It was heavy going and the path was treacherous underfoot, even more so in the dark. The sun had already disappeared behind the ridge, and Fletcher knew the bell would be sounding any minute. He gritted his teeth and hurried, stumbling and cursing as he grazed his knees on the gravel.
His heart sank when he reached the front gates. They were closed, the lanterns above lit for their nightlong vigil. The lazy guards had closed up early, eager for a drink in the village tavern.
‘You lazy sods! The ninth bell hasn’t even rung yet.’ Fletcher cursed and let the elk’s antlers fall to the ground. ‘Let me in! I’m not sleeping out here just because you can’t wait to drink yourselves stupid.’ He slammed his boot into the door.
‘Now, now, Fletcher, keep it down. There’s good people sleeping in here,’ came a voice from above. It was Didric. He leaned out over the parapet above Fletcher, his large moonish face grinning nastily.
Fletcher grimaced. Of all the guards who could have been on duty tonight, it had to be Didric Cavell, the worst of the bunch. He was fifteen, the same age as Fletcher, but he fancied himself a full-grown man. Fletcher did not like Didric. The guardsman was a bully, always looking for an excuse to exercise his authority.
‘I sent the day-watch off early tonight. You see, I take my duties very seriously. Can’t be too careful with the traders arriving tomorrow. You never know what kind of riffraff will be sneaking about outside.’ He chuckled at his jibe.
‘Let me in, Didric. You and I both know that the gates should be open until the ninth bell,’ said Fletcher. Even as he spoke he heard the bell begin its sonorous knell, echoing dully in valleys below.
‘What was that? I can’t hear you,’ yelled Didric, holding a hand up to his ear theatrically.
‘I said let me in, you dolt. This is illegal! I’ll have to report you if you don’t open the gates this minute!’ he shouted, flaring up at the pale face above the palisade.
‘Well you could do that, and I certainly wouldn’t begrudge you your right to. In all likelihood we would both be punished, and that wouldn’t do anyone any good. So why don’t we cut a deal here. You leave me that elk, and I save you the trouble of sleeping in the forest tonight.’
‘Shove it up your arse,’ Fletcher spat in disbelief. This was blatant blackmail.
‘Come now, Fletcher, be reasonable. The wolves and the wildcats will come prowling, and even a bright campfire won’t keep them away in the winter. You can either leg it when they arrive, or stay and be an appetiser. Either way, even if you do last until morning, you’ll be walking through these gates empty-handed. Let me help you out.’ Didric’s voice was almost friendly, as if he was doing Fletcher a favour.
Fletcher’s face burned red. This was beyond anything he had experienced before. Unfairness was common in Pelt, and Fletcher had long ago accepted that in a world of haves and have-nots, he was definitely the latter. But now this spoiled brat, a son to one of the richest men in the village no less, was stealing from him.
‘Is that it then?’ Fletcher asked, his voice low and angry. ‘You think you’re very clever, don’t you?’
‘It’s just the logical conclusion to a situation in which I happen to be the beneficiary,’ Didric said, flicking his blond fringe from his eyes. It was well known that Didric was privately tutored, flaunting his education with flowery speech. It was his father’s hope that he would one day be a judge, eventually going to a lawhouse in one of the larger cities in Hominum.
‘You forgot one thing,’ Fletcher growled. ‘I would much rather sleep out in the woods than watch you take my kill.’
‘Hah! I think I’ll call your bluff. I’ve a long night ahead of me. It will be fun to watch you try and fend off the wolves,’ Didric laughed.
Fletcher knew Didric was baiting him, but it didn’t stop his blood boiling. He gulped the anger down, but it still simmered at the back of his mind.
‘I won’t give you the elk. There’s five shillings in the fur alone, and the meat will be worth another three. Just let me in, and I’ll forget about reporting you. We can put this whole thing behind us,’ Fletcher suggested, swallowing his pride with difficulty.
‘I’ll tell you what. I can’t come away completely empty-handed – that wouldn’t do now would it? But since I’m feeling generous, if you give me those antlers you neglected to mention, I’ll call it a night, and we can both get what we want.’
Fletcher stiffened at the nerve of the suggestion. He struggled for a moment and then let it go. Four shillings were worth a night in his own bed, and to Didric it was nothing but pocket change. He groaned and took out his skinning knife. It was razor sharp, but it was not designed for cutting through antlers. He hated to mutilate the elk, but he would have to take its head.
A minute later and with some sawing at the vertebrae, the head was in his hands, dripping blood all over his moccasins. He grimaced and held it up for Didric to see.
‘All right, Didric, come and get it,’ Fletcher said, brandishing the grisly trophy.
‘Throw it up here,’ said Didric. ‘I don’t trust you to hand it over.’