City of Hope and Despair (26 page)

  "Sad," said Mildra who had come back on seeing him stop. "But all things pass, Tom, and if you had the choice and knew your time was near, wouldn't you come here at the end? What more beautiful place could there be to say goodbye to the world."

  Nor could he argue. He stood straight again, gazing at the sheer beauty around him, and noticed something new. A multitude of broad-winged insects fluttered between the flowers on quick-beating wings, many of them white, but just as many bore colours enough to challenge the rainbow. The effect was mesmerising.

  "Butterflies!" Mildra exclaimed, evidently following his gaze. She laughed and turned to him again. "Aren't they wonderful, Tom?"

  And they were, skimming across the meadow, flitting from flower to flower and at times rising in swirling spirals of dancing colour above the pink and purple blooms. One landed on his wrist – red and blue wings, each of which seemed to be daubed with a staring eye. It took off again almost at once, but he delighted in the featherlight tickle of the insect's touch. Others were less welcome, and he swatted at his neck where something had just bitten him.

  Mildra was off again, leaping and skipping across the meadow. "Come on, Tom, keep up."

  And his feet responded, carrying him after her, while the laughter bubbled forth – an upwelling of joy from somewhere deep inside him. Ahead, Mildra had stopped, to spin on the spot with her arms outstretched and head thrown back, face to the sky. After two such stationary circles she dropped backwards, falling onto a cushion of flowers and grasses. Tom had reached her by then, to fling himself down beside her.

  They were both laughing, and the scent of the meadow engulfed him. He stared down at Mildra, and she had never looked more wonderful. Even among all this beauty, hers outshone the rest, and he didn't want to look anywhere else. Without consciously meaning to, he leant forward. She made no effort to turn away, so that her lips were there to meet his. He felt the tip of her tongue dance across his as the kiss progressed, and her hand reached up to stroke the back of his head, his neck. A shiver coursed through his body and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.

  A tiny part of Tom's mind remained detached enough to be amazed; he never imagined that his first real kiss would be with a Thaistess. Then even that analytical corner of thought was subsumed by the swell of passion, as her kiss grew more urgent and her hands started to clasp and pull at his clothing. His own hands found the soft mounds of her breasts beneath her shirt, marvelling at how hot and firm yet yielding they were, and he was suddenly desperate to touch and squeeze them unhindered. He tugged at her top, almost tearing it in his haste, dragging the garment upward until the dark peaks of her nipples lay exposed, the shirt compressed to a thick collar of rumpled material caught beneath her arms. He would have abandoned all thought of clothing there but she sat up and was helping him, grasping the hem of the top and drawing it onward over her head, to leave her naked from the waist up.

  Before he could take advantage, Mildra was lifting his own shirt up, forcing him to raise his arms and wriggle his shoulders so that the tight garment could slip over them. As his arms and head came free, she fell backward again, to lie on the grass, giggling. He stared at her, mesmerised, yet the same time strangely daunted by the realisation that this nakedness was for his benefit.

  She stopped giggling and reached to place a hand on his neck, drawing his face to hers again, his lips to her lips.

  Tom was intensely aware of the hotness of her skin against his, the firm feel of her nipple as it pressed against his chest and the tingling thrill of her fingers as they travelled down his back. All the while the scent of the flowers surrounded him, filling his nostrils and entwining his thoughts.

"Tom, Tom." Somebody was calling his name and pulling at his arm.

  "What?" He wished whoever it was would leave him alone. He was quite happy sleeping, thank you very much.

  "Tom, you have to wake up!"

  He blinked his way to wakefulness, feeling cold and shivery and realising that he was naked from the waist up. Night had begun to fall, bringing its customary drop in temperature. Suddenly the memories came flooding back. With a heady mix of shock, embarrassment and arousal, he remembered the cool sensation of Mildra's lips against his, her pulling off his shirt, the overwhelming lust as he felt her naked breasts beneath his fingers, and then… nothing. The next thing he recalled was being woken up now.

  "What… what happened?"

  "Come on," Mildra urged, as if he hadn't spoken, "we have to go." She was already fully dressed, he noticed, sneaking a quick glance because he couldn't summon up the nerve to look directly.

  Tom allowed the Thaistess to help him to his feet, though a petulant part of him wanted to shrug off her insisting hands. In standing up he had to untangle resisting grasses which had somehow conspired to snag his legs and clothing. He fumbled with his top, pulling it on and mumbling an irritated, "I'm cold," as Mildra urged him to leave that and hurry up.

