The Queen's Blade Prequel II - God Touched

by T C Southwell

  “No.” She folded her arms. “I've seen naked men before, I assure you.”

  “Probably the commonest sight in your life, but I'd like some privacy.”

  “Why? What have you got that they don't?”

  He frowned. “Will you force me to wait until you leave on some errand? You should be going back to work now, since I'm leaving.” He paused. “Is that why you want me to stay? So I'll support you? I won't, you know.”

  “I know.” She hid her anger at his assumption and callous dismissal, wondering why she did. “I never thought you would, or expected you to.”

  Lilu sighed, raked him with a scathing glance, rose and left the shabby room. In the street, she watched the peddlers and beggars and considered her options. Perhaps the only hope she had of ever seeing him again was if she was particularly nice to him. She did not have much hope that it would work, but it was worth a try. He tried to turn everything she said or did into something ugly, to suit his past experiences, she guessed, and she had to find a way to convince him that he was wrong. She also had to let him go, though. The prospect brought tears to her eyes, and she wiped them, sniffing. A skinny beggar boy held out dirty hands in a pleading gesture, and she waved him away. He ran off shouting insults, and she turned to re-enter her room.

  Blade sat on the bed, clad in his black leather trousers, frowning at the silver-studded belt he held. He looked up with a puzzled, chagrined expression, from which she deduced that he had not expected to find it still amongst his possessions. She glared at him and went over to the table.

  “No, I didn't sell it.”

  “So it would seem. But you're not above thievery, I would guess.”

  “No.” She sat on the chair. “I do what I must to survive, as we all do. It's a hard life, with few joys, but I make the most of it.”

  “And for some reason you think having a killer in your life will make it better?”

  Her heart leapt with hope. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Lilu wanted to tell him that she knew he was God Touched, but something told her not to. He would probably not believe her, and, even if he did, he would assign some ugly motive to that, too. In truth, that was not the real reason, so she said, “I'm lonely. Your company would be most welcome, even if all you do is sit and drink wine. I like having you around, and I don't expect you to change, nor will I ask anything of you. If you're ever sick or injured, who else will help you? I will.”

  Blade placed the belt on the bed and picked up a loaded wrist sheath, strapping it on, then donned the leather vest. She wondered if he was going to answer her.

  As he shrugged on his jacket, he said, “I'll consider it.”

  “Thank you.”

  He paused in the act of buckling on his belt and frowned at her. “You've done me a service, and while I didn't particularly wish to be saved, I appreciate what you did.”

  “Then show your appreciation and visit me sometimes. That's all I ask.”

  “As I said -”

  “You'll consider it.” She forced a wan smile.

  Blade bent to pull on his boots, checking the weapons in them. “You've been weeping.”

  She raised her chin. “No, it was smoky outside. Some idiot was burning rubbish on the street.”

  “Ah.” He contemplated her for a few moments, then levered himself to his feet and picked up the crutch. “I may see you again, then.”

  “I hope so.” Lilu bit her lip as he hobbled to the door. “You could eat before you go. I made food.”

  He paused and glanced back. “No.”

  “Be careful. Those men are still out there, and you're not well.”

  “They won't catch me again.” The assassin opened the door and limped out, closing it behind him.

  Lilu stared at it. Only the grinding misery of her trade lay ahead when the goldens he had left ran out. She went over to count them, finding fifteen, enough to feed and board herself and her babies for three moons. At least she did not have to return to her whoring ways just yet. Without Blade's presence, her dingy room seemed smaller and dirtier somehow, as well as empty.

  Blade watched the young assassin who practiced clumsy steps upon his platform. That the youth had achieved his tattoo was surprising, considering the poor quality of his dance. A screen of leaves hid Blade from the trespasser, and he waited, the steel spring within him tightening. As yet, he was not ready for the Guild to find him, and had been careful, over the last moon, to avoid being seen. This was the first time he had returned to his platform. Since leaving the whore's room, he had exercised and practiced in his lodging, and ventured out only at night to buy wine and food. The time had been torturous, but his skills were almost restored. When he did go out, he did not wear his belt, to ensure that if he was seen, no one would know who he was.

