City of Hope and Despair (5 page)

  "You brecking monster," she screamed at the thing's back, "you've killed her!" The old woman couldn't bring herself to touch the ashen husk that now occupied the chair, for all that she wanted to reach out and hold her precious Kara, to cradle her in her arms. At first she had hoped, somehow, that the girl might yet live, that she was merely damaged and could be nursed back to health, but it was immediately obvious that all hint of life had gone.

  What now? How could she possibly survive without the girl's talent and the preparations it infused? The tears came unbidden; for Kara and for herself.

  The living nightmare barely paused. It gathered before the front door, which abruptly exploded outward, and the thing flowed through, to vanish into the thinner darkness of the night.

  Irrationally, the old woman followed, stopping in the vacant doorway to shout in the nightmare's wake, "Come back! You might as well take me as well! What am I supposed to do without her? You've already killed me, so come back and finish the job!"

  But the killer had gone.

  The old woman suddenly realised that she wasn't alone out here, as a face turned towards her, doubtless startled by her shouts. The apothaker nearly screamed anew in shock, but stopped herself, fascinated by this new apparition. Wide eyes stared out of a face covered in a pattern of intricate runes and markings. She suddenly realised what this had to be.
A Tattooed Man!
She saw others now, slipping through the pools of light and shadow cast by the street lamps. They were questing, hunting. Instinct told her that they were after her monster. She dashed back into the house, opened a cupboard and snatched up a particular phial before returning to the shattered door. She looked out expecting to see the Tattooed Man or someone similar but they'd moved on and instead she was confronted by a wiry black-clad girl, short sword clutched in either hand.

  The apothaker gasped anew. "You're one of them, aren't you?
The Death Queens.
" The legendary warrior sisters said to rule the Tattooed Men.

  "Get back inside, mother. This isn't a night to be outdoors."

  
So young.
"It's been here," she blurted, desperate that the girl should understand, "that thing. It killed my Kara." The tears flowed again, as the image of the desiccated body in the room at her back flashed through her mind's eye. She wasn't ashamed of her grief and held her head high.

  "I'm sorry… for your loss." The girl was obviously uneasy, wanted to be away. "You're not alone, but when we catch it, we'll claim revenge for you and everyone else, I promise."

  "Here, take this." The old woman thrust the precious phial towards this girl. She looked to be no more than a few years older than Kara, yet there was a fire all her own glowing within this feral girl's breast. The apothaker sensed that this mere slip of a thing, this Death Queen, might actually stand a chance of killing the creature. There was a talent in her, nothing like Kara's, but something bright and strong all the same.

  The girl stared at her as though she were mad.

  "I'm an apothaker, and a good one," she explained, pride refusing to be dismissed so readily.

  "Yeah, I'm sure, but just go back indoors…"

  "No, you listen to me! I might not be able to hold a sword and could never hunt that thing down, but I can do this much. In here is the most potent elixir of luck I've ever distilled. Genuine talent went into this; not mine you understand,
Kara's
; and she was special,
really
special. Why else do you think that creature came here?"

  The girl hesitated for an instant, then nodded and, after transferring one of the swords so that both were held in her left hand, snatched the phial.

  "Drink this and you'll catch that thing, and beat it, and kill it."

  "Thank you. Now, please…"

  "I know, I know, I'm going back inside." Yet still the woman lingered. "One thing, before I do, though..."

  "What?" The word was snapped, the girl's patience clearly at an end.

  The apothaker had suddenly realised she didn't even have a label to attach to her hate, didn't know what to call the creature that had just stolen her life away. "This monster, does it have a name?"

  The girl smiled grimly. "Yeah, it has a name all right, one straight out of a children's tale, maybe even a story you threatened your Kara with on nights when she was being stubborn and wilful and wouldn't go to bed. It's called the Soul Thief."

Being back among the Tattooed Men felt odd. In fact, if Kat were to be entirely honest, it felt odd being alive at all. She had returned to the Pits expecting to die.

