Savage City, page 9
‘No, I don’t think it’s fun, my dear,’ Mordicio muttered as he checked to see that she was still breathing. ‘No, not fun at all. Only necessary.’
He slipped the golden candlestick he’d hit her with into an inside pocket, and checked that the marriage contract was still safely tucked there too. Satisfied, he huddled solicitously over Katerina and tried to catch the eye of one of his son’s idiot followers.
Eventually, a pair of them emerged from the scrum beyond and Mordicio beckoned them over. Together, they dragged the bride out of the hall, elbowing their way past the knot of servants who stood uncertainly in the doorway.
‘Get out of the way,’ Mordicio snapped at one of them as he opened his mouth to protest. ‘Can’t you see that my daughter-in-law has been overcome by excitement? We need to get her home.’
Mordicio’s carriage waited outside. The old moneylender and his henchmen threw Katerina’s unconscious form into it as easily as if she were a sack of potatoes, slammed the doors after them, and made off.
Behind them cries of ‘fire’ had started to ring out from amongst the confusion. Seconds later and the first tendrils of smoke began to rise up from the windows of the Hansebourgs’ great hall.
Mordicio glanced down at the inert form of the girl as a bend in the road rolled it to one side. Then he checked that the marriage documents were still safely inside his pocket. He smiled.
What a wonderful wedding it was, he thought, and cackled happily to himself as the first fire bells started to ring out behind him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bordeleaux’s walls were massive. They had evolved over the centuries with the same relentless determination of all living things. The first primitive fishing village had grown into a town, which had grown into a trading port, which had, in turn, grown into the vast sprawl of streets and harbours and districts of which it was composed today.
Some scholars claimed that their city was even older than that first village; that it was older even than humanity itself. They claimed that the first human settlers had built their dwellings amongst the ruined remains of some other, more ancient race. For proof, they quoted ancient texts, although the texts were muddled after so many generations of copying errors. At other times they pointed to the delicately carved fragments of masonry which studded the patched daub and crumbling brick of the city, the beautifully worked stone as out of place as gemstones in a dung heap.
These scholars were usually ignored, a fact for which the saner ones were grateful. After all, if they had voiced their theories in the terrible lands of the north, who knows what might have been done to them? Burning at the stake was said to be the kindest of the witch finders’ methods.
But in Bordeleaux there was little of this madness. The nobles who ruled this city cared as little about the dealings of their people as a farmer cares about the mooing of his herd. They didn’t care what the populace did… so long as they did what they were told, of course.
Especially when they had other, more important concerns.
One of which was loping towards the eastern gate right now.
From the ramparts that loomed over the gate, Sir Guilbert watched the monster as it approached. He’d taken his helmet off so that he could feel the cooling breeze on his forehead, and also so that the long golden locks of his hair might flow with the wind, framing his handsome face.
The knight’s eyes, normally perfect hazel ovals, were creased into slits as he peered into the rays of the setting sun.
The eyes of his sergeant-at-arms were narrowed too, although in his case the squint was a response to the blazing light that reflected from his master’s armour. At this time of day the steel in which the knight was clad shone as brightly as a beetle’s shell, the sweeps and curves of it flowing with reflected fire.
‘My liege,’ he said, bowing his head and punching a fist against the dully greased mail that armoured his own chest. ‘There are reports that a fabulous beast approaches. The archers are standing ready and await your order to fire.’
Sir Guilbert frowned at his underling’s show of initiative.
‘Let them await,’ he said. ‘Let us see what kind of beast it is that approaches.’
‘Some of the peasants say that it resembles an enormous cat, my liege,’ the sergeant offered. ‘One that has grown beyond all measure. Perhaps it is some creature from the forests of the elves?’
‘No, no…’ The knight waved the sergeant’s suggestion aside dismissively. Thoughts of glory swirled in his mind as he considered the possibilities. Perhaps it was a fantastic beast from Estalia or beyond. Maybe a sorcerous creature that had flown here from the far shores of Lustria. Any knight who could best such a beast and take its head for a trophy would be the envy of his peers.
‘Has it killed any of the peasants yet?’ he asked, hopefully.
‘None that I know of, my liege. Not that the good folk are taking any chances. See how they flee at its approach.’
The knight saw. The grubby peasants that toiled in the fields around the city parted before the tawny shape of the great beast like herring before a shark. Some of them had strayed into the cabbage fields that lined the road, and several arguments had broken out as a consequence.
The beast paid none of them any heed. Looking neither left nor right, it padded forward, content to pace slowly along as the crowd parted before it.
‘I’m sure it must have,’ decided the knight. ‘It is our duty – my duty – to hunt down the beast and slay it. Summon my squire. Gather the knights. Have them meet me at the gates with all due haste. Oh, and sergeant?’
‘My liege?’
‘Bring my roan stallion, with the red caparison.’
‘As you command, my liege,’ the sergeant said, saluting, and hurried off to gather his lord’s retainers.
The knight threw one last glance over the battlements before clanking off after him.