  The Thaistess was on her knees, stripping away tendrils of grass that appeared to have grown over their packs; but how could that have happened in such a short time? Then the two of them were running, stumbling towards the far side of the meadow.

  Though many of the flowers had closed with the setting sun and their heady scent was all but gone, the place still held an ethereal beauty in the twilight, and Tom felt no real desire to rush away despite the girl's insistence.

  "Mildra, what's the hurry?"

  "I'll explain in a minute, just trust me for now, will you?"

  And he did, so picked up his pace to match hers. They continued like that, with Tom keeping quiet until the ground began to rise and they were among the trees beyond the edge of the meadow, the beautiful carpet of flowers behind them. Only then did the Thaistess stop, dropping her pack to the ground and bending forward a little, hands on her knees as she caught her breath.

  "All right, so what was that all about?" Tom wanted to know, panting a bit himself.

  "The flowers…" Mildra said between gasps. "Their scent, their pollen… It was drugging us, making us want to…"

  Tom stared at her in alarm, remembering their shared

passion, his arousal, but not able to recall where all of that had led to. "And… did we?" he asked timidly.

  "No," she shook her head, and he wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. "I realised what was going on, managed to exert enough self-control to stop us."

  "How did you stop me?"

  She looked at him a little awkwardly. "I put you to sleep."

  "You what?"

  "Sorry, but I had to. The effect of the pollen was so potent I… I couldn't fight it, couldn't rely on my own willpower… So the only thing I could do was remove the temptation."

  Tom shook his head, not knowing whether to feel angry, offended, or what. In the end he started to giggle; quietly at first, but then the bizarreness of the whole situation swept over him, and he couldn't stop. Nor evidently could Mildra, because suddenly they were both laughing, and the more he looked at her face contorted with mirth, the more uncontrollable it became.

  As the fits of juddering hysterics subsided, with Tom wiping tears from his eyes, Mildra was again picking up her pack. "Come on, we need to move further away from the meadow before sunrise."

  Tom bent to collect his own pack and remembered something else. "When you woke me up just now, I had to pull my pack free from the grasses. How did that happen?"

  "That was the worst part," she replied, striding away so that he had to scramble to keep up.

  "How do you mean?"

  "I know this sounds silly, but while we were both still – you asleep and me sitting beside you – the plants started to grow, really fast, extend tendrils over us."

  "What?"

  "They didn't move quickly enough that you could actually see them grow; in fact at first I thought I was imagining it, but I wasn't. If you watched the same spot for a few minutes, you could see how the shoots had reached out and moved. I had to keep pulling them off of your legs and body. Remember those bones we found on the way into the field? I think the whole place is a trap; beautiful and seductive but deadly all the same. Imagine, with all those plants and greenery, whole herds of deer and other plant eaters probably come wandering in here. The meadow lures them with its beauty and apparent abundance of food and drives them into a mating frenzy with all that pollen and scent, until they collapse from exhaustion. Then the plants snare them and feed."

  "And you think that's what would have happened to us?"

  "Yes."

  He shuddered. "Thaiss!"

  "I know."

  He tried to imagine what it must have been like for her, sitting there in the field until nightfall, surrounded by danger and knowing she daren't relax and risk falling asleep. "Thank you," he said.

  She smiled. "The worst part was working all this out and wondering if the plants could move any faster and knowing what would happen if I fell asleep."

  Even in the fading light, he saw the young Thaistess shiver, and wanted to say something to comfort her, but couldn't think what.

  "I couldn't wake you for fear that we'd lose control again," she continued, "and all the while I knew that by staying there we risked…"

  "… becoming plant food."

  "Yes. And there was no one but the goddess to ask if I was doing the right thing. And if the goddess answered, I didn't hear her." She sounded close to tears, and he felt tempted to put his arm around her, but in his mind's eye he felt again her naked breasts, saw her face contorted in passion, and the memory of what had happened between them just a few hours before stopped him. He couldn't stand the prospect of her pulling away.

  "Here, this should be far enough," Mildra declared, her voice brimming with fragile bravery.

  As they spread their sleeping mats she said quietly, "Tom, don't feel ashamed of what happened. It wasn't your fault, wasn't either of our faults."

