by Tom D Wright
Chapter Fourteen
I drift between believing I am dreaming and suspecting I am awake. I hear no sound but my breathing. There is no light to see. It is the swelling pain in my joints and muscles that defines the shore of my consciousness.
My pain ripens into agony until I know I am awake, and I recall where I am. The air is stuffy, and even though I am not normally claustrophobic, being tucked into the coffin-like box makes me feel like I have been buried alive. A whirling fusion of anger, dread and protectiveness nearly overwhelms me as I recall the events that put me in this box. I have to get out and find out what the hell happened after I passed out.
When I push upward against the lid, it does not yield at all; the lock must be hanging on the clasp. Nobody would hide in a locked trunk, which is probably why the Disciples did not bother checking it.
My only hope is that time has taken its toll on this chest. Twisting around so I can leverage my upper body against one end of the enclosure, I press my feet against the other end and feel a slight give, but it is still pretty solid. When I push again, a vicious leg cramp seizes my thigh, but after a dozen desperate kicks, the end begins to yield. With a few more thrusts, my feet burst through. I almost cry with relief as I extend my legs.
I am coughing from all the dust by the time I worm my way out of the end of the trunk and onto the floor. My left arm has fallen asleep, and I am still groggy from the sedative. It requires all of my focus and energy to push myself into a standing position. Then I walk around the room carefully so I can stretch the cramp out.
As the pain ebbs, it is replaced with an inflow of dread over what happened to Danae.
Weak light pours into the basement through the slit of a window at an almost horizontal angle, so I guess it is late afternoon. After a few more minutes, I have recovered enough to stand and walk normally. I grab my crossbow before I head up the stairs leading to the shop.
The back storage area appears undisturbed, so it seems that they did not waste any time searching or trashing the joint. That impression changes when I walk through the curtain into the front of the shop. The contents of the shelves have all been swept to the floor, and one of the shelves hangs off the wall.
Angie’s body lies amidst a pool of blood on the floor in front of the counter. Her hands and feet are bound.
A wave of grief even deeper than what I felt for Brannock erupts within me as I sink to the floor in shock.
Then her legs move.
Her back is toward me and she has a gag tied around her head, and she moans as I scramble across the floor to help her. When I lift Angie up to a sitting position, I feel a tornado of rage inside as I see what those unholy bastards did to her.
“God damn,” I gasp in horror.
Both of her eyes have been sliced, and her face is covered with blood that seeps through eyelids that are almost swollen shut.
I touch the side of her face, and she flinches.
“Angie, it’s me. You’re going to be okay,” I tell her, even though I know she will not. My hands tremble as I slice through the gag. She begins to sob, slowly at first, then rising to an uncontrollable flood. When I cut through the rags that bind her, she throws her arms around my neck and buries her heaving sobs into my shoulder.
I have never seen this Angie before. I embrace her, holding her as tight as I can.
“I am so sorry, baby,” I whisper as I stroke her back gently.
I would do anything at this moment to take her pain on myself. We may never have been lovers, but at one time we were as close emotionally. I do not know whether these Disciples would have eventually found her anyway, but my being here led them straight to her, like bees to pollen. Guilt wraps around me tighter than a cocoon.
Eventually she is calm enough to talk, and we both sit on the floor, leaning against her counter.
“Damn it, I’m sorry K’Marr. I actually had them convinced that they had the wrong shop, until the squad leader recognized my voice. He used to be a Temple guard, running my scrawny ass out of the sanctuary every time I snuck in while someone wasn’t looking. Eventually I got him demoted, when I barged into an enclave meeting during his shift. So I guess he had a grudge against me.”
“Who did this?” I ask, touching her cheek. “The one with the deep voice?”
“Yeah. He said, since I was so blind to the truth that I ran away, I ought to be blind to the world as well. The only reason I’m alive is that even though I’m an unbeliever now, it would still be sacrilege for him to kill the daughter of a high priestess.”
“Did you see Danae? I mean, do you know what…” I trail off awkwardly.
“Yeah! Before they blinded me, they dragged her up here, claiming she was an Archivist. What the hell was that about?”
When I explain how Danae sedated me and hid me in the trunk, Angie laughs and shakes her head. “Really? I would never guess she had it in her. That woman has more balls than most men.” Danae might see it differently, but from Angie that is a real compliment.
“We need to get you to a doctor,” I say. “Who can you trust here in town?”
“There’s a doctor who does business with me regularly for supplies. Occasionally he spends the night, too, which is something you would never do. Anyway, his place is on the other side of town, but the streets aren’t safe.”
“I have an idea, I’ll be right back.”
After securing the entrance, I head down to the basement and rummage through the clothing in the now-busted trunk. A shapeless dress fits over me, even if my shins are half-exposed, and a long cloak provides additional cover to the ground. Then I cram my duster, hat and pack in a large sack so it just looks like a lumpy bag of potatoes.
I should now look like an old babushka; this is not the first time I have dressed in drag on a retrieval. Finally I grab a hat with a veil for Angie, to cover her face.
Upstairs, I find washrags that I soak in a bucket of water, and I gently clean Angie’s face enough to be passable—as long as no one looks too closely through the veil.