When Katerina woke up it was with a sense of relief. Her dreams had been a horrible fog of dread and confusion. She opened her eyes and breathed deeply, just taking a moment to enjoy the peace of lying on her bed.
A second later, the realisation hitting her as hard and fast as a boxer’s fist, she remembered that Sergei was dead.
Her breath caught in her throat and she closed her eyes against a black tide of misery.
Then she tried to get up.
Tried and failed.
It took her a few confused moments to realise that the reason she couldn’t move was because she was tied to her bed. But no, that wasn’t right. This wasn’t her bed or her bedchamber.
Her bruised head began to throb painfully as she started to piece together the events that had brought her here. The bloodied remains of her torn wedding dress gave her her first clue, and after that the memories came thick and fast. She remembered her marriage ceremony, and her mother’s betrayal, and the fight.
But after that, nothing.
Well, never mind. Although beaten and disorientated, Katerina began an automatic process of prioritisation. The first thing to do, in fact the only thing to do, was to free herself from these bonds. She twisted her arms and legs experimentally. To her disappointment the movement was met with the clink of chains. Testing the limits of her freedom, she raised herself up onto her elbows and looked down at the manacles which held her. They were heavy duty lumps of grey steel, the dull surface of the metal marked by bright scratches.
Katerina turned her wrists and studied the small keyholes in the shackles. No help there. Even if she could find something to try and pick the locks with she had no way of reaching one hand with the other.
She fell back down and sighed. Then she took a moment to study the room. It was big, perhaps twenty paces across, and it was stone built. That suggested wealth. But, apart from the four-poster bed onto which she was bound, there was little other sign of wealth. There was a trestle table that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a tavern, two rickety chairs and a chest that looked as though it had been nailed together by an amateur. Even the window was mean. Its single pane of glass had been fixed into the ceiling, the joinery around it so crude that it might have been put up there to cover a hole.
‘Mordicio,’ Katerina told herself, remembering the frayed rags in which Bordeleaux’s richest man clothed himself.
Then she remembered his son, who was now her husband.
She swore, loudly and viciously. Then she tested the chains again with a new urgency. They didn’t give an inch. Scowling with concentration, she abandoned the effort and craned her neck to study the bed frame to which the chains were fastened.
Unfortunately, it seemed to be the only thing in this draughty box of a room that was well made. The beams of seasoned timber were wider than her leg, and fastened together so tightly that, despite her most vigorous efforts, the joints didn’t even squeak.
Katerina’s heart began to race as she realised how hopeless this was. She licked her dry lips and ignored the twinge of panic that flared in the pit of her stomach.
There must be some way out of this. There was always a way.
But before she could find it, the door squeaked open and Rabin lurched in. Katerina could see immediately that he was the worse for drink.
Or maybe not. As he stomped across the room she could see that black patches had been singed into his fine clothes. He’d lost an eyebrow, too, and the red flush that she’d at first taken to be from too much wine covered only one side of his face.
Rabin approached the bed and paced around it warily. Only when he was satisfied that all of her chains still held did he shrug off his smoke-ruined jacket and fold it, with exaggerated care, over the back of a chair.
‘Hello darling,’ Katerina purred, her voice as smooth as honey. ‘Are you all right? You look a little unwell.’
Rabin stared at her. His mouth opened and closed as soundlessly as a goldfish’s.
‘Unchain me and I’ll see to that burn,’ Katerina said, dropping her eyes demurely.
But not before she’d seen the comprehension that dawned in Rabin’s eyes.
Damn, she thought. I shouldn’t have mentioned the chains so quickly.
Rabin didn’t reply. Instead he just sat and stared at his bride. Katerina could feel his eyes sliding over her body and forced herself not to show her disgust.
‘Rabin,’ she said with a sigh. ‘You can let me go, now. We’re married. I’m sorry I was rude but I was upset. That’s all over now.’
She looked at him, but for all the reaction she got he might have been made of stone. Apart from his eyes, which continued to move like two pale slugs, that lingered on the patches of bare skin her torn dress revealed. Katerina felt that hint of panic again. If she’d been taken captive by a normal man, well, that would have been bad enough. But Rabin… There was something wrong with him.
Good, she told herself fiercely. You can find out what it is and use it against him.
Slowly her husband got to his feet, then, with a horrible deliberation, edged towards the bed. Katerina forced herself to lie still as he loomed over her. And when he touched her she even managed to wriggle.
‘So you do like me after all,’ she said, her voice as soft as her self-control was sharp. ‘Well, come on then. Kiss me.’
Rabin’s face twitched at the suggestion. He drew back and Katerina worried that once more she’d pushed too hard. But then she saw that he was only checking that her bonds were still fast. Once satisfied that they were, he leant forward, drool glistening on his lips.
‘Kiss me nicely,’ Katerina whispered as he lowered his head.
Then he closed his eyes.
And Katerina struck.
Her lips, which had been opened in invitation, peeled back to reveal sharp, white teeth, and her head snapped forward. She struck with the speed of a cobra, and before Rabin had even realised that he was under attack, Katerina bit down viciously. With a sickening crunch she sheared her teeth through the gristle of his nose.
