Shadow's Son (18 page)

Josey struggled with her bonds. If she could get free while they
fought, she might be able to slip away in the confusion. Her gaze fell on
the slim dagger sheathed on Red Beard's belt. She scooted over to his
corpse. Suppressing her revulsion, she caught hold of the leather-wrapped
hilt and tugged the knife free, then began sawing at the thick rope that
bound her wrists. Strand by strand the rope parted. Though the blade was
sharp, her range of movement was limited and she had to hold the knife
at an awkward angle. Josey sobbed with relief when the last piece gave
way; she went to work on the loops binding her ankles.

The fighting continued around her and more men died. Caim was out
there, killing to save her. For the second time, if he'd told the truth.
Josey's head spun. She ought to be terrified out of her mind as the man
who had killed her father, or
would
have killed him, battled her present
captors. And yet, she was calm. Something had changed within her. The
darkness didn't frighten her as before. She brushed the thoughts away.
Caim was an admitted killer. Why would he care to keep her alive? He
must know she would go straight to the authorities, the proper authorities, as soon as she was free. He had to have an ulterior motive, some secret
he was keeping from her.

She almost cut her leg as the dagger slipped and sliced her nightgown. She concentrated on severing the rope's last fibers. Once free, she
scrambled to her feet. Her escape from the pier was blocked by the melee.
From what she could see, only Markus and a handful of his men remained,
but it would only take one to notice her and finish the job.

As Josey took tentative steps toward the edge of the combat, a shadow
emerged from the dark. It swept past the swarm of men, evaded their
attacks, and raced down the wharf on whisper-quiet steps. Hard gray eyes
peered from the depths of a deep hood. Josey was relieved in a way she'd never thought she would be.
Caim grabbed her around the waist as he ran
by and snatched her off her feet.

"Wha-!"

He leapt.

For one marvelous moment they were airborne. The bay breeze swept
up her hair in its cool fingers as she floated in the night sky. She clutched
Caim about the shoulders, and let her fingers roam over the play of powerful muscles beneath his black shirt.

The steely twang of a bowstring broke the spell. Josey felt the impact
as Caim jerked like a giant fist had punched him in the back. The force of
the blow knocked their trajectory askew. Instead of a graceful landing,
they hit the dark waters like two falling stones.

The impact knocked the breath from Josey's lungs. She gasped, and
icy seawater flooded her lungs as their combined weight pulled them
under the surface. She struggled against Calm's grip, but his arm
remained locked around her waist.

Her limbs grew heavy; her thrashing slowed. She screamed out her
last precious bubbles of air as the choking abyss closed around her.

aim collapsed at the water's edge, unable to crawl another foot.
Every movement sent spasms of red-hot agony racing through
him. The frigid bay waters had leeched away the last of his strength and
left him a shivering mass of exhaustion.

Echoes of lapping water reverberated off stone walls, barely discernable in the darkness. After hitting the water, he had managed to find one
of the submerged sewer pipes that carried effluvia into the bay. An iron
grate had once barred the entry, but it'd rusted away long ago-a convenient access into the city he'd discovered a few years back while prepping
for a job.

He took a deep breath and regretted it as a tremor of pain wracked his
body. He hadn't heard the crossbow fire, but the bolt's impact had almost
been enough to kill him outright. He managed to hold on to consciousness long enough to swim down deep into the inky waters, away from
their enemies. No one had followed them. No surprise there. Whoever
shot him must have thought it was a killing blow. Unfortunately, time
might bear out that assumption. He'd lost a lot of blood. He could tell by
the way his hands shook when he tried to pull himself out of the water
that he wouldn't survive long without a chirurgeon, but he wasn't likely
to find one down here. Even if he could walk, it wouldn't be safe. He knew
a couple of cut-men who would treat an injury like this with no questions
asked, but they might be compromised. Whoever was behind this fiasco
had proven to be both intelligent and savvy.

A weak groan murmured behind him.
Caim pulled himself over to
the girl. She lay half in the water, facedown. He rolled her over despite the
agony it caused him. Her nightgown was a tattered mess, stained with
blood, mud, and worse. The wet silk clung to her body like a second skin. Yet she had the heart of a lion. She hadn't screamed while he fought her
captors or cowered at the sight of blood. Instead, she'd gotten hold of a
knife and cut herself free.

The girl's teeth chattered between blue lips. The pipe was freezing,
but Caim didn't have anything to make a fire.
This is where I'll die.
He had
been dealing in death for so long it held little mystery for him. He would
close his eyes and drift away to the sound of the water. It was probably a
better end than he deserved. With one hand on the girl's stomach, he listened to her breathe. She would live, at least. For some reason that made
him feel better.

A voice intruded on his solace. He smiled as Kit descended through
the ceiling. The violet glow of her tight smock illuminated the tunnel,
showing ancient walls caked with mud and lichen. The grime of the sewer
didn't touch her. Caim had often wished he could fly like her, just take off
and leave the world behind. He could never understand why she hung
around with him when she could be soaring among the clouds. Kit said
it was because he needed her, that without her he would get into all sorts
of trouble. It seemed she was right yet again.

"Caim, what have you done to yourself?" Kit asked in a choked voice
as she alighted beside him. Strangely, she seemed more concerned about
his foot, which throbbed on the periphery of his awareness.

