Torturous Alliance

by Kristine Lichtlider

  “Especially one that sings with a maid's voice,” said Stella with a frown.

  “Be kind, naked witch,” said Seamus harshly.

  “It's all right,” said Lobo “I wrote that piece in less than an hour, without all the full details.”

  He took Stella's hand in his, and Seamus frowned as she fairly melted into his blue eyes.

  “A wizard, are you?” he said. “I would be more than happy to add you to the song. I had thought wizards to be the stuff of legend, truth to be told. There are none in my homeland. Though...do all of you run around naked?”

  “Most wizards,” she said darkly “were burned as witches during the damned Templar crusades. My grandfather was one of the few who survived, and I guess you could say it's a family tradition. And this jerk won't let me wear clothes. I'm under his geas.”

  “Well met it any event,” he said “lady...?”

  “She's no lady,” said Seamus scoffingly. “If you want me to prove it I'll throw her over this table and take her ass in front of everyone.”

  Stella gasped, heart pounding. She didn't want to be raped in front of the bar but still, she had to squeeze her thighs together tightly to keep moisture from dripping down her legs. Why did Seamus have such an effect on her? She should hate him, but...

  “Stella Pendragon,” she said, shooting a withering glare at Seamus.

  “Well met, Stella Pendragon,” he said “I can already tell we are going to be the best of friends!”

  Chapter 10

  Kate pulled her hooded cloak tightly about her body, despite the evening's heat. She trod along the cobblestones of one of Fort Drakken's seedier climes, her feet clad in flat heeled knee high boots. She had dressed in trousers she often wore into the garden, as their black color did not show stains, and a man's shirt. Her hope was that any who beheld her would mistake her for a man.

  Stepping over a pile of horse manure, she approached the empty doorway of a shabby tavern. Weak light spilled out into the street, and the sounds of rowdy voices could be heard. Taking a deep breath, she strode into the building, squinting as he eyes adjusted to the brighter environs.

  The pub was almost as pathetic on the inside as the out, with dirt floors and walls that sagged under the weight of the ceiling, which was bowed badly from frequent leaks. She ignored the fear in her belly of being crushed beneath it and scanned the room. It was sparsely populated at that late hour, with only a haggard looking barkeep and a group of four men playing cards at a three legged table. A rusty sword had been thrust through one end to serve as a supporting limb. As she watched, one of them, a great hairy bear of a man, used it to slice open a pack of chewing tobacco.

  Swallowing, she turned to the bar and sat on a crooked stool. The barkeep approached, rubbing a hand over his bald pate. Several piercings in his ear indicated that he had been a sailor at one point, and his face was smoothly shaven. As he ambled up to her, she realized his enormous size; He stood at well over seven feet tall, and was as big around as one of his barrel kegs.

  “You lost, girl?” he said gruffly.

  “That depends,” said Kate, trying her best to sound confident and dangerous “is this the Fatted Calf?”

  “It might be,” said the man, frowning.

  “Is it or isn't it?” she said, daring to glare at him from under the hood.

  “The Fatted Calf it is,” he said “but I think a noble woman has no business here.”

  “What makes you think I am noble?” she said, trying to sound offended.

  “Well,” said the man with a grin, ticking off his points with his fingers. “One, you have very clean nails, so either you spend a lot of time digging in them with a dagger, which I doubt, or you have bathed recently, which is a luxury most common women cannot afford. Two, you still have all your teeth. Three, though you may think your garb is humble, the stitching of the fabric indicates that it is of fine make. Need I go on?”

  Kate sighed, a frown lining her face.

  “No,” she said “you need not, sir. I have need of the services of a certain individual, and I have discovered, by parting with more coin than I would care to admit, that the barkeep of the Fatted Calf could put me in touch with him.”

  “You wasted your money, lass,” said the barkeep. He spread his arms wide and grinned. “Does this look like the place anyone of import would frequent?”

