by Alex Bledsoe
He looked at me with outrage but no malice. “You cut off my nose!”
“No, I didn’t, but I’ll cut a hole in your heart if you don’t lie still. Where’s Isadora?”
Again he examined the blood on his hand. “I’ve never seen my own blood before. It’s red like people’s, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Now answer my question.”
Yells and screams made me look up. The crowd inside the tavern had overpowered their distracted minder. The remaining bad guy leaped onto his horse and took off down the road further into Mahnoma. I didn’t want him to get away and sound the alarm, so I said, “Jack, Clancy, go get him.” The two young men rushed to pursue.
I turned my attention back to Tatterhead. “You were saying?”
He waved one hand at the tavern. “She’s in there.”
Beatrice slid off her horse so fast, Viola barely had time to release her hold. She ran toward the tavern and disappeared inside. Owen Glendower and King Ellis followed.
Ajax appeared beside me, a little out of breath. He put his sword tip against Tatterhead’s chest. “I’ve got him now,” he said. “You go see about her.”
I climbed off and made eye contact with Liz. She nodded; she was okay.
I went into the tavern. Isadora lay on a table, covered with an old patched blanket. Her mother, grandfather, and potential father-in-law surrounded her.
“How is she?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Beatrice said, her eyes wet and her voice shaking. “She’s not waking up. Izzy, honey, please, it’s Mom. You’re scaring me, baby.”
Her eyes were closed, and at first I didn’t think she was breathing. But her skin was warm when I touched her cheek, and her arm moved without the rigidity of death.
I gently lifted one eyelid. Her eye stared straight ahead, and the pupil didn’t react to the light. I’d seen the same thing in men with head wounds; their bodies might live, but their minds were gone. I sincerely hoped this wasn’t the case.
“Are you a doctor, too?” Ellis asked.
“I’ve seen a lot of injuries,” I said. “But I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”
One of the captive Illyrians, a heavyset woman with jetblack hair, said, “She was like that when they brought her in. Limp, unconscious, nothing. We thought she was dead at first.”
“She’s not dead,” Beatrice insisted fiercely.
“No, she’s not,” I agreed. “But we need more answers again, and we only have one source.”
“You’re going to question that monster?” Owen said.
“I don’t know if he’s a monster or not,” I said. “But yeah, he’s the only one here who might know what’s going on.” Once again Tatterhead’s voice rose in my mind, speaking that lone, impossible word: sister.
I went back outside. Tatterhead still lay on the ground, hands to his nose, Ajax’s sword tip over his heart. Harry stood nearby, sketching on one of his pads.
I said firmly, “All right, Tatterhead. I want answers.”
“You cut off my nose,” he protested.
“You knocked my girlfriend off her horse, so we’ll call it even. Now, what did you do to Isadora?”
“I put her out,” he said, the words muffled by his hands.
“Put her out?”
“Yes. She was almost empty. If I hadn’t put her out, she wouldn’t have made it.”
“Empty of what?” I asked.
“Life,” he said simply.
Harry stopped sketching and looked up. “What do you mean by that?”
Tatterhead looked at him. “Were you drawing my picture?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see it?”
“Answer his question first,” Ajax said, and poked him in the chest with the sword.
“Ow! You don’t have to be mean, you know.”
I couldn’t get this being’s personality straight in my head. He was capable of great brutality, yet there was something undeniably childlike, if not exactly innocent, about him. I said, “I’m sorry, Tatterhead. You’re right, we don’t have to be mean.” I nodded at Ajax, and although he looked at me as if I were drunk on Devils’ Dew again, he pulled his sword away. I said, “Now, what did you mean, she was almost empty of life?”
“Opulora said I had to find her before midnight yesterday, or she’d run out of life. It was a close thing. I mean, I smelled her on you—” He indicated me. “—but the fat man who was supposed to follow you and let us know where you were never sent word.”
I looked around to see Billy Cudgel’s reaction, but he was gone. He’d taken advantage of the confusion to make his escape.
