The Parade (Highmast Series)

The harbour-city streets were bustling today. The hawkers squawked out their wares discordantly, battling to raise their voices over one another, as the noise swelled like lapping waves through the city. The crowds gleamed and shone, polished buttons and boots, as they elbowed each other for a good spot along the parade path far below her. Maggi sat swinging her legs on the rooftop of the Hollow Reed Ale-House, watching them swarm. The sunshine beat down on her brightly, and she swung her legs idly against the wood and wattle walls, bathing in the glow.

It was nice to be topside, for once. If Flynn caught her up here on the rooftops. he’d skin her, of course. She ought to be down there, with the other sewer-gang kids, rummaging through carelessly guarded pockets and scrabbling for dropped treasures amongst the crowds, but honestly, it wasn’t every day you saw a king’s funeral. There would be time enough for picking pockets later. She ran her eyes over the crowds. Most of the nobler houses had deferred to the solemnity of the occasion by wearing black, but the poor folk of Highmast Harbour couldn’t afford special clothes for mourning. They’d be wearing them nigh on every day if they did—there wasn’t a man-jack of them down there who hadn’t lost someone.

She glanced down at her own clothes and grimaced. They’d certainly seen better days. Nothing stayed clean down in the sewers, and she’d had a growth spurt recently, making the tunic too tight and small, even for her gangly limbs.

Maggi did not know how old she was. Nine or ten, maybe. She liked to tell people she was twelve, because it was the oldest you could be before they started looking to sell you off for a bed-slave or a navvy, but Flynn sneered every time he heard her. Smallest looking twelve year old I’ve ever seen, he would laugh cruelly, his fingers jabbing painfully between her ribs. We could drown you in a bleeding tea-cup.

Maggi did not like Flynn. She didn’t know anyone who did actually. They feared him, certainly. Respected him and the iron fist he ran the western sewer gangs with, but no one actually liked him.

Maybe this time I won’t go back. The thought sat idly in her mind, as she tapped her bare feet against the walls. She knew she was lying to herself, even as she thought it. There was nowhere else she could go. Sometimes, when she was feeling stubborn or obstinate, she would stay away for days at a time, sheltering in doorways and picking stray scraps of food off of Ale-House tables, but she always ended up back under Flynn’s merciless care in the end.

A flurry of horns distracted her from her morose thoughts and she scrambled up to her feet to get a better look. She felt her breath go out of her as the funeral parade turned the corner. It was amazing.

Magewitches, elaborately arrayed in their finery, strode through the crowds, spreading charmed petals that turned into coal-black butterflies and songbirds as they were thrown skywards. Knights, in gleaming black armour, rode equally black chargers. They must have been glamour-charmed for the occasion too, Maggi guessed. She didn’t think the palace kept scores of black horses on hand just for occasions like this. Her bony fingers tightened over the edge of the rooftop as she leant forwards, her eyes wider than moons as she stared. Singers, harmonising their mournful melodies, danced down the middle of the wide, cobble-stoned street, singing of the glories of the passed king, hoping he would join his ancestors in the halls of glory at last—and then, following on the heels of them, pulled by six shire horses, plumed and polished to perfection, was the hearse-boat. It was larger than some houses, built of burnished black wood and gleaming golden detailing. The coffin in the centre of it, hidden beneath a sumptuous red velvet cloth, seemed tiny in comparison. And they are just going to burn it in the harbour?

Abruptly, a shot of anger ricocheted through her at the ridiculousness of it all, and all the grandeur which had left her feeling awed and breathless suddenly made her feel furious. This man is spending more after his death than his people will ever see in their whole lifetimes. His people are starving, and they are throwing money at his corpse?

There was a soft sound behind her, and she whirled guiltily around, as if the guards might be coming to take her, having heard her treacherous thoughts lingering in her mind. A small, lithe woman with onyx black hair was crouching there on the edge of the roof behind her, frozen in place, having scaled the guttering. She clearly hadn’t realised Maggi had been up here.

The woman rose slowly to her feet. Her eyes were as dark as her hair and shrewd, as they skated over Maggi’s ill-fitting clothes, messy braids, scrawny frame and bare, dirty feet. They narrowed in Maggi’s direction. She jerked her head sideways, back the way she had come.

“Scram, kid.”

