prospects. So easily accepted the change that made her a servant in the keep. A servant. I clenched my teeth and kept walking.
I wandered the town aimlessly. Even in my bleak mood, I noticed how much it had changed in the last six months. Even on this cold winter day, it bustled. The construction of the ships had brought more folk, and more folk meant more trade. I stopped in a tavern where Molly, Dirk, Kerry and I had used to share a bit of brandy now and then. The cheapest blackberry brandy was usually what we got. I sat by myself and drank my short beer in silence, but around me tongues wagged and I learned much. It was not just the ship construction which had bolstered Buckkeep Town’s prosperity; Verity had put out a call for sailors to man his warships. The call had been amply answered, by men and women from all of the Coastal Duchies. Some came with a grudge to settle, to avenge those killed or Forged by the Raiders. Others came for the adventure, and the hope of booty, or simply because, in the ravaged villages, they had no other prospects. Some were from fisher or merchant families, with sea time and water skills. Other were the former shepherds and farmers of ravaged villages. It mattered little. All had come to Buckkeep Town, eager to shed Red Ship blood.
For now, many were housed in what had once been warehouses. Hod, the Buckkeep Weapons-master, was giving them weapons training, winnowing out those she thought might be suitable for Verity’s ships. The others would be offered hire as soldiers. These were the extra fold that swelled the town and crowded the inns and taverns and eating places. I heard complaints, too, that some of those who came to man the warships were immigrant Outislanders, displaced from their own land by the very Red Ships that now menaced our coasts. They, too, claimed to be eager for revenge, but few Six Duchies folk trusted them, and some businesses in town would not sell to them. It gave an ugly charged undercurrent to the busy tavern. There was a snickering discussion of an Outislander who had been beaten on the docks the day before. No one had called the town patrol. When the speculation became even uglier, that these Outislanders were all spies and that burning them out would be a wise and sensible precaution, I could no longer stomach it, and left the tavern. Was there nowhere I could go to be free of suspicions and intrigues, if only for an hour?
I walked alone through the wintry streets. A storm was blowing up. The merciless wind prowled the twisting streets, promising snow. The same angry cold twisted and churned inside me, switching from anger to hatred to frustration and back to anger again, building to an unbearable pressure. They had no right to do this to me. I had not been born to be their tool. I had a right to live my life freely, to be who I was born to be. Did they think they could bend me to their will, use me however they would, and I would never retaliate? No. A time would come. My time would come.
A man hurried toward me, face shrouded in his hood against the wind. He glanced up and our eyes met. He blanched and turned aside, to hurry back the way he had come. Well, and so he might. I felt my anger building to an unbearable heat. The wind whipped at my hair and sought to chill me, but I only strode faster, and felt the strength of my hatred grow hotter. It lured me and I followed it like the scent of fresh blood.
I turned a corner and found myself in the market. Threatened by the coming storm, the poorer merchants were packing up their goods from their blankets and mats. Those with stalls were fastening their shutters. I strode past them. People scuttled out of my way. I brushed past them, not caring how they stared.
I came to the animal vendor’s stall, and stood face to face with myself. He was gaunt, with bleak dark eyes. He glared at me balefully, and the waves of hatred pulsing out from him washed over me in greeting. Our hearts beat to the same rhythm. I felt my upper lip twitch, as if to snarl up and bare my pitiful human teeth. I straightened my features, battened my emotion back under control. But the caged wolf cub with the dirty grey coat stared up at me, and lifted his black lips to reveal all his teeth. I hate you. All of you. Come, come closer. I’ll kill you. I’ll rip out your throat after I hamstring you. I’ll feast on your entrails. I hate you.
‘You want something?’
‘Blood,’ I said quietly. ‘I want your blood.’
‘What?’
I jerked my eyes from the wolf up to the man. He was greasy and dirty. He stank, by El, how he reeked. I could smell sweat and rancid food and his own droppings on him. He was swaddled in poorly-cured hides, and the stench of them hung about him as well. He had little ferret eyes, cruel dirty hands and a oak stick bound in brass that hung at his belt. It was all I could do to keep from seizing that hated stick and splattering his brains out with it. He wore thick boots on his kicking feet. He stepped too close to me and I gripped my cloak to keep from killing him.
‘Wolf,’ I managed to get out. My voice sounded guttural, choking. ‘I want the wolf.’
‘You certain, boy? He’s a mean one.’ He nudged the cage with his foot and I sprang at it, clashing my teeth against the wooden bars, bruising my muzzle again, but I didn’t care, if I could get just one grip on his flesh, I’d tear it loose or never let go.
No. Get back, get out of my head. I shook my head to clear it. The merchant regarded me strangely. ‘I know what I want.’ I spoke flatly, refusing the wolf’s emotions.
‘Do you, eh?’ The man stared at me, judging my worth. He’d charge what he thought I could afford. My outgrown clothes didn’t please him, nor my youth. But I surmised he’d had the wolf for a while. He’d hoped to sell him as a cub. Now, with the wolf needing more food and not getting it, the man would probably take whatever he could get. As well for me. I didn’t have much. ‘What do you want him for?’ the man asked casually.
‘Pits,’ I said nonchalantly. ‘He’s scrawny but there might be a bit of sport left in him.’
The wolf suddenly flung himself against the bars, jaws wide, teeth flashing. I’ll kill them, I’ll kill them all, rip their throats out, tear their bellies open …
Be silent, if you want your freedom. I mentally gave him a push and the wolf leaped back as if stung by a bee. He retreated to the far corner of his cage and cowered there, teeth bared, but tail down between his legs. Uncertainty flooded him.
‘Dog fights, eh? Oh, he’ll put up a good fight.’ The merchant nudged at the cage again with a thick boot, but the wolf didn’t respond. ‘He’ll win you a lot of coin, this one will. He’s meaner than a wolverine.’ He kicked the cage, harder. The wolf cowered smaller.
‘Oh, he certainly looks as if he will,’ I said disdainfully. I turned aside from the wolf as if I’d lost interest. I studied the caged birds behind him. The pigeons and doves looked as if they were cared for, but two jays and a crow were crowded into a filthy cage littered with rotting scraps of meat and bird droppings. The crow looked like a beggar man in black tatters of feathers. Pick at the bright bug, I suggested to the birds. Perhaps you’ll find a way out. The crow perched wearily where he was, head sunk deep in his feathers, but one jay fluttered to a higher perch and began to tap and tug at the metal pin that held the cage fastened. I glanced back at the wolf.
‘I hadn’t intended to fight him anyway. I was only going to throw him to the dogs to warm them up. A bit of blood primes them for a fight.’
‘Oh, but he’d make you a fine fighter. Here, look at this. This is what he done to me but a month gone. And me trying to give him food when he went for me.’
He rolled back a sleeve to bare a grimy wrist striped with livid slashes, but half-healed still.
I leaned over as if mildly interested. ‘Looks infected. Think you’ll lose your hand?’
‘S’not infected. Just slow healing, that’s all. Look here, boy, a storm’s coming up. I
