by V. J. Timlin
“There is a slight problem though,” Fitzwil continued.
“What?”
“I overheard two men in the back talking. If Anouk doesn’t go in alone, they have orders to kill her, Nat and whoever follows her.”
Panic knifed through Anouk’s mind and for a moment, she thought she would pass out. Vari squeezed Anouk’s shoulder, fixing her green eyes on her charge.
“Alright. Time to improvise.” Vari was calm and firm. “We do as planned, but Fitzwil and I will stay some distance from you, out of sight. And, when you’re ready, just call ‘now’ like we agreed. We’ll be there, I promise.”
Nat had talked about strategies involving old-fashioned inspiration, cunning, and the element of surprise—he had failed to mention improvisation.
Anouk drew a shaky breath and plastered a quivering smile on her face. “Got it.”
Fitzwil checked his pocket watch. The clock face glowed a faint green, allowing Anouk to see the position of the hands. She felt her nerves consume her.
“Ten minutes.” Fitzwil slipped the watch back into his vest pocket. “Are you ready, Anouk?”
She nodded, too scared to speak. Her mouth was dry and her whole body shook; she had never been this frightened in her life. No, perhaps when Stalo attacked her in her apartment, she’d been even more scared.
Fitzwil and Vari were experienced fighters. They might think that with their support Anouk could take down the thugs, but she was far from convinced. These men knew more than she did. Besides, they had kidnapped Nat. That, if anything, said something about their abilities.
Her throat tightened. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Fixing her emerald eyes on Anouk, Vari took her hand and squeezed it. “You’ll do just fine. We’ll cover you.”
Anouk drew a deep breath. She had to try at least. If she ran now, she would let them all down at the worst possible moment. Nat was her friend and partner. Besides, he had saved her from Stalo back in her world, so it was time to return the favour.
“Alright. Let’s get Nat.”
She backed away from the edge of the roof and headed to the ladders. After checking the alley, she descended and tiptoed a couple more buildings away from the warehouse where Vari and Fitzwil were keeping watch. She popped out onto the quay and walked towards Ibars, all the while keeping her steps soft.
Electric lamps illuminated the foot of their poles and the stone paving. The waves of a black sea sloshed against the rocks at the quayside. Normally a calming sound, it had no such effect on Anouk’s panicking mind. Her skin prickled as if being watched. She shot glances around, but saw no evil red eyes glowing in the shadows.
In the distance, a bell started striking the hour. Anouk jumped as its first hollow bong echoed across the harbour. She stopped and counted the strokes. Her anxiety level reached a new high with every one of them—twelve.
“Okay, this is it,” Anouk muttered as she willed her feet to speed up. She couldn’t see anyone about, but her skin persisted to tingle as she advanced towards the rendezvous point.
Ibars came into view. The two men she had spied from the roof had disappeared, and the warehouse appeared deserted. Anouk approached the door with all her senses alert. She suppressed the urge to look up to the next building where she had been a few minutes earlier. If she was being watched—and she was sure she was—she couldn’t give any reason for whoever was keeping an eye on her to think she wasn’t alone… they would all be dead, if she did. She placed her hand on the latch and took another deep breath.
She tried the door—it creaked open. The overpowering desire to flee swept over her, but she hung on to the latch, forcing herself to stay. Fighting against the screaming red alert in her mind, she gritted her teeth until her jaw hurt.
Before her self-preservation instinct could kick in again at full throttle, she looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was sneaking up on her and then peeked into the dark interior. “Nat? Nat, are you in there?”
Only the echo of her shaky call came back. She pushed the door wide open but didn’t step in. The stale smell of wood, mould and tobacco invaded her senses.
“Nat?”
No reply. She stepped through the doorway, straining her eyes and ears. The silence inside was… too silent. The hairs on her whole body stood up and the prickling of her skin intensified. Her hand moved up to grab the sword, but she stopped herself. She needed to act as if not suspecting a thing. Brushing the hilt as a talisman, she started to walk. The sounds of her boots bounced off the walls like thunder, making her wince.
