A Cat at Bay

by Alma Boykin

  Some vacation, Rachel sighed, trying to look harmless. And I hate being unarmed.

  Adele von Hohen-Drachenburg smiled at her companions as they surveyed the stalls at the Portobello Road market. “Admit it, Rachel, you’re having fun. You can’t fool me,” the silver-haired Austrian woman twitted her companion as Rachel grumped. Colonel Rahoul Khan’s vivacious bride Panpit giggled at Rachel’s mild discomfort.

  “My lady, you know very well how little I like being in crowds,” Rachel whined, “and why.”

  “Well get over it! You should know better than to wager with both the Graf and Colonel Khan over football matches. Now come along. Panpit, where do you suggest we start?” Adele asked the London native in the trio.

  “I like the vintage clothing stalls, Lady Adele. I’ve found some lovely old silks there that I use in my textile art,” Panpit suggested, still a bit overawed at the prospect of a shopping visit with the Gräfin von Hohen-Drachenburg.

  “Then lead the way, Panpit! And both of you stop using my title, please. I’ve been ‘Adele’ much longer than I’ve been the Gräfin,” the cheerful noblewoman ordered, chivvying her companions towards the rows of stalls.

  It was one of those sorts of gentle summer mornings that poets have written about for centuries. A few puffy clouds floated in the pale blue sky, chased here and there by a light southerly breeze. A cool front had pushed through a few days before and the air remained mild for mid-August. All of Europe seemed to have gone on vacation and the English newspapers were well into “silly season,” although in Rachel’s very private opinion that seemed to describe most of the year. When Adele von Hohen-Drachenburg had announced the night before that she intended to take advantage of the lovely weather, the Graf-General and Lieutenant Colonel had both cashed in their wagers with Rachel and sent her out with their wives.

  Rachel followed a few steps behind Adele and Panpit, smiling despite herself at the sight of the two of them chatting away like old friends, even though Panpit Khan had only met Adele a day or so before. Adele had a gift for making people comfortable—one Rachel envied a bit. Silver head and black leaned in, comparing notes on something and then laughing, oblivious to the glances of the other people in the open-air antique and flea market. Rachel watched the crowd, getting a measure of the feelings and keeping an eye out for any ambitious (and foolish) members of the “light-fingered gentry,” as the old ballad described them.

  “Ooh, Rachel, look at these,” Adele called over her shoulder, nodding toward a stall with Victorian petticoats and shawls. “Isn’t this lovely?”

  Rachel inspected the ornate lace and linen underskirt and sighed. “Yes, it certainly is! And in perfect shape. Someone cherished this piece,” she said, looking at the stall’s round-faced proprietor.

  “Oh, ay! Best Flemish lace and Irish linen, ‘mum. Come from an estate up country few years back, so I’m told,” he winked. “Won’t find nowt like this anymore, if I do say so myself.”

  After some friendly dickering, he and Panpit settled on a price. He wrapped the petticoat up and handed it to Panpit. She in turn presented it to Rachel. “Rahoul said you’re to carry for us. Here.” With a long-suffering sigh that drew laughs from the stall owner and the other ladies, Rachel did as told.

  They paused at another stall, this one with odds and ends of fabric in a rainbow of hues. “Rachel, this would look lovely with your hair,” Panpit suggested, holding up a length of bright green silk. “You could wear it with a paler-green or grey blouse so it doesn’t wash out your eyes.”

  Adele looked thoughtful. “Green or tan blouse. Rachel wears too much grey as it is.”

  Rachel looked down at her dark grey slacks and pale blue blouse. “What’s wrong with greys and browns? Besides, I do wear brighter colors, just not to work,” she protested, drawing skeptical looks from the other ladies.

  Half an hour or so later, a scent caught Rachel’s attention. It came from a booth selling all kinds of incense and lotions. “Adele, Panpit, just a moment please,” she excused herself and stepped up to the booth. After some careful sniffs, she found what had caught her attention, and waited patiently until the old woman had finished with another customer. “Good morning! What’s this?”

  The seller picked up an incense stick, “This one, miss?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a combination of clove, sandalwood, musk, and a touch of cinnabar. If you like, I’ve it also in a lotion.”

