A Tear for the Dead

by David Penny

  “Anything?”

  “Abandoned. Beds slept in and unmade. Food on the table uneaten. Is that your son? Did they kill him?” No inflection in his voice.

  “They intended to, but failed. Go back to the others, tell them there’s nobody left here. You and Kin are our best trackers, so go see if you can find out where Koparsh and Salma went.”

  “What are you going to do?” asked Jorge.

  Thomas walked to the table without replying. He leaned over and studied the food that was left. Was one of these dishes tainted, and if so, had Yves eaten some of it? Thomas had no way of knowing. He used the tip of a knife to separate ingredients, but was no wiser for having done so.

  He turned as Jorge came to stand beside him.

  “We can’t stay much longer, this might be a trap to lure us in. We should carry him down, tie him to a horse and take him with us.”

  “I will not allow them to escape punishment,” Thomas said, “but I stay until he wakes or he dies. Go tell the others to leave. If anyone is watching, they will think we have all gone. Ride south.”

  “You know I can’t leave you on your own,” said Jorge. “How would you manage without me?”

  Thomas didn’t consider an answer necessary. He tossed down the plate he had been examining and returned to where Yves lay. Jorge had moved him to be more comfortable and now he lay across the piled tapestries. Thomas wondered why they had bothered to tear them down to hide Yves. If Salma had given him enough poison to kill him, there would have been no need to hide his body.

  “Come help me.”

  “See?” said Jorge as he came across. “I knew you would need me. Aren’t you glad you didn’t send me away now?”

  Between them, they dragged Yves from the tapestries and Thomas began to pull them out one by one. He examined the first and second, but there was no secret hidden between the folds. It was only as he turned the last one over he found what he had not until then known he was searching for. A small ceramic bottle, dark blue with a wooden stopper. He picked it up, pulled the stopper out and sniffed. Poppy, a familiar scent, together with hashish and perhaps some spirit. Apples … no, cherries. A powerful scent of cherries.

  He took the bottle to the table and emptied food from a plate, went back and pulled one tapestry up and used a corner to clean the plate. Then he poured the contents of the bottle onto it.

  He leaned over and sniffed hard again.

  Yes, sour cherries, the bitter inner kernel of the stones, the smell unmistakable. He cursed.

  “What’s wrong?” Jorge was at his side once more and Thomas allowed himself to take some small comfort from his presence.

  “They made him drink what was in this bottle and he’s been poisoned. Do you know where the kitchens are?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do, I searched them when we split up. They are one floor down and at the end of the corridor.”

  “Stay with Yves,” Thomas said. “If he starts to wake, he might throw up. Put him on his side and keep him there.”

  “You offer me all the most pleasant jobs, don’t you?”

  “Just hope he only vomits,” Thomas said as he walked to the door.

  He found the kitchen easily enough and looked around for what he knew must be there. As in the room above, this one was abandoned. One pot remained on a hook over a recent fire. It had dried out and a strong smell of burning tainted the air. Thomas used a rag to remove the pot and peered inside. He nodded, his suspicion confirmed. It had been used to distil down whatever mixture Salma had created. He looked around, convinced broken cherry stones would be here somewhere, but saw none. Instead, he found larger stones and the pale green flesh of plums. He cursed. The kernels of four cherry stones contained enough poison to kill a man. A single plum stone had the same effect. There were at least a dozen scattered across the floor.

  Thomas filled a jug with water and ran back upstairs.

  “I think he moved a little,” said Jorge, sitting cross-legged beside Yves. He had piled the tapestries together to form a makeshift bed.

  “Sit him up.” Thomas knelt beside him, and as Jorge supported Yves from behind, Thomas forced water into him. Yves choked and most came out, but Thomas tried again, emptying half the jug before Yves’ chest heaved. Thomas rolled away as his son brought up the contents of his stomach.

  “There are times I wonder why I’m still your friend,” said Jorge, but he continued to wrap his arms around Yves as he vomited again.

