Cat's Quill (38 page)

"It's all right, Cathal," Will reassured him hoarsely, the earlier conversation about the need for titles forgotten, or perhaps ignored. "He does not know."

"Know what?" Christian demanded. "You both speak in riddles." He sighed, suddenly looking very tired and out of his depth. His world had changed while he'd been away, that much was obvious. He bit his lip, searching Cathal's face and then Will's.

"Amelia and Gerrant are dead, and my lands are gone." Will's voice was flat. Cathal placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it, his anger replaced by an emotion that could have been concern or even guilt. "I have nothing left to risk but myself. I
am
a servant, Christian. It is only fitting I act the part."

Christian stared at him. "God, I'm so sorry." He was pale, his hands shaking. He shoved them in his pockets. "What happened?"

Will tilted his head, motioning him to be quiet. "Now is not the time and place. Cathal is right. It is in the past, and we must worry about the future. If we get out of here alive, I will answer your questions then." He smiled, but it was taut and grim. "Just as you will answer mine."

"And mine," muttered Tomas, his confusion growing with the realization that the more he learned, the less he understood. He cleared his throat. "We'll worry later about what's happened while you were a cat. If we don't get out of here, it won't matter who's done what and when."

"You were a what?" Will's jaw dropped, his mouth working in an outward sign that he was struggling to compose himself after that tidbit of information.

Cathal shook his head, his tone brusque. "Explanations later. Will, do you have horses we can use once we are out of these chambers?"

"Yes, but--"

"No buts." Cathal was taking charge."So we have horses, and a good day's ride ahead of us." He strode over to where the door should be, his brow furrowed in thought. "And one knife between us."

"Two knives," Will corrected, having retrieved his. "We've been up against worse odds and survived."

Cathal smiled thinly. "Yes, we have." He frowned. "What time is it? I've lost all track of it since I was brought here."

"Two hours past nightfall," Will told him. "It gives us the cover of darkness but adds to the danger once we reach the other side of the river."

"Ah yes," Christian remembered. "The diawl. They are not exactly the way I plan to go to my maker. I'd rather be attacked by a dog." Will gave him a quizzical look. Christian ignored it and shrugged.

"Door?" Tomas reminded them, his mind attempting to keep up with the way things suddenly seemed to have jumped from "unable to find a way out" to "making escape plans." An actual exit would be useful too.

"It closed behind me when I entered," Will explained, walking over to a part of the wall that Tomas had already examined. "It simply waits for the correct means in which to open, and then we can leave." It would have been useful if he'd cared to share that information earlier.

"Will, take the lead. Christian, you will follow behind Tomas and me, as you also have a weapon," Cathal ordered. "I'm not sure how much use I will be to you with the state my hands are in, but that doesn't mean I will not fight." His voice softened. "Tomas?"

"I'll be fine," Tomas said, a mix of adrenaline and fear rushing through him, the reality that this might be the end of everything hitting home. "Door?" he said again, helpfully, quickly becoming convinced that all of them, including Cathal, might be more than a little unhinged. Either that or he definitely was missing a very important part of this.

Cathal nodded. "Patience," he cautioned, gesturing to Christian. "The bracelet is made from the tree. It should act as a key." Bending, he used a long piece of straw to draw a straight line in the dirt. Once it was done, he straightened and smiled a little. "I should have thought. I do not have much magic in me, but I have enough for a parlor trick, which is what this is." Taking the bracelet from Christian, he slipped it on his own wrist and whispered a few words under his breath.

Nothing happened.

"You're losing your touch, cousin." Christian shook his head, smirking a little. "Will, if you would assist me? Cat?"

Once the bracelet had been returned, Christian ran the edge of it over the wall, outlining the shape of a door. Will spoke one word in a language Tomas did not understand, and the bricks vanished to leave a gap big enough to squeeze through, similar but on a smaller scale to what had been there before.

Cathal snorted. "She used
that
for the password?"

