‘Are you sulking still?’ said Koenig.
Katta looked up. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she said.
‘You must eat, or you won’t be able to last tomorrow.’
‘Maybe I won’t have to.’
There was something in the tone of her voice that could not be missed and Koenig looked at her with those deep-seeing eyes of his. If she was not careful, she thought, he would guess that she had the knife.
‘What are we going to do in Felissehaven?’ she said quickly.
But he was too sharp for that. She could feel his gaze upon her even though she was looking away, looking at the fire, looking anywhere but at him.
‘Let’s get there first, shall we?’ he said. ‘Without too much trouble, that is.’
‘Can’t wait,’ she said.
Koenig had taken off his thick riding coat. Now he might have been a gentleman, with his fine scarf wound around his throat, his silk waistcoat and black stuff jacket. He opened the saddlebags that he had laid across the back of a chair and took from them two pistols. He checked each, and then pushed one down inside his jacket where it could not be seen. ‘I’m going to see if our friend has arrived downstairs,’ he said.
He tossed the other pistol to Stefan, who caught it awkwardly. It looked large and clumsy in his hands.
‘Can’t be too careful,’ he said. ‘Stay here. Don’t open the door to anyone but me. Don’t go outside. Do you understand?’
‘Or he’ll shoot us?’ said Katta mockingly.
‘No,’ said Koenig. ‘But he will shoot anyone else who tries to come in.’ His voice was deadly serious. ‘Now isn’t the time to play games, Katta.’
It was the first time he had used her name, and it startled her. He must have heard Mathias say it a dozen times, but he hadn’t spoken it until now.
‘No games, Katta,’ he said.
Then he stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.
‘What did he mean?’ said Mathias sleepily from the bed. He’d heard the words but they’d come to him slowly and fuzzily, as though from a long way off.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll stay awake.’
She watched Mathias close his eyes.
Now it was just her and the boy.
Down in the quiet of the stables, the horses shifted their feet uneasily as something disturbed them, a small square shape slipping from shadow to shadow across the yard. The big horse lifted its head, pricked its ears and snorted.
‘Why don’t you lie down?’ said Katta.
Stefan was sitting in a chair by the fire; he had turned it so that it faced the door. He had the pistol on his lap. He looked up at her, a little surprised. It was the first time she’d spoken to him. She put her hands together like a pillow against her cheek.
‘Sleep,’ she said and pointed to him. ‘You sleep now. I’ll watch.’
‘I watch,’ said Stefan.
‘Not for much longer, you won’t,’ said Katta under her breath. ‘I’ll sleep then,’ she said, pointing to her chest. ‘Me.’
Stefan nodded, and Katta climbed onto the bed. She closed her eyes, but she wasn’t asleep. She lay there with her eyes shut and listened to the buzzing of the bee in her head.
Koenig sat at a table close to the fire. He wasn’t alone. He had found a place next to two gentlemen and their lady companions. The ladies had their hair piled up in the fashionable way. They had all travelled together in the same carriage. Koenig listened to their empty chatter, but all the while he watched the room, saw who came in and went out. When one of the girls with her empty tray passed him, he stopped her.
‘I was expecting a friend,’ he said. ‘A short man. He’s been walking, no horse to stable. Has he come yet?’
This girl would know. He had chosen one he had seen when they arrived, so he knew she would have noticed anyone who had come after them.
She looked about. ‘That him?’ she said.
She pointed across the room to a small fat man who was smoking a pipe. He had a small fat wife beside him.
‘No,’ said Koenig.
‘Only one I’ve seen,’ she said.
One of the ladies touched his arm. ‘Do you play cards, sir?’ she said.
‘Never for money,’ said Koenig.
She smiled at him. ‘Perhaps we could play then?’
She rapped her fan on the table. ‘Cards, everyone!’ she said. ‘Our new companion can deal.’
She laid her hand on his arm again. ‘I’m sure I can trust you to play fairly,’ she said.
Up in the room Katta was watching Stefan. He had settled in the chair and the warmth of the fire was making him drowsy. It had been a long, cold day and they had walked so far. Sometimes his head would nod, but then he’d lift it again and stretch and blink, trying to keep awake. Then the warmth would work upon him, and after a while his eyes would close. Katta said nothing. But she watched like a hawk, barely breathing, not making a sound, not moving a muscle. Finally his head drooped and he didn’t lift it. For all that he had tried not to, for all that Koenig had left him to watch, Stefan was asleep.
Very slowly, not taking her eyes off him, Katta sat up in the bed. She looked at Mathias. His eyes were shut and he was breathing deeply and evenly. Carefully she put her hand into her apron and took out the knife. It felt hard and heavy. It was folded shut. Just as carefully, she opened it. The blade was sharp; it felt cold against her hand. The light of the flames from the fire danced along it. It was how she had always imagined it – the boy sleeping, not knowing what was about to happen to him, the knife in her hand. But it was not the same at all.
It was real.
