City of Hope and Despair (15 page)

  The man's brief nod was so stiff with disdain that Kat bristled, as he replied, "Certainly, sir. I'll see what I can arrange."

  He could stuff his disapproval where the globes don't shine. Polite conduct wouldn't feed her tomorrow, whereas the rest of that pie would.

  Once the waiter had left, Kat returned to glowering at Brent. She didn't trust him, and trusted even less the fact that he worked for some unseen employer whose real agenda might be anything. But, on the other hand, if he really could help bring down the Soul Thief… for that prize she'd take any risk.

  "So," he asked, "do we work together, or not?"

  She held his gaze for a moment and then nodded. "All right, we work together; but if at any stage you screw up or even think of double-crossing me and mine, you'll wish you'd never been born."

  He smiled again and held his hands out, palms upward as if to demonstrate he was harmless. "Understood. In fact, I wouldn't want it any other way."

  They left the chophouse together, Brent donning a brown coat with an elaborate upturned collar which might have been the height of fashion somewhere in the world but looked comically out of place here in the streets of the under-City. Kat watched him saunter off and was almost tempted to follow, when a voice spoke from behind her.

  "Careful of that one, young lady."

  She turned around, to see the elderly man who'd smiled at her during the meal from over Brent's shoulder. He was standing in the restaurant's doorway, evidently in the process of leaving.

  "What do you mean?"

  "None of my business, I know, but he smells of the East to me. Never trust a man who smells of the East." He smiled; the same warm and open expression she'd seen earlier. "Well, good night to you." He then strolled off in the opposite direction.

  When Kat turned back again to look at Brent, he'd already disappeared from sight.

TEN

Tom came awake slowly, shedding layers of sleep like a snake casting off old skin. Not bad for someone who'd been convinced they wouldn't manage another wink for the rest of the night. True to his word, Dewar had returned before the sun rose. His mood seemed even blacker than before he'd ridden off and he refused to discuss where he'd been or what had happened. All of which irritated Tom no end. Who did he think he was?

  "A couple of hours rest, then we'll break camp," their reticent "leader" declared. "We need to put as much distance between us and Crosston as soon as possible."

  Crosston: was that where he'd disappeared too? Despite being curious and feeling frustrated at Dewar's insistence on treating him like the child the dour man doubtless thought him to be, Tom basically felt a huge sense of relief. He'd been afraid that Dewar might want them to move on immediately, particularly given the night's events. Had the man done so, Tom would have refused, not for his own sake but for Mildra's. The Thaistess was clearly exhausted by the effort of having to heal herself and had nodded off to sleep long before Dewar reappeared. Quite what the outcome of such a refusal might have been he had no idea, and was glad he wouldn't have to find out.

  Morning found Mildra still looking tired while insisting she felt fine. Not that Tom was fooled; nor presumably was Dewar, because he insisted she sat on the horse when they set out. Mildra protested initially, though without any great conviction. Apparently there should have been two of the beasts, but the second had seized the opportunity to escape while Dewar was off on his mysterious night-time ride.

  One was quite enough for Tom, though as the morning progressed he overcame his vague mistrust of horses sufficiently to walk beside the Thaistess and even to spell Dewar in leading her mount from time to time.

  "So, you can ride now?" he teased at one point.

  "I wish," she replied. "Sit on a horse, yes; ride it, no. If Beauty went any faster than her current walk, I'd be on my backside in the grass in no time." She patted the horse affectionately.

  "Beauty?"

  "Well, I had to call her something. And she is, isn't she?"

  Tom frowned at the horse, then back at Mildra. "You don't really want me to answer that, do you?"

  Mildra laughed. "Men!"

  Tom couldn't help but smile. It felt good to be called that. Especially by her.

  He was finding walking easier this second day, less taxing on the muscles, though whether that was due to them growing more accustomed to the exercise or the lingering after-effects of Mildra's laying-on of hands the previous evening, he couldn't be sure.

  The day's biggest surprise, at least from Tom's perspective, came when they stopped for lunch.

  "Not you," Dewar said, singling out Tom, who only had eyes for the bread and dried meat he was in the process of unpacking at the time.

  "What?"

  "Come over here, and bring your sword. Let's at least make sure you know how to hold the brecking thing so you look less as if you just stumbled across it in a bin and more as if the weapon actually belongs to you."

  So began Tom's first ever lesson in swordsmanship.

  All too soon Dewar signalled an end to proceedings, sheathing his sword and saying, "Remember, practice!"