  Rachel thought for moment, then decided. “I’d like twenty of the sticks and cones, please.”

  “Very good mum. That’ll be three pounds fifty.” The twinkle in the woman’s eye suggested a challenge.

  “Three pounds fifty? That’s heaven high! I’ll give you one and fifty, which is generous considering how some of these aren’t straight and won’t burn their full time.”

  “One and fifty! And you can’t see straight from crooked, miss, no offence. Three pounds and no lower. Surely these ladies will tell you how generous I’m being—clove oil is dear this year!” the stall keeper retorted, pulling Panpit and Adele in as witnesses. With that the haggling began in earnest. After a few minutes of happy bargaining, they settled on two pounds thirty, with an extra cone of bayberry for lagniappe. The two women concluded their trade, shook hands, and parted well satisfied.

  As they walked over to another fabric stall, Panpit gave Rachel an admiring look. “Rachel, I haven’t heard that kind of bargaining since I visited relatives in Chiang Mai! Where did you learn?”

  “It’s what I more or less grew up doing. If the people that tried to raise me had had their way, I would have been a merchant-Trader for their family company.”

  “Tried to raise you?” Panpit repeated.

  “Let’s just say that they were disappointed with how I turned out,” Rachel said in the understatement of the epoch. “Too much like my parents for the trading family’s taste. But I still enjoy a good haggle from time to time, as long as it’s fair and the other party is willing.”

  The trio had stopped to get a bite to eat when Rachel’s secure “cell-phone” rang. She excused herself and stepped outside of the small café to take the call. “Na Gael here.”

  “Cat One, where are you right now?” General Evelyn Jones asked, concern evident in her voice.

  “Portobello Market, north end of the main section.”

  She could hear Jones repeating her response to someone, and a male voice replying in the background. “Cat One, you, the Gräfin, and Mrs. Khan stay there. Do not try to take the Tube back—a car will meet you at the south end, the Westbourne Grove Road, when you are ready to leave. That’s an order from the Graf-General and I, is that understood?”

  Jones’ tone brooked no arguments and Rachel nodded, suddenly watchful. “Understood and will comply, Command One. Problem?”

  “Affirmative. Two bombs went off in Paddington Station and another in Victoria, as of yet unclaimed. Have the Gräfin ring the General half-an-hour before you are ready to leave.”

  “Wilco.”

  “Command One out.”

  Rada rejoined her companions, now charges, in the café. Should she tell them, or no? Adele, absolutely, or she’d never agree to what Evelyn Jones had ordered, Rachel knew. Panpit Khan? They’d have to see. The other ladies gave her expectant looks and the Wanderer patted her phone case. “Never, ever give your boss your cell number,” she said in a “much ado about nothing” tone that sent Panpit into giggles.

  Dark green eyes dancing, the young woman asked, “Does she really have three-inch long fangs like Rahoul claims?”

  “Only at the full moon,” came the response, drawing more laughter. Their waiter came over with the cheque and under that cover, Rachel brushed the back of Adele’s hand. «Change of plans.»

  Adele fished about in her handbag for her coin purse. «What’s wrong?»

  «Terrorist bombs in the Underground. Call the Graf-General half an hour before you want to leave, and a car will come fetch us. Direct order,» Rachel
sent.

  Adele chuckled at something Panpit said, and nodded. «Tell Panpit?»

  Rachel glanced at the third woman and gave a tiny shake of her head. Adele nodded and continued her conversation. There wasn’t any call to be upsetting the young woman if they didn’t have to. God knew, she’d find out soon enough. Although. Some of her family lived in London, but farther west than where they were now. No, Rachel decided to stay quiet a bit longer.

  The trio slowly wandered back through the market, stopping at a few shops as well as the booths and tables. Panpit had bought them all some hot Pakistani savories, and they were nibbling them in a gap between stalls, out of the flow of people. Rachel kept glancing around. Something flitted at the edge of her memory—from one of the Terran history lectures she’d had to sit through at some point, and had probably dozed off during. Something about effective use of force? That would make it one of the military tactics talks from her mercenary days. She could almost hear the lecturer’s voice droning on about infrastructure and disruption of civilian morale as a tactic in unconventional warfare. Oh no. Oh God, please no. Joschka and Rahoul will kill me, dearest Jesus just may I be wrong and I will be such a good little Wanderer for the next millennium I swear.