  “You would only grow bored if not for me,” Thomas said.

  When he was sure Yves had brought everything up, he came closer and used the tapestry to wipe his mouth and face. He felt his neck, relieved his pulse continued steady.

  “Keep him like this for a moment.” Thomas rose and went to the table and looked at the remnant of poison that had been in the small bottle. He judged Yves had drunk only half of it, but had Salma distilled the poison from all the plum stones or not? Half the bottle would still be too much if she had used them all.

  He heard a deep cough from behind and spun around.

  Yves’ eyes were open, but unfocused.

  Thomas went and grasped him beneath his arms.

  “Get him to his feet, we need to walk him around. I’ll try to get more water into him in a while, but I want him awake first.”

  They supported Yves between them, his feet slack as they dragged him around the room. Slowly, hesitant at first, Yves attempted to takes steps. As time passed, he became more confident. Thomas tried to release his hold, but immediately Yves swayed and he grasped him again.

  “He lives, I see,” said Usaden as he returned to the room. Thomas thought he detected a note of surprise in his voice, which was a first.

  “I know you…” Yves’ voice was slurred. Thomas thought he must be referring to Usaden, but when he turned, Yves was staring at him.

  “I am your father,” he said.

  “I knew I had seen you somewhere before. I thought you were dead.”

  Thomas wondered if he was thinking of the Count d’Arreau, who had stolen the seventeen-year-old Eleanor from him. Then Yves said, “Salma told me you were dead before she gave me my tonic.”

  “Your tonic?”

  “She has made me drink it for weeks.” Yves rubbed at his head. “It makes me feel strange, but she says it is good for me.” He gave a sly smile. “It makes a ram out of me. Though Salma can do that without the need of any tonic.”

  “She drugged you?” Thomas experienced a wave of relief. Yves had not turned into a killer. Salma had drugged him to bend him to her will. He saw how it was possible. She was mesmeric, and achingly beautiful.

  “It was to make me strong,” said Yves. His wits were returning, and when Thomas released his hold, Yves stayed on his feet. “Except the one she gave me today was different. She said it was special and she would return for me and we would spend the rest of the day in each other’s arms. She told me to drink it all.”

  “But you didn’t, did you?”

  “I told you…” Yves frowned, “…Father?”

  Thomas nodded. “Yes, I am your father.”

  “Thomas… Thomas Barrington…”

  “Berrington.”

  “It tasted strange, not what she usually gave me, so I didn’t drink it all. When she left, I hid the bottle in the tapestries we pulled down.”

  “She left? While you were still awake?”

  “I told you, she said she was coming back to pleasure me to within an inch of my life.” Yves looked around. “Is she waiting for me somewhere?”

  “Salma tried to kill you. If I hadn’t found you, she would have succeeded. She has kept you drugged ever since…” Thomas realised he didn’t know how Yves had fallen in with the Turks. “How did she seduce you?”

  The sly smile came again. “How do you think? Any man would lie with her, even you. Is she here?”

  “She has fled.” Thomas turned to Usaden, who nodded.

  “South. Ten horses, one with a slighter rider than
the others.”

  “Why south?”

  “I assume you do not expect me to know the answer to that?”

  “Koparsh’s men went north.”

  “Then perhaps they have unfinished business with Isabel.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Thomas rode hard beside Martin de Alarcón. He had sent Yves ahead with the others and told them to return to his house in Gharnatah. He would join them when he could, but they would be safer there. They had all agreed apart from Jorge, who said he would fetch Belia first and take the children to Da’ud’s old house.

  Now, as the day drew to an end, Thomas and Martin raced along a narrow pathway between bored troops who stood to watch the passage of these madmen. Thomas leapt from the saddle and left his horse for someone else to care for. He ran into Isabel’s quarters only to collide with Theresa.

  “Where is she?” He gripped her shoulders too tightly and saw her wince.

  “Where she always is, working in her office, and she wants to see you.” Theresa looked past him and her face softened when she saw Martin. Thomas released her and strode past.