As her eyesight adapted to the darkness, she noticed a faint glow at the floor level ahead of her. She squinted. A trapdoor?
The door behind her shut with a bang, causing her to jump and yelp. Light filled her vision as if a hood had been pulled from her face. After the darkness, her eyes took a few moments to adjust. The source of the glow turned out to be four kerosene lamps, the light from which revealed four men holding batons and surrounding her on every side. Two of the men were the ones she had seen earlier, smoking and talking outside the building.
A quick scan around revealed she had advanced almost two-thirds of the distance from the door. The warehouse was empty, save for litter scattered on the floor and a few crates propped against the brick walls. About ten yards in front of her was a smaller door. An office?
The men glowered at her, menacingly patting the batons against their palms—soft meaty thuds replaced the earlier silence. It was meant to intimidate her, but for some reason, and although her heart was trying to break through her ribcage, she found the gesture somewhat comical. The men had guns, but they were holstered. They weren’t there to kill her, at least not right away.
Anouk lifted her chin, mustering as much courage as she could. “I came to see Nat Walla.” Her voice cracked as she spoke.
Smirks appeared on the men’s faces.
“Sure, love. He’s here,” said the man standing closest to the office door. He reached for the knob and pulled the door open, revealing Nat, sitting on a chair, with his hands and ankles bound. Next to him stood a man, pointing a gun at Nat’s temple. Nat wasn’t gagged, but bruises and blood on his face told the tale of a beating. A gasp escaped Anouk’s lips.
“Good evening, Miss Herring. I am sorry to drag you here in the middle of the night, but my new friends insisted on seeing you as soon as possible.” Nat gave a wry smile that turned into a grimace of pain. The man holding the gun prodded Nat’s back, and the bounty hunter winced. The jab shouldn’t have hurt that much, but the beating must have touched more than his face.
A grunt of pain and his battered face sent a surge of anger through Anouk, pushing aside her fear for a moment. She clenched her fists so tight her nails bit into her palms.
“It’s alright, Mr Walla. I wouldn’t have missed meeting your new friends for the world.” Anouk’s tone was surprisingly calm and collected. Nat flashed a smile. She had done just right.
The burly man she had seen earlier stepped forward and pointed at Anouk’s katana with his baton. “Give up your weapons, love, so we don’t need to hurt you or your partner.”
Anouk gave a nonchalant shrug. “Alright.”
The smirks on the men’s faces widened, and they nodded to each other. “You are a wise woman, pet.”
Anouk unfastened the strap and lifted the katana out in front of her. The confidence that her anger had given her was fading, and her hands shook more than before. Her eyes met with Nat’s again. They were filled with apology and concern… for her? She gritted her teeth and forced the calmness back to her voice. “Here. Which one of you will take it?”
The burly man nodded to his friend ‘Twitchy’. “Frank, you take it.”
Frank slipped his baton under his belt and took a step towards Anouk, his fidgeting hand outstretched.
She licked her lips and fixed her gaze on the approaching man. Wait for it. He reached to grab the sword from Anouk’s hand.
“Now!” she yelle
d and swung the sword into Frank’s temple using the scabbard as a bat. As it met his skull with a sickening sharp crack, a grunt of pain escaped his lips before he dropped to the floor with a meaty thud.
An echo of a door being smashed boomed throughout the warehouse, mixed with the sounds of hasty footfall and hollers. Anouk’s eyes went wide and her joints locked in horror when a gunshot thundered. A scream of pain pierced the air behind her, and she craned her neck for a quick look, her heart hammering. Vari and Fitzwil were running towards her, their guns lifted. The other two kidnappers lay on the floor, lifeless.
Vari pointed her gun in Anouk’s direction and fired. A groan and familiar thud happened in front of Anouk and she whipped her gaze back around. The man who had stood next to the door lay dead, blood pooling around his head. His hand was still holding a gun.
“Go, get Nat!” Vari shouted.
Anouk snapped out of her paralysis and leapt over Frank’s unconscious body. She ran to the office, unsheathing her sword. Still bound to the chair, Nat had pinned the thug against the wall. The revolver lay on the floor.
