Initially, she – the unerring, unfailing, unescapable contract killer – had planned to simply cut the prince’s throat. She shook her head.

  Still, at least she had spent the last couple of days in her own company. Suddenly, as though this thought had summoned him, an enormous wolfhound broke through the undergrowth and hopped joyfully up and down around her like a lovesick rabbit, except that – unlike a rabbit – he was barking furiously.

  ‘Yes, I’m glad to see you too, Fleabag,’ she said flatly. ‘Even though this is all your fault. You could easily have just gobbled up the prince.’

  She suspected that an arduous, unpleasant, gruelling path lay ahead of this little Karek prince. But his journey was not part of her life. Admittedly, their paths had crossed, and a further meeting was planned, but that would be it then. Their worlds could hardly be more different. They could hardly be more different.

  She had to admit that her conversations with Karek had introduced an interesting alternative to her own morbid view of the world which had dominated her life for so many years. In the few days she had spent with Karek, she had spoken more than in the five years before. And she had liked it more than she could ever have expected.

  If she recalled the events of the past few months, there was no doubt that a slew of new enemies had scurried into her world. Schohtar, who had contracted her to murder Prince Karek, would have his vassals hunting her down now – this Duke Holy Nose would have done that anyway, irrespective of whether she had killed Karek or not. And Schohtar had two reasons for finishing her off – firstly, because of her role as a contract killer, and secondly, because she had also been none other than the charming Calinka Cornika, who had sullied one of his guest beds with an inordinate amount of blood and excrement, not to mention a considerable amount of corpse – that of the duke’s lackey, Tandrik. Unfortunately for Schohtar, he hadn’t the faintest idea of where to find her. Her anonymity was still secure – and Schohtar could have his men searching for the blond Baroness Calinka until the nose grew back on his face.

  But then there was still the crow’s feather in the dead man’s belt bag near her hiding place in the forest. What was that all about?

  Once again, she arrived at the little lake surrounded by nature, with its solitariness that she loved so much. Lovely that there was no-one asking silly questions and staring at her goggle-eyed whenever she fished or swam. She lay down for the night, put her hands behind her neck and relaxed.

  Tomorrow early, she would travel back to her hut in the Blood Forest. She had remembered the sealed letter from Duke Schohtar, which she had pulled from her beau Tandrik’s waistband after his unexpected death. She had placed the letter in her cupboard. Of course, the last thing she wanted to do was to involve herself in politics. Of course, it was none of her business. Of course, her job was to live so that others didn’t. And now? She was behaving politically! She sat up. Yes siree! Admit it – politics. If she was being hunted down because of an assassination plot against Prince Karek Marein and King Tedore, then that was in all probability political. If she had spent a few days playing mother and child in the forest with the heir to the Toladarian throne, then it wouldn’t be merely a few over-enthusiastic contemporaries who might interpret the whole thing as political in nature.

  How could she have sunk so low? Had she taken leave of her evil senses?

  As if to add to her woes, the ancient language, which she – much to her own amazement – understood, had something to do with her. Her life was becoming ever more complicated – that infuriated her. A thought struck her. How about she simply kill everyone who crossed her path? It didn’t matter who. It would take a while, but eventually she’d have her peace. No humans, no politics, no bother. Logical.

  She found herself thinking that she’d like to ask Karek what he thought of her idea – only, he wasn’t there. So much for that, then. And there was something else that she had to admit. The company of the prince was – how could she put it – finding words to describe such things was always so difficult – well, comforting and, uh, inspiring. There was something about Karek that undoubtedly appealed to her. This was, when it came down to it, the main reason why she hadn’t finished him off immediately. And yet, she had formed a clear picture of the prince based on what she had seen of him in the distance. A fat, spoiled, gluttonous little boy, who had little else to do but digest food. All the more amazing that he went through the hard military training. All the more amazing that his eyes flashed with a gentle intelligence that was to some extent the glaring opposite of the societal norms. She really did believe it possible that he would turn up in what was now twenty-five days’ time in Klamm as agreed. Not probably, but certainly possibly. He really was that stupid. If she were in his shoes, she would stay well away from the place.