At one point she grasps my hand and pulls it to her lips for a light kiss. I return her wordless gesture of thanks with a kiss to her forehead. When we are done, I stand behind her as I help Angie change out of her bloodstained clothes and into a clean shirt and pants. Then we put on her coat, and we are ready to venture out into the growing dusk.
We stroll down the cobblestone street. She holds onto my arm as she guides me verbally through several turns, following the landmarks she describes.
The town streets are fairly empty, and the few people we pass avoid eye contact with us. At least there are no Disciples. After a couple of false turns and some backtracking, we reach the door of her doctor friend.
I knock. When there is no response, I knock a couple more times. Finally we hear a muffled ‘go away’ and Angie calls out, “It’s me, Carl. I need your help.”
The door opens, and a short, middle-aged man with long black hair tied back in a ponytail glances at us, then checks the street and gestures for us to step inside quickly. He bars the door with several locks before he turns to face us.
“What are you doing here, Angie? You know you shouldn’t be out on the streets right now!”
When Angie silently removes her hat, she looks worse than before. The eye sockets have continued to leak and her whole face is puffy.
“Mother of God! What happened?” he says, touching her cheeks carefully and examining her wounds. I step back and out of the way.
“That bad, huh?” she replies. “It was those Disciple sons of bitches. Wish I could say they got worse than I did, but not this time.”
“Whatever you did to piss them off, it couldn’t have justified this,” Carl says, then leads her into an exam room that is much more luxurious than Doc’s was. He does not bar me from following, so I take a seat nearby while he examines her.
“I’m Doctor Carl Faukner,” he says over his shoulder while using a magnifying glass and candle to examine his patient.
&
nbsp; After a few minutes he sets them down, sits back and says to her, “It looks like you have penetrating globe injuries, with hyphema and vitreous hemorrhage. Why did the Disciples do this?”
“The moon was in the wrong phase to cut out my heart. I have no idea what you just said but I’m guessing it’s not good.”
“Not good would be one way of putting it,” Carl says. “They pretty much shredded your corneas. If I had the medical resources I had when I was an internist, I could grow you some new corneas and probably give you 20/20 vision within four months. With the sticks and stones I have to work with now—the best you can ever hope for is to tell whether it’s day or night.”
“So what now?” Angie asks, as though inquiring what is for dinner. She is not the self-pity type.
The doctor folds his arms and sighs. “To be honest, there’s nothing I can do to repair the damage. The only treatment is to bandage your eyes and apply some antibacterial ointment to prevent infection. Just let the wounds heal, and see what you see.”
“I know it’s asking a lot, but could you put us up for the night?” I ask. “It’s clearly too dangerous for us to stay at her place.”
“Are you kidding?” Carl exclaims. “I wouldn’t consider letting you two walk out that door. Of course you’re staying.”
He turns back to Angie, and spends the next half hour cleaning her ruined eyes as best he can, then covers her eye sockets with an ointment and bandages. She grits her teeth and hisses a few times, but otherwise is silent. I always knew she was a tough woman, but never appreciated just how tough until now.
When he is done, Carl guides Angie upstairs while I follow. Then he pauses for a moment, as if considering the sleeping arrangements. I get the sense that while he and Angie have shared a physical closeness that she never had with me, their emotional connection is far more casual.
He shows us into a small room outfitted with several beds, which he uses to shelter recovering patients. After Carl brings a couple sandwiches for our dinner and we eat, I help Angie stretch out on her bed and make sure she is comfortable.
“You know, those Disciples are taking Danae back to Wolfengarde,” Angie says, stretched out on her bed and talking in my direction.
“That’s what I figured,” I sigh. “Well, at least now I can get them both at the same time.”
Angie turns her head toward me, her voice heating up. “Forget your artifact, K’Marr, that girl loves you more than you deserve. Why do you think she took your place, you idiot? You’re blinder than me if you don’t see that you love her too, the way I can only wish you had loved me.”
I pause for a moment, somewhat taken aback. “I do love her, Angie. But as a sister.”
“Whatever.” Angie shakes her head. “You can’t waste any time if you want to get your sister back alive, because there are few things those bastards love more than sacrificing an Archivist. We need to leave in the morning.”
“The hell you’re leaving with me!” I reply. “You’re in no condition to travel now. Not to mention that this was never your fight, and what happened to you is my fault. I’m not about to make it worse by dragging you back to that hellhole.”
“You’re right, this wasn’t my fight before,” she spits the words out as she sits up and faces my direction. “Now it is. I may be blind but I’m not helpless. If you want to make this up to me, find the bastard who took my eyes, hold him down and guide my knife to his throat.”
“That won’t bring your sight back,” I protest. “You need to think about the future now, about how you are going to manage your life here.”
“My life! What life? Even before you came, I was dying inside. Spending my days inside that little shop, consumed with fear every time I ventured outside, that I might run into a Disciple or former believer who would recognize me and turn me in. The truth is, it was only a matter of time until they found me. And just bad luck that it was now.”
“And what will you do after you get your vengeance?” I ask. “What then?”