  “I am sure that line plays well with the dullards on the city watch,” said Kate “but I have it on good authority that this is just the place I need to be. I have coin, a great deal of it. Name your price, man, and put me in touch with the Roach.”

  “The Roach?” said the barkeep with a short, barking laugh. It was subtle, but Kate spotted a brief, nervous twitch on his face. “The Roach is naught but a legend, lass, a convenient scapegoat for the watch to cast blame upon for any theft they cannot solve. Next you'll be asking for the Gray Death.”

  Kate scowled, pulling her hood back. She fixed the barkeep with a pleading stare.

  “I beg you, sir,” she said “I have grown desperate. I have need of the kind of help that only the Roach can provide. If you have any kindness in you, please help me.”

  The behemoth man narrowed his eyes, leaning on the bar to stare at her.

  “You're not with the watch, are you?” he said.

  “Do I look like a watchman to you?” she said.

  “No,” he said “you do not at that. You have coin?”

  Kate reached behind herself and extracted the leather purse concealed in her cloak. She put it on the bar, shoving it towards the man.

  “Here,” she said “take it, it is yours. There is more, much more for the Roach, if you will but have him brought to me.”

  The barkeep opened the bag, his eyes going wide.

  “Gold?” he said incredulously. “Do you want me to dance at the end of a rope?”

  “You do not care for gold?” she said.

  “Nobles,” sighed the barkeep. “Gold draws attention around here. We prefer to deal in silver, or...non-monetary currencies, if you get my drift.”

  “I will bring you silver, then,” said Kate, reaching for the bag. The barkeep's hand flashed up and clamped down upon it.

  “Go to your home,” he said “the Roach will call upon you in the hour between night and twilight.” He looked up at the men playing cards and said but one word. “Vlad?”

  A mustached man instantly got up and collected his winnings. The man disappeared without a word through the open doorway, melting into the night.

  “I did not say where my house was,” said Kate suspiciously.

  “Aye,” he said, leaning close and whispering “you did not, Lady Mannix. Go to your home. I swear that the Roach will be there, may the sea take my bones if I do not!”

  “Very well,” said Kate, half convinced that she had just wasted more money. “I shall wait upon him. Good day, sir, and thank you.”

  “It's Tim,” he said “and I am no one's sir!”

  “Good eve, Tim,” said Kate, smiling slightly as she turned to leave. When she had been gone for several seconds, the barkeep looked again to the card table.

  “Mott, Cade,” he said “go after her, will you, and make sure she does not fall victim to cutpurse or rapist on her way home, if you please.”

  The hairy giant and a thin wisp of a man rose from their spots, while the remaining man frowned, now bereft of anyone to play with.

  Lord Mannix had to admit, the furnishings were tasteful in his prison cell. Calling it a cell was a bit of a misnomer, though he was no more free to leave it. He was occupying the top floor of the Tower, the room a half circle with the sole window on the concave side. Bars were unnecessary, as the sheer drop on the other side was nearly two hundred feet straight down. The idea of fashioning a rope of some sort came and went in his mind. There were plenty of linens on his well-appointed full size bed, but they were changed daily by a cheerless old woman while a brace of guards stood at the door, their eyes eagerly daring the Lord to try
anything.

  There was even a table, complete with inkwell and quill. Mannix had requested and received parchment, upon which he scribbled letters for Kate.

  His eyes narrowed at the thought of his daughter. She was to be the King's bride, he had been told, and if she were to perform her duties as Drakken decreed, his sentence would be suspended. He had become a hostage, his only ransom his daughter's hand in marriage, and the thought made him physically sick. He gingerly felt the large bruise on his jaw, and again wondered how the king had been able to best him so easily. The man was twenty years his elder, and had not, to his knowledge, so much as drawn his blade in decades.