"It appears she did not appreciate your humor." Christian smirked, enjoying Cathal's annoyance. He slipped the bracelet back on his wrist. "Will and I were not 'doing nothing', as you so tactfully put it. We were figuring out the specifics needed to be free of this place, something which you and Tomas failed to do."

"The only thing I failed to do was find the correct password," Cathal sniffed. "Do you want to argue about this, or shall we make our escape?"

"I'm for escaping." Tomas put in his opinion, not wanting them to launch into yet another argument. Perhaps when they got out of here, he would suggest moving somewhere far away, or leaving Christian in this world while they returned through the portal to the inn. After all, it wouldn't be fair to expect him to spend any more time as a cat. This would work better for all concerned.

"I never said I wasn't." Christian held up his hand in mock-surrender, poked his head through the door, and squeezed through. Cathal rolled his eyes and followed.

Tomas went next; the doorway was a tight fit, reminiscent of crawling through a manhole into a roof cavity in his own world except for the angle of the opening. He sneezed, dust and dirt aggravating his nose as he clambered through.

Checking the tunnel ahead, Cathal handed Will a lit torch. "Just enough to light the way, but no more," he warned. "Be careful, all of you."

"As you wish, my lord," Will murmured, inclining his head. Tomas followed him, putting Cathal behind him before there was a chance for protest. Christian slipped ahead to catch up with Will, Cathal's orders either forgotten or ignored.

Before they took a step farther, Tomas laid a hand on Cathal's shoulder, dropping his voice to a hoarse whisper. "What was the password?" he hissed.

Cathal snorted. "She translated something simple into the language of the mages," he explained, glancing behind them at the now-solid wall. The door had not stayed open long; they had no option but to keep moving and hope their enemies were not waiting for them, using their escape as an excuse for execution or worse.

"What?" Tomas slipped his hand into Cathal's, keeping his touch light so as not to hurt his injuries further.

Even in the dim light, he could see Cathal's expression change to one of grim determination. It matched the one Tomas knew he wore himself.

Warm breath brushed against his ear and was gone, one last word spoken as they moved out.

"Bitch," Tomas muttered. They were getting out of here; whether it was in one piece remained to be seen, but one thing was for certain. Whatever happened, he and Cathal would be doing it together, and she would not touch him ever again.

That bloody horse would be the last thing, freely or not, that Cathal ever gave her.

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Chapter Twenty-Six

The journey toward the surface, and their way out, seemed to take forever. Tomas shivered, trying to ignore how cold it was, biting his lip to stop his teeth chattering. It was meant to be getting warmer the farther they traveled upward, not colder.

"Are you all right?" Cathal whispered, turning his head slightly, the corridor at this point so narrow that they were forced to walk single file. He was breathing heavily, though any discomfort or effort from the uphill hike did not reflect on his face, but it could have been hidden amongst the shadows reflected by the dim lighting on the walls either side of them.

Tomas tightened his grip on the torch he'd helped himself to several minutes after they'd entered the corridor. Seeing a rat scampering over his booted foot was much preferable to feeling something and not knowing what it was. "Fine," he mumbled. His legs still ached, the cold aggravating his joints. The thought of another encounter with a horse in the immediate future was not improving his mood.

Slowing down, Cathal slipped one hand into Tomas's free one. Ahead of them, Will and Christian kept up a steady pace, both of them exchanging the odd word but not loudly enough that they could be overheard clearly. "I hate the cold," Cathal admitted, "and enclosed spaces. I always have." His hand tightened around Tomas's. It felt suspiciously damp, like his wounds had begun bleeding again. "If night has fallen like Will said, it will be very cold outside. We're sheltered from the worst of it in here."

"This isn't the worst?" Tomas swore under his breath. "It's still freezing in here, Cat."

"Humor me?" Cathal shivered. He smiled suddenly. "We could share a horse? Body heat is good protection against the cold." The smile sobered. "Seriously, though, I'm not up to riding with these hands. Someone's going to have to take control of the horse, and at this point I'd prefer to stay close to you rather than anyone else."

"I'm not very good on a horse...." Tomas trailed off, his face going bright red. God, had he just said that?