  The two of them, these sister-strangers, had walked back from the Pits in silence, M'gruth between them. Each refusing to acknowledge the other. Then Kat had found herself back in a world she thought she'd abandoned forever – that of the close-knit tribe known as the Tattooed Men.

  She could never have actually killed Charveve – or Chavver as she preferred to be called – while she had no doubt that her sister would happily have slain her. Therein lay the vital difference. Kat was prepared to fight with every scrap of strength and will at her command to avoid being killed herself, but that was never going to be enough; not when her sister was prepared to go that crucial step further.

  Kat was under no illusions. She knew their fight to the death wasn't over but had merely been put to one side while the pair of them concentrated on hunting down the Soul Thief. Afterwards, they'd finish it; one way or another.

  All of which gave the present circumstances a surreal edge, even though everything was so familiar in many ways, like stepping back in time. Around her people moved with unhurried efficiency. The sounds of provisions being shifted and weapons readied – the rap of wooden crates on solid floor, the hiss of blade edge on whetstone, the gentle slap of feet and creak of leather harness – the Tattooed Men were preparing for war. Here was Shayna fussing over her wounds, there was Charveve balling out M'gruth. The old crowd, together again; except for Rayul, her closest friend among all of them.

  Rayul would never again be part of such gatherings. Because Kat had killed him. No one else here knew that as yet. Now
there
was a conversation she wasn't looking forward to.

  Her wounds were mere scratches but Shayna brushed aside all such protests. "Even scratches can become infected."

  Kat knew better than to argue, so surrendered to the healer's ministrations, relaxing as the older woman placed gentle hands around the edge of each wound. Warmth emanated from those hands, coursing through her body and producing a sense of tremendous wellbeing. She had to fight the urge to close her eyes and simply drift off to sleep, struggling to stay focused so that she could watch as each cut and minor wound closed and rapidly disappeared, leaving no more than a faint scar. Kat had seen this done many times before, but the sight never ceased to amaze her.

  "That's some talent," she said, more drowsily than intended.

  Shayna shrugged. "It's nothing really. All I do is speed up the body's natural healing processes."

  "And you call that nothing? Seems pretty special to me."

  "We're the Tattooed Men, Katerina. There's no one else like us in the whole of the city, most likely the world, so we're all special, even you. Especially you."

  Kat grinned, willing to overlook the use of her full name – Shayna was one of the few she'd let get away with such things. "Tell that to my sister sometime, will you?"

  "I've tried, believe me, I've tried." So saying, the healer stood up and moved away, leaving Kat to rouse herself to full wakefulness once more.

  Chavver was in her element, snapping out orders and organising the Tattooed Men with well-practiced ease. Kat wondered whether her sister's injuries had benefited from Shayna's healing hands as hers had and, if so, why the older girl wasn't acting as woozy as she herself felt. Probably another manifestation of her famed iron will. After all, a queen couldn't be seen to show weakness in front of her subjects.

  Well, anything she could do, Kat could match. So thinking, she pushed her body upright and swung her feet off the bench, planting them firmly on the floor, before forcing herself to stand. After a moment to make sure she wasn't going to wilt back onto the bench again, she strode purposefully towards her sister. Chavver turned at her approach and favoured her with a withering "Oh, so you're still here are you?" look.

  "What about me?" Kat demanded. "And don't even think of trying to leave me out of this, Chav."

  For an instant Kat's gaze locked with her sister's and she saw the hatred that still burned in the depths of eyes so like her own, then the older girl's focus shifted, sliding past her, and she called out, "M'gruth – Rel and Kat are with you," not even deigning to acknowledge her younger sibling.

  Kat glanced around towards M'gruth, who stared back at her wide-eyed, clearly not relishing the prospect of giving orders to someone who had once led the Tattooed Men, but Kat smiled to reassure him. She couldn't care less about status. All that mattered was that she was involved, that she would have a chance to hunt down the abomination that had murdered her mother.

