With that the woman’s eyes suddenly narrowed even more than Cainen would have thought possible. They were as black slivers, overflowing with wrath and indignation. Her lips were pressed into a hard, harsh scowl that surely could have turned milk sour.
“Are you thieves?”
Cainen cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve been known to lift the odd thing here and there. From time to time, you see. But for me it’s really more of a pastime than a profession, you see.”
“No,” Kozef grunted. “We are not thieves.”
“You ain’t thieves, and yet you’ve dared to commit theft in this city, where only my Polecats are permitted to steal. We dock an ear for that, you know. Sometimes a nose. You’ve wounded Polecats – our punishment for that is to cut off your hands and your feet. You’ve killed Polecats, too: and our punishment for that? We cut off your bloody heads and throw your bodies into the Orsonne! With rocks in your bellies to weigh you down, so you’ll be forever interred in the foul shit and muck at the very bottom.”
“But if you separate this head of mine from its body, noble woman, then how in Creation will you ever hope to find the Star of Caelummar?” Cainen replied.
With that, she put her mouth into a hard line. “It would seem that we’re at an impasse, then?”
Cainen noticed then two men, standing still and straight a pace behind the Polecat matriarch. Both were about thirty years of age. They were tall and rather slender, but nonetheless firmly built, with broad shoulders and strong-looking arms and legs. Both had finely-made longswords sheathed in scabbards at their left hip, and their hands rested easily against the pommels – that they could draw those swords out quickly and put them to use expertly, Cainen had little doubt. That was where the similarities between the men ended, however, for they were as unlike from one another as the night was from the day.
One man was garbed all over in sheer black – even his hat, gloves and shoes – and in addition to this his hair was all waves of black, and his eyes stern, brown and unblinking. His clothes were altogether clean and crisp and finely made, but they were by no means extravagant as many of the other Polecat outfits were. He had nothing in the way of finery or jewels, leading Cainen to believe that he either simply did not share the showy pretentions of the other Polecats, or that he was simply not a thief at all.
The other man was like a mirror image of the black-garbed gentleman. His clothes were stark white and crème-coloured, trimmed here and there with exquisite, glittering gold. His eyes were pure sky-blue, and his tousled hair was golden.
Both men kept close to Lady Vole at all times, as far as Cainen could tell, never straying far from her shadow. The short-statured Fennishman took them to be her body-guards… Or perhaps her paramours. Or possibly even both.
The men gave no comment, and neither were they asked for one. They simply stood still and silent, the black one looking stern and serious while the bright one seemed mildly amused at everything.
“Put their possessions in the treasury,” Lady Vole said. “We’ll parcel out any valuables tomorrow, once we’ve dealt with all this star business.”
“At once, Lady Vole,” Jackdaw said. A subsequent hard glare and a curt order sent a pair of nearby thieves on their way into another part of the catacombs, taking Kozef and Cainen’s belongings with them.
“And what of they themselves?” Jackdaw asked.
Lady Vole narrowed her eyes once again as she looked them up and down.
“Put them in the tower,” Lady Vole spat, “We’ll have Millipede pay them a visit and see what he can find out.”
*
The tower. It was a reverse dungeon, it seemed – the main areas of the Polecat’s headquarters lied below the ground, while prisoners of the Polecats were kept at the top of a tower that extended high above the level of the street.
Kozef and Cainen had been ushered out of the thieves’ grand gallery and through a side passage, then up another narrow winding staircase that brought them up to the level of the street. They were then forced up yet another narrow winding staircase that brought them to the top of the tower, which featured a small, dank and grimy cell behind a set of wrought iron bars.
Their necks and wrists were freed from the stocks and they were thrown into the cell, with the heavy iron bars thrown shut behind them.
Their escort left them there, sniggering amongst themselves as they trudged back down the steps. One of the Polecats remained there, however – a short, middle-aged thief with a patchy beard – and seated himself on a stool outside of the cell. He was to be their gaoler, it seemed.
