Part 18 (1/2)
Sander had never been a.s.saulted before and instantly froze, paralysed by fear. The terror coursed through his body in a cold wave, totally unmanning him. The warm wet sensation of escaping urine steadily soaking his trousers only compounded the misery.
”What do you want?”
”Answers,” said a new voice from somewhere behind him; a young woman's by the sound of it.
The blade pressing against his throat vanished, but before he had a chance to feel any relief at this release a hood was dragged roughly over his head and pulled tight via a noose-like cord at the neck, while his hands were hauled roughly behind his back and bound.
”No, please no. This is some mistake, it has to be,” he whimpered, wondering how life could possibly be so unfair.
Kat hadn't expected to wake up. As she lost hold of the whip and plummeted towards the streets, she knew this was a fall she couldn't survive, and then, when the dark, vaguely humanoid shape swept towards her out of the night, she was convinced that her fate was to be the same as her mother's and her sister's. So, upon coming to in a soft bed with linen sheets covering her and a pleasant, floral scent in the air, she could perhaps be forgiven for thinking in those first confused seconds that she truly had died and was now in the realm of the G.o.ddess.
However, the presence of an acolyte in a grey ca.s.sock soon provided a clue that she might be in a slightly less elevated state of existence, a suspicion confirmed when a green robed priestess entered the room soon after.
She wasn't in any Thaissian afterlife at all, merely one of their temples. Oddly, her immediate reaction was an upwelling of huge disappointment. She didn't want to wake up, didn't deserve to still be alive, not when her mother had died so horribly, and then Rayul, and now Charveve. What was the point in living, and why her and not them? She rolled over, turning her back on the priestess and on the world, curled into a foetal ball and lost within her own despair, revelling in self-pity and welcoming the sanctuary of returning unconsciousness.
The second time she woke she felt far more levelheaded. The grief and self-loathing were still there, she could feel them, but they were somehow detached and less immediate, as if she were merely sensing an echo of somebody else's emotions rather than her own. It seemed that all those negative, destructive feelings had somehow been clinically severed from the rest of her and then condensed and sealed into a tight knot which had then been tucked into some hidden recess of her being. A second heart, disconnected and dormant for now but ready to spring to life and pump the ice-cold plasma of despair around her body if provoked.
Kat sat up, rubbing her head, trying to come to terms with how odd she felt. Somebody else was in the room; the Thaistess. This time Kat had the presence of mind to take in detail; the elderly, slightly wrinkled face, laughter lines that formed so readily around grey-blue eyes, the small mole that nestled in the crease of a prominent nose, the faintest suggestion of a cleft chin, and the floral, vaguely minted scent that she would always a.s.sociate with one person.
”Sh.e.l.la?”
”Welcome back, Kat.” The woman reached out to squeeze her arm where it rested on top of the bed clothes.
”What... what have you done to me?”
”What was necessary. It seems my lot in life is to nurse you back to health whenever you misuse that body of yours.”
Here was the same Thaistess Kat had crawled to when she'd fallen foul of a crooked business deal not long after leaving the Tattooed Men. With no Shayna to turn to, Kat had used the last drop of her failing strength to reach the nearest temple of Thaiss, collapsing at its door. Without the Thaistess's ministrations she would have died that night. Thanks to Sh.e.l.la she had lived, wiser and warier for the experience; or so she'd always hoped.
”How did I get here this time?” Kat asked.”A Kite Guard brought you to us. He didn't know where else to take you.”
”A Kite Guard?” She remembered the dark shape swooping to meet her as she hurtled towards the ground; so, not the Soul Thief after all.
”He was injured himself,” the Thaistess continued. ”Apparently he caught you as you fell off the grand conveyor...?”
”Not quite, but I can understand why he'd think that.”
”Well, at any rate, catching you hampered his ability to fly and caused him to have a rough landing; more in the nature of a crash, from what I can gather. He was lucky, nothing too serious, and I was able to patch him up and send him on his way in no time. You, on the other hand, have taken a little longer to mend.”
Kat had no idea what the Thaistess had done to heal her, how the hurt and despair had been excised or at least isolated, but she was willing to accept it as necessary. Kat had been a fighter all her life, but she had woken that first time without hope or the will to go on. Sh.e.l.la had given her the means to master that and to do whatever was necessary in the days ahead.
”Thank you, Sh.e.l.la... again,” she said.
Kat left the temple a few hours later; not through any lack of grat.i.tude, but because she was itching to know what had happened in her absence. Besides, she didn't want to outstay her welcome.
