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The Vagrant and the City
Peter Newman
The second short story set in Peter Newman’s incredible world of THE VAGRANT.'It's a story that grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and refused to let go…' Fantasy Faction
PETER NEWMAN
The Vagrant and the City
HarperVoyager an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2017
Copyright © Peter Newman 2017
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
Peter Newman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © February 2017 ISBN: 9780008180225
Version: 2017-01-19
Table of Contents
Cover (#u5e6e8ccc-56b5-5b91-8901-8dc32ffa8160)
Title Page (#u205f9eef-d9a0-5523-97d2-b684b338e278)
Copyright (#u1828a616-e688-5578-a9a1-646a3319d611)
Author’s Note (#u9143a2cd-b4d3-5f44-8e2b-155e3608a511)
The Vagrant and the City (#u9b8b00df-4cbb-5657-9d47-cbf860a83b2d)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Author’s Note (#u7fd4a217-6609-5c25-b3b4-b8034a7fa24d)
For those (like me) who hate reading things in the wrong order, The Vagrant and the City takes place after The Malice, and as such is best enjoyed after you’ve read that. The story is self-contained, but refers to characters and places explored in previous books. It also teases a few things for The Seven, and may deepen your enjoyment of the book.
Thank you for joining the Vagrant on another adventure.
Peter Newman
The Vagrant and the City (#u7fd4a217-6609-5c25-b3b4-b8034a7fa24d)
The man wakes before the dawn, his body still, his eyes restless. He has been many things: a squire, a vagrant, the bearer of Gamma’s sword, and now he is none of them. He has surpassed the role of squire, found a home, and his daughter, Vesper, bears the Malice more comfortably than he ever did.
For a while, she and the other senior people of the Shining City debated how best to use him and what he should be called:
The Knight Commander wants to put him back in the field, winning glory for the Empire of the Winged Eye. The Knight Commander does not mention that he finds the man difficult and intimidating, merely noting that such experience of the wider world is best put to use somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away.
Obeisance wishes to make the man into a symbol, an inspiration for the citizens of the Shining City. An icon herself, and voice of The Seven, she accepts that this will take time, a lot of work, and more than a little surgical intervention. But if the man must be broken a little first before reforging, she reasons, it is a small price to pay.
Vesper says he should be given space to find his own role within the Empire. She says that she needs him around, but not exactly where. That she needs his help, but only in general terms.
Vesper has good intentions. The others listen to her and agree, assuming that, in this matter, she knows best.
This is a mistake.
They call him their champion, in honour of his past deeds. But he does not look like one, and little pride manifests in his gait and posture.
Vesper’s time and attention is absorbed in the business of keeping the Empire afloat whilst, fundamentally, trying to change it. Soon, she is submerged in her own tasks, too busy to notice her father drifting about, aimless, useless …
He sees less and less of Vesper. Her visits to the farm are sporadic and all too brief in duration, a mirror for the time he spends in the Shining City. A month becomes two, becomes six, a year. A year becomes five, each morning the same: waking before the dawn, restless.
He gets up with whichever of the suns is first to rise and wanders among the nearby hills, watched by scores of goats, who wearily blink at the man, unconvinced of the need to hurry.
Always, the morning circuit ends at the smaller building next to the main house, and an encounter with the goat. She is old now but makes up for her lack of energy with bile and persistence.
On this morning, it pays off. The man’s amber eyes are preoccupied, and he does not remove his hand fast enough.
Jaws, toothless, clamp around a finger, the bony gums shockingly hard. With a start, the man yanks his hand free, shaking it vigorously before sucking at the wound.
He glares at the goat.
The goat glares back, but only briefly. Satisfied that her work is done, she settles to sleep and happy dreams.
The man returns to the house, his mood set for the day.
Voices from the kitchen make him pause. They belong to the strays he and his daughter once found and brought here and made family; Harm, his companion, and Jem, hers.
Usually, the man would go into the kitchen and prepare some breakfast. Usually it is the lure of food that brings them from their beds. Today he can smell something cooking already, sharp-scented herbs, unfamiliar …
He enters the room, nostrils wrinkling.
Jem stands at the worktop, busy. Since living here, a good diet, a lack of stress, and a tendency to idleness have changed him from skinny youth to stocky man. Whatever he is saying is cut off mid-sentence.
From his usual seat, Harm smiles at him. ‘Morning.’
The man nods and walks over. He sees Harm is wearing a necklace, silver, with interlinked letters spelling out a message of love. It is a gift from Vesper, one that Harm wears only on special occasions.
The man frowns.
Though he has said nothing, Harm tilts his head, reading meaning in the silence. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. Actually, we’ve got good news. Vesper’s coming home.’
Jem turns from his work to smile agreement, but the gesture is too quick, feral teeth darting in and out of view, turning reassurance into challenge.
While Vesper’s return usually provokes joy in the man, his frown remains, a stain, stubborn, marring his scarred face.
Jem’s answering chuckle is almost triumphant.
