Codename: Night Witch

by Cary Caffrey

  "Nuria," Sigrid said, but Nuria merely lowered her head, shifting away from her. "Nuria!" Sigrid said again, trying to be commanding without being harsh. It worked, and the girl finally looked up, sniffling. "Nuria, you'll freeze to death."

  "I'm all right."

  "No, you're not. Come over here. Lie by me. Now, Nuria."

  Nuria struggled to her feet, off balance, with her wrists bound behind her back. Her bare feet were filthy, and only became more so as she shuffled through the oily puddles that spread across the hold's floor.

  "Lie down," Sigrid said. "There, that's it. No, with your back to me. Closer. Get as close as you can. Like that."

  "Lady—?"

  "I need to keep you warm, Nuria. You're freezing."

  Sigrid sidled up to her as best she could, then raised her own body temperature, radiating as much heat as she could endure. Raising and lowering her core temperature, even by a few degrees, was possible, though she couldn't sustain it for long. But perhaps even a short stint might help Nuria. It seemed to work, at least a little, and her shivering subsided.

  "I'm so sorry, Lady Sigrid. This is all my fault."

  "No, it's not. If you want to blame anyone, blame the Merchantmen. Blame the bloody CTF! You were only doing what you had to. You were protecting someone, weren't you?"

  "How-how did you know?"

  "Back at the villa, you said, 'They were going to kill him.' Well, I'm gathering that the 'they' is the Merchantmen, and the 'him' is, what? Your lover? A friend?"

  Nuria shook her head. "My brother, Hector. The Merchantmen took him in one of their press-gangs. They came a week before you arrived."

  "Press-gangs?" Sigrid cursed again. Press-gangs were banned across the Federation. Not that the Merchantmen cared about regulations. "I'm sorry, Nuria. I'm sure, in your position, I would have done the same."

  "I don't believe that." She shook her head in disgust and looked away. "You would never have done something so cowardly."

  "Don't be so sure. You were protecting your family. I've done far worse to protect my own. Believe me, Nuria. And before this is over, I have a sneaking suspicion you'll witness exactly how far I'm willing to go."

  "But it is over." Nuria was shaking again and her shivering had returned. "The CTF will come. They'll take you and they'll kill you, and the Merchantmen will still have my brother. We'll never escape this place. I've killed us all."

  "We're not dead yet. This is just a cage, Nuria. And every cage can be cracked."

  "But how?"

  "I'll be happy to tell you…" Sigrid looked up and around for anything that might provide a clue to their escape, though she found none. "Just as soon as I figure that out. First things first, we need to get these binders off." Sigrid strained and pulled again, to no avail. "Blast! If only I had my bra."

  "Your…your bra?" Nuria blinked at her over her shoulder. "I don't under—"

  "A lady quickly learns that any number of useful devices might be concealed in her underclothes, Nuria. Lock picks, pinhead grenades, hideout pistols. You'd be amazed. Unfortunately," Sigrid added with a scowl, "I keep forgetting the teachings of my academy instructors. Once again, I find myself unarmed and ill-equipped. I'm sure they'd grant me a failing grade for my performance today. Right now, I'm not very pleased with myself either."

  "I…I think I understand. Back when I worked the—well, back when I was working the corners, there was a girl, her name was Constança, she taught us the same thing: that we should always keep a weapon on our person. Hidden. You know, for when the clients got too rough. I got into the habit. Even when the Consortium took me in, I never stopped."

  Sigrid blinked at her in the dark. "Nuria, are you saying—?"

  Nuria shifted around until their eyes met, and Sigrid caught the bright gleam in the girl's eyes. "I have something!"

  "Nuria, why didn't you say something before?"

  "I didn't think it would help. It's hardly worthy of a warrior such as yourself. It's really just a—"

  "Nuria!" Sigrid said in a hushed tone; the girl's voice was rising as she grew excited. "Just…tell me what it is. And keep your voice low."

  Nuria nodded. She shifted closer until their faces were all but touching. "It's a strip of garroting wire. I sew them into the waistband of all my underpants. Just in case. The only problem is…" Nuria strained for it, but with her hands bound as they were, it was quite impossible. "Mierda! I can't reach it."