  He thought about her words as he pulled the coverings up and settled down, his back to hers, and realised that he wasn't ashamed. Slightly embarrassed, perhaps, but other than that he felt excited, exhilarated, and secretly even a little proud. As he closed his eyes he saw again the perfect shape of her breasts, felt her fingers stroking his naked back. In truth, there was a large part of him that regretted the Thaistess had stopped things when she did and wished she hadn't come to her senses until a moment or two later, whatever the dangers of their situation.

  That thought did briefly shame him, even when memories of the action itself still failed to.

The hunter had no real problem picking up their trail at Pellinum. An attractive young woman travelling with a teenage boy might not be unusual enough to draw attention, but nor did it go entirely unnoticed; not this early in the year when pilgrims were so few. He strode up the path above the town, not pausing to admire the waterfall – he'd seen plenty such sights before – nor stopping to pay his respects at the temple: he had no time for religious tomfoolery. The pair were no more than a few days ahead and he felt confident of making up the time. After all, they were only a soft and pampered priestess and a wet-behind-the-ears kid, where as he was a professional; a killer born and trained. He'd catch up with them all right.

EIGHTEEN

Sander adjusted the sleeves on his jacket, pulling them down to his satisfaction, then lengthened his stride and hurried towards home. He'd had to work late again, which was threatening to become the norm. Globes were already out by the time he left the office, and was there any chance of claiming overtime? Not a hope, not now that he was considered part of "management". The company seemed to expect him to put in all the hours under the goddess simply out of love for the job. Well if they weren't careful they might soon discover just how much he was willing to take. It was about time they appreciated how vital he was. The place would come to a complete standstill without him.

  Take today. The wretched barge from Crosston had been late. Again. Not just slightly this time but by a whole three hours, and of course there was nobody capable of overseeing the unloading but him. All the cargo had to be checked in and fully logged before he could even think of going home. Frissing job!

  There was hardly anyone else on the streets at this hour, just the occasional idiot like him. All the sensible folk were already sitting at home with their feet up, hands cradled around a hot drink, no doubt. Having said that, there was a figure ahead, leaning against the wall; a woman by the look of things – probably a whore, though this wasn't one of their usual haunts. If she looked clean, he might even be tempted. He could do with some light relief after the day he'd just had.

  Though, as he drew nearer, he was able to see how old she looked, perhaps too old. Shame.

  "Sur Sander?"

  The words caused his clipped, assured footfalls to falter.
She knew him?
He peered more closely, and suddenly recognised her. The apothaker, the one he'd bought the love potion from.

  "Wh… what are you doing here?" he mumbled in dismay.

  "Waiting for you," said a man's voice from close to his ear, and he felt the edge of a blade press against his throat while a firm grip closed on his arm.

  Sander had never been assaulted before and instantly froze, paralysed by fear. The terror coursed through his body in a cold wave, totally unmanning him. The warm wet sensation of escaping urine steadily soaking his trousers only compounded the misery.

  "What do you want?"

  "Answers," said a new voice from somewhere behind him; a young woman's by the sound of it.

  The blade pressing against his throat vanished, but before he had a chance to feel any relief at this release a hood was dragged roughly over his head and pulled tight via a noose-like cord at the neck, while his hands were hauled roughly behind his back and bound.

  "No, please no. This is some mistake, it has to be," he whimpered, wondering how life could possibly be so unfair.

Kat hadn't expected to wake up. As she lost hold of the whip and plummeted towards the streets, she knew this was a fall she couldn't survive, and then, when the dark, vaguely humanoid shape swept towards her out of the night, she was convinced that her fate was to be the same as her mother's and her sister's. So, upon coming to in a soft bed with linen sheets covering her and a pleasant, floral scent in the air, she could perhaps be forgiven for thinking in those first confused seconds that she truly had died and was now in the realm of the goddess.

  However, the presence of an acolyte in a grey cassock soon provided a clue that she might be in a slightly less elevated state of existence, a suspicion confirmed when a green robed priestess entered the room soon after.

  She wasn't in any Thaissian afterlife at all, merely one of their temples. Oddly, her immediate reaction was an upwelling of huge disappointment. She didn't want to wake up, didn't deserve to still be alive, not when her mother had died so horribly, and then Rayul, and now Charveve. What was the point in living, and why her and not them? She rolled over, turning her back on the priestess and on the world, curled into a foetal ball and lost within her own despair, revelling in self-pity and welcoming the sanctuary of returning unconsciousness.

