Herald of the Storm by Richard Ford Read Free Book Online

eyes in time to see the knife man collapsing sideways, blade falling from limp hand. Beside him was a hulking brute Merrick didn’t recognise, carrying a wooden cosh that he’d just used to good effect.
    The remaining henchman stumbled back, raising his hands in surrender as a second brutish thug emerged from the shadows.
    One of the new thugs seized Merrick and hauled him up. Merrick was groggy, his legs unsteady, but he still had wit enough to grasp an opportunity when he saw it – even if presented by a bull of a man who looked like he might eat Merrick’s liver as soon as look at him.
    The two thugs dragged him off as Ortes’ henchman looked on in silence, in total fear of these two behemoths. They were easily a full head taller than Merrick and twice as wide at the shoulders. A sudden ‘out of the frying pan’ feeling crept up on him. How much of a
rescue
was this?
    ‘Look, gents,’ Merrick said as they led him around a corner and down a dark alley. ‘If Shanka’s sent you, I’ve got his money. At least … in theory. There’s just a couple of arrangements I have to make to release the equity.’
    ‘Stop talking,’ said one of the brutes. Merrick wasn’t going to argue.
    They walked in silence along the back alleys, through slurry and shit, past rats and garbage. Merrick guessed that if they’d wanted him dead they would have killed him already, or just left him to Ortes’ men, so there was no point trying to escape – at least not yet.
    Eventually, and without warning, the two brutes bundled Merrick through an open doorway into a dimly lit warehouse. It seemed to contain only two large crates, which could easily have been used as man-sized cages. Some paraphernalia on the walls, difficult to recognise in the gloom, looked like farming tools, but in Merrick’s head could quite easily have been implements of torture.
    ‘Sit down,’ said one of the thugs.
    ‘But there’s no chair,’ Merrick replied, glancing around.
    He screeched suddenly as the other brute kicked him in the back of the knees and sent him sprawling.
    Before he could ask what all this was about, two figures walked from the shadows.
    The first was tall and bald, his face long and gaunt. He had something of the undertaker about him, a demeanour that was mirthless, as though he had never smiled in his life. The second was shorter and much fuller about the waist. His curly hair was receding and framed an open and strangely jovial face. This man’s welcoming smile seemed at odds with his partner’s skull-faced stare, and it did nothing to reassure Merrick. He recognised these two men instantly, and knew there was nothing to smile about.
    ‘Hello, Ryder,’ said the shorter figure.
    ‘Hello, Friedrik,’ Merrick replied, then turned quickly to his silent friend. ‘Bastian. How are you both?’
    ‘We’re very well,’ Friedrik replied. ‘Clearly much better than you.’ He glanced towards the hulking goons behind Merrick. ‘You were told to bring him here unharmed.’
    ‘That wasn’t us,’ said one of the thugs, pointing at Merrick’s torn shirt and bruised face. ‘We found him like that.’ Despite his size, he was clearly intimidated by the little man, and with good reason. Friedrik and Bastian controlled the Guild – the organisation that ran every illicit racket in Steelhaven. Nothing happened in the city without their say so. No one was mugged, extorted, pickpocketed, burgled, swindled, brutalised or murdered unless it was on their explicit orders. Working within the boundaries of Steelhaven outside the purview of the Guild carried very harsh penalties indeed.
    ‘Making friends as usual, Ryder,’ Friedrik said with a grin. ‘That’s good to see.’
    ‘I’m popular. What can I say?’
    ‘Yes, very popular. Or so we hear. Apparently Shanka the Lender wants your balls on a skewer.’
    ‘That’s just a slight misunderstanding I’m currently trying to resolve.’
    ‘Of course you are. You’ll be pleased to hear I