The cell had only one window – a little arrow-loop that was barely wide enough to permit a man’s arm. There were no furnishings apart from a scattering of mouldy hay and rags in one corner.
The grimy stone in that place exuded coldness. Even if he had been fully clothed, Kozef would have felt the urge to cross his arms close against his body, to pace about and perhaps rub his hands together in order to warm himself against the chill. But at that moment there was absolutely nothing between himself and the cold stone or the draught coming in from the window.
He looked over to Cainen, whose body was already breaking out all over in the goose-pimples. The Fennishman was rubbing his hands rapidly over his arms and shoulders.
Suddenly, Kozef heard a soft metallic clink and clatter sound just at their window. Cainen had heard it too.
Kozef had to resist the urge to let out a surprised remark, or to turn his head to investigate, lest it attract the attention of their gaoler – who was still seated just outside their cell, and did not appear to have heard or noticed anything untoward.
Carefully Kozef looked over to Cainen, and Cainen to Kozef.
What was that? Cainen mouthed.
Slowly and quietly, they approached their small cell window as if there was nothing of particular interest happening there.
There was a curious implement there now which hadn’t been there only moments before. It was small and shining grappling hook, Kozef could see on closer inspection; attached to a cord of rope which, although remarkably thin, seemed to be impossibly strong.
Cainen’s eyes went suddenly wide, and his lips seemed to form the words We have a visitor.
Someone was outside, climbing up to their window.
Kozef put his ear closer to the opening, taking pains not to make things too obvious to the gaoler. He could hear the ever-so-faint sounds of exertion – light feet tapping and scraping against hewn stone, and some quiet grunting.
Suddenly there was a shadowy flicker on the other side of the cell window, and in the darkness there fluttered open a pair of large, deep brown eyes that seemed to gleam with determination.
It was the she-thief!
“Listen to me very carefully,” she began. Her voice was only the very faintest of whispers – a feather brushing against stone – but it was heavy with graveness. “As you probably know, they will put you to death once they have secured the star. Do you wish for that to happen?”
As one, Kozef and Cainen shook their heads in response. No, they did not want that to happen!
“I will break you out of here,” she said. Her eyes were focussed squarely on Kozef and Cainen’s faces, and seemed not to even notice their extremely evident nakedness. “But in exchange, you must give me the star. Do we have an agreement?”
Cainen gave a long glance at Kozef at that moment, as if it were something they ought to talk about – but there was nothing to discuss. Both men understood well that they could not trust her – but at that moment, she was their best chance of emerging from their present ordeal alive.
Kozef gave a firm nod, followed shortly after by Cainen.
“Then wait for my return. Within the hour.”
And with that, she was gone. A few minutes after, with a slight clink and rattle, the little grappling hook disengaged itself from the window sill and followed her into the night.
Kozef peered carefully over to their gaoler. He was sitting
at his stool and his foot was tapping against the floor impatiently. He did not appear to be looking at anything in particular, and he did not seem to notice that anything was amiss.
“Isn’t it just delightful, big fellow, how all these thieves take the names of wee woodland creatures?” Cainen exclaimed loudly. “One fellow’s name is Jackdaw, another goes by Fitch. And apparently there’s a Millipede, too. And the leader over all of them is Lady Vole. We’ve got a whole menagerie happening here, Kozef.”
“I wonder what this fellow’s name is?” Kozef said, indicating their gaoler with a nod of his head.
“I’ve got it,” Cainen exclaimed, turning to the Polecat sitting outside of their cell. “Dormouse. It’s ‘Dormouse’, isn’t it?”
Their gaoler, trying to ignore them, said nothing.
“Cricket?” Kozef suggested. “Marten?”
Still no response.
“Weasel, perhaps?” Cainen continued. “Otter?”
With that, the gaoler suddenly squinched.
“Ha!” Cainen shrieked, pointing at him with an accusatory finger. “It’s Otter, isn’t it? This fellow calls himself Otter, Kozef!”
