by Ian Whates
"Leave this with me. I'll ask around. You come back before globes out tonight, and we'll see what's what."
"Thanks, Annie." Not demon dust perhaps, but the hope of something at least. "Here, take this." She held out the khybul sculpture.
"You sure? I ain't done nuthin' yet."
"I trust you, Annie."
The old woman gave a curt nod. They both knew she wouldn't dare cross Kat, especially now that she was back with the Tattooed Men.
Kat walked away, leaving Annie to resume her customary perch on the step. She felt oddly buoyed by the encounter, as if there were now some genuine reason to hope.
Perhaps that explained her complete lack of alertness when she turned a corner and walked straight into the three men. They were men, not boys, but in every other respect they looked like street-nicks on patrol.
"Well, what have we got here?" the lead lout asked, before answering his own question. "A pretty little girl all done up in black."
The three were dressed alike. Not leather as much of her own gear tended to be, but they wore uniform black and white. Gang for sure, but which gang?
"Aren't you a little old to be playing at street-nicks?"
"The street-nicks time has passed, darlin'. The big boys are in charge now."
"And you would be…?"
"The Fang." She remembered the open-mouth motif noted earlier. "And you're on our turf," the man added.
Was that really the way of it? Were grown men taking over where the teenagers and kids had left off? Surely the Watch wouldn't stand for that sort of escalation. Hardly her problem, of course.
"Not for long," she assured them. Kat stepped out to go around the trio, but as she did so the lead man, the one doing all the talking, moved across to block her path.
"What's yer hurry, sweetheart? I'm sure we could find plenty to talk about, you an' me."
Kat stepped back, a little wearily. The last thing she wanted right now was a fight, but since when had her preferences counted for anything in the balance of things? Where were all the razzers when you needed one? Doubtless keeping their heads down until any hint of violence was past, in the time-honoured tradition of the under-City's law enforcers. Kat's hands came to rest casually on twin sword hilts.
"I'd let the lady through if I were you, gents," said a voice from behind her. M'gruth; she'd know his rasping tones anywhere.
The lead Fang looked beyond her, and she could see the surprise in his eyes. "And what if we decide not to?" The words sounded confident enough, but his two companions were already looking nervous.
"Well, then I guess we'd have to settle matters the oldfashioned way, and you wouldn't want that, I promise you."
"Three against one; those odds don't sound too bad to me."
"Really, and how do your two friends feel about that?"
One of the other two Fangs had reached forward to tug urgently at the leader's arm, muttering, "Come on, leave it. He's a Tattooed Man for Thaiss's sake."
Perhaps realising the support he might have hoped for wasn't there, the man's gaze switched to Kat. He shrugged. "Hardly worth the effort really, she's only a kid." He looked back to M'gruth. "We'll let it pass this time."
"Good decision," M'gruth assured him. He and Kat walked past the men and away, the lead Fang's surly gaze on them the whole while.
Kat was fuming, but waited until they were out of earshot before rounding on the Tattooed Man. "What the breck do you think you're playing at, M'gruth? No need for you to get involved – I could have handled them."
"I don't doubt that for a moment," he assured her. "It wasn't you I was worried about."
A sudden suspicion crossed the girl's mind, causing her to stop in her tracks. "Were you following me?"
"No, I was just out stretching my legs and trying to keep out of Chavver's way. She's in a foul mood this morning."
Kat snorted; since when was her sister ever in any other sort of mood? She still wasn't convinced by M'gruth's claim of innocence but couldn't prove anything, so she was forced to let it go for now. The pair resumed walking.
Annie wasn't on her usual step when Kat returned – presumably even she had to stretch her legs and answer the call of nature occasionally – but a quick word with the unruly-haired girl who came to greet Kat when she called soon brought the old woman shuffling out from the dilapidated building the step fronted.
"That time already, is it?" Annie said, squinting at the pair of lamplighters with their hand-pulled cart and long tapers who were busily working their way along the street discharging their duties.
"Yes, Annie, it'll be globes out before you know."
"And you an' yer bald-headed tribe will be off a huntin', I suppose."
"Most likely," Kat replied with more impatience than she'd intended. In truth, after last nights' fruitless pursuit she was fast coming to the conclusion that their current hunting methods were never going to work, but she wasn't in the mood to discuss the subject. "Did you have any luck?"
Annie grunted, not replying immediately but rather lowering her aged frame onto her step before fidgeting to get comfortable. After all the years the old woman had sat there, Kat wouldn't have been surprised if the step bore a shallow bum-shaped depression, and fleetingly regretted not checking before Annie appeared.
"Well," the old woman said once she'd settled, "depends on what you mean by luck. Didn't find no demon dust but I'd already told you I wouldn't. Got you this, though."
She held out a scruffy bag. Inside was what looked at first to be a coiled serpent with glistening thorny jewels decorating its skin. Kat frowned and looked more closely. "A whip?"