  Isabel looked up, her hair once more coming loose from its pins to drift across her face.

  “Where have you been? I have work for you. There is much to arrange and little time. Two weeks, Thomas, that is all that remains before we make Castile whole.”

  “I have been chasing down the woman who tried to kill you. Would you rather I not bother?”

  Isabel stared at him and Thomas wondered if he had gone too far. He wasn’t sure whether he cared anymore. His life had unravelled thread by thread. He wondered if, when the process concluded, there would be anything left of him, or merely an empty shell where a man had once stood.

  Then Isabel rose and came around the table. She stood in front of him and took both his hands in hers. Thomas almost kissed her. He wondered what she would have done if he had. The threads drew taut once more, cutting into him. Duty. Honour. Friendship. Love … Revenge.

  “I still have all my food tasted, Thomas. I have made myself eat less and drink only wine that has not been opened.”

  “You will fade to a wraith.”

  “Only until we conclude matters. I assume you are talking about the Turkish woman and your son?”

  “I believe she forced my son to act as he did. Salma had a hold over him. She drugged him.”

  “You are sure?”

  “I think I am. I will know more when he recovers and I can question him. I have sent him to my house in Gharnatah with the others. Koparsh and Salma have come south. No doubt to achieve what they could not before and steal your life. Koparsh admitted as much to me when I was his captive—that you were the reason he came to Castile. The Ottomans want Spain as part of their empire.”

  Isabel reached up and laid a finger on Thomas’s lips.

  “Stop, you are saying too much and I do not understand it all. You need to tell me everything, but not now. When did you last sleep?”

  Thomas shook his head. “I don’t know. Two days ago, perhaps three.”

  “Then sleep now. Theresa will find you somewhere, but stay within these walls. There are ten thousand men outside and Koparsh has no chance of reaching me. No chance at all. Believe that and sleep. You can explain everything tomorrow. Eat first—it is not me who looks like a wraith, but you.”

  “Where is Fernando?”

  “He is here somewhere, why?”

  Thomas realised he had no idea why he had asked. He shook his head.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Then it came to him. “He was friendly with Koparsh, wasn’t he?”

  Isabel frowned. “Him and that woman both. I have told him he must act as a true king now. After…” she reached out a hand as if trying to pluck some truth from the air “…after Granada falls, he can do as he wishes.”

  Thomas stared at her. “And you?”

  “Will also do as I wish.” She squeezed his hand. “Now go, eat, sleep, lie in bed as long as you want tomorrow, and then we will talk about many things.”

  Thomas was in a daze as he walked along the corridor. He wondered if Theresa could find him somewhere to bathe. His body stank of sweat and blood and death.

  As he approached the outer door, an altercation started up as the guards tried to prevent someone entering and Thomas broke into a run. He expected to find Koparsh or Salma, but instead, Usaden stood there, allowing two guards to restrain him.

  He met Thomas’s eyes and made some slight movement. All at once, he was no longer held.

  “Olaf sent me. Koparsh and Salma were seen entering Gharnatah mid-afternoon. Olaf is making enquiries to find out where they went once they were inside the walls.”

  Thomas shook his head hard, trying to dismiss the sense of unreality that clung to him.

  “I brought a horse for you,” said Usaden as he turned away.

  They left the horses at the foot of the Albayzin and climbed cobbled alleys in the last light of the day. One or two people called out to Thomas, asking where he had been, telling him they were glad he had returned.

  “Who is at the house?” Thomas asked.

  “Only Helena, Yves and Will. I told them to bar all the doors. Jorge said he was going to spend the night in Da’ud’s old house. He is keeping Amal and Jahan with him, and Belia. Olaf went home.” Usaden glanced at Thomas. “It is over. You know it is. We will track them down tomorrow and kill them.”

  “I have a better plan.”

  “There is no better plan than to kill them.”

  “I want to send Koparsh back with a message to his master.”

  “I doubt there is one a sultan will listen to.”