All those other, imagined times fell away from her like the paper-thin things they were, and she was left with a real knife and a real boy. How could she do it? It was so wrong. But then, what he had done was wrong too. But he hadn’t known he’d done it. But he’d thrown the stone, hadn’t he? He must have meant to hurt someone – he’d meant that, and it had been her he’d hurt. That’s what he’d done. But maybe he hadn’t really meant it at all?
She sat statue-still while the different thoughts raced in her head. But slowly one thought gained the upper hand, pushing all the others aside. She had sworn that she would do this to him if she ever found him. It would be like a broken promise if she didn’t. As if she were a coward. It didn’t matter that it was wrong. She had sworn that she would do it, so that is what she was going to do.
Quietly she put her feet on the floor and, not making a sound, stood up. Very slowly she began to move towards him. The firelight flickered and her shadow stretched back across the room. She bent down and reached one hand forward to take the pistol from his lap, but his hand was resting on it and she hesitated, drew back and edged around his chair so that she stood behind him. Then she reached her hand over his head and brought the knife down until the blade rested in front of his eyes. She could feel her heart pounding; she was shaking.
‘Katta! No!’
Mathias had sat up in bed: he was awake, staring at her with wide eyes. As Stefan jerked his head and opened his eyes, Katta drew the blade across them. But he’d moved enough – the blade sliced across his forehead, deep as the bone, and suddenly there was blood everywhere as he stumbled from the chair.
‘Katta!’ shouted Mathias.
She stood staring in disbelief at the knife in her hands, and realized what she had done. Stefan had his hands to his face; there was blood coming between his fingers. He couldn’t see – he blundered into the table and fell. Mathias was out of the bed in a flash, arm tight across his chest, trying to reach Stefan before Katta did. His face was shocked and white.
‘What have you done?’
Stefan was whimpering; he was pressing himself against the bed, trying to get away from Katta, but she didn’t move. She dropped the knife. What had she done? All those years of impotent hate burst inside her.
‘He did it to me!’ she screamed, her eyes full of tears.
Mathias lo
oked blankly up at her.
‘This!’ she shouted and, grabbing her cap, pulled it off her head and threw it at him as hard as she could. Her hair was red in the firelight.
‘He did it to me!’ she shouted. ‘It was him!’
She stabbed her fingers to the place in her head. Parted the hair so that he could see the bone.
‘This! He did it to me.’
Mathias didn’t understand. She had never told him. He stared uncomprehendingly from her to the boy. There was blood everywhere.
Katta put her hands to her head and ran. The door to the room was shut and bolted; she drew the bolt and flung it open. She didn’t know where she was going – she ran blindly down the narrow passages and turns, not seeing, not stopping until, coming round a corner, she looked down into the half-light and froze.
Climbing in through a window at the end of the passageway in front of her was Valter.
She let out a scream, stifling it at once. But it was too late – that was enough. He hadn’t seen her until then. He was already halfway through the window; he turned his head and looked right at her.
She didn’t wait. She turned and fled back the way she had come, but she wasn’t sure which way it was. There was a small flight of steps – had she come down it? She couldn’t remember. She took them two at a time and ran along the passage, shouting at the top of her voice.
‘Mathias! Mathias!’
The door to the room was still open; she came through it at a run and slammed it, bolting it behind her. Stefan now had a sheet to his head: Mathias was holding it, trying to staunch the blood. When they saw her, they both flinched; Stefan backed away. She slid the bolt home in the door.
‘Get the pistol!’ she shouted.
Neither Mathias nor Stefan moved.
‘It’s him!’
Desperately she began looking for where the pistol had fallen from Stefan’s lap. She saw it under the table, got down on her hands and knees and was scrabbling for it as the door bent inwards and the frame cracked. She stared, horrified; outside Valter put his shoulder to the door again. It bent further and this time, in a splintering of wood, the bolt gave way.
He was a terrible sight. He had been burned and buried. He stood with his arms wide, ready to catch them if they ran.
‘Where is it?’ he hissed.
Katta had the pistol in her hands. She had never used one before, not even held one. It was so heavy. She didn’t know what to do. She pulled the hammer back with her hand like she’d seen people do; it was hard, but it locked with a click. Still crouching, she raised the pistol at Valter and pulled the trigger. There was a flash and it fired. The sound was deafening in the small space – plaster showered from the ceiling behind Valter where the ball struck – but it had missed him completely. With a yell, he leaped at Mathias, who jumped up onto the bed one side and down the other.
Stefan was in the way; he didn’t seem to understand what was happening. Valter caught hold of him and, with the back of his hand, gave him one enormous blow across his face. It sent Stefan crashing into the wall; he slid down it to the floor, then didn’t move. Valter fixed his eyes on Mathias, who stood with the bed between them.
‘Where is it, little boy?’ he said.
‘He can’t catch us both,’ said Katta. ‘He can only get one.’
An iron poker was leaning against the fireplace – it wasn’t much, but it was something. Dropping the pistol, she grabbed at the poker and held it unsteadily in both hands. Valter smiled. This was going to be a good game. He drew his long knife from his coat and moved slowly towards her; she circled round the table, keeping it between them. It was now or not at all.