  The young assassin muttered and jumped down, striding off into the trees. Blade waited until he was out of sight, then approached the platform. His limp was barely noticeable now, and he hoped that he would be able to regain his old skills. He was unfit, though, so it would take time to restore his former abilities. They would be, he was determined. His feet tapped on the boards as he walked around the platform, limbering up. The exercises in his room had restored his suppleness, and all that remained was to see if he had retained his speed. He took a few experimental steps, drawing on the memories of his training and the skills he had honed. Raising his head, he launched into the first steps of the Dance of Death, allowing his legs to remember their old habits.

  At first, his steps were no faster than an average dancer. He speeded them up, revelling in the surge and pull of his muscles and the spring in his legs. He leapt high and lashed out with stiff legs, brushing his boots together in mid-air. As he landed, his left leg buckled and he crashed to the boards, grazing his hands on the wood. He lay panting, sweat sliming his skin, and reviewed what had happened. His bad leg ached, and he sat up to rub it, frowning. His knee had buckled, so perhaps he was pushing himself too hard, too soon. No leaps for a while might be a better idea.

  The sky darkened as the sun sank, and the forest cast gloom across the stage. Deciding that he had done enough for one day, he limped back towards the poor quarter. As he often did these days, he detoured to the whorehouse where Lilu worked and climbed onto a wall opposite, settling down to wait. He did not know why he watched her walk home sometimes, but it made him feel better about himself. Why she had returned to work just two tendays after he had left puzzled him, although his cynical mind told him it must be because she enjoyed it. Deep down, he knew that was wrong. Perhaps she was saving up for something. It was none of his business, anyway.

  Patrons reeled in and out of the brothel, some in ditty-singing groups, others alone, most with familiars close by or clinging to their person. Barrow-hags, who seemed to populate most of the city's street corners, trundled past, shouting about their wares. Several urchins played a game of tosspot in a nearby gutter for a while, their high shrieks jabbing his ears. The red-paned lamp that hung outside the brothel's front door advertised its occupation, and a peeling sign bore an illegible name. From his perch, he could see the front and back doors of the establishment, since his vantage was some distance away. It would not do for anyone to spot him, especially Lilu. As the evening dragged past, the urchins and the barrow-hags vanished into whatever hovels they occupied, leaving the street empty.

  Blade jerked from his doze when the whorehouse's back door banged open and two men threw a bundle of rags into the street. They re-entered the whorehouse, and the assassin studied the heap, curious. It moved, and a pale arm rose feebly, falling back onto the cobbles. Blade frowned and glanced up and down the street to assure himself of its emptiness before he slid off the wall and approached the bundle on silent feet. The woman's face was turned away, and he walked around her to see it. He froze, his breath catching, then crouched and brushed a lock of tangled hair from Lilu's cheek. Her nose was smashed and her face smeared with blood, her lips swollen and split, and swelli
ngs sealed her eyes shut.

  “Ah, Lilu,” he whispered. “You stupid trollop.”

  After glancing around again, he pressed his fingers to her throat, and she slumped with a sigh. The assassin slid his arms under her and scooped her up, staggering under her weight.

  “You need to go on a damned diet,” he muttered.

  Blade stayed in the shadows out of habit on the way to her room in the slums. His lock pick opened the door in moments, and he dumped her on the bed, groaned and rubbed his back with a grimace. After arranging her comfortably, he gazed at her for several minutes, pondering. The throat pinch would assure her unconsciousness for a time-glass, and he had little time left. He contemplated using it again to lengthen it, but discarded the idea. Fetching the water basin, he wiped her face with a rag, revealing the true extent of the damage.