  Early the next morning when the sun had announced itself with a flourish of red sky, she set off. She was wearing her black leather waistcoat, her black leather pants and her black lace-up boots. She wanted to acquire a horse at the old water mill in the valley. It was there that the stonecutter ran his business along with his wife – directly on the southern road. He bought and sold horses as a side-line.

  She arrived at her destination around noon. Even from a distance she could already see that something was amiss. Two men were sitting and laughing before the mighty waterwheel that was turning slowly beside the main building. The current of the river flowing by – a tributary of the Karpane – pushed the blades in a leisurely and tireless manner through the water. She noticed a movement on the wheel – something seemed to be attached to it, but then it disappeared. As she got closer, she understood. The two chaps had tied a person to the wheel. With every revolution, the fellow was ducked under the surface for a time, before reappearing for another three-quarters of a turn on the other side. What a deadly idea – looked like fun.

  To the right of the waterwheel was an untidy array of blocks made from granite, sandstone and marble from the nearby quarries, all ready to be worked on.

  The two men were sitting comfortably on one such enormous granite block which would surely take several months to grind through.

  She arrived at the pair, nodded to them and observed the waterwheel turning the dripping bundle in circles.

  One of the men casually placed his hand on the pommel of his sword. The other lad adjusted an eyepatch and greeted her: ‘Another spectator. And a girl, to boot. Wow!’

  Clearly, the hood had failed to disguise her femininity in the bright sunshine.

  Her eyes followed another complete revolution.

  ‘Deadly,’ she said in acknowledgement, remaining straight-faced nonetheless. ‘How time does fly.’

  ‘Him there. It was his idea,’ laughed One-Eye heartily as he pointed at a muscular fellow wearing stained leather armour. ‘His ideas are always deadly!’

  ‘It’s dead cool alright.’ She placed her arms on her hips. ‘Who is he?’ she asked as the waterwheel raised the dripping figure out of the river again.

  ‘The stonecutter, who else?’

  ‘And his wife, where would she be?’

  ‘Inside. We’re finished with her already.’

  ‘Is she as clean too?’

  ‘Nah – the opposite more like. Him-There had another idea for her.’

  Both men laughed lewdly.

  She showed no reaction. None of this was her business.

  The man on the wheel appeared again – like a silent witness. He moved one arm weakly – clearly, he was hoping that she would help him. Well, he could wait – not too long, though, for the man looked half dead. She had been far too soft-hearted of late – this simple-minded stonecutter could go rot as far as she was concerned.

  ‘Why isn’t he screaming?’

  ‘He did at the start – and how. But after riding the carousel for two hours or so, the fella must have reckoned that saving his breath for the diving periods was the wisest option, for I haven’t noticed any gills on him.’

  The duo laughed uproariously – their deadly humour was beautifully balanced between the pair of them.

  Her face remained impassive. It really wasn’t any of her business.

  The man on the wheel wheezed: ‘Help. Help me. Please help, Hel…’

  He had ducked again. The silence was golden.

  ‘What sort of fellows are you, anyway? Apart from being quick-witted wits?’

  ‘We belong to the Grey Mercenaries,’ replied One-Eye.

  ‘There’s gold to be got here, or so they say. Which is why a few of us have gathered together. And you? What’s a woman doing here alone and on foot?’

  ‘I intend to buy a horse,’ she said. ‘Could you pause him for a bit so that I can haggle with him over a price without getting dizzy.’

  Him-There had a voice too: ‘Not necessary. He gave us his entire horse business. You can buy one from us, though.’

  He pointed at a saddled gelding and a mare, both of whom were tied to a pole nearby.

  ‘Grand. How much do you charge for an animal?’

  ‘A hundred large gold coins,’ said Him-There.