  What truly worried him, however, was the fate of Duncan Davros. He had made a mistake, a huge blunder, when he had trusted Quinn. It was now obvious that the man would do anything to regain his family's standing, and Mannix was the one whose back had been convenient to slide a knife into. Perhaps if he had not insisted that Katherine break off her engagement to Sir Cromwell, the knight might petition for his release. Mannix shoved the thought away from himself, feeling a bit guilty. After all, he had sent the man away to protect him from this kind of conflict. Bruno was a good man, if a bit single-minded. He did not deserve to be dragged down by the coils of courtly scheming.

  There was a bit of relief, he had to admit, creeping in on the edges of his consciousness. When he had been burdened with the secret of his betrayal, he always felt anxious, as if every call at the manor was the Inquisitors come to drag him away. Now that it was out in the open, he felt as if there were not much further that he could fall. The thought racked him with guilt, for while his part in the play may have been over, at least temporarily, there were others who were risking their lives right at that moment for all that he stood for. Folk sleeping in mud and eating roots and grubs, while he slept on satin sheets and dined on meals fit for a king.

  He sighed and looked down at the letter he had written. It begged Kate not to try and arrange his rescue or release, but bade her to obey the king and submit to his every whim. It was not his own neck he worried about; Drakken was far from a good man, and the thought of Kate being married to such a man riddled him with pain in his breast. Her best chance was not to draw his ire, or worse, his wrath.

  Mannix sat back in the chair and sighed, rubbing his eyes and wondering if he would spend the rest of his days looking at the same walls.

  Kate sat straight in a high backed chair, bathed in a swath of moonlight as it shone through the diaphanous curtains in her chambers. She still was garbed in her trousers and shirt, though the cloak now lay draped over her bed. Her left leg fidgeted constantly, and she found her palms damp with sweat. She knew not what hour it was, but the horizon remained dark blue, with no hint of dawn tickling it with pink. Despite the late hour, she was not tired. Her mind raced a hundred miles a minute, slipping haphazardly between worries of her father, that she had been swindled out of her coin, that the Roach would arrive but choose to slit her snow white throat. Still, her resolve did not falter. She had chosen to take this course of action to help her father, and would accept whatever consequences there might be. The alternative, allowing her father to languish, perhaps for years, while she meekly obeyed Drakken's every word was more terrible by far.

  Since Kate was expecting the Roach to arrive through her window, she had arranged her seat to face the balcony. She wondered what the legendary man might look like. The stories differed, as such tales often did. Once she had heard one of her servants, an older woman who had borne several children, speak with dewy eyed nostalgia of how she had once spotted the Roach clambering over the wall of her lord's estate one dark night. She alleged the man was possessed of a musculature that would put a Templar to shame, and had dark hair and eyes and a smile that made your blood freeze if you were a man or smolder if you were a woman...

  Her nose wrinkled in disgusted amusement. Far more likely, the Roach would be an unassuming fellow, someone you could pass on the street and not even notice. No doubt, hiding in plain sight would be one of his idioms, which made her wonder about why she just assumed he would creep into her balcony window.

  A slight noise, which on any other night she might mistake for a mouse or insect, came at her door. She frowned when she glanced over and noticed a sheet of parchment that had been thrust under the crack of her door. It occurred to her that the servants should be sleeping at that late hour. Curious, she walked over to the door and picked up the parchment.

  Open the door. Was what it read, in a simple hand.

  Frowning, she did as the note bade, stepping back and looking up into the eyes of...no one, as the doorway was empty.

  “Step aside, please,” said a voice in the darkness. Kate did a double-take, looking down to see the diminutive figure standing in the doorway. Swaddled in dull black clothing from head to toe, the masked figure's head barely reached her bustline, and the voice that emanated from it was high pitched, if sultry.

  “What are you doing here, child?” said Kate in a near whisper “It is very late, and-”

  The figure sighed in exasperation.

  “I am no child, Lady Mannix,” it said “step aside, will you? Unless you would prefer we conduct our business out in the hall.”

  “Who are you?” said Kate, still whispering.

  “Some call me the Roach,” said the figure “though it's a moniker I never self apply.”

  Stunned, Kate did not know what else to do but stand aside and let the little figure enter. The Roach moved easily, slender limbs lithely propelling him through the door. Kate frowned at the soft lumps on the figure's chest.

