by Adam Carter
“I’m reconsidering the running idea,” Kiel admitted as they arrived back at the residence of Madame Shalla.
“Sara, we’ve been through this once. We’d never make it far, and even if we did, we’d be forever looking over our shoulders, living in fear for the rest of our days.”
“There was quite an attractive word in there somewhere. I think it may have been ‘living’.”
“And what sort of life would that be, hey?”
“The kind where we don’t end up with a rope about our throats.”
“Actually, I think we were threatened with decapitation.”
“Like the details matter.”
They arrived at the house and hammered on the door. After a few moments, the door was moved ajar and the haggard old face of Crone stared out at them. “Oh, it’s you again,” she said somewhat disconsolately.
“Yeah,” Tarne said, “we generally do come back when we’ve just been threatened with execution.”
“Well, you could always do what you were told and go find the princess,” Crone suggested.
“That you’ve mentioned that before we’ve told you,” Kiel said, “is going to make me feel so much better about beating your face in.”
“Where’s Shalla?” Tarne demanded. “I would suggest you answer quickly, before my friend here gets into her punching mode. Better to have your mistress out here when that happens; it’s never a pretty sight and I would hate for you to be on the receiving end, old woman.”
“Why don’t you just summon her up with your witch powers?” Crone cackled.
“I am not a witch,” Tarne said irately.
“And I’m not a cannibal,” Kiel put in.
Crone looked upon her strangely. “I, uh, never suggested that you were.”
“Just tell Shalla we’re here,” Tarne said.
“I would, but she’s not here.”
“Then you’re in for a whole world a hurt, old woman,” Kiel promised.
Tarne placed as restrictive a hand upon her friend’s arm as she was able. It was never a good idea to restrict Sara Kiel, even on the rare occasion that it could actually be done. “We just want Shalla to answer a few questions, is all.”
“As I said,” Crone repeated, “she’s not here.”
“Then you won’t mind if we take a look for ourselves,” Kiel said, pushing through the door and starting down the corridor.
“Hey,” Crone said, “you can’t just walk in here.”
“Like you’re going to stop us,” Kiel snorted, opening the first door she came upon.
It led into an empty bed chamber. She left the door open and moved along the corridor to the next one. “We can do this all day,” Kiel said.
“Sure you can,” Crone cackled, “but only because you’re going to be executed in the morning.”
“We have two days,” Tarne said.
“Nah, he just says that so you don’t skip town before your time’s up. You got one day really, then the soldiers come for you.”
“Not what I wanted to hear,” Kiel said, which was actually the opposite of the truth (and therefore a lie), since they now knew they had less time in which to work than they had thought. It meant they had to assume this day was their last, which put them under enormous pressure. Of course, the old woman could have been lying, which would mean they would be faced then with two days thought equally to be their last, and therefore double the pressure.
Kiel decided if she thought about such things any longer she would be on her final hour, let alone day, and had thus far opened only two doors.
She shoved open a third and found this one occupied by a young woman sitting at a mirror, sorting out her hair. Kiel ignored her and moved onto the next, and the girl turned around with a quizzical expression, wondering what was going on.
“I think we’re attracting attention,” Tarne warned as the young woman reached the door and other faces began appearing along the corridor.
“I’m sure we could take them if we needed to,” Kiel said, pushing open the next door. There was another young woman inside, although she was being held in the air by someone lying upon his back and was clearly in the middle of her shift. She was not Madame Shalla of course, so Kiel moved on.
Then frowned, and poked her head back in to stare. “Darkthorne?”
Darkthorne hastily dropped the girl he was holding and bolted upright, pulling a sheet across himself. “Uh, hi, Sara.”
“What happened to the casino and fetching Sparky?”
“I ... got distracted?”
“Nice to see you have your priorities sorted,” Tarne said. “Where’s Shalla?”
“How should I know?”
“Well considering your life depends upon it, I figured you might want to know.”