  Lilu groaned, and he tossed the rag into the bowl and rose. At the door, he paused to gaze at her again, then let himself out and locked it behind him. While he walked home, he pondered what must have happened to her, disliking everything to do with her vile trade and its consequences. She would be better off as a serving wench or washerwoman, but she was too stupid for that. Her nose was so badly broken he doubted she would be able to continue her current vocation unless she wore a bag over her head, as Graleth had recommended for Annay. Lilu had been ugly before, now she was hideous. He chuckled, shaking his head, and let himself into his room to flop down on his bed.

  The next afternoon, Blade made his way to Lilu's abode and took up a position on a nearby rooftop, where he could watch her door. He spied movement behind the dirty curtain that covered the single window, and, after lying in the sun, yawning and scratching, for a time-glass, he quit his perch to practice on his platform.

  The following day, he visited the armourer who had made his daggers and ordered a pair of boot blades, an assassin's traditional weapon. Once they had been used for duels, but that practice had been stopped. Now they were mostly for self-defence, which was their original purpose. If a group of men pursued an assassin, seeking vengeance or merely satisfaction, their prospective prey could don the blades for a better chance of survival. Using them effectively, however, took a great deal of skill. The moves were based upon the Dance, but somewhat different. Since he could not dance now, or at least, not properly for a while, when he collected the blades three days later he practiced the fighting moves employed whilst wearing boot blades.

  Each day, he went to Lilu's room and watched her from a neighbouring rooftop, assuring himself that she was all right. He had not seen her emerge since he had brought her home, even though he had spent quite a bit of time watching her, and his concern grew. He despised it, but could not deny it. Five days had passed, and she must be running out of food.

  Four urchins chased a skinny dog down the street, shrieking and throwing stones, and a beggar cursed them when they tripped over him in the gutter. Two firebirds courted on a neighbouring rooftop, bowing to each other with purring calls, their flame-hued tails spread. A grey dove nested in a chimney close to them, watching them with worried brown eyes. The shack Lilu dwelt in was one of many that lined the narrow street, backing onto run-down houses with sagging slate roofs and peeling paint. The entire area was impoverished, bordering the slums and the garbage dump beyond, where he had spent seven days so long ago.

  The sun dipped below the rooftops, withdrawing its warmth and light, and he sighed, frowning with annoyance. Sliding off the roof, he landed with a thud behind a hag's vegetable barrow, making her jump. Ignoring her myopic glare, he ambled across the road, where urchins picked pockets and beggars held out grimy hands.

  Blade hesitated in front of the door, every particle of his being wanting to leave, but the despised concern drove him to tap on the wood.

  “Go away!” a hoarse shout came from within, and he almost did. Two steps from the door he swung back, and this time banged on it.

  “Bugger off! I have a knife!” Her bellow was even louder.

  “Lilu.” He coughed, clearing his throat. “It's Blade.”

  The door was yanked open so forcefully that a wind blew past him, and he staggered back as the ragged whore engulfed him in a rib-cracking embrace. Blade narrowly avoided stepping in something putrid and sitting down in the dirt, and tried to pry her arms away.

  “Get off me!” he said.

  Lilu buried her face in his chest and wept. Blade glanced up and down the street at the curious pedestrians who had paused to stare at him and pushed her into the room, kicking the door closed. Still she clung to him, pinning his arms to his sides, and he freed them with a jerk, hurling her back against the bed. She sagged, sniffing, and he stared at the ravaged ruin of her face. Blue bruises ringed her eyes, mottled her lips and covered her flattened nose. The assassin thought he had never seen such a nauseating sight, and looked away. She wiped her nose, then covered her face and wept.

  “Stop it,” he said, “or I'll leave.”

  She hiccupped and gulped, rubbed her face on her sleeve and forced a wan smile. “It's good to see you. I've missed you so much. I'm glad you came. I have wine.”

  Blade stepped aside when she headed for a cupboard, staying out of her reach. She turned with a bottle of cheap wine that he knew tasted more like vinegar, and he held up a hand.

  “No, that stuff is vile.”

