citizens. By rights I should have been leading, it was my city, and I was the man, but Caillen was in front, still, she held my hand so that I wouldn’t lose her in the bustle. That was alright in the scheme of things.

After the better part of an hour navigating the city under the guidance of a non-native, we came upon Themsen’s, for that was closer than my own venue. I dusted off and prepared to make my goodbye.

‘Well Caillen, it was an interesting day, I’ll give you that, maybe we can talk again sometime.’

Ah the very embodiment of a gentleman. Cold, distant, and milquetoast. I’m sure she will cry into her harp for your embrace

She gave me a quizzical look, or maybe a mischievous one. I’m good at reading people, but not good at reading liars. And she was one. I knew that much.

‘You’re not coming in? I assumed you’d play here with me.’

‘Oh no, I’m flattered, but I have my own venue, If I don’t turn up they’ll geld me and make me serenade my manhood.  I’m just really not up for that when I’m hungover’

‘Jack. A proposition, then.’

‘Mother told me to not take a stranger on a proposition.’

‘Fine woman. Still, listen. If you play with me tonight, listen, joke with me, have a bit of, what is it you say here, crack?’

‘Craic. Like banter.’

‘Craic. If we have a bit of craic we’ll arrange something of an agreement, or a plan, you have some nights, some venues, I’ll do the same. No stepping on each other’s toes. I’ll have more, obviously. I’m better.’

‘Obviously’ I said. But she wasn’t. The reason she kept stealing shows from me was because she had a pretty face that was nearly noble when the patrons were in their cups. At least I was hired for being good.

‘A deal?’ Her pale hand shot out of her cloak, sort of like how those swamp monsters came from the fens. Her dressing in moss-green didn’t help the image. But I shook it.

Like a loser.

We were given a resounding welcome, not only had the baby of the brothel returned, chainless, but he had brought back a woman. I’d assumed they were just happy to see me, but Themsen shouted that verbatim. Red as the tide after a battle at sea, I was, and Caillen noticed, giving me a pinch on the cheek and scurrying off to arrange the stage as I stood there, part in shock, part in embarrassment, and yet wholly glad at being a free man, ready to relax with the people I had grown up with.

They treat you like a child because you are one Jack. So be a child for them tonight. Be one for your mother.

I stormed upstairs and entered my mother’s room without even considering that she may have had a visitor. She did not. I picked her up and showered her with kisses. ‘I told you they couldn’t have me ma, I mean, I probably did, I’m the smart sort, you always said, talked them in circles so fast they nearly ran into each other, oh and that shite the magistrates say about codes for scribes, aye, just that, shite. Man just wrote whatever he felt like, not that fast even, might as well have got me to draw them a picture, could’ve drawn them something fancy like, it would’ve got them more entertainment, fuck knows maybe a conviction’

‘Shit boy would you calm yourself and let me go!’ She said, laughing the whole time ‘I’m glad son, I thought you were meant to be playing the shoal this evening though?’

‘Ah I’m playing with Caillen downstairs, nice enough lass, offered me a fair deal, better than the Shoal so I said Aye why not? After all it’s not every day your boy escapes the clutches of evil, and hey maybe you could have a cup of wine or two to celebrate’

‘I appreciate that, but my figure…’

‘Is sung of by the bards, me, specifically. Not in a weird way though, and ah, not advertising you or anything. Ah shite I don’t sing about you ma, but you’re pretty enough to have a cup while we sing and make merry for a few, aye? And hey I don’t mean to be a boor, but I’m hungry. Haven’t eaten since last night.’

She rested her hand on my cheek, an amused smile betraying the stern woman she tried to get back into when I laid her down. ‘I’ll see you fed Jack, but I can’t join you tonight. I have work’

She must’ve seen my face drop for she hugged me fiercely ‘Any other man I’d chase away but this is important son, alright? Can’t have the two of us skipping every time we dodge misfortune.’

I gave a weary smile back ‘We’d get no work done at all’.

. . .

 By the time I had eaten, toasted bread, some red meat and butter in case you were wondering –

We weren’t

Caillen was about ready to play, so I drank a smidge of mead, to clear my throat you understand. I had no desire to drink til’ at least the dark ones came to drag us back to hell. But as soon as I took stage she took me aside ‘Most the songs I have are for one, so play second, and maybe some backing melodies, you know when they’re sang in bands?’ I gave a solemn nod ‘Cheer up boy, less work for you!’ and the merry bard took centre stage while I sat on a stool.

There’s something fitting about this you know. You reached too far and now you pay the price, second fiddle to the woman who steals coin from your pocket, food from your very mouth!

Have you ever had a voice in your head that wouldn’t quiet itself? Me neither.