  That figure was the equivalent to a declaration of war. Roughly two hundred times the normal price for horses of that class.

  At that moment, the stonecutter’s complaining resumed.

  ‘Helllp, please,’ he gasped in the background.

  ‘I’ll give you two small gold coins,’ she replied in a business-like manner.

  ‘That’s too little. But you can make up the rest by paying us in kind.’

  ‘That’s a deadly idea. What exactly do you rakes have in mind?’ she asked curiously as the man on the waterwheel spun past, pleading for his life.

  Him-There’s leer was dirtier than his clothing. He demonstratively straightened something in his crotch and winked at his pal but said nothing.

  ‘Didn’t you have your fun inside already, the pair of you?’ she asked inquisitively.

  ‘Ah, no. Not really. She scratched and sobbed and screamed.’

  ‘What a surprise,’ she said.

  ‘But she’s still alive. We want to try again later.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be delighted.’

  Her face remained impassive. It was none of her business. Why did she keep telling herself that? Clearly, it had nothing to do with her. Unease nagged at her.

  Him-There mused for a moment. As he did so, the tip of his tongue poked through a gap in his upper teeth thanks to a missing incisor: ‘But before we get down to business, let’s bet on how many more laps the stonecutter on the wheel will do.’

  ‘Before he snuffs it, you mean? I’d say he’ll last a good thirty at least,’ ventured One-Eye, giving his expert opinion on the matter.

  ‘Nah, more than…uh…let me think…more than…uh…and that’s all I have to say on the matter,’ calculated Him-There. It seemed that he was unfamiliar with numbers higher than thirty.

  ‘I’m pretty sure he won’t last more than two more rounds,’ she countered.

  ‘Nonsense – the fella is tough, and up until now, he’s always held his breath at the right moment,’ grinned Him-There.

  One-Eye laughed.

  The dripping, bound figure rattled past again – at least, he was quiet now.

  ‘Another one – then it will all be over.’

  Him-There was becoming suspicious. ‘You’re not planning on killing him beforehand now, are you?’

  ‘No, don’t worry. Not him.’

  Him-There became even more suspicious.

  She went to the waterwheel. First, she adjusted the wooden sluice gate, which lessened the direct flow of water onto the blades. Then she turned an iron lever that pressed a barb into the gear wheel of the mill axle. A few teeth clicked by with the remaining momentum, then the wheel creaked to a halt – the stonecutter was hanging in the north-east.

  ‘What? Who do you think you are, you little shit?!’ scolded Him-There.

  She stood beside him, perfectly relaxed. He struggled for words, before deciding to hit her with his right hand instead. Then he seemed to reconsider, reaching for the weapon on his belt as an alternative. The sword whirred from its scabbard with a metallic whine. His genuine surprise moved her. For it was not he that was holding the sword, but she.

  ‘Uh, I…I want my sword back,’ stammered Him-There.

  ‘Sure. It is yours after all. Here you go.’

  Conscientiously, she returned the sword to its rightful owner, thrusting it up to the hilt into his stomach so that a large part of the blade protruded out his back. Him-There’s knees gave way. He collapsed.

  She turned around. One-Eye’s healthy eye flickered quietly as her dagger found its way into his head. He had nothing to say about the matter at all before he fell to the ground too. Another corpse.

  Now it seemed that she really would have to free the stonecutter – how else would she be able to buy a horse? After all, she was no thief. She stepped up to the waterwheel and cut the man free. He collapsed onto all fours on the ground and vomited up water.

  She left him lying there and went into the house. She found the stonecutter’s wife on the stone floor with swellings to her face as well as blood dripping from her nose, her arms, her legs. The woman groaned and curled up into a panic-stricken ball, terrified that her two torturers had returned. Her eyes, bloodshot witnesses to her rape, reflected the monstrous horror of the previous hours. At least she had never been the victim of this type of violence in the Establishment. Which was odd really, for generally speaking, her educators had never held back from anything. Presumably, the black chancellor must have banned it at the time.