  "Here, let me." Sigrid rocked herself to build up momentum then rolled over so that her back was facing Nuria. Only the tips of her fingers were free, and she reached out with them. Nuria did her best to help by sliding over and pressing herself against her.

  "There," Nuria said. "No, higher. Feel around. There's a little pocket in the hem. And careful you don't cut yourself. It's quite sharp."

  "I've got it. At least, I think I've got it. Wait, just a loose thread. Sorry, I think I've torn it. Here, move closer."

  Sigrid wriggled closer until she could loop her fingers securely in Nuria's waistband. She was probing and feeling for the weapon concealed within when Nuria's snickering stopped her. Sigrid craned her neck to look over her shoulder only to find Nuria with a silly grin plastered on her face.

  "What?" Sigrid said.

  "I'm sorry. I can't help thinking, if one of the guards should come by and see us…"

  Sigrid rolled her eyes. "Please, Nuria. This is serious business."

  "Of course, Lady Sigrid. Forgive me."

  Sigrid turned away, though once her face was hidden from Nuria, she permitted herself a grin of her own. They must look quite the sight, what with all the grasping and pulling at Nuria's underthings. Still, as long as it was keeping the girl's mind off the direness of their situation, that was good enough for Sigrid. Indeed, Nuria's sobbing, even her shivering, was forgotten as she focused on the task at hand.

  Nuria had done a magnificent job in concealing the weapon. The small tear in the hem couldn't have been more than a millimeter or two wide. Only the barest tip of the garrote stuck out. Careful not to push it back in, Sigrid grasped the tip of the wire between her thumb and index finger.

  "Got it!"

  Nuria rolled away from her. As she did, the long coil of wire slipped free. Sigrid craned her neck. In the dark, she saw the flash of silver, the twelve-inch length of garroting wire. It looked razor sharp. For such a simple thing, Sigrid knew that in the hands of the right woman, it would prove quite deadly.

  "You did it!"

  "I haven't done anything yet, Nuria." She might have the prized garroting wire in her fingers, but there was little she could do but stare at it. "We still need to cut ourselves free—without losing any fingers or limbs—and before one of those Merchantmen comes mucking about."

  Nuria rolled over to face her in the dark. "Lady Sigrid, if I may? I think I know a way."

  ~ - ~

  "Nuria!" Sigrid said, amazed. "That was by far the most impressive display of dexterity I've ever seen. I mean, really!"

  Nuria sat beaming in the dark. She looked quite proud of herself, and for good reason. The garroting wire was covered on both ends with a thin coating of plastic. This was to protect the user from slicing off any digits. Nuria—much to Sigrid's amazement—had both of those ends looped between her two big toes.

  "You should see what I can do with chopsticks," Nuria said. "Now, if you could roll over…"

  "Oh. Of course!"

  It wasn't easy. It wasn't quick. And it wasn't done without a few nicks and spilling several drops of her own blood. But after much grunting, straining and sawing back and forth, Sigrid felt the bonds of her wrists snap free. For a moment, it was all she could do to lie there as the blood rushed back into her arms. The pain from the cramping was incredible, but nothing compared to the sense of sheer and utter relief she felt.

  With another snap, the binders connecting her ankles to the choke harness around her neck broke. She had several deep lacerations to show for it, but she didn't care. She was fre
e.

  Sigrid rolled over onto her back to stare up at Nuria; she might need to rethink the merits of having a lady's maid after all. "Nuria, I could kiss you. Whatever the magistrate's paying you, I'm going to double it. Triple it—just as soon as someone gives me some money."

  "It is nothing."

  "It is everything, Nuria. We're getting out of here, and it's thanks to you."

  Sigrid sat up and gently plucked the garrote from Nuria's toes. With a flick of her wrist, Sigrid twirled the micro-thin wire like a miniature jump rope, slicing through Nuria's bindings in a flash. The girl fell into her arms, clinging to her in a bearlike hug.

  "Can you forgive me?" Nuria said.

  "Nuria—there's nothing to forgive!"