  “Rachel, something catch your eye?” Adele inquired.

  “My La—ah, Adele, I think we need to be leaving,” Rachel murmured under her breath, eye locked on something in the distance.

  Adele drew Rachel farther back into the corner. “Rachel says that something doesn’t agree with her. I told you last night to stay away from the oyster salad this time of year, didn’t I?” Adele sighed, shaking her head and reaching for her cell phone to call her husband. As she dialed, Panpit glanced around for observers and laid her hand on Rachel’s arm, then drew it back as if burned.

  “You have the Eye, don’t you? What are you seeing?” Panpit demanded, as Rachel shook her head.

  “Not seeing but feeling. Something’s amiss but I can’t pinpoint it, except to suggest that we start moving south now.” Rachel took a sip from her water bottle. “And how did you know I have the Eye?”

  The Thai woman gave Rachel a knowing look. “Your colors. You’re green like Adele, but with blue, and a grey and red core. That means you have some form of the Eye, the healing Touch, and something I don’t recognize.”

  “Hmmm. The Guardianship, probably. Which is a fascinating discovery, but we really need to be going.”

  “The car will be here in thirty minutes or so and we’re to meet it at the south end of the road,” Adele said.

  Panpit’s eyes narrowed as the trio walked down the market. “I thought we were taking the Tube back?”

  Rachel raised her shields a notch against the ripples of disbelief and fear as news of the explosions began spreading from cell phones around the market. “The West End lines are shut down. Leaves on the tracks again. Adele’s husband arranged to have a car meet us.” A few more meters and we’ll be clear of the crowds.

  The three women were almost at the south end of the main area of market stalls when Rachel pivoted, turning back the way they had come. “Farking Gahanna!” She swung back around, grabbing the startled women, and dragging them to the ground. A split second later, crump-boom boom! echoed through the crowded market, followed by a hideous silence, then screams and yelling. “Up, out of the way, now! Move, move!” Rachel ordered, and Adele and Panpit obeyed, dodging through an open gate into a side yard. “Are you two all right?” she demanded, voice harsh.

  Panpit stared at Rachel, eyes dilated. “Panpit, are you okay?” Still no response, and the other two women both touched her. Suddenly Rachel was in a bazaar somewhere else—Surat Thani in southern Thailand, full of screaming, injured people, sirens and the stench of unwashed bodies, open sewers, and terror. With an effort she wrenched back into now as Adele hugged the frightened Panpit.

  “Not again! Please, please not again,” Panpit implored of someone.

  Rachel turned toward the market. Why did I sleep through the rest of the lecture? What happens next, I can’t remember! Damn them to the depths of the hottest hell.

  When Rachel turned back to her charges, she saw a determined expression on Adele’s face. Adele said to Panpit, “I’ll need your help. Can you shut down your Sight?”

  Panpit nodded, trembling. “Yes ma’am.”

  “Then do it,” Adele ordered, locking eyes with Rachel, who clenched her teeth.

  “You realize that Jones and the men will kill me if we do what you want, and that’s only if I’m very lucky. And if a second bom—” Rachel caught herself. “A second bomber. That’s what I’d almost forgotten!” She swore in Trader and Azdhagi as the other women and a passerby paled.

  Rachel grabbed Panpit’s arms, locking eyes with the terrified lady. “Panpit, I need to see your memories of the Surat Thani attack, so I can tell what to look for. Please, let me in.”

  As soon as she saw the start of a nod and felt the woman’s affirmative, Rachel reached into the human’s memory and pulled out the attack, as Panpit had seen and felt it. She wasn’t gentle and Panpit clutched her head and doubled over as the Wanderer broke the contact.

  “What did you do to her?” Adele demanded, helping the young bride to sit down on the rough pavement of the garden path.

