She felt clumsy as she lurched slowly towards February, and the uneven gravel ground made the journey more precarious than Kitty might have imagined. She made it to February’s car in one piece, though.
February quickly unlocked the rear storage compartment and held it open, indicating that Kitty should place the body here instead.
‘I thought you said the back seat,’ Kitty grunted as she tried to place the body in the compartment.
February shrugged. ‘I changed my mind. His blood stains should have dried, but I don’t want to risk it, and I can’t spend all of tomorrow cleaning congealed flakes out of the car.’
‘It won’t fit properly,’ Kitty said after a moment of trying to arrange the body in the compartment without touching it more than she really had to.
‘Break a bone or two if you have to,’ February replied. ‘He won’t mind, and the meat will still be edible with a few broken bones, don’t worry.’
Kitty gulped awkwardly; it was bad enough to carry the corpse. She stepped back and had to breathe heavily for a moment. Then she closed her eyes and held her breath as she tried to force the body into the small space, but she was too delicate in her handling of the corpse and it just sprung out of the space again. She sighed, feeling quite ill. ‘I can’t do it.’
February shook her head. ‘Go and sit in the passenger seat. I’ll deal with it.’
Kitty did as she was bid, and no more than a minute later February joined her in the front of the car. Kitty closed her eyes, expecting some sort of verbal attack from the queen, but nothing of the like occurred. Instead February opened a small storage compartment, the descendant of the glove compartment, located between the two front seats and from it took a small makeup kit and a ginger wig.
‘Your disguise?’ Kitty asked. She felt a little nervous at saying anything, but the silence that had been building up was too much. She was still expecting February to yell at her for not dealing with the body; she even wanted February to yell at her, if only to get it over with.
‘If I was alone this disguise would be enough to get me past my neighbors and into the house. With you, though, we’ll have to be very careful; if one of my neighbors spots you, explanations could be awkward.’
Kitty nodded; they had been through this earlier. It was the reason they had waited until past midnight before coming even here. It was unlikely that any of February’s neighbors would still be up, and if they were they would be unlikely to venture out onto the street when there might be Herbaht out hunting. However small the chance, though, there was still a chance.
‘I’d like to change my top as well; even when I have a disguise on, the bloodstains will be hard to explain away,’ February commented as she sorted out the various items in front of her.
Kitty seemed to notice the top for the first time that evening. Until then she had just assumed that that was the style and color of top that February had chosen to wear that night. It had never occurred to her that the funny-looking red patterns on February’s top had been anything other than the way the material had been dyed.
February’s disguise was a pretty simple affair: a wig to hide her natural hair color and some powder of a human flesh hue that she painted lightly over her facial stripes, all the time using a vanity mirror to make sure nothing had been missed. Finally she pulled out a pair of lightly tinted sunglasses and put them on. It might look silly, wearing sunglasses at night, but humans did it too sometimes, and they would hide her eyes until she got in the door.
‘I thought you had contact lenses,’ Kitty piped in.
‘Usually yes,’ February replied, ‘but just sunglasses for now.’
February’s home was located just outside the official borders of the city of London in Upminster. The journey was made in virtual silence. Kitty was usually in bed by eleven in the evening at the latest, and it was already a quarter to one. She was feeling quite tired from the day’s events and, of course, she was missing George. She wanted to mope, but she was scared of doing anything February might take exception to. February seemed to be a good friend, but she had only known her for a few short hours. She could still be left behind somewhere if she wasn’t careful.
February stopped the car at the end of the road on which she lived and studied the street carefully, looking for any activity. This wasn’t as suspicious as it might seem, as many humans would normally check places for hunting Herbaht before venturing into them. When, after less than a minute, she was sure it was safe, she drove to her house and backed the vehicle under the carport.
‘Do you live alone?’ Kitty asked; she felt she should’ve asked that question earlier, but only when she saw the house did the possibility that February was married even occur to her. ‘Is there a husband, some kids I should know about?’
February giggled. ‘I’m only seventeen. Though I suppose I might’ve found a husband by now, which I haven’t. I really wouldn’t want to be tied down with children so young, so no, neither.’
Kitty was speechless. This queen who had been ordering her around all night was six years younger than she was. Kitty had assumed that February was at least the same age as she.
‘Wait here for a minute,’ February told Kitty. She then climbed out of the vehicle and went to the front door. She tapped the entry code into the small panel on the door and placed her thumbprint against the glass sensor before the door opened.
February then studied the street again, making sure it was devoid of activity before she indicated that it was safe for Kitty to join her.
Kitty climbed out of the vehicle carefully, nervous of the distance between her side of the car and the front door. She was nervous of all the windows that overlooked the street and nervous because she wasn’t used to all this creeping about.
A quick look round the hallway told her that February wasn’t very good at looking after her place, not like her master had been. There were three doors off of the hallway, as well as a set of stairs that led up to the next floor. One of these doors was closed, a second led to the kitchen and the third led through to the living room.
‘Make yourself at home in the living room, through there,’ she told Kitty, pointing the way. ‘I’ll go and put the body in the larder.’
