Litany of Winter

Some time after midnight, the wind dropped.

The loose drainpipe on the rear wall stopped rattling. Above warehouse two, the roofing settled, and for a while even the railway beyond the yard went quiet.

Severin had been listening to those noises long enough to notice when they disappeared.

He stood and stamped feeling back into his feet.

Sitting had stopped helping hours ago. Cold had worked through the soles of his boots, and his shoulders still ached from the wagons. When he curled his right hand, the split skin across his knuckles pulled beneath the ruined glove.

Severin fiddled with the two silver coins through his pocket, already spending them in his head. New gloves and a proper patch for his boots would come first. After that, maybe a few hot meals and a loaf of real bread for once, without sawdust mixed through it.

Hooded lantern in hand, he started around warehouse three.

The front of the yard was empty apart from the watchman at the distant gate. He had dragged a stool into his booth and sat with his back to the glass, the orange point of his cigarette appearing whenever he raised it.

He continued along the side wall, glancing at the paper strip across the side door to make sure it was still unbroken.

At the rear, he checked the barred windows one by one, looking for a loose bar or fresh marks around the frames. Dull warehouse light showed through the glass. He checked the drainpipe brackets and the brickwork beside them before turning the far corner.

A faint metal click came from the front, soft enough that he nearly missed it.

Severin stopped and lowered the lantern until the hood covered most of the light. He listened, but the yard stayed quiet.

He moved back the way he had come, keeping close to the brick wall.

At the corner he looked toward the front door.

It stood open by the width of a hand.

Severin stared at the door, then reached into his coat and pulled out the warehouse key.

The iron key sat cold against his palm.

”Shit.”

He closed his hand around it and crossed the remaining distance.

The lock and frame were intact. Someone had opened the door cleanly.

Severin pushed it wider with the toe of his boot. ”Hey.”

No answer.

He raised the lantern over the crates. All twelve sat where they had been left within the chalk lines, four still crossed with chains, their iron bands catching the light.

A man stood among them, half turned away with his hood up, one hand near the chain on the closest crate and a narrow metal tool in the other.

A short sword hung at his hip.

He stepped through the doorway. ”Who are you?”

The man looked over his shoulder.

He looked older than Severin had expected, around thirty, with blond hair showing beneath the hood. One eye was blue; the other was blind.

Factory work and street fights ruined plenty of eyes in Blackhaven. Severin had once seen a man take a bottle to the face outside the Crimson Lion Pub. The damage around this one looked old.

One of the stranger’s hands was covered by a dark leather glove.

His good eye moved from Severin to the open doorway behind him, and he said something Severin couldn’t understand.

”What?”

The man studied him for another second, then spoke again. This time Severin understood him, though the accent was thick enough that he couldn’t place where it came from.

”Leave.”

”What the fuck are you doing in here?”

”I told you to leave, boy.”

Severin caught the accent this time. ”Imperial?”

”You’re a bit slow. I’m surprised you don’t speak Vhaldrik.”

”How did you get in here?”

The man turned back toward the crate. ”Final warning. Go home.”

Severin glanced toward the open door, toward the watchman’s booth at the distant gate. Pike had told him to shout first.

He could shout for him, but then he would have to explain how somebody had opened the door while he was walking the building, with his name already on the sheet. Severin had dealt with thieves before.

”Who sent you?”

The stranger did not answer.

Severin took another step inside.

The stranger’s attention moved past him.

A slow scrape came from one of the chained crates. Severin stopped as something dragged across the inside of the wood, then struck the inner wall once.

The stranger turned fully toward the crate, and Severin followed his gaze to the chain, which hung still.

”What the fuck was that?”

The stranger was already moving closer to it.

”Stay out of this.”

Severin’s attention returned to the metal tool in the man’s hand.

”Out of what?”

”You do not want to be here.”

”You think I want this? They hired me.”

”Whatever they paid you, it’s not worth this.”

”Easy for you to say. Put the tool down and maybe we can work this out.”

The man looked down at the tool as though he’d forgotten he was holding it, then slipped it into his coat.

”That’s better. Let’s talk outside.”

The stranger scanned the warehouse with his good eye and kept silent.