I played, played well even, as she got into her eighth song she turned back to me and asked some of the patrons to put her hands together for her partner Jack Hewler. I got a smattering of applause from the patrons who weren’t too busy drinking, fondling, or gaping at the women, and of course Caillen. But still, I was given a raucous cheer from every whore in the building (Some even upstairs to my delight). It lessened the sting of the night.

Caillen for all her boasting, wasn’t all that skilled with a lute or voice. I had to lessen the intricacies of my melodies simply to save her from embarrassment. I’ll admit, I felt better for it, but it still angered me that I was losing business to her and she had the nerve to be worse than I was. Still, I played.

And played.

And played.

Is this our twelfth song? Is this why I don’t get the nights while Caillen does? And I still hadn’t sang. I have a few of what my old tutor Byleck called ‘complexes’ on me I’ll admit, but still, I turned away good coin to play here, it was becoming beyond uncouth.

Caillen’s voice was breathy after her last performance ‘And for our final song, because what better number to finish than thirteen’ Some soft laughter permeated the room ‘I would like to invite Master Jack Hewler to sing a song with me that comes from my home, but I think we all should know’.

Oh, I was wrong, she really does want to kill you.

This wasn’t good. I only really know local songs, only a few of the big ones on the continent, if she wanted to make a fool of me she was certainly putting the best foot forward.

‘You’re not there,

When I look for you

You’re hardly gone,

When I don’t.

There’s a man,

I mistook for you

Oh, gods I promised,

That I won’t’

Thank God, it’s By the narrow streets, a few words changed, but maybe it’s different where she comes from, I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine, I’ll be

Sing

‘You can’t hide it,

I’m the first one

By the stars,

I’ll be the last.

I decided,

To trek under the sun

To retake,

The roads we passed’

 And our voices joined for the chorus, prettily if I say so myself.

‘There’s no refuge,

No solace.

No Solitude,

And no peace.

So what time,

That is left to you,

Is best spent,

In the Narrow Streets’

That’s how I sang it, at least, and near every man and woman in Themsen’s. But Cuillen finished the last line different, drowned out by inebriated singing to a slow song about a broken husband going to a brothel. I’d have to ask her about her version.

But we finished with very respectable applause from everyone in the establishment, no mean feat considering it was after midnight and most were turning to bed and other more carnal vices. Still, Themsen offered to fix us a drink since we had played so well.

Cuillen, ever a warm smile, asked for ‘Just a small cup of wine, but not watered down if you don’t mind terribly’

‘And I’ll take the water you’d have put in her cup, best not to keep piling on old problems, eh?’

‘Right you are Master Hewler, right you are, get yourself a sit down so I can fuck off to bed, aye?’

And just like that, we were the last man and woman in the common room. We’d gotten about halfway through our drinks before I spoke to her.

‘Excellent as always Cuillen’

‘Sorry for shafting you with the performance’

‘Dunno what you mean’

‘You do, still it’s kind of you to say. You’re not a terrible singer yourself’

‘Careful my lady,’ I gave a mock bow from my booth ‘You’re edging closer to a compliment every day… About the song’

‘Noras Traithe. Old city of elves. Way up in the North, might’ve been held by Pherneius, some people think Ekreth’

‘Okay, gibberish’.

‘If you like. Maybe you should read a book’

‘Maybe you should tell me?’

‘It’s late, I don’t care enough, and there’s something more important’

‘More important than elves dead for a thousand years?’

‘Oh yes. Why do you think the watchman arrested you, Jack?’

Oh yes indeed. This is simply terrible news.

‘I don’t like the slant of this at all, Cuillen’

She leaned closer, smile on her face.

‘Because the person they were looking for was a bard, Jack. Lute slung over their shoulder, hood up, rummaging through the Jewellers. I even got a cloak to match the one you wore the night we first met. Shame you didn’t wear it.’

‘You got me arrested? Oh, gods is this the part you kill me for no witnesses? I don’t want to die in a brothel, at least take me to a church. Maybe a shitheap. Anywhere but here.’

Leaning back, smiling all the wider ‘Relax, you’re not going to be killed, at least not by me. I got you arrested because you’re innocent, and you can talk your way out of it. And I wanted to meet you, because I’m going to need you for what comes next.’

And just like that, Jack Hewler became a drop in a pond full of piss.

‘What… What does come next, exactly?’

Her playful voice was no hiding the rogue, but embracing it with full force, ‘Come now, Jack, don’t you want to know what I stole? Or rather, what I couldn’t. What we’re going to have to steal?’.

No Jack. Listen to me. No, no, no. You are meddling in things you don’t understand. No.

‘Yes’.