  The session hadn't lasted long and barely scratched the surface of a few rudimentary skills, but Tom came away with a little more confidence; enough to justify missing out on the precious chance to rest, even if it did mean bolting some food down hurriedly as they were about to set off again.

  Dewar's instruction to practice sounded like good advice to Tom, which he would have loved to have followed, if only he weren't so busy traipsing across the countryside at the time.

  The Thair was a close companion for much of that day, and they saw stilt-legged herons high-stepping their way daintily through the river's shallows, snake-necked cormorants diving her depths to emerge with fish wriggling in their outstretched beaks, and V-shaped formations of ever-scolding geese flying above her waters, while boats frequently rode her central currents in both directions.

  When leaving Crosston they'd chosen a less-travelled road in order to stay close to the Thair – Dewar in the everdwindling hope of finding a vessel willing to take them upriver, Mildra for her own reasons as Tom was now coming to realise. He hated to think what would have happened if the previous night's attack had occurred any distance from the river and the Thaistess had been unable to draw on her healing abilities. They encountered few other travellers. "Most who come this way do so in a boat," as Dewar muttered a little wistfully when watching yet another vessel at the river's heart steadily outpace them.

  They passed several isolated dwellings hugging the river's bank, each with a boat or two moored nearby or sometimes out on the water, fishing, and they walked through two small villages that afternoon, with Tom hopeful that they might dally for a while in the second and perhaps end the day's walking early. He quite fancied the idea of a warm bed and of falling asleep with a roof over his head, but everyone else seemed happy to continue, which meant another night under the stars trying to get comfortable on the unyielding ground. At least they did stop long enough to pick up some fresh fish in the village, introducing a bit of variety to their evening meal.

  While Mildra set the fire Dewar gutted the fish, before taking Tom to one side for a further quick but intense training session. Tom came away with aching arms and sweat dampening his clothes, but exhilarated and pleased with how the session had gone. He was more than ready for the fish, which proved delicious to the last flaky white-fleshed mouthful.

  He fell asleep rehearsing sword moves in his head.

• • • •

The door had been repaired, after a fashion. Though Kat hoped this was only a temporary replacement and not the best the apothaker could afford. She rapped smartly on the faceless sheet of cheap plywood that now blocked the entrance; two knocks, which sounded dull and hollow, while the whole door vibrated beneath her fist.

  It occurred to her belatedly that the apothaker might have moved away – gone to stay with friends or relatives after the traumas of the other night, but then she heard the shuffle of movement from within.

  "I'm not open," a tired voice called out. "Try Sur Eames in Woodhouse Lane."

  "It's me, Kat," she said, suddenly self-conscious and glancing around to ensure no passerby could overhear what she said next, "the Death Queen from the other night."

  There came a rattle of chains and a scraping, as if a chair or some such had been pressed against the door's other side and needed to be removed.

  The door opened a fraction, and a vertical strip of face appeared in the gap, complete with eye. "Kat, is it?" The face withdrew to a further rattle of chains and the door opened more fully. "You'd better come in, I suppose."

  Kat followed her inside, having to manoeuvre around a solid wooden chair; presumably the one that had been used to block the door. The place smelt, and not of anything pleasant. She wondered if the old woman had moved from this room at all since the other evening, even to wash or pee.

  "I presume you have something to tell me, about the monster that killed my Kara?" the apothaker said as she shuffled to a high-backed armchair and flopped down into it. The way she asked made it sound as if Kat dropping by to bring her an update was the most natural thing in the world.

  On a small table in front of the armchair rested a drawing done in charcoal on a sheet of textured paper. It was a portrait of a girl, or young woman, smiling, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes and her face framed by a cascade of dark hair. Skilfully executed, the image seemed imbued with a sense of life, though it was only a sketch. Kat could sense the love and care that had gone into its crafting and guessed this must be Kara. "She was beautiful," she said softly.

  "Yes, yes she was," the apothaker said, reaching forward to fiddle with the picture as if embarrassed to have her efforts on display and perhaps intending to move the sheet out of sight; but in the end she left it there. "I used to paint…" she explained. "In another life, when there was more time, and more beauty in the world." She shivered, and then straightened in the chair. "Now, what news?"

  "Well," Kat said, a little guardedly. "I think we've found a way to trap the Soul Thief and finish her off once and for all, but we're gonna need your help."

  "My help?" The woman cackled. "Never did learn how to use a knife, young lady, and if it's potions you're after, I've already given you the best I have. What help could I possibly be?"

  "Not just you; we need everyone with talent, as many as we can possibly find."

  The old woman's eyes narrowed. "And what would you want all these folk for?"