"Yeah, but not just any whip. It's from up-City; apothaker skills have gone into that. See those gems? Real sharp and they're supposed to be capable o' holding onto anything, even a demon, which is why I got interested. If it's good enough for a demon, should be good enough for this Soul Thief. Can't say for sure it'll work, 'cos I ain't 'ad a chance to try it, but I trust the source."
"Really?" Kat knew the disappointment showed in her voice. She didn't want to offend Annie, who was a more than useful contact, but she'd hoped for something better than a gaudy piece of trinket-encrusted foolery.
"You don't 'ave to take it."
"No, that's all right… Thank you, Annie." Kat took a closer look. In its own way the whip was beautiful. A coil of lacquered brown leather, intricately woven to produce a diamond criss-crossing pattern on the surface; perhaps she'd been overhasty in her dismissal; some fine workmanship had gone into this and no mistake. Whether or not the jewelled thorns could really trap a demon was another matter.
Even so, when she said, "Thank you," again, she did so with considerably more conviction.
"Also," Annie said, "there's this man, says he can help. Name of Brent. Not local, fresh off the barge, but 'e's askin' questions 'bout the Soul Thief same as you, and says he knows how to kill it."
All of which sounded unlikely. "If this Brent is from out of town, how has he even heard about the Soul Thief? Most folk in the City Below reckon she's nothing more than an old wives' tale, so how come an outsider knows anything about her?"
"I don't breckin' know." Annie waved an irritated hand, as if to ward off such stupidity. "Ask him, not me. Do you want me to set up a meet or what?"
Of course Kat did, though every scrap of common sense in her body told her that something wasn't right here.
Kat had a lot of things on her mind as she left Annie. She'd pinned a great deal of hope on the old woman and now felt frustrated, as if opportunity were somehow slipping from her grasp. This stranger, Brent, was a new factor, one she neither understood nor trusted. Yet she had to follow up on any possible lead, just in case. At least there was still that night's hunt to look forward to. Even if it proved as fruitless as she feared, running around the streets was still a great way of letting off steam.
"Well, well, if it ain't the little girl in black."
Kat froze, recognising the voice and cursing her ow
n lack of alertness for the second time that day. Too little sleep, too much on her mind. This time, if they were spoiling for trouble, she was in just the mood to oblige them. She turned around slowly, to see a group of five men fronted by the Fang who had taken such delight in goading her that morning. He had a knife in his right hand and ran the flat of the blade casually back and forth across his left palm as he spoke. One of the others hefted a crude club. The intention to intimidate was as blatant as it was amusing.
"Wonderful. Playtime for the Fang Gang. That's all I need."
The man appeared not to have heard. "No Tattooed Man 'ere to protect you this time, my little darlin'." His smile was lecherous, triumphant and sly all at once; pure evil in a single leer. He went to step towards her.
Kat laughed. There was nothing theatrical or exaggerated in the sound, it was just a laugh. The Fang looked a little uncertain and his grin faltered; this clearly wasn't the reaction he'd anticipated.
"Is that what you think?" Kat demanded, incredulous. "You brecking idiot! M'gruth wasn't protecting me, he was restraining me!"
It wasn't so much a red mist that descended upon her then as a thrill, a singing of the blood, a sense of elation that here finally was a chance to let loose the beast inside her; that element which had enabled her to survive the Pits and emerge as one of its greatest and most feared champions. She welcomed the primordial presence as the old friend it was, opening herself to the bloodlust and allowing it free access to her mind, her heart, her soul. Kat snarled: a chilling, animal sound. She drew her two short swords in a single smooth motion and danced forward, swift as a striking serpent. An expression of almost comic startlement now graced the first man's face – her cocky would-be tormentor. He struck out with his own knife but Kat's move had caught him off-guard and he hadn't troubled to set his feet properly; the result was a poorly timed blow made in panic by a man who'd thought he was in charge of the situation and hadn't yet caught up with dawning reality. Kat swayed and ducked, while never interrupting her forward momentum. The man's arm and blade flashed past and above her shoulder. She plunged her own sword forward, feeling sudden resistance as the blade bit home. At no point did she even consider leniency.
The man screamed, others were yelling and cursing; Kat paid them no heed. She lashed out with the other sword, feeling it rake across a man's side to her left even as she ripped the right-hand blade from the leading Fang's torso, conscious of the splatter of warm blood on her arm. She didn't push the second blade deeper, wary in case it became entangled in the ribcage. Someone tried to grapple her right arm from behind. She brought her elbow back sharply, feeling it crunch into the attacker's face, mashing his nose. The arm came free again.
A fist swung towards her. She didn't have time to register whether or not it held a blade, she simply ducked, swivelled and kicked out, the heel of her foot slamming into the man's knee. It hit at an angle and she heard an audible crack as the leg buckled and the joint or bone gave way. Another scream. Another one down.
Suddenly she was free of attackers and had some breathing space. She turned, adopting the fighter's crouch which came as naturally to her as breathing. Mollified by this brief taste of freedom, the beast began to relent, to slip away into the recesses of her subconscious once more.
