The Queen's Blade Prequel II - God Touched (7 page)

“
In the care of a fishwife down the street. Her name's Nelta.
If anything happens to me, would you –?”

“
No.”

She bowed her
head and concentrated on her food, washing it down with wine.

The assassin
sighed. “This drover won't risk murdering you. He might beat you
again, though.”

“
Who's to stop him killing me? The Watch won't care about a
whore.”

“
True. But if he didn't kill you the first time, why would he
do it now?”

“
Because he didn't get his money back. The bounder boys pulled
him off before he could murder me.”

“
I see.” Blade sipped his wine and gazed across the room,
thinking about how miserable it must be, to be trapped in this
filthy hovel, hungry and alone, afraid to go outside while her
children also went hungry. Her life was pathetic and futile, not
worth his interest, slight though it was. She had saved his life,
yet she had not asked for his help, and he wondered why. If ever
there was a good time to claim his debt, it was now.

“
Perhaps you should give him his money back then.”

“
Perhaps. If I could get to the whorehouse, I
would.”

“
That’s why he’s been banging on your door to terrify you. He
could easily have kicked it in, it's rotten. If he murders you, he
won't get his money back.”

“
Do you really think that if I give it back, he won't kill me
anyway?”

Blade sighed.
“No, he probably will.”

“
Then there's no hope for me, is there?”

He eyed her.
“Why aren't you asking for my help?”

“
I couldn't put you in that kind of danger. He might hurt you,
and I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you. Then he'd still
come after me, anyway.”

“
Your concern is touching. You seem to have forgotten that I'm
a killer.”

“
You're an assassin, and I don't have any money to pay you.
Besides, everyone knows you can't hire the Master of the Dance for
a few coppers, or even a few silvers. What is your fee?”

“
It depends on how difficult the target is to kill.”

“
For an easy kill.”

He shrugged.
“For a really easy kill, four goldens.”

“
I suppose I have five.”

“
I'm not for hire right now.”

“
Why not?”

“
I'm not fit enough.”

She wiped the
pastry crumbs off her swollen lips. “I wouldn't risk your life.
He's a big man, and a good fighter, I've heard. He regularly beats
up men.”

“
He did a good job on you.”

“
What should I do?”

Blade drained
his cup, refilling it. “You could hire an assassin.”

“
I suppose so, but how will I find one? Would you
–?”

“
No.”

She refilled
her cup. “I'll manage, somehow.”

“
You'll have to.” Blade slugged back the rest of his wine and
rose to his feet.

Lilu jumped
up. “You're leaving?”

“
Yes.”

“
No, wait, please. Stay a little longer.” She glanced at the
bottles. “You haven't finished your wine.”

“
Keep it.”

“
Blade...”

The assassin
slipped out of the door and banged it closed, stepping into the
shadows. Lilu opened it again a moment later and peered up and down
the street, calling his name in a despairing voice. He wondered if
she really expected him to reappear just because she called him,
but then, she did not know him as well as she seemed to think she
did. After a minute, she glanced around with obvious trepidation
and retreated into the dubious shelter of her tatty room. Blade
leant against the wall behind him and breathed the fresh air that
was a relief after the musty confines of her shack and its
depressing atmosphere of hopelessness. He strived to blot out her
pleading eyes and battered visage while he walked home, avoiding
turds and puddles of urine.

Chapter Four

At noon the
next day, Blade sauntered down to the whorehouse where Lilu worked,
a tawdry place where women lounged about on old furniture clad in
little or nothing. His hackles rose the instant he entered it, and
the pathetic smiles of the two whores on duty soured his stomach.
At the bar counter, he ordered a glass of wine and waited for one
to approach him. Within a few minutes, a buxom redhead with sultry
brown eyes sat beside him, her breasts almost spilling from her
too-tight bodice. A woman of bats, he surmised, from her
twitchiness and large ears. She pulled her skirt up to display her
thighs and smiled, revealing missing teeth.

Blade fought
the urge to jump up and leave, or chase her away, and returned her
smile. “I hear you had some fun here a few nights ago.”

“
We always have fun,” she said in a throaty voice full of false
allure.

“
There was a fight, wasn't there?”

She shrugged,
stroking her thighs. “Of a sort. If you call a whore being beaten a
fight, then I suppose so.”

“
Why was she beaten?”

“
She stole.”

“
And who beat her?”

Her hand made
the journey from her thighs to one of his, gripping it. “My, but
you're solid muscle, aren't you?” She giggled, fluttering her
eyelashes.

“
Who beat her?”

She pouted.
“Some drover.”

“
Does he have a name?”

“
I expect so.”

“
But you don't know what it is?”

She leant
closer. “My name's Lerril.”

“
Good for you. What's his name?”

“
Why, do you want to bugger him?”

“
You could say that, I suppose.”

She withdrew
her hand and frowned, raking him with a hard glance. “More likely
he'll bugger you.”

“
I doubt that. Do you know his name?”

She shrugged.
“My memory's not so good with names.”

Blade slapped
a silver on the counter, and she licked her lips.

“
Tromar. His name's Tromar.”

She reached
for the coin, but he placed his hand over it and asked, “What does
he look like?”

“
Big man, all brawn, with a black beard and a shaven
head.”

“
There are hundreds of big brawny men with black beards and
shaven heads in this city. Give me something specific.”

“
He has a scar, here.” She touched her left cheekbone. “A horse
kicked him, I heard.”

“
What kin is he?”

“
Bear.”

Blade pushed
the coin towards her and drained his wine before heading for the
door. She frowned and called after him, “Don't you want to come to
my room?”

He paused in
the doorway. “No.”

“
Pity. You, I'd do for free.”

“
I wouldn't do you at all, even if you wore three bags over
your head.”

