Read Husk: A Maresman Tale for Free Online Page B

how to hit, and hit hard.
    Jeb’s knees buckled, and he fell against the bed. Sweet was on him without mercy, one shovel-sized hand gripping him by the collar, other pounding him over and over. Felt like Jeb’s teeth belonged to someone else, and his mouth was thick with blood. He tried to speak, tell Sweet to wait, let him explain, but the hammering went on till he crumpled to the floor atop his discarded coat.
    “She’s mine, you hear?” Sweet yelled in a voice that seemed too piping and high-pitched for a man of his frame. “I see you even look at her again, and you’re dead, Maresman. Got it?”
    Jeb couldn’t do anything but whimper and cover his head with his hands. Didn’t stop Sweet none, though; he stomped down on Jeb’s ribs, then gave him a parting kick to the fruits. Jeb would’ve howled in pain, if he’d had the breath for it. All he could do was lie there and groan.
    He heard Sweet’s heavy footfalls backing out the room. The slamming of the door shook the entire building, and from somewhere down the corridor a man called for quiet. Whispers were exchanged. There was someone with Sweet? Sounded like a woman. Was it Maisie?
    The pounding of Sweet’s boots on the stairs was like a stampede, echoed by a lighter patter following. The front door of the Crawfish banged shut, and quiet fell.
    Jeb suppressed a sob. He twitched his fingers, then risked straightening his arm. When he rolled to his side, needles of pain shot through his ribs, taking his mind off his aching fruits. He coughed, and warm blood spattered his chin. He wiped it off with the back of his hand, used the bed to lever himself to a kneeling position. The floor tilted, and he retched. When he’d finished, the whole room took to gently swaying, like he was on board ship.
    He’d suffered a few beatings in his time, but never without giving his fair share of damage. He’d not stood a chance. Sweet had swung for him before he knew what was coming. Never even got his guard up, and after that first sledgehammer punch, never had the chance to get set.
    Should’ve been angry, he told himself. Should’ve been fired up and after revenge, but right then, with every inch of his body either numb or hurting, all he could think of was to get away, lick his wounds. He couldn’t risk being seen like this. A Maresman thrived on fear and reputation. Worse than that, though, he couldn’t risk Maisie seeing him.
    Even as the thought struck, he knew it was ridiculous. He’d barely met the woman, and despite her obvious attractions, she wasn’t that different from all the other women he’d known. Must’ve been the pounding to his head messing with his mind. It was like his stupid fantasy of a cottage and a good woman by his side had taken root. What the Abyss had Maisie done, put a spell on him?
    Then he recalled the woman’s whispered voice. He couldn’t be sure it was Maisie, but a gnawing at the back of his mind told him she’d set this up, confirmed Sweet in his suspicions and pushed him into it. Why should he think that? Why would she even do such a thing? Maybe it was someone else, Jeb figured. Maybe he was just hearing things.
    Gathering up his coat and hat, and taking hold of his boots, he crept from the room in his socks and stepped lightly down the stairs. Every creak got him thinking someone would fire up an oil lamp, gasp at the state of his face, but mercifully the whole place was still. Looked like the Crawfish had a closing time, after all.
    He slipped out the front entrance, casting about nervously in case Sweet had decided to hang around. Soon as he knew the coast was clear, he pulled on his boots and headed for the stables.

8
    T UBAL’S HOOF BEATS rang out like a hammer on an anvil as Jeb steered him off the high street into an alley lit by nothing but a lone red light from an upper story window. The rest of the streets and byways he rode down were the kind of black a blind man would feel at home in; the kind of dark that’d