“Goddammit,” Jack said. “That fat son of a—”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Wherever he’s gone, good riddance.” I turned back to Tatterhead. “If he didn’t contact you, then how did you find us?”
“I didn’t. Opulora did. She said she got some kind of signal.”
The screaming bead, I thought. That let her know where we were. Damn it, it was all my fault. “And so what were you supposed to do with her?”
“Bring her back by midnight tonight. After that, not even one of Opulora’s spells can save her.”
“Save her from what?”
“From losing all her life,” he said simply.
“You mean she’ll die,” Harry said.
He shrugged, raising a puff of dust from the ground beneath him. “Not die like you. But yes.”
“And if you get her back by midnight to night?” I asked.
“Opulora can fill her back up.”
“With life?”
“Yeah.”
I couldn’t decide if he was telling the truth, or if this was some nonsense story Opulora had fed him. I looked up at the sun; it wasn’t quite noon. A fast rider could make it to Acheron by midnight, but I doubted our whole caravan could. Then something occurred to me. “If it was so important that you get her there by midnight, why did you stop here?”
“I knew you were following us. I could smell you. The soldiers who met me insisted we wait for you and finish you off. They didn’t think it would be a big deal.” He chuckled, and the deep rumble tickled the inside of my ears. “They were surprised, weren’t they?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “So if we let you up, do you promise to stop fighting us?”
“I’m supposed to keep doing it,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because if I don’t, Opulora will punish me.”
“But you’ve already failed. We have Isadora, and we have you. If she could punish you at this distance, don’t you think she would have? She has to know you failed, right?”
“Right . . . ,” he said slowly, turning the thought over in his head.
“I think you’re safe, Tatterhead. I don’t think even her reach extends this far.”
“Safe,” he repeated. “Safe. So . . . if I try to keep fighting, you’ll kill me?”
“You bet your gigantic fucking ass we will,” Beatrice said as she strode from the tavern. I was afraid she’d kick him, but she just stood over him, fists on her hips, and demanded, “What did you do to my daughter?”
“So am I afraid of you?” Tatterhead asked me with genuine confusion.
“You should definitely respect us, at least,” I said before Beatrice could threaten him again. He didn’t seem angry at all, just perplexed and a little put out, like someone caught in the rain without shelter. “Have you been afraid before?”
“Only of Opulora. She can pinch me like a swarm of bees stinging me, without even touching me. She can make my whole body cramp and my bones ache, no matter where I am. Except—” He shook his head in wonder. “—now she can’t.”
I desperately wanted to ask him about the “sister” comment, but not when everyone else was around. “Look, Tatterhead, we don’t want to hurt you, really. We’re just trying to rescue Isadora.”
“Then you have to get her to Opulora by midnight,” the big man said.
“Midnight?”
Beatrice repeated. “What happens at midnight?”
“Apparently she dies,” Harry said. Then he winced. “Sorry. No social skills, what can I say?”
Beatrice looked down at Tatterhead. “Is that true?” she demanded, her voice shaking with both rage and fear.
Before Tatterhead could answer, Jack and Clancy returned. Jack’s right arm was in a makeshift sling, and Clancy had a bloody gash across one cheek. “We got him,” Jack said, and indicated the body slung across the back of his horse. “But he was tough. We couldn’t take him alive.”
Ellis came from the tavern and helped his injured son from his horse. Clancy said, “We didn’t get a chance to ask them where they’d taken Izzy.”
“We know where she is,” I said. “In the tavern.”
“What?” Jack said, and started to push past his father.
“Wait, son,” Ellis said gently. “She’s still unconscious.”
Jack twisted away and ran inside the tavern.
“What are we going to do?” Liz asked me quietly.
“Tell me if I’ve got this right, Tatterhead,” I said. “If Isadora doesn’t get to Acheron, to Opulora, by midnight to night, she’s dead.”
He nodded.