“Try her chambers down the hall. Big door with the green markings on it.”
“That her room, is it?” Tarne asked.
“Well it was last time I was here. Uh, Heather, you mind closing the door? I’ve still got most of my hour left.”
“In all, I’d say you had about ten hours left,” Tarne said, “but then that would be a piece of practical information, so I’m sure you wouldn’t care about that too much.”
Tarne hurried to catch up to Kiel, who was already busy kicking down the door leading to Madame Shalla’s room. “You can’t do that,” one of the girls behind them said, and several others offered their affirmation of this.
“Looks like I have,” Kiel said, stepping inside. The room was better furnished than the others, although it was not a working environment, so Kiel had assumed it would be different. It was also unoccupied.
“Where is she, then?” Tarne asked rhetorically.
“She could be anywhere,” Kiel said. “We could torture the information out of someone.”
“Isn’t that a tad unethical?”
“We have ten hours left to live, did you say?”
Tarne nodded. “Good point.” She returned to the door of the chamber, leaving Kiel inside. There was a crowd of working girls outside, all trying to see what was going on. Several voiced their protests as Tarne stepped out of the room, and she grabbed the closest by the shoulders. “You’ll do,” she said, dragging her physically into the room and slamming the door. Kiel was ready with a cabinet and shoved it in front of the door. Loud hammering could be heard upon the other side, all in vain.
“Right,” Tarne said, throwing the girl onto the bed, “we have a question or two for you.”
“Well one question, actually,” Kiel said, “and if you give us the answer to it now, we won’t even have to ask that one.”
“I’m not going to tell you anything, so there’s no point in even trying,” the girl replied derisively.
“Me, I like trying,” Kiel said, drawing a knife from her belt. “Did I mention I wasn’t a cannibal?”
The girl paused, although regained her resolve quickly. “Nope, not going to work. Sorry.”
“So am I,” Kiel said, taking hold of the girl’s hand and yanking it hard, drawing the knife quickly across the air. The girl screamed and fell back towards the bed as clumps of her hair came loose. Kiel tossed the handful aside. “Hair grows back, but other parts aren’t so fortunate. And facial scars last a lifetime.”
“You’re threatening my livelihood?” the girl almost screamed.
“Go get a baker’s degree or something. Now that’s a livelihood worth threatening.”
“She’ll do it, too,” Tarne said decisively, then added, “Cut your face up that is, not get a baker’s degree.” She thought about that then and laughed. “The barbarian baker. I can picture it now. Baker’s dozens would suddenly be reduced to just eight rolls. ‘Where are the other five, Miss Baker?’ ‘Count the missing rolls on your fingers and I’ll gladly chop them off one by ...’ I’m not helping, am I?”
“And you figured that out all by yourself,” Kiel said.
The girl on the bed looked from one to the other and said, “You people are insane.”
>
“Probably,” Tarne said, “but we’re at the twilight of our lives so we’re not really too bothered today.”
“Yeah, ‘cause it’s not like we’re like this any other day, is it?” Kiel countered.
“The cave under the Bridge of Birds,” the girl blurted out.
Tarne turned back to her, having momentarily forgotten she was there. “What is?”
“That’s where you’ll find Madame Shalla, in a cave under the Bridge of Birds.”
“But we haven’t even begun torturing you yet,” Kiel said.
“Ya think? Just let me out and I’ll even promise to go get that baker’s degree. Anything to get away from you two loons.”
“Coolio,” Tarne said. “Sara, the cabinet?”
Kiel moved the cabinet from the door. Girls spilled into the room, clearly having taken one final charge at it, and Kiel stepped over their bodies. Tarne ran across them (stepping on them, definitely not over), and they caught up with Darkthorne at the other end, hastily shoving his shirt back into his belt.
“Thought you had the better part of an hour left,” Tarne said. “What happened?”
“What do you think? I had a sudden attack of morals and decided I’d best come out here and save your fat behinds.”