“Keep talking, you sons-of-whores,” Otter snarled. “You’ll be screaming soon enough. Just you wait until Millipede shows up.”
They could hear, then, a chorus of footsteps coming up the stairs.
“Well, speak of the Malefactor and he shall appear at your elbow,” Otter laughed. “That’s probably Millipede and his boys coming up right now.”
Soon enough three Polecats emerged from the narrow winding stairwell – an old man followed by two youths.
The older man, gnarled and bedraggled, was a gentleman of abominable distinction. He had a long, gaunt face that was a mess of deep furrows and lines. In the midst of these there sat two great pale eyes, cold and moist and keenly scrutinising. His old, weather-worn and wrinkled hands were fidgeting constantly at his chest. Dirty grey strands of hair hung lankly from his scalp. His breath went in and came out past his lips in harsh rasps.
He certainly had the look of a torturer about him.
"Millipede, I presume?" Cainen asked.
The man made no reply to the inquiry - but the question seemed to give him a sudden strange sense of joy, and his face split with a gruesome smile, revealing several missing teeth.
The pair of junior thieves had followed the man in, carrying a hefty chest between them; a box that seemed almost large enough for Cainen to climb into. They dropped it to the stone floor with a heavy thud, and the clinking of many dozens of metal implements inside the box could be heard clearly by all present.
One of the junior thieves unlocked the chest and threw it open, revealing the tools of torture stacked inside. There were knives, scalpels and blades of every assortment, long thin lances that a surgeon might use to pierce a bubo, pliers and pincers appropriate for pulling out teeth and fingernails, branding irons, pins and needles and nails of a dozen different lengths and thicknesses, whips, flagella and many-tailed scourges, as well as several sinister tools and contraptions of iron and steel that Cainen had never seen before, and which he had no interest in seeing put to use.
"Sincere apologies, master torturer!" Cainen piped up. "But we won't be needing your services this evening."
The old man’s grin suddenly vanished, and all the obscene joy disappeared from his big pale eyes.
“And why is that, you conniving little peat-eater?” Otter demanded.
"Because I'm going to take Lady Vole to the star," Cainen said. “Run and tell her, will you? And make sure she brings my bloody clothes with her!”
5 – Breakout
Kozef took to pacing about the little cell, this way and that. He had his arms folded tightly across his chest, trying more or less in vain to ward away the chill emanating from the grimy stone walls of the cell. He was alone now in that little cell – Cainen had departed with Lady Vole almost half an hour previously.
What in Creation was he playing at, offering to take them to the star?
Lady Vole, her two dark-and-bright bodyguards and Jackdaw had climbed up to the cell not long after Cainen had offered to lead her to the place where he had sequestered the star. They had brought his clothes too, and almost as soon as he had dressed himself they were on their way, leaving Kozef to linger behind in his captivity.
For a time he simply looked out the narrow tower window, studying whatever rooftops and windows were visible to him – until his observations were interrupted by the sound of loud snoring.
He turned, and saw his gaoler seated still on his stool but slumping against the wall behind him, with his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open.
Otter was fast asleep!
Kozef strode over to the bars to take a closer look. How could he be so lazy as to fall asleep while attending to his duty?
The cell keys were hanging from his belt, but they were too far away for Kozef to reach through the bars.
It was then that he noticed something very peculiar indeed – from the side of Otter’s neck, there protruded a tiny little barb, a sliver of metal as thin and light as a seamstresses’ needle. It was longer – but not by much – than a man’s finger, and quivered slightly as the growling snores forced their way out past Otter’s lips.
Just at that moment, as if in response to Kozef’s wonderings, a dark figure came prowling, quickly and silently, out of the darkness of the stairwell and into the torchlight.
She stepped over to the bars and peered through at Kozef, standing with one hand on her hip. On her back, she had a rather large bundle of items, bound together securely with cloth and rope.