“We’ll never all get there on time,” Liz said. “We need one rider, on our fastest horse, carrying her.”
“I’ll take her,” I said. There was no question about it in my mind. I had the most experience with what I was likely to encounter. “Who has the fastest horse?”
“I do,” Ellis said.
“Wait, why you?” Beatrice challenged.
“Because it’s what he does,” Liz said before I could answer. “I don’t know anyone who’ll try harder to save your daughter’s life.”
“Me,” she said with certainty. “And I bet I’m at least as good a rider as you. And she’s my daughter.”
“But you can’t also fight your way through guards, and then talk your way past kings,” Liz said. “Eddie can.”
“You’re that good, huh?” she said dryly.
“Yeah,” I said. “At this, I am.” Ellis’s horse would need water, grain, and rest before running like I intended to run him. “Let’s get everything ready. I’ll leave in an hour.”
Beatrice started to snap something back, her fists clenched in rage and fury. Then she turned and stalked off.
“She’d be a handful,” Harry said, but there was admiration in his voice. I realized I didn’t know if scribes, like moon priestesses, were unable to marry. I’d have to find that out someday.
“What do we do with him?” Ajax asked, nodding at Tatterhead.
I said, “Tatterhead, if we let you go, do you promise not to hurt any of us and not to try to stop us?”
“I do,” he said.
“You’re going to trust him?” Viola said, peeking from behind a tree. “He’s a monster!”
“He’s a monster who’s never lied to us,” I pointed out. I nodded at Ajax. He cut the rope around Tatterhead’s arms and torso.
Tatterhead sat up. Sitting, he was as tall as most of us standing.
Beatrice returned. Her face was still set and hard, but she took his huge chin gently in her hands and turned his face to examine his cut nose. She said, “Isadora’s my daughter. I’m very angry that you kidnapped her.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry I had to.”
“If you’ll sit still and not cry like a baby, I’ll clean that cut and bandage it for you.”
“She’s really good at it,” Viola said.
“Pretty,” Tatterhead said with a smile.
I waited for the explosion, but Beatrice just said dryly, “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“That’s because you’re all so beautiful. I know how ugly I am. Everyone is beautiful compared to me.”
Beatrice smiled so slightly that only my trained observational skills caught it.
A few minutes later, Tatterhead sat under a tree, his nose bandaged. Ajax and Clancy stood guard, swords drawn and ready. Everyone else, including Liz, was in the tavern. If I was going to press this whole “sister” issue before I left, this was my chance. I said, “Gentlemen, I need a word with our guest. In private.”
Ajax said suspiciously, “About what?”
“About something private,” I said.
The bodyguard started to protest, then thought better of it and strode away. Clancy followed.
“Are you all right?” I asked Tatterhead.
“My nose feels funny,” he said. His deep voice was now very nasal as well.
“I have to ask you a question. Back at the Glendower’s manor, when you first kidnapped Isadora, you called her your ‘sister.’ What did you mean by that?”
Tatterhead looked everywhere but at me. “I can’t say.”
“Because of Opulora?”
He nodded.
“Is the girl your sister?”
He raised one hand and shook it, the widely acknowledged sign for “sort of.”
“Is this something I need to know to save her life?” I pressed. “Opulora can explain it better than I can,” he said. “And if you don’t reach her in time, the answer won’t matter.”
“So what do we do with you, then?”
“Are you going to kill me?” he asked simply.
“I don’t want to. But it depends on you. Ideally, you’d stay here until tomorrow, and then leave without hurting anyone else. Can you give me your word on that?”
“Why would I want to hurt anyone else? You’re the one who cut me.”
That sounded enough like a threat that the hair on my neck stood up, but I tried to act like it hadn’t fazed me. Perhaps he wasn’t as innocent as I thought. “Are you threatening me?” His brows lowered. His confusion sounded genuine. “No.
Did that sound like a threat?”
“Yeah. That’s why I’m worried you might get angry and hurt someone if we leave you.”