  “You are a girl?” said Kate incredulously.

  “Woman, actually,” said the Roach, striding to the center of the room and glancing about. “I am the same age as you, perhaps older.”

  “But,” said Kate, scanning her up and down. The Roach wore a mask that concealed all but her glittering dark eyes. Her body seemed no larger than an adolescent’s, and her voice seemed much the same. Still, the hard look in her eyes said the gaze that held her was no child's.

  “But nothing,” said the Roach “you have paid most generously to find me, Lady, and here I am. Speak, or I shall be away, taking some trinkets with me to compensate me for my time.”

  “I hear,” said Kate in a whisper. She cleared her throat and spoke in quietly in a more normal tone. “I have heard that you can slip in and out of anywhere silent as a shadow.”

  “Are you writing my memoirs?” said the Roach, putting her hands on her hips. “Speak to me about what it is that you believe I can do for you.”

  “It is a monumental task,” said Kate slowly “it may prove daunting even for the legendary Roach him...herself.”

  “I'm listening,” said the Roach, hopping up to sit on the end of Kate's bed.

  “I need you,” she said “to break into the Tower.”

  “Oh, is that all?” said the Roach. Kate blinked, for there had been no sarcasm in her tone.

  “You can do it?” said Kate.

  “Have done it,” said the Roach “the Tower, like all of Fort Drakken, is riddled with numerous tunnels and secret passages put in by one noble or another for centuries. Truthfully, it is not so easily done as sneaking onto your estate, but by no means is it impossible.”

  “That is gladdening to hear,” said Kate “for my father languishes in captivity, and I would see him-”

  “Whoa,” said the Roach, stiffening up. “Slow down for a moment. You want me to break your father out of jail?”

  “Yes,” said Kate “isn't that the sort of thing that you do?”

  “I am a spy, my lady,” said the Roach “a thief and a sneak. Jailbreaks are messy affairs that require a full team and people on the inside. I am sorry, but you will have to ask someone else.”

  “I have gold,” said Kate “all the gold you could ever want-”

  “It's not about coin, my lady,” said the Roach. “I have no more desire to swing from a rope as you do, and I'm not sure th
at my expertise is suited to this type of job.”

  “But you must help me,” said Kate, her eyes growing desperate “there is no one else who I can turn to.”

  “That is hardly my concern,” said the Roach, moving towards the door.

  “Wait, please!” said Kate, interposing herself between the woman and her exit. “There must be something I can do to convince you!”

  The Roach paused, and the eyes within the slits in the black mask narrowed.

  “There might be something,” she said slowly “your father is quite connected, am I to assume that you are as well?”

  “Any friends of my father's,” Kate said “are friends of my own.”

  “Very well,” said the Roach “I will break your father from his prison, and in exchange you will assist me in setting up some investments.”

  “By investments,” said Kate, her eyes narrowing dangerously “I assume you mean allowing criminal syndicates a place to hide their ill-gotten gains.”

  “No,” said the Roach, the mouth twisting behind the mask in what may have been a smile “to hide my ill-gotten gains. You see, I cannot creep through estates and slither up walls forever. I would become a legitimate businesswoman.”

  Kate grinned, in spite of herself.

  “You should simply seek out a wealthy husband,” she said.

  “Oh, of course,” said the Roach “how could I not think of that myself? Because all noble men wish a wife who barely reaches past their navel; who cannot bear them a screaming brat to carry on their lineage.”

  “I am sorry,” said Kate, wincing.

  “So,” said the Roach “I will free your father, and you will help me with my endeavors.”

  The little woman grew silent for a moment, and Kate felt as if she bore a calculating expression below her dark mask.

  “You realize,” she said “that even if I am to free your father, you will not be able to see him for some time, perhaps ever.”

  “I...” said Kate, the thought having not occurred to her. Of course the Roach was right. The estate would be the first place Drakken would search, and then she would be kept under a close watch.