Blade closed
the door on the stream of vitriol that followed him, smiling as he
strolled down the street. Reasoning that the drover most likely
paid his daily visit to Lilu's door at dusk, since that was when he
would finish his work and Blade had been absent on previous
evenings while he was practicing, he returned to his room to rest
for the afternoon.

As the sun
sank, he rose and strapped on his daggers, checking that the ones
in his boot sheaths slid free easily, then wandered down to the
slums. He located a suitable side alley and scaled the wall to
settle against the sloping roof of a house that gave him a good
view of Lilu's door. His visit to the whorehouse had not really
been necessary, he reflected, but he had to be sure that whoever
came banging on Lilu's door was not some other unhappy client or
drunken beggar. He had also wanted to confirm her story.

The late
afternoon sun warmed him, and his eyes drooped. From the street
below came the sounds of shouting fishwives, shrieking urchins,
barking dogs, braying donkeys, cackling chickens and muttering men,
all blended together into a formless hubbub. Few carts visited the
slums, so the rumble of wheels and clop of hooves were absent. For
amusement, he tuned his hearing to a shouted argument two doors
down, between a fishwife and her husband over the state of his
finances. Losing interest, Blade switched to two washerwomen
haggling with a barrow-hag for a pie. The sounds faded as he
slipped into a doze.

A thunderous
banging jerked Blade awake, and he sat up with a frown. A vast man
stood outside Lilu's door, his fist hammering on the cracked
wood.

“
I'm going to kill you, bitch!” he roared.

A big brown
bear sat behind its friend, pawing at its ears and shaking its
head. A formidable familiar indeed, but ponderous enough to
evade.

“
Go away!” Lilu's shout came faintly.

“
I want the money you stole!” the drover bellowed.

“
Bugger off! I have a knife!”

Blade wondered
if Lilu used the same words every time, and marvelled at her lack
of diversity.

“
You can't hide in there forever! I'll get you!” Tromar yelled.
“And if you don't come out, I'll come in!”

“
I'll call the Watch!”

“
Bring my money!”

“
Piss off!”

Blade's brows
rose. Lilu certainly sounded defiant; much more like herself.

The hammering
went on and on, interspersed with the drover's threats and Lilu's
caustic replies. Blade lay back again with a sigh, wondering why
none of the people who lived nearby saw fit to complain. He would
have, had he lived within earshot of that racket. The sun sank
behind the rooftops and gloom engulfed the street below, since the
slums had no street lamps. The din stopped, and the assassin sat up
to watch the big man stride away down the street, heading for the
poor quarter. Rising, he walked to the edge of the roof and jumped
down, giving a barrow-hag a fright. She cursed him, and he slipped
into the shadows, following the drover.

Two streets
from Lilu's room, Blade broke into a lope, overtook the drover and
ducked into an alley beside the angry man's route. He scouted
around for something suitable, and found a heavy, half rotted
length of plank. Hefting it, he went to the corner and peeped
around it. Tromar walked towards him, wearing a thunderous scowl.
From the look of him, Blade suspected that the drover would have no
qualms about killing a whore who had stolen from him. Blade had
never liked bear kin. The bear rooted in the rubbish quite far
behind its friend, but bears could move fast when they wished.

Blade raised
his makeshift weapon when Tromar's footsteps drew near. As the
drover stepped past the corner, Blade swung the plank at Tromar's
head. It hit his face with a resounding thwack, sending him
sprawling on his back, his nose a flattened ruin that seeped blood
in a dark river. He appeared dazed for a moment, not surprisingly,
Blade thought, then struggled to sit up. The assassin hit him
again, pulverised his face further and crushed his lips. His head
cracked onto the cobbles as the blow hammered him back, and he
stared at the sky with wide, glazed eyes. Blade glanced at the
bear, which had abandoned its snack and lumbered towards him.

The assassin
kicked the drover in the side of the head three times, then in the
belly, making Tromar groan and curl up. For good measure, Blade
kicked him in the face with a crunch of breaking teeth, then leant
down.

“
Bother the whore again, and you die.”

Tromar gaped
at him. “Who in Damnation are you?”

“
Someone you don't want to meet in a dark alley again, if
anything happens to that whore.”

Tromar spat
out a broken tooth, drooling blood. “She stole from me!”

“
I don't care. Leave her alone. I'll be watching, so don't
darken her doorway again.”

Tromar tried
to struggle to his feet, murder in his eyes, but Blade hit him with
the plank again. The drover slumped, his eyes closed, and Blade
glanced at the bear that galloped towards him, its shaggy coat
rippling over mighty muscles. The assassin dropped the plank and
ran to a nearby wall, grabbed the gutter and swung himself onto the
roof. From its safety, he smiled down at the furious bear, which
clawed at the wall and growled. The beast soon deduced that its
prey was out of reach and went over to lick its friend's face,
huffing at the scent of blood. Blade ambled away over the rooftops,
heading for home.

The following
day, he returned to Lilu's room at dusk and took up his vigil until
after dark, assuring himself that the drover had heeded his
warning. Before he left, he collared an urchin he always saw in the
street and drew the boy aside to promise him a silver if he brought
news if Lilu had a problem again. Satisfied that his duty was done,
he went home.

Blade stood in
the darkness beyond the ring of ancient standing stones where the
Guild always met and studied the throng of black-clad men and boys.
Torchlight bathed the platform with leaping brilliance. This was
another autumn meeting, and all the apprentices were present. He
glanced down at the glittering belt that clasped his hips,
fingering it. Another moon had passed since he had beaten the
drover, and his dance was sufficiently restored, he judged, to face
his peers without the risk of losing his belt. He strolled towards
the gathering, his gut tightening with his dislike for such
meetings, but he had to show himself or they would replace him.