Rabin screamed and jerked and an explosion of coppery blood filled Katerina’s mouth. For one terrible second she feared that she had bitten down too hard, and that she’d completely severed her victim’s horrible snout.
But no. There was still a crunch of bone left to keep his nose attached to his face.
He screamed again, and Katerina gurgled through a mouthful of blood as he struggled like a hooked fish.
‘’Kee’ ’ill,’ she told him. ‘’Kee’ ’ill or I’ll ’ite it off.’
Despite his terror, or perhaps because of it, Rabin understood. He stopped struggling. He whimpered instead and his eyes rolled in terror. The couple’s faces were so close that his tears fell onto Katerina’s clenched jaw.
‘Dow ’et ’e go.’
‘I don’t have the key,’ he whined.
‘Den I ’te it ’o,’ Katerina informed him.
‘No, no! I have it, I have it. I just remembered.’
Slowly, Rabin reached into his shirt and pulled out a chain. An unadorned steel key dangled from it and he fumbled it into the first of her manacles. There was a twist, a click, and Katerina’s left hand was free. She flexed her fingers then reached around to close them around the back of Rabin’s neck, making sure that he had no chance of escape. She was tempted to release her sickening mouthful of blood and gristle, but fighting against her gag reflex she kept her jaws locked. There was no point in taking chances.
Rabin unlocked the second of her manacles and she brought her second hand up to grip his head. He whimpered miserably as she pressed one thumb to the side of his eyeball, ready for a gouging.
‘Dow ’y ’eet,’ she told him. Rabin shook his head thoughtlessly, then cried out at the pain it caused in his nose.
‘I can’t reach,’ he wailed, and Katerina saw that he had a point. She cautiously removed her hand from the side of his face and plucked the key from his trembling fingers. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, she unclenched her teeth and punched him away from her.
Quickly, and spitting her mouth clean all the while, Katerina reached down and unlocked the manacle that held her ankles. She looked up to see what Rabin was doing, but if she feared that he might try to stop her she was mistaken. He’d already bounced back to his feet and fled back to the door. He turned to give her a last, hate-filled look, then rushed through it, already screaming for help.
Katerina unlocked the last of her chains. With a quick prayer of thanks that the mechanism had been well oiled, she sprang off the bed. Pausing only to unlock one of the chains from the frame, she made swiftly for the door, weighing the improvised weapon in her hand as she did so.
But although she’d been quick, she wasn’t quick enough. She hadn’t taken more than a dozen paces towards freedom when the door burst open and the first of her husband’s men bundled into the room.
They slowed as they caught sight of her, and began to edge around her. More men followed them into the room, and the stink of spilt wine came with them. They had been celebrating their master’s marriage, no doubt.
Good. That would make them weaker.
Katerina edged back and looked forlornly up towards the window. If only it wasn’t so high. Given time, she probably could have escaped through it by dragging the bed over, but as it was, the pane of glass might as well have been a mile above her head.
That left her only one option.
Swinging the chain around her head, Katerina flung herself towards her foe. The first of them ducked down beneath the blurred links of the chain. The next one caught it around his neck.
And then they were upon her.
Tabby had always loved the city. The great, teeming mass of prey animals that scuttled through the streets always sharpened up her appetite before feeding time. And even when she had a full belly she could sit and watch them for hours, her green eyes alive with fascination.
The only disappointment had been that her pack leader, Katerina, had never let her hunt the scuttling denizens of this tangled realm. But now that she was gone, Tabby found herself with endless opportunities in the world to indulge herself. Unbeknownst to her it was market day, and every one of Bordeleaux’s streets was packed with the plumpest and healthiest merchants and farmers a hungry sabretusk could wish for.
Frustrating, then, that she had other, more pressing concerns.
In a human, the instinct which had kept her on Katerina’s track might have been called loyalty. But there was really no room for ethics within the muscle-bound slab of Tabby’s cranium. There was just hunger and cunning.
And perhaps a glint of loneliness.
Tabby, alone for the first time since she had been a kitten, had no capacity for even this amount of introspection. After dodging past the guards at the city walls, she had bounded through one of the many cracks in the city’s tumbled-down walls and navigated her way upwards. All she cared about were the angles and slopes of the rooftops that she was prowling along. The streets she had left far below her. They were too crowded for swift movement, and the strands of scent that had led her back along Katerina’s trail were long gone. They had been dispersed by the mob as completely as a drop of blood into a rushing river.
Not that Tabby minded. When it came to her pack sister she had another, more subtle power of detection. It was this sixth sense that kept her drifting slowly towards her mistress. She slipped over the tangled rooftops of the humans’ warren as easily as a cloud, her half-ton of furred muscle seemingly weightless as she sprang from gabled end to tiled facing.
The big cat was getting close to Katerina. She knew this in a way that would have been indescribable to anyone except, perhaps, the mutant hunters of the northern lands.
Tabby knew something else, too. And that was that, now more than ever, her pack sister needed her. This instinctive knowledge was as sharp as the taste of blood and so, despite the dizzying drops that fell away beneath the crumbling tiles, she began to run.