"Oh I'm sure you're very good." Cathal squeezed his hand, appearing not to have registered completely what Tomas had just said. "We'll worry about that when we get out of these catacombs. The horses will be the least of our problems, I suspect."

"Deryn is not getting her hands on you," Tomas muttered, stepping back to avoid a drip of moisture from the roof. It dribbled down his nose, and he spluttered when a drop of it connected with his tongue. It tasted disgusting and chalky, the musty smell making him sneeze again. His stomach churned, and he swallowed, tasting bile. This place was nasty; even the cell had been preferable.

"She's certainly not getting her hands on
you
." Cathal linked their fingers together, not quite hiding his wince when he did so or the weariness in his voice. He was still wearing Tomas's cloak, but his hands were freezing, and growing more so.

"Do you need help?" Christian hissed, peering back into the semi-darkness. "Will says we will be there in another few minutes. You need to keep quiet!"

"We're fine," Cathal called back softly. "Keep going and we'll be right behind you." He took another step forward, stumbled, and righted himself quickly.

"You're tired and you're cold," Tomas whispered. "I'm worried about you." This was more than just a reaction to the cold, surely. "How long is it since you've eaten or had something to drink?"

"I'm fine," Cathal insisted, raising his chin stubbornly in a manner Tomas was already growing far too familiar with. "Nothing good sleep and a meal won't cure." He pulled the cloak around him, muttering about the cold and how peasants had far more comfortable and warmer dwellings.

"And medical treatment for those cuts." Tomas glanced behind them, the hairs on his neck standing up on end. The doorway into the catacombs had vanished behind them, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that they were being followed, or watched. The corridor began widening out. Tomas quickened his pace so that he was walking alongside Cathal instead of behind him. "Lean on me if you need," he offered. They would be of out here soon; he couldn't wait to breathe fresh air again.

"Thank you, but I'll be fine," Cathal murmured softly, his thumb stroking Tomas's hand. His head came up, and he frowned. "Did you hear that?"

"No." Tomas listened carefully, but there was nothing. He swung his torch, highlighting the walls around and behind him. Water clung to the walls, together with something green and nasty which hopefully was merely moss or some kind of native plant life, but nothing moved or made a noise.

Cathal shrugged. "I must have imagined it. For a moment I thought I heard a footstep. Perhaps it's just an echo."

"Perhaps," Tomas agreed, not convinced. He still couldn't shake the thought that they were being observed. "Let's get out of here." At least on the surface they would be able to see if they were surrounded. The thought they might be already and not know it was making him very uneasy.

Ahead of them, Will had stopped walking, holding up a hand for them to do the same. Tomas peered through the hazy light the torch provided, trying to see what Will had found. Hopefully, it was the way out, which, if he remembered correctly, was a heavy door, most likely locked. He doubted Deryn would be stupid enough to take any chances in case her captives did get this far. Jasper had been careful to lock it behind him too, as crossing Deryn would only serve to ensure his early demise.

Christian bent his head, examining the lock. He placed one hand on it, then frowned and shook his head. "I've been out of practice for too long," he muttered.

Practice? What could Christian do in this body that he couldn't as a cat? Tomas sighed, already mentally listing the differences between the two. For some reason Christian was really getting to him, and it wasn't as though the other man had even done much of anything. Or perhaps that was the problem. And the fact that he'd been a cat, had all the pieces to the puzzle Tomas had been looking for, and had smirked at him in typical cat fashion whenever the opportunity provided. The realization that Tomas was being unreasonable didn't help; there was no way that Christian could have shared the information he had, even if he'd wanted to. What was he supposed to have done? Held a conversation in human speech, or perhaps written a letter?

That settled it. Tomas was losing his mind; ignoring those pesky facts that he'd come into another world through a portal in a tree, ridden miles on horseback only to be thrown into a dungeon to find that the cousin of the man he was in love with had, until recently, been a cat.