  Her face fell, and she looked so desperate that his anger rose again, and he headed for the door.

  “No!” She rushed at him. “Wait! Blade!”

  The assassin slipped out before she could grab him and slammed the door in her face, stepping into the shadows as she yanked it open again. He ignored her desperate calls and turned into an alley, at the end of which, he knew, was a shabby taproom that the local beggars frequented. The soggy door creaked when he dragged it open, and he banged on the scarred counter until a man came over with a lopsided leer and an angry scowl. The bartender eyed him, clearly uncertain of whether he was an assassin or just a man clad in black. Blade ordered three bottles of the best wine and paid a golden for something he hoped was drinkable.

  Back at Lilu's room, he shoved open the door, which he knew was now unlocked, and kicked it shut behind him. She lay on the bed, and looked up in alarm, her eyes wide. A hesitant smile twisted her swollen, scabbed lips, and she sat up and swung her legs off the bed. Blade banged the bottles down on the table and eased himself onto the rickety chair, which creaked.

  Lilu gulped and coughed. “You came back.”

  “I went to get some decent wine,” he said, looking away.

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you going to pour it, or sit there gaping at me?”

  Lilu went over to the cupboard and took out two pewter cups while Blade pried the cork out, and he filled them. She dragged a box closer and perched on it, gazing at him. He handed her a cup, which she took with trembling hands.

  Blade scowled at her. “Who did that to you?”

  She fingered her crushed nose. “A customer.”

  “Why?”

  “I... I stole his money.”

  “Then you deserved it.”

  “He almost killed me.” She leant forward, her eyes intent. “Someone carried me home that night and left me on the bed.”

  Blade sipped his wine. “That was nice of them.”

  “Yes, it was. Thank you.”

  He snorted. “It wasn't me.”

  “I know it was.”

  “Then you're an idiot.”

  She sipped her wine, wincing. “This is good.”

  “I won't drink that rat's piss you have.”

  “No, I expect you can afford the good stuff, like this.”

  He shrugged. “It's tolerable.”

  “Why did you help me? And how did you find me?”

  “I didn't. How would I? What do you think, that I've been following you around or something?”

  She lowered her eyes. “Perhaps it was a happy coincidence.”

  “Unlikely.”

  “I don
't know of anyone else who would have helped me.”

  “I wouldn't have, either.”

  “All right.” She looked at him. “Have it your way, but I know it was you.”

  “Don't delude yourself with idiotic imaginings.”

  “I hope you didn't hurt your leg doing it. I'm not that light.”

  His eyes narrowed at her clumsy ploy. “I'm sure it was some stout lad with a heart of gold or a crotch full of lust, who probably made use of you before he left.”

  She grimaced. “You're being vile.”

  “When am I not? And yet you seek to credit me with a charitable act.”

  “I know who you really are.”

  “Indeed? Who am I, really?”

  “A good man.”

  Blade chuckled, shaking his head. “You'd see good in a murdering rapist if he patted your bottom and bought you a drink.”

  She sighed. “How have you been?”

  “Tolerable.”

  “Are you dancing again?”

  “No.”

  “You're not limping.”

  Blade sipped his wine. “And you're not working. What are you eating, the curtains?”

  “How do you know I'm not working?”

  “Because no man in his right mind would rut with you now.”

  She looked down at her wine, fiddling with it. “I have a little food still.”

  “Good, I'm hungry.”

  Lilu stifled a sob.

  Blade smiled. “Aren't you going to offer your guest something to eat? You asked me to visit you, and I've even provided the wine. The least you can do is offer me a meal.”

  Jumping up, she wrenched open a cupboard and took out a hunk of mouldy bread and an equally foetid chunk of cheese, banging them down on the table. “There. Eat.”

  “That's disgusting.”

  Her face twisted, and she turned away. “That's all I have.”

  He sighed. “I'm not eating that. Even the rats wouldn't eat it.”

  “I'm sorry.”