  For a moment, it was all Sigrid could do to let the girl cling to her. She patted her back in what she hoped was a reassuring fashion.

  "Let's hear no more of that, shall we?" Rising, Sigrid took her by the hand. "Now, let's see about escaping this pit."

  The sealed cargo doors were four-point-three meters above her head in the ceiling. The lock was a simple electronic contrivance. Easy enough to open. But reaching the doors would be impossible. Even for her, the leap was too much.

  But for Nuria, on the other hand…

  "Oh mi! Lady Sigrid! What are you doing?"

  "Relax, Nuria. Haven't you ever formed a two-woman pyramid before?"

  ~ - ~

  His name was Niklos Janković, and how he'd come to work for the Merchantmen was a story Niklos would just as soon forget. He'd made the mistake of trying to steal from them some years back. Obviously, his attempt at burgling the pirates had been unsuccessful, and so it was he found himself in their employ, forced to work off his crime. Probably for the remainder of his miserable days.

  Of course, only the most critical tasks aboard ship were reserved for Niklos. His duties were of vital importance. They included everything from cleaning the grease traps in the kitchens to the monthly flushing and scouring of the biological waste processors.

  So when the Merchantmen decided they were going to capture the most dangerous enemy of the Federation, of course the duty of guarding her fell to him. Niklos didn't try to fool himself. He knew his role and what the Merchantmen expected of him. He was the proverbial canary in the coal mine: if this girl, the Night Witch, were to escape, Niklos would be the first to die.

  "Here," Fryer said as he thrust a compact eSMG into Niklos's hands. "You'll need this."

  Niklos accepted the weapon with little enthusiasm. He wasn't even sure how to power the thing on, let alone arm and fire it. "You really think it will help?"

  "No," Fryer said. "But this will. Here. I rigged it myself."

  The ship's first mate tossed him a small object. Niklos caught it one-handed, holding it in his palm. It was a transmitter with a single switch in its square center.

  "Squeeze that," Fryer instructed. "If she gets out, all you have to do is let go. We'll get the signal from the bridge."

  "And you'll send help?"

  Fryer chuckled. "Sure, kid. Anything you say. Seriously. We'll be on the bridge—with the doors locked."

  Niklos stared at the transmitter in his palm, and not without some skepticism. "But…if she does get out, won't I be dead?"

  Fryer patted him on the cheek. "That's why they call it a dead man's switch. Don't worry, kid, the CTF will be here soon."

  Fryer turned, leaving Niklos alone in the dark.

  Niklos cursed his cowardice. Fryer had handed him a loaded weapon. He could have shot him right then and there. He could make his escape and be done with this place—be done with all of them.

  He still could.

  Yet Niklos did nothing, just as Fryer knew he would. He was a coward and a fool. Just another obedient slave of the Merchantmen. And now he was a guard to perhaps the most wanted person in the entire Federation of Corporate Enterprises.

  Niklos swallowed hard. He'd heard the stories. He knew what they called her. Night Witch. She came at night, striking in the dark, beautiful and deadly. She was the assassin of the Council, and she was a true weapon of mass destruction.

  A weapon worth one-point-eight-five billion.

  Niklos's meager share of the bounty would be just enough to pay for his freedom. And that was why he remained at his post. One person's freedom for another. Us versus them. Her life for mine. That was the way of things, wasn't it? Niklos wasn't proud of himself. It was just the reality of the situation.

  Besides, she was a killer, wasn't she? Turning her in only made good sense.

  Niklos paced impatiently. He rubbed his hands to warm them from the cold. Blast, they kept it freezing down here!

  From the hold below he heard one of them whimpering. Glancing through the glass-covered grating, he saw her. It was the servant girl. She might actually be pretty if she wasn't covered in filth and bruises. Niklos spat. They shouldn't have beaten her. They were brutes, and they were wrong to treat her so. Just one more reason for Niklos to be done with the lot of them. The sooner he got paid, the better.