  Besides, did Chavver really reckon that M'gruth had the balls to order
her
about? She suppressed a smile as she turned away and went to make her own preparations, determining to grab a bite to eat at the same time – nothing too heavy with the night that lay ahead, but she was going to need energy and plenty of it.

Night time and the tattooed Men were out in force. Kat had almost forgotten how good it felt to run with them; the sense of casual power, the feeling that nothing could harm her. In the year or more since she'd left them Kat had become a solitary skulker, flitting through the under-City like a ghost, moving across the territories of several established street-nick gangs, often unseen, always unchallenged. This had enabled her to believe that she was apart and somehow superior to the nicks and other petty denizens of the streets as she watched their furtive comings and goings without being involved.

  Running with the Tattooed Men was akin to that in many ways but more so. Arrayed to either side of her, strung out in a long line so that they were in eyeshot courtesy of the under-City's flickering lanterns – if at times just barely so – were men of similar competence to herself. They ranged across territories with impunity. No need to skulk now; only a fool would consider standing in their way. The Tattooed Men were hunting. Like some far-flung human net they trawled the streets of the City Below.

  Kat was positioned towards the right-hand tip of their line while Chavver would be holding the centre. Kat looked to her left, seeing M'gruth emerge from an alleyway, then to the right, spotting a shadowy figure at the extremity of a lamp's glow – Rel. They didn't pause, didn't acknowledge one another but moved on, again separated by intervening buildings until the next branching street or alley. In this fashion they advanced across a broad swath of the under-City.

  Something swept into sight, dipping down to head height and then away again, causing Kat to tense, but it was only a bat. In theory, she didn't need to worry about the brecking things this time out. Before the hunt began each of them had smeared some of Shayna's protective ointment to face and arms and other exposed areas of flesh. The unguent repelled the blood suckers to the point where none would come near them, or so the theory went. Shayna was tight-lipped about what actually went into her salve, proclaiming, "That's my pension, for when this is all over."

  She was probably right. Many of the under-City's inhabitants were paranoid about the bats and would doubtless pay handsomely for protection that actually worked. For her own part, Kat remained sceptical. After all, she'd survived down here for well over a year without the healer's salve and hadn't been attacked by the bats once, though there were always tales of street-nicks who'd been less fortunate.

  At least the ointment didn't stink, in fact what little smell it carried could almost be described as pleasant, which had come as a surprise the first time Shayna produced it. In Kat's experience, most lotions and potions that did you any good were guaranteed to smell and taste foul. She commented as much to the healer, who explained, "Bats don't hunt by scent, they use sound."

  "So what does this cream of yours do, then?" Kat wanted to know. "Shriek at them?"

  Shayna's response had been a simple knowing smile.

  Kat reckoned that either bats noses were more sensitive than Shayna was letting on, or the ointment did nothing more than bolster the wearer's confidence. Whatever her reservations, she didn't refuse the salve when it was passed around. Better to be safe than sorry.

  This time as she emerged from between two buildings and glanced across at M'gruth, it was to see him beckon her over. She felt a jolt of excitement and instantly turned and repeated the gesture to Rel, before sprinting across to join M'gruth. Someone along their line had caught sight or hint of their quarry and the hunt was about to begin for real. Kat was itching to move and could barely contain herself as they waited the brief seconds needed for Rel to join them. As soon as he did so they were off, funnelling in towards the centre of the line, as other groups would be. This was where the groupings designated by Chavver came to the fore. Now that the line had broken, they slipped smoothly into their allocated team of three – a pattern which Kat knew was being repeated up and down the line. Discipline came naturally to men raised to combat, men who had learned the hard way that teamwork could make the difference between life and death. This was exactly the sort of instinctive efficiency that gave the Tattooed Men their edge.

  Kat slotted in as if she'd never been away.

  As the line contracted inward they came to a figure who simply stood and pointed the way. Kat was so intent on the hunt she didn't even note who it was. Their team followed the finger, seeing the backs of another team a little way ahead, four in this one.