“She threw you out, then,” Tarne said.
“Well, when she realised my friends were tearing up the joint, yeah. And to think, I only had ten minutes left with her.”
“I thought you had the better part of an hour left?”
“Yeah,” Darkthorne grinned, “I did.”
“I really don’t want to know,” Kiel said. “Next time, Heather, we come straight here instead of assuming Jagrad’s going to do whatever he says he’s doing.”
“I certainly hope there won’t be a next time,” Tarne said.
“There’s not going to be much chance of one if we stay here much longer,” Kiel said. “Can we go yet?”
They departed the brothel quickly, Crone running after them and waving a large stick. “And stay out!” she shouted, taking great pleasure in slamming the door.
“So,” Tarne said, “anyone have any idea where this Bridge of Birds is located?”
Kiel looked to the sky. “There are jackdaws flying south. Perhaps we should follow them.”
They worked their way through the twisting streets of Bastelle and finally found their way to the river. There was a bridge directly ahead, and it was a veritable sea of moving black forms as jackdaws perched upon the railings.
“This must be the place,” Darkthorne said. “So why did we need to find this bridge, then?”
“There should be a cave beneath it,” Tarne explained, crouching low and trying to peer through the brackish waters. “I don’t see anything.”
“Maybe it’s an underwater cave,” Kiel suggested. “I’ll go see if I can find it.”
“Be careful down there,” Tarne said, wrinkling her nose at the muddy brown water. “It doesn’t look very pleasant.”
“Of course it’s not very pleasant,” Darkthorne said. “The river’s where all the sewage is pumped.”
“And from where all the drinking water is derived,” Kiel said.
“And people wonder why disease is on the increase,” Darkthorne laughed. “Anyway, have a nice swim, Sara. Let us know what you find.”
Kiel at this point really did not want to enter the water any more, although knew all their lives depended upon it. She therefore stripped off her shirt and trousers and dived in, thrusting a string of violent curses towards those still upon the shore.
“How’s the water?” Darkthorne shouted, just to annoy her.
She shouted back words which might have been an insult, might have actually been the literal truth.
“You know she’ll be really angry when she gets back,” Tarne warned him.
“Sure she will,” Darkthorne said. “But I reckon if I hide her clothes I’ll be able to hold them for ransom so she won’t hit me.”
“Then she’d be faced with the choice of remaining in that (and I hesitate to use the word) water all day, or else chase you around the streets of Bastelle in just her undies. I’m reckoning I know which she’d go for, knowing Sara.”
“You’re right. Maybe I should start running now.”
“Hey guys,” Sparky said, joining them by the riverside and watching the water.
“Hey, Sparky,” Tarne said.
“You win at the table, champ?” Darkthorne asked.
“Nah, lost everything. Came away with more than I went in there with, though.”
“Don’t tell me,” Tarne said, “and they can’t arrest me for it.”
“Course not,” Darkthorne said. “Why do they need to arrest you for petty theft when they’re already about to execute you for failing the king?”
“Y’know, sometimes I hate Darkthorne logic.”
Silence stretched for several moments.
“What are we all staring at?” Sparky asked at last.
“Oh,” Tarne said, “Sara’s gone into the river, searching for a cave.”
“Sara’s gone in there?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“Brave woman.”
Further silence.
“Why’s she looking for a cave?” Sparky asked.
“That’s where Madame Shalla’s run off to,” Tarne explained. “She set us up and now the king wants us to find his daughter or face execution at dawn.”
“Nasty.”
Further silence.
“What makes you think there’s a cave under there?” Sparky asked.
“One of the girls back at Shalla’s place told us there was,” Tarne explained.
“Oh. There’s a cave under the Bridge of Birds, maybe we should cheek there too. And there’s an easy route to walk down to it, so no skinny-dipping needed.” He noticed both Darkthorne and Tarne were looking at him then. “What?”
“This isn’t the Bridge of Birds?” Darkthorne asked.