  The other one was in even rougher shape, though there was no disguising her beauty. No number of scars, no amount of filth could hide what she was. And she was magnificent. Niklos stared harder. No, it wasn't her beauty that drew him in, was it? This was something more. If she was beautiful, it was the same way a large jungle cat was—if there were still such things. In his mind he saw her, coiled and ready to strike, awesome to behold, yet utterly dangerous. Only a fool would try to tame her. Niklos wondered how many men, or women for that matter, had made that mistake.

  He berated himself as he caught his eyes lingering over her legs, and he looked away. Dammit, he was becoming as bad as them. Would it have killed them to at least give her something to wear beyond her torn and ragged nightdress? No, that wasn't the way of the Merchantmen. They probably thought it would make her feel vulnerable or small. Staring at her, Niklos knew how wrong they were. Even bound and filthy, he didn't think she was capable of feeling vulnerable at all.

  And he had no doubt she would kill them all—if she were to get out.

  Niklos had been pacing back and forth for some time when he suddenly stopped. The whimpering. The sobbing from below.

  It stopped.

  In fact, there was no sound at all.

  Kneeling by the grating, Niklos peered over the edge into the pit. His heart was pounding. He was half-expecting something to leap up at him, but only darkness stared back. Something scurried across the floor, passing through the light, and he leapt back. And then he cursed. It was just a blasted rat.

  You're a fool, Niklos. She can't escape from there. Not even her. Look, the portal's still sealed. There's no way in or out except…

  Niklos froze with his hand on the pressure seal. It was open. Unlocked. He tested the lock again to be sure. Blast! The electronic latch stood in its open position.

  Yet the cargo doors remained shut. With one hand grasping the eSMG, the other on the transmitter, Niklos kicked the portal aside. The doors swung open and down.

  "Hello?"

  Only darkness answered back. The hold was empty.

  But if they're not down there, then they must be—

  Niklos spun about, scanning the shadows. There was nothing. They couldn't possibly get up here, not without him seeing.

  But then he heard it. The sobbing. It was back. Though it was closer this time. Not down in the hold, but here in the corridor, with him. Niklos peered into the darkness, straining to see. Slowly, he stepped forward. He saw the pale skin of her legs, her knees clasped together as she sat huddled and trembling in the corner.

  It was the servant girl.

  "How did you—?"

  "Please!" she pleaded. "Help me. She's mad. She'll kill us all." She threw herself at him, falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around his legs. "Protect me! Save me!"

  "Where is she? Tell me!"

  She didn't need to answer. Niklos felt the tap on his shoulder. Slowly, he turned around.


  It was her. The Night Witch. And he was right. Even bloodied, bruised, her face hidden by layers of filth and grime, she was beautiful—if far shorter than he ever imagined.

  With gentle fingers, she took the eSMG from his hands, and in that moment Niklos was convinced she was a witch, for it never occurred to him to resist. There seemed little point. His life was in her hands, and he knew it. She handed the weapon to the servant girl, who took it. The young girl stood with her feet apart, aiming it and holding it with far more confidence than he ever could.

  There was only one thing for Niklos to do. He had to alert his masters.

  Niklos looked to the transmitter in his palm—but it was gone. The servant girl blinked at him, smiling, the transmitter held proudly in her hand.

  "Well done, Nuria," the witch said. "There's a career for you as a fingersmith when this is over."

  "Un carterista? A pickpocket?" the servant girl said. "Perhaps at one time, Lady Sigrid, but I'm done with that life."

  "I have a task for you, Mr. Janković."

  Blast! She really was a witch. She even knew his name. She leaned close, close enough that he could feel her warm breath on his neck. When she spoke, it was in a hushed whisper and in a voice that was much lower than he expected. And when she looked at him with those large, round eyes, eyes that practically illuminated the corridor about him, he was certain his knees would fail him. If she were to actually touch him, it would be all over. Niklos was certain he would die. He was also certain he wouldn't care at all.

  "Will you do something for me?"

  Niklos nodded. "Yes. Yes. Anything."

  She smiled, and Niklos's heart pounded again, though for completely different reasons. "You're working for me now. Do you understand?"

  He nodded again, jerking his head up and down. "Of course. Whatever you need."

  "Excellent. My name is Sigrid. This is Nuria. You're going to help us escape."