  The second time she woke she felt far more levelheaded. The grief and self-loathing were still there, she could feel them, but they were somehow detached and less immediate, as if she were merely sensing an echo of somebody else's emotions rather than her own. It seemed that all those negative, destructive feelings had somehow been clinically severed from the rest of her and then condensed and sealed into a tight knot which had then been tucked into some hidden recess of her being. A second heart, disconnected and dormant for now but ready to spring to life and pump the ice-cold plasma of despair around her body if provoked.

  Kat sat up, rubbing her head, trying to come to terms with how odd she felt. Somebody else was in the room; the Thaistess. This time Kat had the presence of mind to take in detail; the elderly, slightly wrinkled face, laughter lines that formed so readily around grey-blue eyes, the small mole that nestled in the crease of a prominent nose, the faintest suggestion of a cleft chin, and the floral, vaguely minted scent that she would always associate with one person.

  "Shella?"

  "Welcome back, Kat." The woman reached out to squeeze her arm where it rested on top of the bed clothes.

  "What… what have you done to me?"

  "What was necessary. It seems my lot in life is to nurse you back to health whenever you misuse that body of yours."

  Here was the same Thaistess Kat had crawled to when she'd fallen foul of a crooked business deal not long after leaving the Tattooed Men. With no Shayna to turn to, Kat had used the last drop of her failing strength to reach the nearest temple of Thaiss, collapsing at its door. Without the Thaistess's ministrations she would have died that night. Thanks to Shella she had lived, wiser and warier for the experience; or so she'd always hoped.

  "How did I get here this time?" Kat asked.

  "A Kite Guard brought you to us. He didn't know where else to take you."

  "A Kite Guard?" She remembered the dark shape swooping to meet her as she hurtled towards the ground; so, not the Soul Thief after all.

  "He was injured himself," the Thaistess continued. "Apparently he caught you as you fell off the grand conveyor…?"

  "Not quite, but I can understand why he'd think that."

  "Well, at any rate, catching you hampered his ability to fly and caused him to have a rough landing; more in the nature of a crash, from what I can gather. He was lucky, nothing too serious, and I was able to patch him up and send him on his way in no time. You, on the other hand, have taken a little longer to mend."

  Kat had no idea what the Thaistess had done to heal her, how the hurt and despair had been excised or at least isolated, but she was willing to accept it as necessary. Kat had been a fighter all her life, but she had woken that first time without hope or the will to go on. Shella had given her the means to master that and to do whatever was necessary in the days ahead.

  "Thank you, Shella… again," she said.

  Kat left the temple a few hours later; not through any lack of gratitude, but because she was itching to know what had happened in her absence. Besides, she didn't want to outstay her welcome.

  Shella would have preferred a little more patience. "You're not strong enough yet."

  "I'll be fine, thanks to you." In truth she could probably have done with a little more time to recuperate, but the world wasn't about to pause and wait for her while she did so.

  "The Kite Guard wanted to see you once you were awake," the Thaistess tried.

  "I'm sure he did, and he may well do, but not right now. I have to know what's been going on."

  And therein lay the crux of the matter. She'd been unconscious for a little over two days according to the Thaistess. Who knew what had happened in the meantime?

  Kat headed straight to the house at Iron Grove Square, only to discover it deserted. One wing was damaged and blackened by fire, as was a window near the gates, but at first glance there was little other evidence of the titanic struggle that had taken place here just two nights ago. On closer examination she found some flechette darts and a few crossbow quarrels among the rubble, and even the occasional blood stain near the gates, but it all had the air of ancient history, not recent turmoil. There were no bodies, of course. The body boys would had carted those off with their usual efficiency, and that doubtless contributed to the sense of distance. Charveve, her sister, her bitterest rival and the most precious person in her world, had been taken from her; and she hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye.

  After Iron Grove Square Kat visited the three safe houses in the vicinity, but without success. There was no indication that the Tattooed Men had visited any of them within the past few days.

  It was then that she went to see the apothaker, to make sure she'd survived. The old woman was in fine spirits and even seemed pleased to see her, which Kat wasn't sure she deserved.

