Free Lord of Ashes (Steelhaven: Book Three) by Richard Ford Page A

said, sounding all small and mousey, but then what in the hells was she supposed to sound like? ‘But how do I know who I’m looking for?’
    Fuck, Rag, don’t ask questions. Are you trying to get yourself offed?
    Bastian regarding her with those blank eyes, as though mulling over whether her question was important enough to answer. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘They’ll find you. Just make sure you get to the other side of the Rafts and don’t lose that message.’
    ‘I won’t,’ Rag replied, and she bloody meant it. Right now she would rather have lost her own head, though if she fucked this up that’s exactly what might happen.
    Bastian didn’t say nothing else. Didn’t acknowledge her or wish her luck or none of that shit. He just turned and made his way out of there, with the hardest men Rag had ever seen moving out of his way like he was ten foot tall and covered in spikes.
    Once he’d gone, Rag went back to the corner of the room, in no mood to get in anyone’s way. She looked down at the roll of parchment still held in her hand. The black seal was blank, the paper crisp. For a moment Rag had a suicidal thought and almost considered breaking the seal and having a look. Who would know, anyway? When she eventually delivered it on the other side of the Rafts she could just say it happened by accident.
    But what if Bastian found out? And she knew he would, he had his ways. Her life wouldn’t be worth living.
    ‘What’s that?’
    Rag turned to see Yarrick looking down at the parchment in her hand.
    ‘Message,’ she replied. ‘Bastian gave it me to deliver over the Rafts.’
    Yarrick raised an eyebrow, half impressed, but clearly half glad it wasn’t him had been given the job.
    ‘What’s in it?’ he asked.
    ‘Dunno.’ She held out the parchment to him. ‘But you’re free to open it and have a look.’
    Yarrick held up his hands like he was surrendering. ‘Not a fucking chance,’ he said. ‘Who’s it for?’
    ‘Dunno that neither,’ said Rag. ‘But Bastian reckons there’s someone waiting over the other side of the Rafts and he’ll know me when he sees me.’
    ‘Sounds fucking dodgy to me,’ said Yarrick, a hint of sympathy in his voice.
    ‘Is there anything round here that ain’t dodgy?’ Rag gestured around the tavern, at the gathered crowd of maniacs sharpening their weapons and waiting for trouble.
    Yarrick nodded his agreement at that. ‘When you off?’
    ‘Soon as, I reckon. No point hanging around.’
    ‘Suppose I’d better come with you then.’ Though even as he said it Rag could sense the doubt in his voice.
    ‘Bastian gave this job to me. No need for you to take the risk as well.’
    Yarrick shrugged. ‘Looks just as risky hanging round here.’ He looked fearfully at the tavern full of cutthroats.
    Rag couldn’t argue with that logic. Neither would she say no to the company. Maybe she’d be better suited to this alone, better able to move unseen and get the job done, but deep down she knew she’d feel better with someone watching her back, even if it was only Yarrick.
    ‘All right then. Let’s go.’
    With that they made their way out of the tavern, neither of them daring to look any of Bastian’s men in the eye, just in case. Shirl looked at her, opening his mouth with a question on his lips, but Rag shook her head and he took the hint, sitting back in his chair and keeping it shut.
    Out on the street the sun was just setting and the smell of smoke and fire drifted up on the sea breeze from the south. It was eerily quiet, as if all the folk off the street were hidden and just waiting for the chance to jump out on her and yell ‘Surprise’ like they was throwing her a bloody party.
    ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ asked Yarrick, also sensing something was amiss.
    ‘Wait here,’ Rag said, moving towards a derelict chapel building across the street from the tavern.
    It was one of those old buildings, some place of worship for the Old Gods long since