  “A message he cannot steal this land. Yes, Salma can die, kill her yourself if you want.”

  “I take no pleasure in death, Thomas. I know what you think of me, but I regret every life I have ever taken.”

  “Not as much as you would regret losing your own.”

  “I see we understand each other. I suspect we are not so different under the skin.”

  “Perhaps not. Does that make us friends?”

  “We could be, I suppose.”

  Thomas thought he caught the faintest of smiles from Usaden.

  “At least my dog likes you,” he said.

  “Kin likes everyone, unless he is trying to tear their throat out.”

  They came out on the level path that led to Thomas’s house. To their right, the palace loomed over the city, its myriad windows illuminated.

  “Isabel will live there soon,” Thomas said.

  “And you?”

  “I have a fine house this side of the Hadarro, why would I want to live in a palace?”

  “With a queen? Many men would be envious of your position.”

  “I am not many men.”

  “No, indeed you are not.”

  They entered the narrow passage leading to the courtyard. As they did so, Thomas wondered why the door had not been barred as Usaden had ordered.

  Once inside the courtyard, Thomas stopped dead in his tracks, trying to take in the scene that lay before him.

  Helena stood beneath the terrace, held in the grip of Koparsh Hadryendo. Will stood in front of them, a sword in one hand and an axe in the other. He looked so much like Olaf that Thomas’s sense of unreality deepened.

  Two men lay dead on the flagstones and there was blood on Will’s weapons. His son glanced up and saw Thomas. He gave a single nod, his face set hard. The cold was in him, Thomas could tell, driving all his demons away to leave his mind calm.

  Salma stood behind a kneeling Yves, a slim knife held to his throat which had already drawn blood. Her eyes met Thomas’s and she smiled.

  “I should have taken more care and done it this way before. Pride is a poor companion for an assassin.”

  Koparsh pulled Helena tighter against himself, his knife also at her throat.

  “Which of them should I kill first, Pa?” Will asked.

  Thomas heard the certainty in his voice
and wondered for a moment what he had created. Him and Olaf and Usaden. Had they done too good a job with Will and turned him into a killing machine?

  “I will take the woman,” said Usaden softly beside Thomas. “You go for the man. Will has done enough here tonight.”

  Thomas gave a slow nod. “On three.”

  “Fuck three,” said Usaden and launched himself at Salma.

  Her hand moved, but before it could draw more blood, Yves reared up fast and pushed back against her. She toppled and cracked her head against the low stone wall that bounded the terrace.

  Thomas saw no more as he ran hard. He pushed Will aside, then threw himself at Koparsh and Helena. He crashed into them, all three tumbling to the ground. Helena screamed, trying to squirm away but getting tangled between them.

  Thomas grasped Koparsh’s wrist to keep the knife away from Helena, but he knew he was too late. Koparsh’s blade had already opened her cheek, the unblemished one. The wound was even deeper than that which had brought her to his house many years before.

  He heard Salma scream and ignored the sound.

  He glimpsed Will dancing from side to side, readying himself to strike as soon as he could distinguish between the three bodies writhing together.

  Thomas felt a pain in his shoulder and realised Koparsh had released Helena and struck out with a second knife. He ignored the wound and kicked out, landing a lucky blow to send the knife clattering away. Koparsh was strong, far stronger than Thomas, and he knew he was fading. Too little sleep. Too little food. Too much fear.

  Then Helena fell against him. Her arm rose, descended. Thomas saw the discarded knife in her hand. So did Koparsh. He raised his hand to deflect it, but the knife slid through his palm to emerge from the other side. Thomas took his chance. He leapt into the air, then came down with all his force to drive his knees into Koparsh’s belly. The man gasped and splayed out, unconscious.

  “No!” Thomas reached out and gripped Helena’s wrist as she withdrew the knife and attempted to thrust it into Koparsh’s chest. “I want him alive.” He breathed deeply, his lungs ragged. “Your face…” His fingers reached out, wanting to take away her pain. “I will fix you again.”