  She felt no pity. Why should she? Would it do the stonecutter’s wife any good? Help was called for here, not pity. She stepped towards the woman and cut the cord, which had bound her hands behind her back.

  ‘You’re safe now. Nothing will happen to you.’

  The woman raised her head, her eyes staring in disbelief. She didn’t seem to be critically injured at any rate.

  She took a bucket, went outside to fill it at the bank of the river, then returned and placed it and a towel in front of the stonecutter’s wife. ‘Wash off the blood.’

  The woman groaned and wailed.

  ‘Don’t make such a song and dance. It was only two of them. Stop complaining and look after your husband. He’s in urgent need of help.’

  The wailing stopped instantly. The woman looked up in irritation. Still too horrified and battered to complain, she nodded slowly and set about cleaning herself.

  She left the house without looking back and walked to the man, who was lying on the ground, weak and cold.

  ‘No, oh no,’ he sobbed.

  ‘Hey, otter. Don’t make such a song and dance. It was only water. Stop complaining and look after your wife. She’s in urgent need of help.’

  She took a large gold coin from her moneybag and threw it down beside him. ‘For the gelding.’ She was paying twice the going rate.

  She swung herself onto the horse and grabbed the reins. She didn’t give the two corpses a second glance. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the woodcutter struggling to his feet and hobbling to his wife, who was hobbling towards him. The two of them reached one another, then embraced. They stayed like that – two woven into one.

  ‘How sweet,’ she thought, scowling as she followed the road to the north. Best get out of here quickly before they get it into their heads to thank her for saving their lives.

  The answer rang out in her head: ‘Yes’. Yes, she had taken leave of her evil senses. She really needed to do something about that. Pronto.

  visitors welcome

  Only a little light filtered through the barred hatch beneath the low ceiling. Karek was sitting on a bundle of straw with his back against the wall. At least the prisoners in these cells enjoyed the rhythm of night and day. So far, the hatch had darkened twice. Still, he assumed that he wouldn’t be spending the rest of his life in here although he had to admit to himself that he’d banked on being released the day before. There was a wooden pail in the corner for whenever he needed to answer nature’s call, but not much else. Four rough stone walls and a heavy wooden door with a barred window at head height. All in all, one could well describe it as being on the bare side.

  The prison guard didn’t improve things much – he never wasted a word, limiting himself to occasionally handing a small portion of food and a mug of water through the grille.

  Time and again, Karek told himself that he had acted properly and that he would do exactly the same thing again. He’d simply had to stand up for Mussand and point out how irresponsibly and shamefully Captain Bostun had behaved. The prince had no idea of what exactly he had been accused of. It could hardly be because he had failed to say ‘sir’ when addressing the captain, could it?

  I certainly didn’t say anything abusive. In fact, if there was any vituperative language, it came from Bostun’s mouth. After all, he did call me ‘a fat piece of shite’.

  On the contrary, he had merely allowed Bostun to reveal his true face with a few well-aimed words. It gave the boy some satisfaction that the captain had lost his cool.

  Now he was merely sitting around here and beginning to stink of his own stink. The whole cell had a terrible stench because the chamber pot hadn’t been emptied once. Still, he was grateful that the container had at least not contained the previous inhabitant’s legacy, too.

  Every so often, he would lie there and allow his mind to waft through the stone walls into the world outside, only for him to wake up again in his cell, confused.

  He was having yet another strange daydream. A little fairy with long brown hair, fairer than a fair morning in springtime, had been standing opposite him, yet in freedom on the other side of the cell door and clearly visible through the grille. She looked very young and resembled the girl from the library.

  A bright melodic voice stroked his senses: ‘A bear waking up from hibernation has a sweet aroma compared to yours.’

  Suddenly, his heart skipped a beat. He leaped up and stammered: ‘Mi…Milafine.’

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28