  The pair swapped stories, the apothaker going first, describing how she'd been in the middle of the crowd when the gates at Iron Grove Square had finally been opened, but she was still able to see the mob of armed men who waited there, forcing their way through the gates and cutting down several of the talented while pushing the rest back. They then broke down the doors to either side of the gateway and stormed into both adjacent wings of the building, while others stayed at the gate to keep the talented penned in.

  The apothaker had been among the surge of people who escaped when Kat charged the cordon of men and others followed her lead. She'd come straight home without discovering the outcome of events.

  It was then Kat's turn. She described all that she had been through that evening, including her sister's death and her fall from near the top of the grand conveyor. It felt good to tell someone this, almost as if the words that left her mouth and the accompanying images and feelings they conjured helped to ease a burden she hadn't even realised was there. None of which stopped her from quipping as she finished, "So much for your brecking good luck potion; didn't do me any good at all."

  "Really?" the apothaker asked. "You're still alive, aren't you?"

  Perhaps she had a point; many others weren't, after all.

  "The night time killings have stopped at any rate," the old woman reported. "So even if you didn't finish that thing for good, you must have done it some damage."

  That was interesting. Had the Thief fled back to the Stain? If so, she was presumably weakened, having claimed only Chavver after coming so close to being killed herself. Had they scared the bitch that much?

  "Oh, by the way, someone called here yesterday asking if I'd seen you," the apothaker continued.

  Kat felt abruptly tense.
Brent?

  "One of your Tattooed Men," the old woman continued. "M'gruth, I think he called himself. He said that if I did see you, I was to say that he'll be at the Crooked Cockerel for the next few evenings."

  Kat knew the Crooked Cockerel; a tavern M'gruth had always been fond of. She found herself smiling for the first time since waking up at the Temple. At least somebody had faith in her still being alive.

  That evening, she found M'gruth where and when he said he'd be, and brought him back to the apothaker's. The old woman seemed glad of the company and Kat felt more comfortable talking where they couldn't be overheard. She listened intently as M'gruth filled her in on what had happened after she disappeared over the rooftops. It seemed that the Fang had come to the party mob-handed, but hadn't been overly choosy about who they recruited.

  "Must have been around sixty of them," M'gruth told her. "There were some real hard nuts among them but also some wetting-themselves cowards. Because of the way we were spread around the building, mobs of them caught our boys in ones and twos to start with, taking us by surprise. Sheer numbers told and we lost a few."

  "How many?"

  "Seven; eight including Chavver. Plus two that Shayna worked miracles to save but are still recovering, Rel among them."

  That was welcome news. Kat had thought Rel was done for when she'd seen him collapsed against the wall.

  "What about the Fang?"

  "Broke and ran once we were able to regroup; those that could. We counted thirty two bodies and reckon there were at least a dozen more injured who limped or crawled away."

  "The Fang have been throwing their weight around in the streets of late," the apothaker interjected, "but no one's seen hide nor hair of them in the past couple of days."

  Kat grunted. "That's something at least. What about the rest of the Tattooed Men?"

  "A lot of razzer activity in the aftermath, what with the fire and everything, so we decided to scatter and go to ground for a few days."

  Kat nodded. She might well have ordered the same under the circumstances, though it would have been handy to have the men readily available. As they continued to chat, she told the other two about Brent, a discussion which interested the apothaker, who thought the man Kat had seen in conversation with the sinister outsider sounded suspiciously like the client who had visited her immediately before the Soul Thief's attack, a certain Sur Sander…

Kat drew the hood off their prisoner, not bothering to be gentle. The man, Sander, hadn't stopped snivelling since they first jumped him. He'd whimpered as they led him the short distance here, begged for mercy as he was forced to sit in the chair, and had now lapsed into simply crying, as his imagination doubtless painted goodness only knew what pictures of the fate awaiting him. Kat didn't imagine they'd have much trouble getting information out of this one.

  There was no question in her mind, Sander was the man she'd seen talking to Brent and a member of the Fang the night she'd been scouring the rooftops in search of the Soul Thief's lair.

  M'gruth threw her an apple. She smiled at their captive. Tears and snot ran down his face as he stared back, wide-eyed. She took a bite from the apple, tossed it a little way into the air directly in front of Sander, then whipped up the sword in her other hand to slice through the fruit as it reached the apex of its flight. Sander jumped in his restraints and cried out as the blade flashed close to his face. Two uneven halves of apple fell to the floor.