Sh.e.l.la would have preferred a little more patience. ”You're not strong enough yet.”
”I'll be fine, thanks to you.” In truth she could probably have done with a little more time to recuperate, but the world wasn't about to pause and wait for her while she did so.
”The Kite Guard wanted to see you once you were awake,” the Thaistess tried.
”I'm sure he did, and he may well do, but not right now. I have to know what's been going on.”
And therein lay the crux of the matter. She'd been unconscious for a little over two days according to the Thaistess. Who knew what had happened in the meantime?
Kat headed straight to the house at Iron Grove Square, only to discover it deserted. One wing was damaged and blackened by fire, as was a window near the gates, but at first glance there was little other evidence of the t.i.tanic struggle that had taken place here just two nights ago. On closer examination she found some flechette darts and a few crossbow quarrels among the rubble, and even the occasional blood stain near the gates, but it all had the air of ancient history, not recent turmoil. There were no bodies, of course. The body boys would had carted those off with their usual efficiency, and that doubtless contributed to the sense of distance. Charveve, her sister, her bitterest rival and the most precious person in her world, had been taken from her; and she hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye.
After Iron Grove Square Kat visited the three safe houses in the vicinity, but without success. There was no indication that the Tattooed Men had visited any of them within the past few days.
It was then that she went to see the apothaker, to make sure she'd survived. The old woman was in fine spirits and even seemed pleased to see her, which Kat wasn't sure she deserved.
The pair swapped stories, the apothaker going first, describing how she'd been in the middle of the crowd when the gates at Iron Grove Square had finally been opened, but she was still able to see the mob of armed men who waited there, forcing their way through the gates and cutting down several of the talented while pus.h.i.+ng the rest back. They then broke down the doors to either side of the gateway and stormed into both adjacent wings of the building, while others stayed at the gate to keep the talented penned in.
The apothaker had been among the surge of people who escaped when Kat charged the cordon of men and others followed her lead. She'd come straight home without discovering the outcome of events.
It was then Kat's turn. She described all that she had been through that evening, including her sister's death and her fall from near the top of the grand conveyor. It felt good to tell someone this, almost as if the words that left her mouth and the accompanying images and feelings they conjured helped to ease a burden she hadn't even realised was there. None of which stopped her from quipping as she finished, ”So much for your brecking good luck potion; didn't do me any good at all.”
”Really?” the apothaker asked. ”You're still alive, aren't you?”
Perhaps she had a point; many others weren't, after all.
”The night time killings have stopped at any rate,” the old woman reported. ”So even if you didn't finish that thing for good, you must have done it some damage.”
That was interesting. Had the Thief fled back to the Stain? If so, she was presumably weakened, having claimed only Chavver after coming so close to being killed herself. Had they scared the b.i.t.c.h that much?
”Oh, by the way, someone called here yesterday asking if I'd seen you,” the apothaker continued.
Kat felt abruptly tense. Brent? Brent?
”One of your Tattooed Men,” the old woman continued. ”M'gruth, I think he called himself. He said that if I did see you, I was to say that he'll be at the Crooked c.o.c.kerel for the next few evenings.”
Kat knew the Crooked c.o.c.kerel; a tavern M'gruth had always been fond of. She found herself smiling for the first time since waking up at the Temple. At least somebody had faith in her still being alive.
That evening, she found M'gruth where and when he said he'd be, and brought him back to the apothaker's. The old woman seemed glad of the company and Kat felt more comfortable talking where they couldn't be overheard. She listened intently as M'gruth filled her in on what had happened after she disappeared over the rooftops. It seemed that the Fang had come to the party mob-handed, but hadn't been overly choosy about who they recruited.
”Must have been around sixty of them,” M'gruth told her. ”There were some real hard nuts among them but also some wetting-themselves cowards. Because of the way we were spread around the building, mobs of them caught our boys in ones and twos to start with, taking us by surprise. Sheer numbers told and we lost a few.”
”How many?”
”Seven; eight including Chavver. Plus two that Shayna worked miracles to save but are still recovering, Rel among them.”
That was welcome news. Kat had thought Rel was done for when she'd seen him collapsed against the wall.
”What about the Fang?”
”Broke and ran once we were able to regroup; those that could. We counted thirty two bodies and reckon there were at least a dozen more injured who limped or crawled away.”
”The Fang have been throwing their weight around in the streets of late,” the apothaker interjected, ”but no one's seen hide nor hair of them in the past couple of days.”