  Kat took a deep breath, knowing that what she said next would either win or lose the apothaker's support. "As bait."

  "Ah, I see." The old woman sat silent for a few seconds. "And you're sure that when the monster takes this bait, you can stop it?"

  Kat smiled. "The Tattooed Men have weapons at our disposal you've never dreamed of; the sort of thing we don't get a chance to use too often. We'll stop her, don't worry." She spoke with such assurance and sincerity, she almost convinced herself.

  "Very well, I'll help. Of course I will, if it means revenge… And I can help, perhaps more than you realise. I sense talent, you see, feel it within a person. I know if they're the genuine article or a pompous sham. It's how I found Kara. Would that be of any use to you?"

  Kat stared at her host. She'd come here hoping the old woman could point her in the direction of other practitioners in the area, people who might have a smattering of genuine talent, but if the apothaker truly could tell those who did from those who merely claimed to, that was a boon beyond anything Kat had ever dreamed of finding.

  "Maybe," she said, her usual guarded nature asserting itself. "You'll come with me, then?"

  The old woman looked up and smiled – an expression that held no mirth or warmth but rather reminded Kat of a naked skull's grin. "What, the chance to catch the brecker that killed my Kara? Of course I will. Wouldn't miss it for anything."

  "We could start with this Eames in Woodhouse Lane you mentioned…"

  The apothaker shook her head. "I wouldn't bother – the man's a complete fraud. You don't think I'd send my customers to anyone who might actually take them away from me, do you?" She rose from her seat and pulled a sequinned shawl from a wall hook; a garment that looked as if it might have cost a pretty penny once upon a time. After wrapping the shawl with meticulous care around her shoulders and securing it with a pin, she ushered Kat towards the door. "Don't worry, girl, stick with me and I'll show you where the real talent lies."

Moonlight graced the land with fey shadows and an ephemeral beauty which Ulbrax was not even remotely in the mood to enjoy. By daybreak this would again be just one more barren and unremarkable hillside looking down on the great trade road as it made its way to Crosston.

  "What are we doing here, Seth?"

  Wil was getting on his nerves, and Ulbrax was finding the Seth persona increasingly difficult to maintain.

  "I told you, seeking help. Trust me, Wil, everything will become clear shortly."

  Better if he had undertaken this trip alone, but that was never really an option.

  He'd brought with him the length of wood – the fifth spoke given to Seth by the demon – and followed the accompanying directions precisely. This was the right place, he felt certain, now all Ulbrax had to do was find the right rock.

  Had
he
been involved from the start, Ulbrax would have come out here like a shot, making sure he knew exactly where the rock was so that he could go straight to it if and when it were needed. Forward planning: never hurt, often helped. Being a mere innkeeper, Seth had never even considered doing anything that intelligent, which left Ulbrax to blunder around in the dark looking for a particular lump of stone among many, with a whining yokel for company.

  Wil had been the obvious choice. Anyone would have served, the lad was just unlucky; but there seemed little point in involving someone new when Wil had already been so helpful in recalling the mercenaries. Besides, there was no guarantee anyone else would prove this gullible.

  "Bring that lantern over here, would you, Wil?"

  The lad duly obliged; anything for his friend Seth, whom he clearly trusted implicitly. From the demon's description, the rock ought to be one of this clump before him… ah yes. Difficult to be certain in the fickle illumination of the lantern, but there looked to be a small hole in the face of one of them, a pit that was about the right size. He scraped ineffectually at the moss that partially concealed the indentation, then took the fifth spoke and brought it to the stone. If this truly was a fit, it was going to be a tight one. He wriggled the spoke around, increasingly confident that this was the right match, but unable to find the proper angle to push the stick home.

  "Keep the light steady!" he snapped. Not that Wil was doing anything but; he just needed to vent a little steam at somebody.

  Given the passage of years, it was hardly surprising if dust and dirt and moss had conspired to obscure and partially close the small hole. Setting the spoke to one side for the moment, Ulbrax took out his knife and used its tip to scrape away moss and gouge into the hollow, flicking out detritus as he went. He then tried the spoke again and this time, with only a minimum of coaxing, the stick grated home.

  He rubbed his hands together and smiled at Wil, who looked vaguely uncomfortable and distinctly puzzled.

  "Right," Ulbrax said, "Now comes the moment of truth!"

  The key word which the demon had shared with him was no invocation in some long-dead mystical language, no tongue-twisting phrase laden with innate power, nothing that could be represented only by cryptic runes which dripped with eldritch energy. It was a simple, unimposing word.