Kitty spent a moment wondering how often February had a dead body in the house. She wondered if there might be the remains of one there already from a previous hunt. The idea of a dead body in the same house as she was worrying her a little, but at least this time she wasn’t the one having to move it.
The living room was very similar to what she was used to; if slightly longer along one side, it was also slightly thinner along the other. A couch capable of seating three persons comfortably was positioned in the center of the room but at a slight angle, as if the sides of it were aimed at the corners of the room. The couch faced a flat screen high on the main wall opposite the door; this was the newspaper. Also on that wall was the main projector of the holoviewa. It was positioned at head height, with the other two projectors embedded in the corners adjacent to this wall at knee height. It was a cheaper model of holoviewa than her master owned, and it seemed to have no interactive interface. You could watch the movies, but you wouldn’t feel as if you were a part of them. The controllers for both the newspaper and the holoviewa were sitting on one of the arms of the couch. There was a small drinks cabinet just in front of the side of the couch furthest from the holoviewa. It had a two-foot square surface and sat on four wooden legs with a selection of fruit juices on the top, including grape, carrot, orange, lemon, strawberry and tomato juice. As well as the couch, there were two armchairs. They were positioned next to each other and placed with their backs to one of the side walls so that they almost obscured the holoviewa projector on that side.
The main difference from what she was used to was the table in the corner opposite the door, positioned behind the other side of the couch from the drinks cabinet. On this table sat a sturdy-looking computer with a very lightweight-looking monitor and voice box. Ar
ound the computer itself were all sorts of small devices which would be unnecessary to the standard computer user but which were a must to any self-respecting programmer.
Kitty decided to take February at her word and poured herself a glass of grape juice before taking up residence in one of the armchairs. She sipped thoughtfully at the juice and held her head gently in her other hand; it was threatening her with pain if she didn’t start trying to sleep.
No more than ten minutes passed before February joined Kitty in the living room. Kitty didn’t notice her at first because she had started to doze while holding her glass of juice at quite a precarious angle.
She then sat up with a jolt, spilling a little of the drink when she realized her friend had entered. She looked a little guilty.
‘I said to make yourself at home,’ February grinned. ‘I guess you must be very tired after tonight. Would you like a drink?’ She grimaced as she caught herself asking the question and nodded as Kitty pointed to the glass she already held. She went over to the drink cabinet and proceeded to pour an orange juice for herself from those available.
‘I noticed you have nothing alcoholic,’ Kitty commented. ‘Not that I touch alcohol, except on special occasions like Christmas and birthdays, but that was more my master’s doing than by choice. I’m just surprised that you, who do have a choice, choose not to.’
‘There are too many Herbaht who have gotten drunk only to find themselves in the Cattery by the end of the night. Even the most secure lips can be loosened by too much alcohol. It might be safe to have in the house, but if I got drunk and forgot myself I might not live long enough to regret it. Fortunately most places do serve fruit juices or sodas as well as beer and wine.
‘Nice place you have here,’ Kitty said, feeling the need to change the subject.
February grinned. ‘I acquired it easily enough—hacked into the land registry office, changed the ownership on the deeds and killed the original owner.’
Kitty looked horrified and almost spilled some more of her drink.
‘I’m joking,’ February told her, suppressing a giggle. ‘I got it the same way most people get houses, with a mortgage. The people who used to own it have moved to Shropshire. I even forward their post to them. After all, when I’m not hunting I have to try and fit in as if I were herd myself.’
Kitty seemed a little placated, but the expression on her face was still one of disgust. ‘How did you get a mortgage? I mean, surely you need an income of some sort, and I heard that cats… er… er, Herbaht don’t work for a living, but live off those they kill.’
‘Herd propaganda,’ February replied as she sipped her orange juice. ‘It may have been true once, though I doubt it. These days prey don’t tend to carry too much of value on them, rarely enough to keep us going for a day, let alone until the next kill. And so, like the herd, many of us get jobs.’ She downed the remaining contents of her glass in one go. ‘I work as a computer programmer for a fairly large company. I actually get to work from home, which is good. It means I don’t have to mingle with herd, except when I have to go in for meetings. And I get to work pretty much when I want, so long as I put in the hours and produce what I am supposed to be producing. I’ve had no complaints so far.’
‘Good pay?’ asked Kitty. She sipped a little more from her grape juice; it wasn’t the same as she was used to, a little sweeter than her master used to buy.
‘Good enough,’ February replied. ‘The herd might have outlawed our race, but we still have to earn a living somehow. Although it is true that many of our people have turned to unscrupulous methods of raising revenue. I suppose they feel that if they’re outlawed already, then what’s there to lose?’
‘I’ve heard of some drug called lambdazine,’ Kitty commented. She remembered her master ranting about it when he’d caught one of his students carrying a tab.
‘Made by the Herbaht to prey on the herd with,’ February said. ‘It’s true, though the drug itself is no more harmful than any the herd make themselves. I’ve heard it’s out of date now anyway; there’s a new version on the market. I don’t know what it’s called, though. It’s not my field.’