She did not give the dozing gaoler a single glance.
“Where is your friend?” she asked. “Where is the little man who wields this ridiculous axe?”
Although he had spoken to her on two previous occasions that evening, that was the first clear look that Kozef had been able to get of her.
She was wearing men’s clothes, for the most part – a short tunic over an undershirt and hose, leather shoes, and also a coif on her head, concealing her hair but for a few wavy strands at the front. Every article of her outfit was dyed a deep, dark blue that bordered on pure black – the colour of midnight.
“Lady Vole has taken him to fetch the jewel,” Kozef explained.
“What?!” she gasped, stomping her foot in frustration. She gave a great angry frown at the news, and the space between her eyebrows crinkled. Cainen’s absence, it seemed, had disrupted whatever plans she had lain.
“I suppose that would explain why I could find his weapon and his satchel in the treasury, but not his clothes,” she said, dropping the bundle of items from her back to the ground. She quickly unravelled the rope and the cloth bindings, revealing several of the mercenaries’ belongings: Kozef’s trusty hammer and shield were there, as well his clothes and his purse. So too was Cainen’s axe and satchel.
“We’ll just have to catch up with him, I suppose,” she added, with a huff. “And get our hands on that star before Lady Vole can.”
She stepped over to snoring Otter then, plucked the little needle out of his neck and removed the ring of keys from his belt. Quickly she unlocked the cell and passed Kozef his belongings.
“What happened to him?” Kozef nodded his head towards the slumbering gaoler as he hurriedly pulled on his clothes. “He was wide awake only moments ago.”
“I gave him a little prick on the neck,” she replied, flashing a mischievous grin. “If we manage to wake him up, he’ll only be interested in going back to sleep for another half hour, at least. And he’ll be tired and heavy-headed for the rest of the night.”
Kozef could not help but study her again.
There was an assortment of leather pouches, pockets and purses all about her person.
On either hip she wore a sheath – the one on her left side housed a study-looking dagger, while the one on her right housed some sort of small, compact device which Kozef did not recognize.
<
br /> She pulled the thing from of its sheath and held it out so Kozef could take a look – but not too close a look.
It was made of metal – perhaps entirely of metal – but it seemed extremely light and delicate, as if it had been crafted by magical sprites using magical sprite-sized tools. It was about as long as her outstretched hand, but not nearly as wide.
“This was given to me by my employers,” she said. “As was the ammunition.”
She pulled up one part of it, folded another out, and suddenly, much to Kozef’s amazement, there was a tiny crossbow in her hand.
“The little bolts are tipped with a substance that imparts sleep,” she murmured, quickly folding the device back up again and returning it to its holster. “But it only works on those who are calm and unaware. If someone’s blood is up, the substance won’t do very much other than give them a throbbing headache.”
And Kozef had thought the Polecat’s crossbows small and delicate! Those weapons were as siege-engines compared to the one wielded by his mysterious new acquaintance.
Kozef fastened his shoes and buckled his belt about his waist, completing his outfit, but only when he took up his hammer and his shield once again did he feel truly dressed.
Finally, he stepped out of the cell.
“I am Kozef,” he announced. “What will I call you?”
She paused, as if to think about her answer for a moment. “When I met your compeer earlier this evening, he took to calling me ‘Leandra’, after a princess in old legends. That name, I suppose, is as good as any other.”
“The name that’s better than any other, I suppose, is your own!” Kozef exclaimed. “But Leandra will have to do, if you insist. Lead the way, princess!”
*
The Polecat’s Hole was much more extensive than it had seemed to Kozef at first, with many underground tunnels running hither and thither, and various different ways to move from one area to another. For the most part the Polecats gathered only in certain well-lit sections of their headquarters – specifically the main gallery and adjoining chambers, allowing Kozef and the she-thief to sneak, quickly and quietly, through peripheral tunnels and passageways. Here and there they had to linger in shadows or behind corners or curtains, out of sight of some Polecat passing through the area.
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