The five Fangs no longer looked quite so menacing. Two were on the ground. One lay in a foetal position, curled up as if to protect his belly, dead or dying; the other writhed and clutched his knee, groaning in marked contrast to the other's silence. Of the three standing, one pressed a hand to his nose, blood flowing freely from beneath to cover mouth, chin and throat. A second was brave enough to still hold a sword, though the wound to his side wept redness and was plainly visible through the rent in his black shirt. The final Fang, the one she hadn't come to grips with in those few brief seconds of explosive mayhem, just looked stunned.
She felt the anger cool; not disappear, but no longer irresistible. "I didn't start this," she reminded them, "but I will finish it if you want me to; shouldn't take long. One or two of you might even live to talk about it. Or we can stop fighting here and now and all walk away." Those who still can, she thought but didn't add.
The Fangs exchanged glances and seemed to reach a silent consensus. The one with the injured side slowly lowered his sword, knives were dropped and there was an obvious slump in all of them as they relaxed a little; the droop of resignation, of defeat. Kat stood straight and dipped her own blades. She didn't sheath them – wouldn't until they were cleaned, but she no longer menaced the gang members with them.
"If you Fangs want to stake out some turf around here, that's fine by me," she told them, "but there are a few things you need to learn if you want to keep hold of it." There might be a new order in the Under-City, but she intended to see that a few things stayed the same. "The first is that you leave the Tattooed Men alone. Let them pass where and when they want without interference – you don't trouble them, they won't trouble you. The second is that you don't ever, ever mess with their Death Queens.
"You got that?"
She watched their eyes widen as her meaning sunk in. They'd seen her with a Tattooed Man for Thaiss's sake and yet it still hadn't occurred to the stupid breckers who she was. They'd just taken her for a cocky girl with a sword. That was the problem with reputations – everyone expected her to be older and bigger. At least they would recognise her next time, she felt certain of that much.
Two of the Fangs nodded, acknowledging her words. None of them seemed keen to meet her gaze.
SIX
Tom had never seen anywhere quite like the Four Spoke Inn. He'd been to a few taverns in the City Below and could see the resemblance, but he was also acutely aware of the differences. This was like some younger and more vibrant cousin to the under-City's dingy drinking dens. It was bigger, brighter, airier, and somehow more welcoming than any tavern he'd experienced before. Even the seats and tables looked more comfortable, as if the furnishings had room to breathe here, which sounded ridiculous but it was how the place struck him.
The only uncomfortable aspect was fleetingly provided by the man standing station at the bar, who stared at their party in apparent horror as they entered, for all the world as if he'd just seen a ghost; or three in this instance, Kohn having remained outside. The man recovered quickly enough, however, and introduced himself as Seth Bryant, the inn's landlord. He soon had the three of them seated with flagons of ale – liberally watered in Tom's case – and bowls of hearty stew standing on the table before them.
Seth even took the presence of Kohn in his stride. "We've had the odd Kayjele stay over before," he explained, "on their way to and from the northern mountains and Thaiburley. He'll have to sleep in the barn, though – the inn doesn't have rooms big enough for folk his size."
Tom found himself quickly warming to this Seth, who had a ready smile and was proving a jovial and attentive host. Dewar seemed considerably less enamoured, as if he too had noted the landlord's initial reaction and wasn't about to dismiss the expression so readily.
The tap room began to fill up as the evening progressed. Mildra vanished at some point. Tom initially assumed she had retired to her room, but learned from Seth that instead she had gone outside to see Kohn. Feeling a little guilty that he hadn't done so himself, Tom followed.
Unused to drinking, he found himself less than fully steady on his feet, despite the watered-down ale.
Night had fallen while they were in the bar; a few stars speckled the sky and a half moon graced the world with subtle radiance. Muffled light also spilled from the inn's windows, so he had little trouble making his way around the back of the Four Spoke Inn to where the stables were situated.
He found the pair of them sitting on bales of hay just inside the stable door. Either Mildra had taken a candle-lamp with her or Seth had provided Kohn with one; the tall white column of wax shielded in a bubble of glass now sat off to one side, presumably placed there to prevent its flickering flame from interfering with their v
iew of the stars.
The Thaistess looked relaxed and greeted Tom cheerfully. Even Kohn smiled and made an inarticulate noise.
"Kohn's pleased to see you," Mildra supplied.
"You can understand him?"
"Yes. Not the vocal expressions, well, no more than you can – they don't contain words as such, only emotional indicators. Kohn and his people speak with each other directly mind to mind."
"And you can hear this?"
"After a fashion. You probably could to, with enough practice and a little training."
Tom stared at the amiable giant and concentrated, willing some form of meaning or understanding to come through, but nothing did.
Mildra laughed. "I didn't mean you'd be able to do it straight away."
Tom gave up, and asked instead, "Is that how they can understand us? Do they hear our thoughts rather than the actual words?"
Mildra looked at him with evident surprise. "Yes. The Kayjele don't have a structured language as such, they've never had need of one. When you say something you also think it, and the Kayjele can skim the meaning from the surface of your mind."