On another day, Maggi might have done. She had good instincts for people who were trouble, and this woman set all of them to flaring, but she was feeling cross and fractious and her stubborn side was coming out all too firmly. She folded her arms.

“I was here first.”

The woman withdrew a knife. “I won’t ask you again.”

But Maggi just snorted. “I’m from the sewer gangs. A little blade like that doesn’t scare me.”

It did, actually, but she’d be demon-damned before she let the stranger see it. The stranger stared at her for a moment more and then slid the knife away, a small smile appearing on her face.

“Little brat,” she said, almost affectionately. “Alright, you can stay. But keep quiet and don’t disturb me—and if you breathe a word of this to anyone I will kill you.”

Maggi nodded wordlessly and a thrill shot through her as the woman approached, slipping effortlessly down to a kneeling position of the roof beside her. Maggi slipped a sideways glance over at the woman surreptitiously. She is so graceful. She is exactly what I want to be when I grow up. Maggi tried to straighten her posture a bit, mimicking the lithe easiness with which the woman moved.

Sensing her gaze, the woman flicked a glance in her direction, and a smirk balanced on the edge of her lips.

“Entertaining you, am I?”

Maggi felt herself burning and hastily glanced back at the crowds beneath, letting her scrawny body slump back into its usual huddle.

“Sewer-kid, you said?” The woman asked casually, also scanning through the swarming masses with a quick and professional gaze. “The North side or the West?”

“West. Flynn’s lot.”

The woman grimaced. “I never had much time for Flynn, and you can tell him I said so. That man would eat his own liver if he thought he could get an iron coin for doing so.”

Maggi felt her grin growing.

“Been there long?” The woman asked.

“As long as I can remember.”

“Aye, that’s usually the way of it. Most stay there too, ‘til the noose or the harbour claims them.”

“Not me. I’m going to get out on my own.” Maggi jutted her chin out defiantly, her scraggy arms crossed over her scraggier chest. The woman raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Yes? Going to start your own gang are you?”

“I’m not going to live in the sewers for the rest of my life, that’s all I know.”

The woman laughed again. “I believe you, kid.”

“What about you? What do you do?”

“I keep my own secrets from impudent whelps, that’s what I do. The prince hasn’t been by yet?”

“No. Just the king’s hearse, the singers and the magewitches.”

The woman nodded in satisfaction. “Good. I was detained by the guards on the way up, I thought I might have missed him. I tell you what, this’ll be a day to remember, kid. It’s not often you see such a sight like this in Highmast Harbour. Something to tell your grandkids, maybe. I was there.”

Maggi shrugged. Maybe, but grandkids felt a long way off yet. Life was too uncertain to plan that far ahead.

“Hey, hold that thought,” the woman said sharply as the horns sounded again, and the prince—well, the king now, Maggi supposed—came riding up behind the disappearing hearse. Maggi stared at him, leaning over the edge of the rooftop to get a better view. Prince Odoro rarely left the safety of the palace. They said that there had been an assassination attempt on him as a young man, and he had been barricading himself within in ever-growing paranoia, ever since.

Rumours spoke of Odoro as a handsome, charming man, but Maggi found herself somewhat disappointed in him. He was past his prime, his once muscular build now running to fat that even his well-tailored clothes couldn’t hide. From her elevated position, she could see the bald spot growing like a crop-circle through his thick golden thatch. She cast an eye over at her strange companion, to see how the woman was taking in the prince’s appearance but found the woman wasn’t paying attention to the stately procession beneath.

She had withdrawn a mageball from her bag and cradled it between both hands, her eyes flickering shut, the unfamiliar syllables muttered in a harsh litany beneath her breath. Maggi felt her eyes go wide. Mageballs were expensive magics. Whoever this woman was, she was clearly a professional.

As the final syllable dropped away, the mageball glowed into life, a deep, thrumming crimson. It glowed out from between her fingers, illuminating the crags of her face in deep, demonic shadows.

“What did you say your name was again, kid?” The woman asked, still cradling the humming magic.

“Maggi.”

