The Demon Horsemen by Tony Shillitoe Page A

keep watch. Three menemerged from an alley to his left, but the moment they spotted the soldiers they vanished back into the buildings. He was certain the soldiers had seen the men, but they showed no interest in pursuing them. Seeing the soldiers settling down to wait, Runner eased into a comfortable position too, leaning against a slanting beam. Hunger gnawed his stomach, but it was an accustomed sensation, given his need to steal and scavenge for a living, although it had become harder to survive now that his aunt was imprisoned.
    He flinched at the cold touch of metal against his nose, and when he went to scramble to his feet a solid blow across the side of his face from the stock of a peacemaker sent him sprawling. He tried to spring up, but a heavy boot crunched onto his back and pressed him to the ground. Did I fall asleep? he wondered as he struggled vainly against the weight.
    ‘Ease up, lad,’ a man’s voice warned. ‘Your life’s still your own if you’re willing to calm down and do some honest work for once.’
    He turned his head, his cheek stinging from the blow, but all he could see were dusty black military boots a thumb-span from his nose.
    ‘That’s better,’ said the voice. ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘None of your business,’ Runner snarled, angry at himself for his carelessness.
    The soldier chuckled. ‘Okay then, None-of-your-business, what do you know about the Warren?’
    ‘Nothing,’ Runner answered.
    ‘Then you’re perfect for the job,’ said the soldier. ‘Lift him up.’
    Hands hauled him to his feet. The speaker was a hordemaster, signified by the gold bear on the upper sleeve of his red jacket. The man’s face was solid, like a wrestler’s, and his blue eyes were narrow and cruel. Runner recognised a hardened adversary, someonewho’d fought on the battlefield and hunted his enemies through the streets, a man of ruthless ability equal to the murderers and thieves lurking inside the Warren.
    ‘Listen carefully and it’ll save your life, lad,’ the hordemaster said, studying Runner’s face. ‘I need to speak to a man in the Warren. His name is Dingo. Do you know him?’
    Mad Dog , Runner thought. Of all the scum inside the Warren, Mad Dog, or Dingo, had the cruellest reputation. It was rumoured that he ate the eyes of his victims. ‘No,’ he said.
    A wry smile appeared on the hordemaster’s lips. ‘Good,’ he said, nodding. ‘All I need you to do is go into the Warren and give this letter to Dingo. That’s all. Nothing else. Can you read?’
    ‘What’s reading?’ Runner asked.
    The hordemaster chuckled, amused by the boy’s game. ‘Good. Give the letter to Dingo and come back and tell me that it’s done. Got that?’
    ‘What do I get?’ Runner asked.
    The hordemaster’s hand slid to his belt and a peacemaker muzzle was pressed against Runner’s temple. ‘You get to keep your brains inside your skull. Like that?’
    You’re a funny man , Runner thought, but he simply said ‘Yes’ in answer.
    ‘Good,’ the hordemaster said and returned his weapon to its holster. He jiggled his pocket and coins rattled. ‘If you do what I ask, you might find it easier to eat for a few days as well.’
    The sound of the coins changed Runner’s attitude. ‘How much?’ he asked.
    ‘Don’t be greedy,’ the hordemaster warned. ‘Do your work and get your pay. That’s all anyone should want from life, lad. And if you’re lucky, you might even like your work.’ He chuckled again and winked at Runner.‘That’s free advice from my father to you, lad. Take it and you might live longer.’
    The smartest decision , Runner thought as he entered the ruined shell of the old warehouse, would be to vanish. The soldiers wouldn’t know me from a dog in the streets . Going into the Warren to find Mad Dog wasn’t a healthy option. He knew of lads who’d gone into the Warren and never come out again. But the clink of coins reverberated in his head. A few pennies, a shilling