Before he attacked the Sacred Brothers holding the girl, he had told
Kit to keep an eye out for trouble, but she had flown off in a huff. That
was Kit, always marching to the rhythm of her own song. She hadn't
changed a dram in all the time he'd known her. His whole life. Now she
would watch him die. The thought made him laugh, which turned into
an excruciating grunt.

"I had a little help." His throat was dry and cracked. That struck him
as funny with all the water lying around him, but he refrained from
laughing. He put on a brave face for her. "It's not that bad."

"Yes, it is. We need to get you to a barber."

He ran the fingers of his left hand through his hair. "You think I need
a trim?"

"Don't play games, Caim. This is serious."

"It'll all be over soon. We had a good run, Kit. No one can say we
didn't."

She
tsk
ed at him. "It's not over yet."

"You going to carry me out of here, Kit? That would be something to
see."

She turned to the girl. "She's stirring."

This time
Caim couldn't hold back his laugh, but it came out in a
hissing cough as coppery bile bubbled in the back of his throat. "You
think she's going to help me, Kit? She couldn't weigh more than seven
stone soaking wet. Even if she could, why would she? I'm the bad guy.
Just let me be."

With a sigh, Kit rested her head against his chest. Soft sounds echoed
in his ears-either sobs or chuckles, he couldn't tell which. It was getting
hard to keep his eyes open. He closed them knowing they would never
open again. The sweet escape of oblivion beckoned.

"So long, darling," he murmured as he drifted away.

Josey dreamed she was lounging up to her chin in a giant, warm raspberry
pie floating in the midst of a gorgeous, starry sky. Surrounded by gelatinous filling, she watched the twinkling stars streak by. A feeling of utter
tranquility filled her. All was well.

Opening her eyes was like a slap in the face. She lay on a slanted plane
of cold, coarse stone. Her legs floated not in warm sugary goodness, but
in foul, frigid water that lapped at her thighs like a gaggle of icy tongues.
Wherever she was, it stank worse than anything she'd ever smelled before,
a combination of garbage and night soil and blood. Every breath made her
want to throw up.

With shaking hands, Josey pulled herself out of the water. Her whole
body felt like one massive bruise. The last thing she remembered was
being knocked off the pier and the black water swirling over her head. She
must have washed up here, wherever this was. No sky stretched over her
head. There was a breeze of sorts, but it was fetid and moist. Perhaps she
had floated into an old cistern. No, not a cistern. By the smell, she was in
some section of the sewers. The urge to retch came over her again.

Josey clamped her lips tight against the nausea and tried to crawl farther, but froze as a groan echoed beside her. Wild fancies of trolds and hobgobs flashed through her mind. Was she still dreaming? Water
dripped in the distance, making her want to use the privy. She almost
laughed. She was in a gigantic water closet. A little more urine wouldn't
hurt the smell, but a lady didn't answer the call of nature out in the open.

She crawled until she was out of the water entirely. The groan rose
again before drifting away. It was nearby. Josey sat up on her knees, trying
not to think of the damage to her nightgown. She had a dozen of them at
home. She would burn this one as soon as she escaped from this horrid
place. Whatever was making the noise, it didn't sound dangerous. It
reminded her of a wounded animal, like a squirrel, but bigger.
A big rat
.
She started to shy away until a raspy cough echoed around her.

It's him.

Josey had almost forgotten the reason she was still alive and
breathing. Her father's killer was here with her, and by the sounds he'd
suffered for his efforts to save her. He sounded sick.

"Hello?" she whispered.

Her only answer was another wet cough. Inhaling through her mouth,
Josey crawled in the direction of the sound. She found him slumped against
a damp wall. He, too, was drenched in foul water and chilled to the touch.
She thought he was dead until he coughed again and his chest moved
beneath her hands. She searched him with timid hands and found a patch
of warm wetness on his right side, a gaping hole plugged with a wooden
shaft as thick as her thumb, right beneath his ribs. He mumbled something, but she couldn't make it out. She leaned closer.

"Go."

Josey sat back on her heels. Her first impulse was to follow his advice
and leave, but to where? She couldn't go to the authorities. That much
was clear. And now that her father was gone, she had no family. Friends?
She had only one true friend in Othir, Anastasia, but as much as she loved
the girl, Josey didn't believe 'Stasia could help her. For one thing, her
father was elderly and infirm, and he hadn't been active in politics for a
long time. Also, Josey didn't want to drag her friend into this nightmare.

She considered the man lying before her. She could leave him here to
die. It was no better than he deserved. He had probably murdered a lot of
people-people with families and friends who cared about them. He was
the most despicable sort of man, one who killed for money. He had no honor, no couth, a sore on the flesh of humanity. Yet he had saved her life.
Twice. And he claimed he hadn't killed her father, though he would have
if someone else hadn't done it first. If that was true, then whoever really
killed her father had escaped free and clear, and this assassin dying at her
feet might be the only one who could find out who did it and why.

Josey made up her mind. She had to save him, tend to him until he was
strong enough to protect her again. But how? She was a good swimmer, but
she didn't think she could pull him through the water back to the pier.
What if those men were waiting? No, she couldn't go back. That left only
one direction. She stared into the darkness of the tunnel. Far in the distance
a tiny light flashed, like the brief burst of a firefly, but it was enough to show
her the way. What was it? Some fearsome creature of the deeps or an angel
sent from Heaven? Either way, she was out of choices.