It all sounded so very... plausible... when it was laid out like that. Explaining it to Donovan and Heidi was going to be such fun. Explaining it to his friend, Ethan, who had always thought Tomas was a little illogical at the best of times, was going to be... interesting was the only word his mind could come up with. It sounded a little too much like grasping at straws.

"It will come back in time," Will said gently to Christian, bringing Tomas back to what was supposedly reality.

"You've been exposed to a lot of magic in a short time, cousin," Cathal interjected. "The bracelet interferes as well as protects. Nothing comes without a price. It's just the value of it that changes."

"I could take it off, but I doubt that would make a difference for the amount of time we'd need with the state of my abilities at present." Christian turned to look at Cathal. "Are you up to opening this lock? We will find another way if you aren't."

"You shouldn't take it off again except for a few minutes here and there," Cathal frowned. "Prolonged exposure away from the tree without it can be very detrimental." He let go of Tomas's hand, pushing past Will and Christian to take a closer look at the lock, dropping to a stooped position so that he could run one finger around the outline. "Give me your knife, Christian," he ordered. "I can do this. The lock is old; it's just a question of finding the right angle, and it might take some time." He held out his hand in expectation, not waiting for anyone to actually agree with him.

"Are you up to doing this?" Christian repeated. He and Will exchanged a glance, part resigned, part exasperated.

"You need your energy for when we get out of this catacomb," Tomas pointed out, adding his opinion, for what it was worth.

"If we don't get out of here, it won't matter." Cathal stood upright again; his eyes were bright, his expression grim, his voice almost too calm. "Give me the damn knife, cousin, or I'll take it."

Christian snorted. "That I'd like to see. You've never bested me in a fight, even when we were both in a better physical state than we are now."

"Ah yes," Cathal smirked a little, "but you've never bested me in an argument." He held out his hand again. "Knife. Now. There is no other way out. We'll discuss the technicalities of this later, once we are safe."

Will quietly removed the knife from Christian's hand and gave it to Cathal. "As much as it amuses me when the two of you do this, now is not the time for egos and fighting. We need to work together, allow each other's strengths to be used and mend the results of the consequences later."

Both cousins stared at him for a moment. Cathal shrugged, turned his back, and started working on the lock. Christian rolled his eyes and folded his arms, and his lips thinned into a narrow smile. "Playing the servant, indeed," he muttered. "We will be discussing what has happened in my absence later."

"Oh I quite expect we will,
Master
Christian." Will returned the smile before turning his attention to Tomas. "If Cathal falters when we are free of this place, can I count on you to assist him?" He lowered his voice. "It might involve throwing him over your shoulder and ignoring the swearing and protestations that go with it, but I figure if you're certain you want to be with him, it's only fair that you see that side of him as well."

"You can count on me," Tomas promised, part of him hoping it wouldn't come to that, the other wondering what it would be like to have Cathal in that position. Did he have the physical energy left to do that? Whatever happened, he'd find it. Leaving Cathal behind was not an option; not when they'd come this far.

"I heard that!" Cathal muttered, but his concentration on the job at hand did not waver.

"Good!" Despite the conversation between them, Christian was watching his cousin like a hawk. They all were. Stubbornness was one thing. Collapsing was quite another.

The knife twisted, first one way and then another. Cathal muttered something else under his breath, perspiration dripping from his forehead onto the handle of the knife. Tomas edged closer, not trusting Cathal to keep gripping the knife from the safe end if he needed more maneuverability.

"One more," Cathal whispered hoarsely, ignoring everyone around him. His fingers tightened. Blood oozed through the dressings on his hand. He didn't wince, didn't react, all of his concentration focused on getting the lock open.

One more flick of the knife, and there was a loud click. Cathal turned the handle and frowned. "Open, you...." He let loose with a string of words Tomas had never heard before. Both Will and Christian cringed.

Cathal glared at the door. It refused to budge. In frustration he kicked at it with one booted foot. There was a loud whining noise, rusty hinges protesting with their own form of swearing. Cathal kicked it again. Then he swayed on his feet. Tomas caught him before he could hit the floor.

The door opened, the cold night air beckoning freedom and whatever lay beyond.