“Well, Maggi. If I was you, I’d run. Things are about to get messy.” The woman smiled, a bright and mischievous smile, as if this whole thing was a joke, and then hurled the mageball over the tops of the crowd hard. It splintered against an invisible shield surrounding the new king, sending sparks of bright red light like dancing flames, skywards. The horse he was riding reared back frightened, and the crowds screamed. Another red spark flew from another rooftop from the other side of the street—Maggi had not even seen anyone hiding there—but she didn’t have time to explore it further. The woman had already grabbed Maggi’s wrist and was leaping from the top of the Ale-House roof in one fluid motion, dragging Maggi with her. They landed with a thump and a roll on the cobblestones beneath and the woman darted away. Maggi, panicking, chased after her.

The streets had descended into chaos. Everyone was screaming and fleeing, barging and pushing their way forwards, trying to get away. Flashes of red still lit up the sky behind her, as more mageballs burst against the charmed shields protecting the prince, and Maggi kept her eyes on the disappearing figure of the woman darting with reckless haste through the screaming crowds. Maggi was quick, though. She had had to be, growing up in the sewer gangs. Horses were braying out in panic and the sound of thundering hoof-prints echoed through the streets as they charged down the gathered crowds in their fear. Guards were trying to stem the flood of people stampeding down the streets, but they were being ignored as Highmast fell into mayhem.

Maggi slipped and screamed. She fell hard, the ground thundering up to meet her, and footsteps stomped hard on her as the crowds trampled her down. She screamed, curling up in a tiny ball, trying to protect her battered head with her bird-like arms. I’m going to die down here.

Suddenly, strong arms wound themselves around her, hauling her up to her feet. The woman had come back for her. She had come back. Tucking her up underneath her arm and bullying her way through the surging tidal wave of crowds, the woman dragged her into the safety of a doorway, battening her down against the screaming, fleeing horde, sheltering her tiny, trembling frame with her own body until the worst of the crowds had passed. Maggi held on tightly, her fingers clutching through the fabric of the woman’s tunic as though she might be swept away completely if she let go.

Eventually, the tide slowed a little, and the woman released her.

“You alright, kid?” Her dark eyes darted between Maggi’s in concern. “Thought I’d lost you for a moment then. I would have thought a sewer kid like you would have known better than to lose your feet at a moment like that.” She grinned, but it sat falsely on her mouth.

She’d been worried about me. The thought made Maggi smile despite the blood painting her mouth pink. If I ink-dyed my hair black too, we could almost pass for mother and daughter. She didn’t know where the thought came from, but she couldn’t dislodge it from her chest once it had sprouted there.

“Maggi?” The woman insisted. “Are you alright? You’re just staring. You’re not saying anything. Can you still talk? Did you hit your head?”

Maggi felt herself blushing.

“Why?” she panted, trying in vain to get her breathing back under control. “Why did you do that? Why did you throw that mageball at the prince?”

The woman looked around hurriedly, hushing her.

“You must have known he’d have magic wards,” Maggi insisted, dropping her voice low so that only the woman could hear it. “He’s the prince. He’s not going out without protection.”

The woman grinned. “Little known fact about magic, Maggi, you can only perform one spell at a time. So whilst his magewitches are all out there casting magical protection rites to shield him from the mageballs, they cannot cast physical protection rites to shield him from a simple dagger.”

Maggi felt her eyes grow wide.

“It was a distraction,” she realised aloud. “You were just the diversion!” She felt her admiration swelling once more. “Whoever is paying you must have deep pockets.”

“The woman just shrugged. “Odoro is less popular than even his father was. Someone wanted to nip his tyranny in the bud before it took too deep a hold. Highmast needs better leadership than that.”

“And Odoro is the only heir,” Maggi said slowly. “What will happen now? Who will be king now?”

The woman just shrugged. “Hardly our problem, kid. We just do what we’re paid to.” She leant back a little, her eyes running over Maggi shrewdly again. “You were serious about getting out of the sewers?” she asked. Maggi felt a thrill of hope running through her. It clogged in her throat, making her unable to talk, so she just nodded wordlessly, her eyes wide and shining.

“How’d you like to come back with me, then? We’re looking for a new apprentice.”

“I would love that more than anything,” choked out Maggi hoarsely, and the woman laughed.

”Good, With a civil war brewing, I imagine things are going to get a lot more interesting around here.” She slung an arm over Maggi’s shoulders and steered her through the babbling crowds, slipping in amongst the frightened pedestrians easily, just one more face in the crowd. “Oh,” she added quietly, the words barely audible above the furore. “By the way, my name’s Hastra. Welcome to the Rat’s Nest, kid.”