‘Run!’ she shouted, and swung at Valter’s head with the poker. She missed; he caught the end of it one-handed and jerked it away from her. But Mathias had already leaped onto the bed and down the other side. The dwarf leaped after him, slashing at him with his knife, but he only caught the curtains that hung around the bed. They ripped and fell, and in that moment’s confusion, as Valter wrestled himself free of the heavy folds of cloth, Katta and Mathias were through the door and down the passage. But they had only a moment’s start before the dwarf was after them. They could hear him coming. They ran, but he was too quick for them. He caught hold of Mathias by the back of his neck and slammed his head into the wall. Mathias dropped like a sack. Katta turned round to face him.
Valter was standing over Mathias with his knife drawn – when Koenig shot him.
14
What Katta Had to Do
Koenig had heard the crack of Katta’s pistol shot. Everybody had. But only he had known what it meant. He was out of his chair and, not caring who got in his way, across the crowded room before anyone else had moved. He took the stairs at a run, the cocked pistol already in his hand.
The door of the room had been broken in. Stefan was lying in a heap against one wall. Koenig knelt and turned him over. The boy was unconscious. He had a deep wound across his forehead and his face was a mask of blood. Koenig took in the disorder – the table overturned, the bed hangings pulled down – but of Mathias and Katta there was no sign.
He swore.
They hadn’t passed him, so he knew they must have gone the other way. He ran back through the door and down the empty passage. Even as he did so, he heard the thump of Mathias’s head against the wall and Katta’s gasp of breath.
Then he turned the corner.
As Valter heard the sound of Koenig behind him, he let go of Mathias’s hair and, twisting round in one liquid movement, stood grinning, knife ready in his hand—
And Koenig shot him.
The pistol ball caught the dwarf in the middle of his chest. It lifted him clean off his feet and smashed him into the window behind. In a shower of breaking glass the frame gave way and Valter went backwards into the dark, snow-filled courtyard below.
For an instant none of them moved. Koenig stood with the smoking pistol levelled at the place where Valter had been, then slowly he let his arm drop. Katta closed her eyes, her heart hammering in her chest. Mathias lay staring at the ceiling, breathing in snatched gasps. Koenig stepped over him and, leaning out of the broken window, looked down into the courtyard.
But there was no one there.
He craned his head out, looking both ways along the length of the wall, trying to see where the dwarf had crawled to before he’d died. But there was no sign of him at all. Just a line of freshly made tracks disappearing into the darkness.
Other people were arriving now, crowding into the passage behind Koenig, wanting to know what had happened. He turned and pushed his way through them, ignoring all their questions. The boy and the girl were safe enough for the moment. He had to see to Stefan.
Katta stood there, dazed, the deafening sound of the pistol shot ringing in her head. Everything had happened so quickly.
A wind was blowing through the broken window. It was wet with snow. A man in a blue coat was asking her if she was hurt, but she barely heard him.
She was shaking.
She knelt down beside Mathias and put her hand against his face. His eyes were wide with terror.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘He’s gone.’
He looked up at her, but he didn’t really see her. He could still see the face of the dwarf and the long silver knife.
‘It’s all right,’ she said.
She put her arms around him and held him while the people crowded about them and stared.
Someone lifted her up. They set her on her feet. It was the man in the blue coat. He bent down and picked up Mathias in his arms, then carried him back along the passage, up the small flight of steps to the room with the broken-in door.
Dumbly Katta followed him.
Koenig had already lifted Stefan onto the bed. He’d torn a sheet into lengths and was trying to stop the blood. Stefan was lolling like a rag doll. Katta had never needed to think about what she’d do after she’d blinded the boy. There had only ever been the blinding, and nothing
else. But this was real and there was so much blood.
She felt sick.
Koenig turned and saw the man carrying Mathias. ‘Is he hurt?’ he said.
Katta couldn’t say anything. She was still staring at Stefan.
‘Is he hurt?’ asked Koenig again.
The words shook her awake. ‘Yes,’ she said.
Koenig took her hand, stuffed the wad of torn sheet into it and pressed it against Stefan’s head. ‘Press it hard,’ he said.
Then, taking Mathias from the man, he set him down on the edge of the bed. Mathias moaned.
Stefan was completely senseless. She had to hold him upright. But she could see what she’d done to him now. Right across his forehead was a cut down to the bone – she could see the white of it. If Mathias hadn’t woken him when he did, the blade would have gone through both his eyes like a razor.
The thought of what that would have done stuffed the breath up inside her. How could she have thought she could do that?
She pressed the torn wad of sheet to Stefan’s head, but the blood just kept coming. She looked up, imploring someone to help.
The man in the blue coat reached down and took the sodden cloth from her hand. There was a water jug beside the bed. He flicked his head towards it. ‘Get some more,’ he said. ‘Go on.’
Still shaking, she picked up the jug and, pushing her way through the crowd of people that were gawping at the doorway, stepped out into the passage and took a deep gulp of breath and then another.
Downstairs the inn was astir. Some men had taken lanterns and gone looking outside, but the tracks they found in the snow led straight into the dark forest. No one was going to follow them in there. There was little more that could be done. Snow was falling. By daylight the tracks would be covered over and that had to be an end of it.
Toymaker, The Page 9