Again, the huge brows wrinkled. At last he said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been angry.”
“Really,” I said doubtfully.
“I get annoyed. But not mad. I wonder why?”
“I think it’s probably better for everyone that you don’t.”
“Yeah, but you’d think I would, wouldn’t you? I’m essentially a slave. I don’t get to make my own decisions. I have to do what I’m told, or I’ll be hurt. That should make me mad, shouldn’t it?”
“I’d think so.”
“You cut my nose. I should be mad at you.”
“I’d prefer you not be. But I’d understand it if you were.” He continued to frown, then shook his skull. His plaited hair slapped together. “No. Isn’t happening.”
“What’s your name?” Viola asked suddenly. I hadn’t heard her slip up behind me, and now she peeked around me to look at the giant.
He smiled at her. “Tatterhead.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like being called Tatterhead?” she asked. “All I’ve ever been called.”
“But do you like it?”
“Not really. Everyone says it like an insult.”
“What would you like to be called, then?”
He thought it over. “Mortimer.”
“That’s a much nicer name,” Viola agreed.
Half an hour later, I was astride King Ellis’s magnificent stallion, with Isadora’s limp form on the saddle in front of me. I’d tied her to my chest so I’d have my hands free. She was still unconscious and totally nonresponsive.
“Be careful with her,” Beatrice said, holding her daughter’s limp hand. “Please.”
“I will,” I assured her.
“I’ll get the rest of there as fast as possible,” Liz said. “Be careful,” I said to her.
She winked, but didn’t smile.
I glanced over at the tree, where Viola still stood talking with Tatterhead. It was too bad I’d never see how that friendship worked out.
Ellis stepped close and pressed his s
ignet ring in my hand. “I don’t know if it will help, but feel free to use my name in dealing with Gerald. He and I were once like brothers.”
“Thanks,” I said. I firmly nudged the horse in the ribs and he shot forward down the road, the limp girl bouncing against me.
Chapter
TWENTY-THREE
Much like swords, with horses, you get what you pay for. Ellis’s horse was like a well-oiled, single-purpose machine, galloping with the kind of smooth gait that told me he’d been born for this. If carrying two people threw him off or slowed him down, he didn’t let it show. We moved along the mostly empty road like water through a streambed.
I was able to hold the reins with one hand and cradle Isadora’s head against me with the other. She remained totally limp, completely unaware and, for all intents and purposes, brain-dead. Her hands flopped with every stride as if she clapped out the galloping sound herself. Even when we passed through a cloud of gnats that made me spit and gag, she did not react.
We dodged past wagons and other people on horseback, all of them in considerably less hurry than us. They all stared at me, no doubt wondering if I’d kidnapped the girl from some outlying farm. I only hoped none of them tried to be a hero and rescue her. I kept watch on the sun as it crossed into the afternoon sky and began its slow descent toward the horizon. We seemed to have plenty of time, but I knew better than to trust it. A lot could happen between now and midnight.
By sundown we were close to Acheron, whose spires I now spotted through the trees covering the road. Traffic got thicker, and I had to slow to a trot for safety, weaving around those who were blocking my way. I’d made good time, excellent time, actually, and now all I had to do was get to the castle and contact Opulora. They were expecting Isadora, at least; they should be ready for me. Of course, I’d have to explain what happened to their pet troll.
I was used to the saddle, but riding hard for an extended period still took its toll, especially once the sun went down and the night’s chill crept over me. My back and butt were killing me as I let the horse set the pace up to the city just past full nightfall.
The gates, previously wide open and guarded by opportunistic thugs, were now set up with an armed checkpoint. Three tough-looking uniformed men checked papers on everyone trying to enter the city. There were only a couple of riders ahead of us, but the line behind me quickly grew long and impatient. I saw no graceful way to run off without being noticed, and probably pursued. So there’d be no sneaking in by an alternate route. I’d have to figure out a way through.