“Remember where you found me. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since you last saw me, it’s that four walls are a prison. I need to be in the open, the wind in my hair and the ground under my feet. I don’t know where I’ll end up, but I do know it can’t be here.” Then she turns onto her side and pulls a blanket over herself.
As much as I would prefer that Angie not accompany me into danger, Disciple-occupied Georges certainly is not safe for her now, and in the end it is her choice. Conversation over.
With her eyes bandaged there is no need to douse the oil lamp, so I lie on my bed and stare up at the ceiling, envisioning the trail of dead and broken bodies in my wake so far.
Every retrieval is different, and some are messier than others, but I have never experienced one like this. So far Wally, Doc Kaufstetter, Brannock and the old woman Marjoram are direct casualties, plus who knows how many died in Port Sadelow and elsewhere on the sword tip of the Disciples’ justice?
I do not count the Disciples we killed while rescuing Danae; they had that coming to them. Angie may not be dead, but the life she had here in Georges is.
Regardless of what Angie may believe about my friendship with Danae, I cannot let Danae be added to that list. I shudder as I contemplate what the death toll will be before this is over.
I have learned over decades of retrieving artifacts for the Archives that nothing is written in stone for good or bad, and no amount of staring at either ceilings or stars will change what will happen in the morning.
I douse the lamp and meditate my way into sleep.
While we eat an oatmeal breakfast the next morning, I tell Carl that we must leave as soon as we have finished. He starts to protest vigorously, but Angie kills that conversation without a single word by turning her bowl upside down and slamming it onto the table viciously.
Carl surrenders with a deep sigh, then rises to put together a package of bandages and ointment for her eyes. When he brings the treatment kit to me, he includes a pouch with a couple of handfuls of gold and silver coins for Angie.
“What about your shop?” he asks her. “You spent years building it up, and now you’re just walking away from it?”
“There isn’t much left to walk away from,” she replies. “They pretty much trashed everything I had. You’re welcome to look around and salvage anything you can find there.”
“If you’re sure about that, I’ll set aside a fair price for whatever I recover, just in case you come back. Give me a minute to write a quick bill of sale in case anyone raises any questions.”
We wait while he quickly drafts a simple document and Angie signs it. I have him also draft a deed for Saffron and Thorn, and ask him to make sure they go to good homes. None of this is very formal, but it fits the times we now live in. The one positive outcome of the Great Crash is that we got rid of all the lawyers. That almost makes it worth it all.
Angie and I get dressed for our trek, and as much as I want to persuade her to remain here, the determined set of her face tells me to keep my protests to myself. Returning to the stable for the horses is not even an option, so we will have to walk out to meet Little Crow. We don the trousers and shirts of farmhands, with simple cloaks to keep us warm.
Fortunately, the good doctor has spare used clothing on hand for patients who come in with torn and bloody garments, needing something to wear home. I put the veiled hat, which commonly serves as a sunscreen, on Angie’s head and pull the veil into position.
Finally ready, I swing the sack with my pack over one shoulder as we slip out the front door onto the street. A pair of patrolling Disciples is a block away, heading away from us, so we go in the opposite direction, toward the western gate. Angie holds onto my arm as if we are a strolling couple while I lead her through the town.
It seems that the streets are returning to normal, as there are more pedestrians than yesterday, but the people are still very subdued and keep to themselves. We cross paths with a couple more Disciple patrols, but we keep o
ur heads low, so they ignore us. They have clearly subjugated this town, whatever their reason may be.
When we reach the gate, we find that it is staffed by the same guards we encountered the previous day. One of them nods as he recognizes me. Angie is a little shorter than Danae, but they only saw Danae on horseback, so as long as she keeps her head cloaked, they will certainly assume I have the same companion.
“What happened to your horses?” the redheaded guard asks me.
“You may not have noticed, but your town is now overrun with Disciples. It seems one of their leaders took a fancy to my mounts. At least he gave me this lousy bag of spuds.”
The man shakes his head. “Damn shame, but at least they didn’t take a fancy to your woman. You still have your life, and there’s some this morning that aren’t so lucky.”
“So I’ve heard,” I respond. The guard is far closer to the truth than he realizes. “Who’s in charge now?”
“The council still manages the daily operations, but General Berger is the Disciple mayor. No one knows what happened to Mayor Groversen, and you don’t want to ask.”
“What did your city do to bring the wrath of the Disciples on Georges?”
The guard glances around to make sure there are no Disciples nearby before answering quietly, “I’ve heard talk about them wintering here and then moving against a place called the Tucker Realm in the spring. They seek retribution for a recent attack, which the Disciples took as a virtual declaration of war.”
“All I want to fight are the deer eating my crops,” I say. “Hopefully the Disciples won’t take what little the deer leave behind.”
The guard shakes his head in sympathy and waves us on. Relieved, I lead Angie out onto the dusty road heading west.
After we pass the first farmhouse, I take the pack out along with my duster and hat, and toss the sack. The sky is partially overcast, but when the sun breaks through the clouds our backs warm up. Angie ditches the veil, but she does keep the hat. Neither of us are particularly talkative until we stop for a lunch break.