  “Got her image of the bomber. Can use it to find the second one here. If you leave, stay together, and call the men on this,” she tossed her secure phone to Adele. “I have prey to hunt.” Rada Ni Drako bared her fangs, her eye hard and hungry.

  “No! You can do more good helping me with the wounded.”

  “Not if another bomb goes off, Gräfin. Do your duty and I’ll do mine.” Rachel vanished into the crowd.

  Adele swore in German and then using one or two phrases she’d picked up from her husbands over the years. “Panpit, dear, how are you?” Adele crouched down beside the weeping form, reaching very gently with her gift to see if Rachel’s harsh mindsearch had injured the young woman.

  “I’m scared, Adele,” she gulped, looking up at the silver-haired nurse. “But Rahoul won’t want me to just sit around not doing anything. How can I help?”

  Adele hugged her volunteer and helped her to her feet. “I’ll need an extra pair of hands. I was an emergency room nurse before I married Joschka, and people need our help. You’ll do just fine. And when Rachel gets back, our husbands and Evelyn Jones will just have to wait their turn until I’m done with her!”

  Rachel threaded her way through the remains of the market, all senses alert for the traces she’d picked up just before the first explosion, and what she’d stripped from the human’s mind. The next blast wouldn’t be in the market—that much she knew from previous experience. It would be at one of the entrances, where people were gathering, or where the ambulances and police stopped. A blast there would further terrify the civilians, plus cripple the emergency responders. Rachel ducked behind a stall as a pair of police trotted past, trying to clear people out of the area.

  Whoever had made the first bomb had been a professional, Rachel could tell. She’d heard at least one detonation, with possibly a second or an echo. As she got closer to the initial blast site, her practiced eye noted nasty shrapnel: ball bearings, small screws, and glass. Perfect for causing massive injuries and difficult to remove, thus demanding more resources and time from the paramedics and doctors. At least it hadn’t been one of those phosphorous horrors she’d seen on Valkohli. Rachel avoided the actual zero point, preferring to circle it, sniffing for the scent of the chemicals used in the explosive. Hmmm, now who uses Semtex cologne, I wonder, she mused, locking the scent into her memory. Must have a large budget, or maybe it came from that construction site heist Ngobo was reading about a few months ago.

  Rachel worked methodically, helping as she could but more focused on her quarry. The person would be either very anxious, invoking their god and nervous as they waited for the perfect moment to detonate the bomb, or cool, confident, and totally at ease, with a hint of eagerness fo
r the results to become apparent. The first attacker had been a suicide bomber: his mental cry of “Allahu Akbar” had given her a split-second’s warning. So what about the second? And she knew there would be a second—she remembered that much from the long-ago lecture on the Ideology War’s second phase, the long one.

  Rachel stopped, then swung her head back and forth, eyes narrow. Ah, there it was! Fear, determination, an edge of sexual excitement, all overlain with religion and pleasure at being able to strike a blow for the True Faith. Suicide bomber then, and not far away. But something else also caught her attention and she hesitated.

  Back at the south end of the market area, Adele and Panpit worked with what they had, helping people who had been injured in the explosion and the panic that followed. Adele had paused for a moment when the first ambulance arrived, then moved to start assisting a woman with a badly cut scalp but no other apparent serious injuries. Panpit distracted their patient while Adele made sure that nothing had gotten into the wound.

  All at once they heard crump-boom! This one sounded quieter than the first blast. Adele closed her eyes, then took a deep breath and returned to caring for the bleeding woman. Panpit swallowed hard and followed the older woman’s example. One of the paramedics handed the nurse some bandages and she secured the loose skin back into place, then wrapped it all to protect the wound. As a police officer helped the injured woman stagger towards the ambulance, the two military wives briefly touched hands before moving on to the next bombing victim. Panpit’s vision blurred and Adele took a moment to comfort her. “People need us to keep working. We can think about it later.” Panpit wiped her eyes with her sleeve and nodded, returning to her self-appointed task.

  As they finished re-checking the tourniquet on a man’s nearly severed arm, more paramedics and police began swarming the area, taking over from the first responders and bystanders. Adele reported her diagnoses and the actions she’d taken towards treatment to the paramedics, who made notes and continued the work.