Severin set the lantern down beside the door, then reached into his pocket and took out the folding knife.

He thumbed the blade open, but it stuck halfway in the cold and he had to pull it the rest of the way with his other hand.

The stranger watched him open the knife, his sword still in its scabbard.

”Put that away.”

”I told you to get the fuck out of here.”

”Idiot.”

Severin moved first, flashing the knife high before driving his boot toward the stranger’s knee.

The man shifted aside, caught Severin above the wrist, and struck his upper arm hard enough to deaden it.

Severin tried to wrench free, but the grip moved with him, turned his shoulder and pulled him off balance.

A boot hooked behind his ankle, and he hit the floor on his hip and elbow. The knife skittered from his hand.

Severin rolled toward him, but the stranger stepped back out of reach.

”Stay down.”

Severin got to one knee, his right arm tingling from shoulder to fingertips.

”I’m not done yet.”

Severin came up and drove himself forward, going for the body with both hands before the stranger could draw his sword.

The sword stayed at his hip as the stranger caught Severin behind the neck, turned with the rush and sent him shoulder first into a timber post.

Pain shot down Severin’s arm as he threw an elbow backward and missed. A fist drove in below his ribs, emptying his lungs, before a shove sent him down beside the chalk line.

Severin stayed there long enough to drag a breath back into his lungs.

The stranger’s boots stopped a few feet away. ”Boy, I’m trying very hard not to hurt you. Why do you keep getting up?”

Severin spat onto the floor. ”They paid me to guard it. I’m not walking away.”

The stranger glanced toward the door. ”Call the watchman and you’ll get him killed too.”

Severin pulled himself upright using the post. ”Fuck you.”

”You think I’m joking? Whatever’s in these crates isn’t worth dying for.”

Severin lunged for the knife. His fingers reached the handle, but the stranger’s boot came down on the blade before he could lift it.

Punching upward instead, he caught only the stranger’s coat as the man leaned away.

The return strike landed across Severin’s ear, and his hearing collapsed into a dull whine. He stumbled sideways, but the stranger caught him by the coat before he hit the crates and pulled him back.

The movement exposed a black pin beneath his collar, an open eye set within a jagged crown with thorns crossing beneath it.

Severin drove his forehead into the man’s face hard enough to make him curse and release him.

Grabbing the front of the man’s coat, he drove a short punch into the ribs and swung again.

The stranger drove his forearm across Severin’s wrist, forcing his hand open, then turned at the hip and swept his legs out from under him.

The warehouse roof moved in and out of focus.

The stranger touched his mouth and looked at the blood on his fingers. ”Enough.”

Severin rolled over and got one foot beneath him. ”Go to hell.”

Using the post, he forced himself upright, his left knee threatening to buckle. Pins still ran through his right arm, and warm blood tracked from his ear toward his jaw.

The stranger glanced toward the door, wiped the blood from his mouth with his sleeve, and gave Severin room to stand.

He bent for the folding knife and snatched it clear before the stranger could pin the blade again, slashing as he came up.

The stranger stepped back, but the blade still caught the cloth at his sleeve.

He pressed after the stranger, keeping him away from the crates, then slashed and punched for his throat, but the stranger caught his wrist.

Severin’s kick caught the stranger’s shin and drew a grunt, but before he could follow up, the man drove a shoulder into his chest and sent him backward through the warehouse doorway.

His heel caught the bottom of the doorway and he went down outside, the lantern spilling weak light across the stones beside him.

The stranger followed him outside, but Severin was back on his feet before he could close the distance.

He swung the knife low, but the stranger caught his wrist again. A sharp twist broke Severin’s grip, and the knife dropped to the stones.

The man kicked the knife away across the stones. ”Stay down this time.”

Severin hit him in the stomach with what strength he had left.

Backing up a step, the man avoided two more swings before reaching for the hilt of his short sword.

Reaching for the man’s wrist, Severin took the sword’s pommel across the side of the head.

His legs folded, one knee striking the stones before he caught himself on both hands. The stones blurred beneath him.

Severin tried to push himself up, but his right arm buckled. Through the open warehouse door, the man stepped past the lantern and turned toward the twelve marked crates.