‘I’ve only just found out about it myself,’ says Harm in a harder voice than usual, and Jem manages to look briefly guilty. ‘Anyway, I’ve made up her bed but I’ll need your help getting some things out of the storeroom. I tried going in myself but it was hopeless, far too much clutter. You know, if you’d organize things in there, like I asked you to, I’d be able to learn my way around.’
The man raises his hands, apologetic.
‘I’d help,’ adds Jem, ‘but she’ll be hungry when she gets here and there’s lots to prepare.’
‘There was a very specific list apparently,’ adds Harm.
The man looks from Jem to Harm and back again, but gets no further explanation. Grudgingly, he allows himself to be put to work.
Surfaces are cleaned, then cleaned again. Tools are returned to their proper homes. Half-finished projects that have languished randomly, like scuffed ornamentation, are cleared away. And Jem presents a list of things that need fixing: from protruding floorboards, to doors grown stiff with age.
Whenever the man’s frown returns, or he stops to think, Jem finds another thing that needs doing, another deficiency of the house.
Soon, the suns swirl directly overhead, and all three men are sweating from their labours.
In the cloudless sky it is easy to see the black dot approaching from the direction of the Shining City. The man puts down his tools and shields his eyes to watch.
The dot becomes a shape of metal, glinting red and gold in the sunslight, two streamers trailing behind. Closer it gets, until it has resolved itself into a sky-ship, gleaming wings rotating to make engines vertical, allowing a swift descent.
Dust plumes and goats clear the area, shouting at each other as they go. As the sky-ship touches the earth, Harm emerges from the house, one hand brushing the doorway, then reaching out across empty air until it finds the reassuring shape of his companion’s arm. Jem follows, smoothing creases from his top, nervous.
The three wait as the sky-ship’s engines quieten and the frame comes to a shuddering stop. There is a pause and then a pop as the hatch yawns open. After another pause a bright red mop of hair appears, attached to a man in a simple black uniform, the symbol of the Winged Eye flashing bright at his collar. His name is Genner and he is one of the Lenses, a network of spies that watch for the Empire, keeping track of allies and enemies alike.
Genner is joined by a group of four squires who, under his direction, assist Vesper out of the hatch.
The man’s face creases in worry as he watches the squires move with unusual delicacy.
‘What is it?’ asks Harm. ‘I can feel the tension in you.’
The man shrugs, leaning forward to try and get a better view.
Despite her protests, the group bring Vesper down the ramp as if she were made of glass.
The man starts down the hill towards them, pulling Harm along for the ride. Jem has already started moving.
As the two groups come together, details can be discerned. She wears Gamma’s winged sword on her back, but is dressed strangely, her clothes loose and flowing. The man checks Vesper’s face. It is fuller, rounder, flushed but not feverish. There are no signs of fresh injuries, no bandages or dressings visible, but she moves slowly, as if tired.
His visual examination comes to an abrupt stop as he takes in the distinctive curve of her belly.
The man’s mouth falls open.
Jem takes a hesitant step, wanting to move closer but staying away, unwilling to approach the squires. Despite the distance, he and Vesper share a conspiratorial moment.
The man clocks it, and takes a deep, shuddering breath.
Harm squeezes his arm, asking for a second time, ‘What is it?’
Vesper raises a hand and gives a smile, sheepish. ‘Hi.’
‘Hello Vesper,’ replies Harm. ‘Why do I have the impression you’ve got some news?’
‘Can we go inside first, Uncle?’ says Vesper. ‘I’d much rather tell you about it when we’re all sat down.’
*
Genner and the squires remain outside, but they do not leave. Every time Vesper’s father goes to the window and glances out he sees the sky-ship, powered down, waiting.
Vesper has been given Harm’s chair, her swollen ankles propped up. Mutigel cushions are squished behind her back, shaping themselves, supportive, to the contours of her body. A warm drink sits waiting for her on the table, along with the sword which, for the moment, sleeps, its eye shut, content. Despite repeated claims that the fuss is unnecessary, she does reward them all with a grateful smile.
‘Can I get you anything?’ asks Jem. He has taken up a post alongside Vesper, forcing Harm and her father to the other side of the kitchen.
‘Something to eat would be great.’
He quickly returns with a steaming bowl.
Vesper sniffs it. ‘Something else?’ she says before noticing Jem’s face. ‘Sorry.’
‘But it’s what you asked for.’
‘I know, I know. But now it’s here I—’
‘It’s fine,’ he says, cutting her off, and goes to collect a second dish.
The man watches Jem from the window with narrowed eyes as he returns to Vesper’s side with a new offering.
‘This is much better,’ says Vesper, taking the plate. ‘Really.’
Harm waits until he judges she has eaten half of it and had time to enjoy her drink before clearing his throat.
‘Yes,’ mumbles Vesper through a mouthful of food. ‘Well. I’m pregnant. Very pregnant, actually. I’m due in about twelve days.’
‘Congratulations,’ says Harm. ‘Is it a live father?’
