‘I know, but it’ll make it harder for them to aim.’
The two constables nearest me started jabbing at me with their pikes. The one on the left, the smaller of the two, had a face like an angry ferret. The one on the right was taller and stocky, reminding me more of a bear than a man. I parried the point of Ferret’s pike and grabbed onto the shaft with my free hand as I swung my blade back to block Big Bear’s weapon half a second later. Ferret tried to pull his pike back, but I grounded myself and used my greater weight to prevent him from recovering it. The frustration on his face would have been rewarding if another crossbow bolt hadn’t shot just past my ear, landing just between us. I used the momentary confusion to knock the shaft of Big Bear’s pike downwards with the hilt of my rapier, then stepped on the shaft, driving the point to the ground. When Ferret tried pulling again I leapt towards them both, using the momentum of Ferret’s efforts to help me bridge the gap between the tip of my sword and Big Bear’s throat. As the big man fell to the ground, detaching himself from my blade, I drove the point into Ferret’s shoulder and he too fell to the ground, but with considerably more screaming.
Another bolt forced me back under the dubious protection of the awning, and I took the opportunity to see what else was waiting for me. Fortunately, the other guards closest to me were a little warier now, so I took advantage of their hesitation to see how Brasti was doing. I never bother checking on Kest – watching him fight just makes me feel like an awkward teenager fumbling his first kiss.
Brasti was trying to edge away from the constables, but there wasn’t much room to move without leaving the cover of the awning and becoming a target for the crossbows.
‘Damn it, Falcio, this is all your fault,’ he grumbled.
‘If we die now, Brasti, I’m going to order Kest to tell everyone you went to your death poor, hated and rated a lousy lover by women everywhere.’
‘You know I can’t fight pikes with this damned thing,’ Brasti shouted back as he swung his sword in an awkward arc in front of him. He was a good enough swordsman, considering he almost never practised, but fighting two or three men with pikes is hard for anyone. Of course, if he’d had his bow, it would have been a different matter entirely …
‘Kest!’ I shouted, ‘help Brasti get clear.’
Kest glanced at me as he parried a frantic attack from the constable in front of him and I knew he’d understood. But, ‘Crossbows, Falcio,’ he reminded me as he slipped under the attack of the man in front of him to join Brasti.
Damn it, I thought, he’s right. If Brasti made a run for the horses, the men on the second floor would aim straight for him. They needed a more attractive target.
‘Fine. Do it – now!’ And with that, I pulled a throwing knife from the bracer inside my coat, stepped out from the awning and threw it straight at the senior constable on the second floor. The blade jammed into the windowsill not six inches from his face and I cursed whichever Saint was supposed to be helping my aim.
The senior constable was an experienced man; he ignored the knife and took aim. I jumped to my left just as the bolt hit the ground between my feet. Without hesitating, he put down the crossbow and took the loaded one from the guard next to him, but something in the middle of the courtyard caught his attention – it must have been Brasti – and I saw him reposition his weapon. I threw another knife at him, making it clear that I was the more pressing threat, and this knife did a better job than the first and hit him in the shoulder. Unfortunately for me, he stumbled and let loose the bolt. I had my coat open so that I could reach my knives, and with the luck afforded me by Gods and Saints alike, the wayward bolt stuck into my exposed thigh.
‘Got you, Trattari bastard,’ the senior constable cried as he fell backwards into Tremondi’s room.
There was a yell behind me and I turned, cursing at the pain shooting through my leg, to find one of the remaining constables had his pike aimed squarely at my chest and was ready to strike. I swung my sword arm towards the pike, knowing it wouldn’t be fast enough, only to see the shaft of an arrow appear through the man’s neck. He fell to the ground in front of me and I looked around to see where the next attack would come from – but there was no next attack. There were two other bodies on the ground with arrows in them next to the two I had slain, and the three remaining men were lying dead or wounded by Kest’s blade.
‘The crossbows have stopped,’ he said, stepping out from under the awning.
‘That means they’re coming back down. Time to go.’
‘That was a good idea, Falcio, covering Brasti so he could get to his bow. I hadn’t thought of that.’
I leaned my hand on his shoulder, taking some of the weight off my wounded leg. ‘Kest, next time you think the most optimistic outcome possible is everyone but you dying, try to think harder, okay?’
We joined Brasti and the horses at the other end of the courtyard and I thanked Saint Shiulla-who-bathes-with-beasts that the horses hadn’t been hit during the fight. While Brasti went to recover his arrows, I wondered out loud who had set this up.
‘Gods, Kest, when did it become so easy to believe the worst in us?’
‘Times have changed, Falcio,’ he said, pointing behind me.
I turned to see Brasti, reclaimed arrows in one hand, searching the bodies of the fallen men with the other.
‘Brasti, stop stealing from the constables,’ I shouted.
He looked sullen, but nonetheless ran to his horse. ‘Fine,’ he grumbled. ‘Wouldn’t want to take anything from the nice men who were just doing their jobs trying to kill us.’ He hopped up on his brown mare. ‘I mean, that wouldn’t just be dishonourable. It would be – oh my Gods and Saints – impolite.’
‘Interesting,’ Kest said, taking the reins and pulling his horse around.
‘What?’ Brasti asked.
Kest pointed at me. ‘I’ve just realised: he talks too much before a fight and you talk too much after. I wonder what it means?’
He kicked his horse and took off down the street, Brasti following behind. I looked back at the dead men on the ground and wondered how long the Greatcoats could last before we became what people said we were: Trattari.