‘What does it do?’ Kitty asked. She finished the glass. It was nice juice, even if it was different.
‘No idea,’ February replied, ‘I’ve never tried it. Most of us won’t try anything that might risk a loss of focus. Those that have, the authorities catch too easily and…’ She made a gun out of thumb and forefinger, placed it to her head and then moved the thumb down like the hammer.
This sort of talk might’ve bothered Kitty earlier, but all she could do now was yawn. She stretched out as best she could on the armchair. ‘I guess there,’ another yawn, ‘there are a lot of things I’ll have to learn.’
February nodded. ‘Lots and lots. Tomorrow I’ll get you a bed. I have a spare room I can put it in. Tonight, though, you’ll have to make do with the couch down here. Make yourself as comfortable as you can.’
It was pretty much as Kitty had expected. She moved to the couch and lay down, using a cushion resting against an arm as a pillow. She closed her eyes, not intending to actually sleep while February was talking, but she was snoring happily within a few seconds.
The last thing Kitty heard before she lost consciousness was February claiming, ‘Normally I’d spend a little time on the computer now to…’
7
Sneak Peek
The ceiling needed to be repainted. It had been painted blue the last time it was done, but parts of it had faded to a weak green and in one place it had even gone yellow. Not that he really cared. Myajes had only booked the hotel room for two days. He expected to be through with his mission by then, one way or the other.
It was three o’ clock in the morning, and Myajes couldn’t sleep. He had reached across to turn on the bedside light and then had spent the next few minutes studying the ceiling as he lay on his bed.
It wasn’t so much that he was actually interested or bothered by the ceiling; he had plans to work out, things that had to be done. And though he couldn’t sleep, he was feeling very tired and his mind was drifting occasionally.
There’s a cobweb in the corner of the room, he thought idly to himself as he lay there. He watched it for a moment, trying to see some sign of a spider, but there seemed to be none.
He had been looking at the ceiling almost since he had turned in. It had started because he was trying to think of his next step. His mind raced through many possible rescue plans, including an imagined layout of the prison camp, refusing to even think of it as the Cattery. That was it, of course; he didn’t even know what the place looked like, and he wasn’t even sure where it was. He would be diving headfirst into a shark pit without even testing the temperature of the water.
He hoped he had correctly worked out where the camp was. He was going to have to go and look for himself. See how the place was laid out, and whether or not there was any obvious way in. What was the security like? Did they have guard dogs? There were a million questions and his head was far too tired to have to think about them all. But he had to think about them.
It had to be the right location. He couldn’t afford to be wrong. Every day made it more likely that Lara would be killed; he might already be too late. No, he couldn’t allow himself to think that; even if she was dead, he still had to get in and find out for himself so he could report back. It would upset the Matriarch and the Patriarch, and he didn’t want to be the one to have to tell them their daughter was dead. No, be positive. She was still alive; she was uncomfortable, spending the night in a small cell in the prison camp, but she was alive and healthy.
He reached out and took the map from the bedside table where he had left it and again checked the area he thought might hold the goal of his mission. The map said it was an army camp. Maybe that was exactly what it was. He would have to check it, but it was the best lead yet.
He looked at the clock again; it was a quarter to four. A quarter to four? It had been only thr
ee o’ clock a minute ago; he must’ve nodded off for a few a minutes without realizing it. He reached across to the light, switched it off, rolled over and closed his eyes to sleep.
He couldn’t; his mind was still working. He groaned as he realized why his mind was insistent that he had things that needed to be done before morning so he could pull off his rescue the next night. He would just have to get some sleep during the day to make up for it.
He felt quite groggy as he got up. He made his way to the bathroom, almost tripping himself with his tail, which dragged on the ground lazily. He splashed some water in his face to try and wake himself up a bit. He considered taking a cold shower, but he didn’t have a lot of darkness left. Fresh air would have to do.
He threw on some hardwearing clothes. He didn’t plan to make the rescue attempt itself tonight, but he wanted to be ready in case an opportunity suddenly presented itself. He had no intent to climb walls the way he was feeling, but it was always good to be ready.
He pocketed his laser pistol, the smallest he had brought with him, and hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. He was going to be getting close to soldiers, and that was dangerous, even when he was only intending to have a look. If the Elite Guard were there, then he needed to not only be ready for an encounter, but he’d need to plan out an escape route back to his car in case anything went wrong. Perhaps he was giving too much power to the Elite Guard, but better that than he underestimate them.
He hurried out of the room, almost forgetting to lock the door after him. It was a very archaic lock that used a plastic swipe card to open it. This hotel had been here for centuries, and it hadn’t changed much since it was founded.
He hurried to his car and left the hotel grounds, heading in the general direction of the army camp. He wasn’t totally sure how to get there, but the first order of business was to get out of London. Then he would check the map. It would be at least five before he got there. Had this happened earlier in the year it would already have been too late; it would’ve been daylight by then.
London Wild Page 12