Crashes and a series of explosions echoed outside the office. Anouk dropped flat on the floor. Nat and the thug tumbled over in a heap. More gunshots rang in the warehouse room. Anouk’s heart jumped into her throat. Were there more men?
“Anouk,” Nat growled. The man had pushed Nat off him and was reaching for his gun.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Anouk said and jumped forward. The man had the revolver in his hand and was aiming it at Anouk’s face. She dodged sideways, slashing down with her katana. The bang of the gun at close range drummed her ears. The man’s face twisted in agony and a high-pitched scream rose from his throat. He clasped his other hand on his wrist. Blood poured between his fingers like water from a tap. His severed hand lay on the floor, still clutching the revolver. Anouk looked at her sword’s tip. There was blood. A whistle rang in her ears and the room started to spin.
“Anouk, get these ropes off,” Nat called over the screaming of the wounded man and kicked her ankle with the tip of his boots.
Anouk forced herself to focus—they weren’t clear of the danger yet. Nat rolled onto his stomach, exposing his hands tied behind his back. Anouk’s blade cut the rope around Nat’s wrists and ankles with ease.
Nat jumped after the gun the crook had dropped and pried it away from the man’s dead fingers. Anouk’s stomach flipped and nausea washed over her. She bent double to catch her breath and pushed back bile that was burning her throat and threatening to make its way out of her mouth. Something flashed in the periphery of her vision and she flicked her eyes towards it. The man had a knife in his unsevered hand, holding it blade first to throw into Nat’s back.
“Look out!” Anouk screamed. Nat rolled on his back and fired. The knife hit the wall just inches above his head. Anouk spun to face the knife thrower again, but he was lying on his back with a bullet hole in his forehead.
Anouk gaped at the dead man. Her stomach clutched, preparing to launch its content onto the floor, and she doubled over again.
“No time.” Nat grabbed her hand and pulled her with him out of the office. Thick smoke assaulted Anouk’s lungs, making her cough and her eyes water. Flames licked high around the warehouse, blocking their way to the front door. The roar of the fire was deafening and the heat suffocating.
Five bodies and Frank lay sprawled on the floor.
“I can’t see Vari and Fitzwil,” Anouk called.
“They’ve got out, and so should we, or we’ll be roasted.”
The flames consumed the dry wood like a famished animal, edging towards them with alarming speed.
“Frank may still be alive. We must get him out,” Anouk shouted and took a step towards him.
“He’s dead,” Nat bellowed. “Drop to your knees and follow me.”
Nat crawled towards the back of the warehouse, away from the flames, and Frank. Anouk hesitated for a moment, staring at the lifeless body. Her eyes hit upon a small hole and a dark area on his chest. Yes, he was indeed beyond their help. She shuddered and followed Nat, grabbing her scabbard on her way.
Anouk’s neck started to itch. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a figure standing behind the flames. Anouk’s heart stopped. Although smoke and heat distorted his shape, she recognised him—Stalo. A smile spread on his face and he lifted his arm… the barrel of his revolver glinted in the flames.
Someone grabbed Anouk from behind and pulled her sideways just as a bullet hit the floor where she had been only a moment ago. Nat kept pulling Anouk towards the back door and fired towards the flames.
The smoke forced Anouk to close her eyes briefly, when she opened them again, Stalo was gone. A hope fluttered in her chest. Had Nat killed him?
“Out now!” Nat shouted.
Anouk scrambled onto her feet and darted after him.
He had pushed the back door open. Fresh air hit Anouk’s face like the sweetest scent she had ever encountered. She sucked in the clean air and ran out into the cool night. Vari and Fitzwil waited a short distance away, their guns at the ready, and a dead man at their feet.
“Stalo,” Nat snarled. “He’s here.”
Anouk was devastated. Nat hadn’t killed him after all.
Nat started towards the alley around the warehouse but Fitzwil grabbed him by his arm. “We have to get out of here. The fire brigade will be here soon. That fire will be seen miles from here, and the night guard has most likely called them by now.”
Anouk looked back. The fire had spread to the whole building. Thick dark smoke rose skyward and flames licked the roof, throwing sparks in all directions. The blaze was in danger of spreading to neighbouring warehouses.