“No, this is the Bridge of Jackdaws, hence the jackdaws. The Bridge of Birds, derogatory as it may be, is the most famous brothel in all of Bastelle. If Shalla’s there, she’s likely hiding with her friends.”
Tarne blinked. “You find the name derogatory but not the work?”
“I’m not a woman, Heather. I don’t need to get on my high horse about prostitutes.”
“So,” Darkthorne said, “who’s going to draw the short straw?”
“Nothing,” an ugly brown, sludge-encrusted creature said as it rose from the river. “Well, there was a lot of everything, but no cave. Pretty much everything else in fact, but no cave.” She walked onto the shore and tried to wipe the muck from her body, although it was not making much difference.
“Sara,” Darkthorne began, “you know when you were out there and I was teasing you ...”
“And I wanted to kill you? Don’t worry, I still might.” Kiel peeled further sludge from her.
“Well, what I wanted to say was ... that is I ... uh, well ...”
“I still reckon we should try the cave under the Bridge of Birds instead,” Sparky said.
Kiel stopped mid-action, her head ratcheting towards Tarne and Darkthorne. Anger dissipated from her face and a genial expression took root. “What was that, Sparky?” she asked politely.
“I think I’ll go get us a head start,” Darkthorne said, bolting from the area.
“Most sane idea you’ve ever had,” Tarne said, close on his heels.
Sparky knew when it was good time to leave, and ran after them without even saying word.
“I’ll kill them,” Kiel promised herself gently. “I’ll damn well ... uh, where are my clothes?”
*
The Bridge of Birds was well-lit, which was fortunate since night was fast approaching and visibility was growing poor. The cave was right where Sparky had promised them it would be, and Darkthorne, Sparky end Tarne huddled together as they tried to think of a plan.
“We need a distraction,” Sparky was saying.
“Then I should go in posing as a client,” Darkthorne suggested. “Might take a while to ferret out any information, but I ...”
“Bad idea,” Tarne interrupted.
“Fine,” Darkthorne said with a smile, “you go in there looking for work and see what happens.”
“What, and have you come in right after me asking for the newest girl they’ve got? I don’t think so.”
“Hey, that might work, actually,” Sparky said.
“Not in this lifetime,” Tarne replied.
“Which means you’re waiting for me your whole life,” Darkthorne said with a smile. “How sweet.”
“You do realise we only have a few hours left to live?” Sparky barked at them both somewhat uncharacteristically. “If you could stop flirting, we might actually be able to figure a way out of this mess.”
“We’re not flirting,” Tarne said crossly. “Besides which, you weren’t summoned before the king. You’re not facing execution in the morning.”
Sparky’s mood brightened. “Oh. I forgot about that. Well then, flirt away.”
“Oh Lord,” Darkthorne stammered, stumbling to his feet.
Tarne followed his gaze and saw a madwoman charging through the street towards them, half-naked and arms raised. She was wailing like a banshee and, to fit in with her banshee image, was no doubt heralding someone’s death.
“What are we ...” Tarne turned around to find her words did not matter, for Darkthorne had taken off, screaming as he ran straight under the bridge and into the cave.
“I guess he went with the distraction idea after all,” Sparky said. Kiel ran between them then, ignoring them both as she ran down to the cave. Tarne and Spark followed as quickly as they could. As they entered, it was to find the remnants of the human tidal wave that had stormed through. There were two large, armoured men lying upon the ground, unmoving, and they had clearly been employed as guards for the brothel. Kiel likely had not even noticed them. The door the men had been guarding was silently swaying on broken hinges, and Tarne approached it with trepidation, peering through and wincing as she saw the mess beyond. The room appeared to have at one time been some form of reception or waiting area, although whatever furniture within had been shredded to such a degree that Tarne could no longer even identify the separate pieces. Flowerpots were smashed over the floor, their contents of plants and soil spilled everywhere, and there were several working girls lying in a daze.
