Martyr's Fire (23 page)

So Thomas circled, an action that cost him much of his precious time. In the maze of streets, it was no easy task to find the original entrance to the alley again.

Once inside that tiny corridor between ancient stone houses, Thomas smiled. Here, away from the bustle of the rest of the town, it was almost quiet. And, as with the first time through, it was empty of any passersby. He could safely assume any person who traveled through it behind him was his follower.

Thomas rounded a corner and slipped into a doorway.

He set Beast down, fumbled through his travel pouch for a piece of dried meat, then set that on the cobblestone.

“Chew on that, you little monster,” Thomas whispered. “I have no need for your untimely interference again.”

Beast sat on his hindquarters and happily attacked the dried meat in silence.

Will it be flight or fight?
Thomas wondered. His heart hammered against his ribs as each second passed. He knew he was well hidden in the shadows of the doorway. He could choose to let the follower move on and in turn stalk the stalker, or he could step out and challenge his unknown pursuer. Which would it be?

More seconds passed, each measured by several rapid beats of his heart.

Beast remained silent.

Thomas did not hear footsteps. Rather, his pursuer moved along the cobblestone so quietly that only his long shadow stretching out before him hinted at his arrival.

When the figure appeared in sight, head and neck straining ahead to see Thomas, the decision came instantly.

Fight.

For the figure was barely the size of a boy.

Thomas reached out and grasped for the shoulder of the small figure. His reaction was so quick that Thomas only managed a handful of cloth as that figure spun away and sprinted forward.

But not before Thomas recognized the filthy face and hat.

The cook’s assistant.

Thomas bolted from the doorway in pursuit.

The cook’s assistant? Surely he is a mere messenger or spy. Yet his capture is my only link to his masters
.

Thomas ignored the pain of his feet slamming against the hard and irregular cobblestone. He ducked and twisted through the corners of the tiny alley, gaining rapidly on the figure in front.

Behind Thomas came the frantic barking of the puppy as he joined in this wonderful game.

Thomas closed in, now near enough to hear the heaving of breath ahead.

Three steps. Two steps. A single step away. Now tackle!

Thomas dove and wrapped his arms around the cook’s assistant. Together, they tumbled in a ball of arms and legs.

Get atop! Grasp those wrists! Don’t let him reach for a dagger!

Thomas fought and scrambled, surprised at the wild strength of this smaller figure. For a moment, he managed to sit squarely on his opponent’s stomach. A convulsive buck threw him off, and Thomas landed dazed.

The cook’s assistant scuttled sideways, but Thomas managed to roll over and reach around his waist and pull him back close into his body.

Then Thomas froze.

This is not what I should expect from a cook’s assistant. Not a yielding softness of body that is more like …

Angry words from this mute cook’s assistant interrupted his amazement and confirmed his suspicion.

 … more like that of a woman
.

“Unhand me, you murderous traitor.”

It was the voice of Katherine.

Thomas scrambled to his feet and grabbed her wrist to help her upward.

She slapped his hand away and reached her feet with a grace that made Thomas feel awkward.

Even without the hat that had always cast shade over her face aboard the ship, those layers of dirt and that filthy hair cropped short still made it difficult to recognize her, yet it truly was Katherine.

She glared hatred at him and spat on the ground beside him.

Yes, it is she indeed
.

The puppy skidded to a halt between them.

Thomas barely noticed.

“You … what … how?”

He did not finish his stammered sentence.

Katherine looked over his shoulder and her eyes widened.

There was a slight rustle and the sound of rushing air. Then a terrible black pain against his skull overwhelmed him.

When he woke, it only took several seconds to realize he was in a crude jail. Alone.

Thomas groaned aloud. He touched the back of his head—a foolish move, for he already knew how badly it ached, and his gentle probing of a large lump brought renewed stabs of pain.

Early-evening light filtered through a tiny square hole hewn through the stone.

The dimming light showed a straw-littered floor, stone walls worn smooth with time, so confining that he could touch all four easily from the center of the cell.

Thomas stood, and groaned again.

He felt an incredible thirst and staggered to the door. He thumped it weakly.

What evil has befallen me now?

As he waited for a response, he puzzled over this turn of events.
Who has thrown me here? Why? Did that devil’s child Katherine have others to help?

There was no answer, so Thomas thumped the door again. The impact of the heel of his hand against wood worsened the throbbing of his head.

My cloak. My gold. The old man’s book. My sword and sheath. Gone
.

It finally dawned on Thomas that he had been stripped down to his undergarments.

In anger, he pounded the door again.

“Release me,” he croaked through a parched throat. “Return my belongings.”

Faint footsteps outside the door reached him as the echoes of his words faded in the twilight of his cell.

Then, a slight scraping of wood against wood as someone outside slid back the cover of a small partition high in the door.

“Your majesty,” a cackling voice called in sarcastic English heavily accented with thickened Portuguese vowels. “Come closer.”

Thomas did.

“Do you stand before the door?” that voice queried. “Beneath the window?”

Thomas looked directly above him at the hole in the door, which permitted the voice to float clearly through.

“Yes,” Thomas answered.

“Good. Here’s something to shut your mouth for the night.”