“Besides, Stalo has long gone by now,” Fitzwil added when Nat tried to pull his arm free.
“Let me go.” Anger twisted Nat’s beaten face. He squeezed the revolver so much that his knuckles were white.
Fitzwil’s knuckles were just as white as he kept Nat from escaping. “Son, don’t be stupid.”
Anouk groped hard for the words to ease the situation when father and son measured each other, neither of them looking like they would back off.
A bell clanged in the distance.
“There’s the fire brigade,” Vari called over the roaring of the flames. “Nat, you better do as you’re told. Let’s go or else we’ll be arrested for arson and eight murders.”
Anouk’s mind hiccupped. Eight murders? But…
As they ran away from the docks, shouts and the bells of several fire trucks carried over the silent night while the flames continued to leap skyward, colouring the horizon in an orange glow.
Their caravan waited, hidden behind the walls of an abandoned asylum’s cemetery two miles away. According to Vari it was haunted and no one dared camp there. Although Anouk didn’t believe in ghosts, the place was creepy enough with overgrown vegetation and crooked grey headstones. She was more than relieved when Fitzwil urged the mare, and the caravan jerked into motion, heading towards the gate.
Vari and Nat went inside the caravan, but Anouk stayed with Fitzwil on the driver’s bench. She stared with horror at the inferno when they drove along the road past the port.
“Go inside,” Fitzwil said to her. “There’s nothing you can do.”
Anouk tore her eyes off the glow. “Is there any danger it will spread to the city?”
“No,” Fitzwil replied with a dry tone. “This isn’t the first fire in the harbour.”
“Vari said something about eight murders.” Anouk’s voice broke on the last word.
Fitzwil glanced at Anouk, his emerald eyes filled with empathy. “That’s how enforcers would see it. It was self-defence. Three more men attacked us while you were with Nat. Now, go inside.”
Deflated, she staggered into the caravan. She knew the rescue operation wouldn’t be bloodless. It pained her, though—an unnecessary loss of lives. But it was as Fitzwil had said, the men would have killed them. For Stalo. And he had been there t
o see it done. Nat was right, Stalo would never rest until they were dead.
Nat sat in a chair, Vari was fussing around him. He lifted his gaze when Anouk closed the door.
“Thank you,” he said and grimaced while Vari was tending to his cuts and bruises.
“You’re welcome.” Anouk sighed and took a chair. She looked at his bruised face and upper torso. “They beat you quite badly.”
Nat gave a wry smile. “They decided to have some fun.”
“Luckily they didn’t break any of your bones while having their fun,” Vari huffed.
Nat snorted.
Vari opened a jar and smeared a whitish balm on the cuts. The aromatic odour of lavender and geranium spread into the room.
Nat winced and groaned. “Not that hideous poison.”
“Don’t be such a cry baby. That ‘hideous poison’ as you put it helps the wounds heal and prevents inflammations.”
Nat rolled his eyes. “I’m not sure about that.”
Vari kept rubbing the balm, maybe adding some force to it since Nat yelped, “Steady!”
Anouk hid her smile. Vari and Nat’s banter distracted her from her gloomy thoughts, as did Nat’s shirtless upper body. Her gaze wandered over his muscles, dark curly hair on his chest accentuated the contours of his abs. The body hair thinned and extended all the way to his naval, vanishing under the waist of his trousers. Similar dark hair covered the forearms resting in his lap. His arms and shoulders told their story of his strength. Anouk’s eyes moved up and met Nat’s—he was looking straight at her, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth.
She blushed and shot a glance at Vari who was securing the band over Nat’s chest. Thank goodness. Anouk dropped her gaze to the carpet, a burning sensation of embarrassment intensifying in her face and neck. She wanted to bang her head on the table. She was a twit. She was going back to London, so it was better to stop mooning.
“Right. I’m done. I’ll get you a clean shirt and you can get dressed.”
Anouk shifted her attention from the floor but avoided looking at the patient. Vari walked to a cabinet and handed him a white shirt.