Without warning, a cascade of filthy water arched through the opening. Drenched thoroughly, Thomas could only sputter.

“And I’ve got buckets more if that doesn’t instruct you on manners. Now let me sleep.”

The partition slammed shut, and footsteps outside retreated.

Thomas moved back to the side of his cell and gathered straw around him. Already he was beginning to shiver.

Shortly after the first star appeared in the small, square patch of sky that Thomas could see from his huddled position, across his feet ran the first rat of many in a long, sleepless night.

“Your majesty has a visitor.” That heavy Portuguese accent interrupted Thomas’s dreams.

Thomas opened gritty eyes to look upward at the face of a wrinkled gnome. A toothless grin leered down at him.

“Why should you enjoy sleep?” the voice continued.

Thomas began to focus, and the ancient gnome became an old tiny man with blackened gums that smacked and slobbered each word. “If I’m to be wakened this early, so must you.”

The gnomelike man pointed back over his shoulder at the open doorway. “Why a common thief like you would receive such a visitor is beyond any mortal’s understanding.”

Thomas ignored the man. And ignored the constant throbbing of his head, the itching of straw and flea bites, and the thirst that squeezed his throat.

He was transfixed by his visitor.

Katherine.

Not the Katherine he had seen in any form before. Not the Katherine as a noble friend, disguised as a freak in the wrapping of bandages. Not as the Katherine whose long blond hair had flowed in the moonlight during her visits as a midnight messenger. Not the Katherine who had betrayed him first to the Druids, then the outlaws. Not the Katherine covered with grime as a cook’s assistant.

Thomas gaped at the transformation.

Gone was the filth. Gone were the rags.

Instead, a long cape of fine silk almost reached her feet. Holding the cloak in place was an oval clasp, showing a sword engraved into fine metal. Her neck and wrists glittered with exquisite jewelry. Her hair—still short—had been trimmed and altered to highlight the delicate curves of her cheekbones.

She would put a queen to shame.

Thomas fought against the surge of warmth that struck him at that mysterious and aloof smile.

She is one of them
, he warned himself,
one of the Druids who have taken Magnus
.

He opened his mouth to speak, and she shook her head slightly to caution him against it.

“This most certainly is my runaway servant,” she said sternly. “I shall see he is whipped thoroughly.”

Servant?

The gnomelike man nodded with understanding. “Feed them and clothe them and still they show no gratitude.”

Servant?

“I have spoken to the authorities,” Katherine continued. “The boy that this”—Katherine sniffed scorn and pointed at Thomas—“scoundrel attacked has not reappeared to seek compensation. Given that, and the fortune in gold that changed from my hands to the magistrate’s, I have been granted permission for his return.”

The gnomelike man somehow shook his head in sympathy. “Is he worth this?”

“A promise to his mother, a longtime servant,” Katherine answered. “She was dear to our family, and we vowed never to let her son stray.”

“Ah,” the jailer said.

He kicked Thomas. “Be sure we don’t see your face again.”

Thomas pushed himself to his feet. His back felt like a board from leaning against the cold stone, his legs ached from shivering, and his head still throbbed. Now he was to be treated as her servant?

Yet what were his alternatives? He shuffled forward meekly.
Wait
, he promised himself,
until she and I are away from listening ears
.

Not until the jailer retrieved Thomas’s outer garments did he realize how immodest it was to be standing there in his undergarments. He seethed with frustration as he dressed, stumbling awkwardly as he balanced from one leg to the next under her gaze.

Then Thomas followed her through the narrow corridor, not daring to
wonder what poor souls wasted away behind the other silent wooden prison doors, into the bright sunlight outside.

They stood at the north end of the harbor, and the noise and the confusion of the chaos of men busy among ships reached them clearly.

“Where is Beast?” Thomas asked.

“Beast?”

“The puppy.”

“Your first question is about a dog?”

“Answer it.” Thomas didn’t care how surly he appeared.

“Fear not,” Katherine said sweetly. “As the cook’s assistant, I spirited away your puppy. It remains safely waiting for you at the inn.”

“Take me there, then, and after, I shall be on my way.”

“And where is that?” she asked with a smile.

Thomas groaned at his headache. “Away from you.”

“I think not. You were arrested yesterday,” Katherine reminded him, “as you lay there gasping like a stunned fish.”

Thomas rubbed the back of his head. “What foul luck. Certainly a harbor such as this has only a handful of men who guard and patrol for the townspeople.”

“He was pleased to be such a hero,” Katherine said. “Rarely do such bold crimes occur in broad daylight. He also seemed pleased at the accuracy of his blow.”

She paused. “It cost fully a quarter of your gold to pay your ransom.”

“My gold?” Thomas sputtered.

“Of course,” Katherine said calmly. “I lifted your pouch as I helped them drag you away.”

“You used my gold?”

“Had I not, the jailer certainly would have. After all, did he not keep your sword and sheath?”

Thomas ground his teeth in anger.

“And my remaining gold?” Thomas spat each word.

Her voice remained sweet. “Much of it purchased this fine clothing. I needed to pose as a noblewoman retrieving an errant servant. Besides, it would serve neither of us for me to remain as a mere deck hand on our next voyage.”