Scream. Sucking in a great lungful of air, Corliss shrieked, “Help! Somebody help me!”
Will smiled indulgently. “Go ahead. But all you’ll earn for your efforts is a sore throat.” He cocked his head toward the boarded-up front window, through which could be heard the sounds of celebration, including a great many voices raised in a ribald drinking song. “No one will hear you. I can do anything I want to you—anything—and no one will come to your aid.”
Was it possible he could be reasoned with? “Will... think about it. I’ve done nothing to hurt you. Why would you want to—”
“Because you’re a lying whore!” he screamed in her face. Abruptly he calmed, his voice lowering in a murmur. “I know how to punish lying whores. And your punishments shall be especially... exquisite, given the merry chase you’ve led me. You laughed at me, you and—”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t even know you were Pi—” She swallowed hard. “I... I had no idea you were Sir Roger’s...” His what? Was there a name for a creature like him? “I thought you were just his surgeon.”
“I’m both. Since I travel a great deal, I found I was in a good position to locate runaways—for a price, of course. And, too, I have a natural aptitude for the work. No one ever suspects me—until it’s too late.”
She certainly hadn’t; and neither had Rainulf. “You even came to us, to warn us. You told us Sir Roger had sent someone after me.”
He smiled sardonically. “I thought that was particularly clever. I wanted to find out from Fairfax himself whether you were his mistress. He denied it, of course, the lying mongrel.”
“But I wasn’t—”
“No more lies!” He closed his eyes; when they opened, he was eerily serene again. “I also wanted to light a fire under him, scare him a little. When people feel threatened, they often get clumsy and give themselves away. It didn’t work, of course. But at least he didn’t see through me. I take it he suspected that simple-minded freak of a peddler. I should thank the drooling idiot for hounding you the way he did. Quite the perfect distraction.”
“Rad was trying to protect me.”
He snorted. “Yes, I’m quite aware of that. He saw me today, you know. I was so excited to find you alone at last that I got sloppy and trailed you too openly. Your Guardian Peddler, witless though he is, appeared to have caught on that I was after you. He tried to get to you first, but he’s slow and clumsy. I, on the other hand, strike like a snake. And once I’ve got my prey, I never let go.” His frigid gaze crawled over her, assessing her with unnatural interest. “Although I do rather enjoy toying with my kill.”
“You’re mad.”
“Absolutely. So you’d best tread carefully with me. I suggest you stop fighting me and accept whatever punishments I see fit to mete out.” He moved closer. She felt his erection beneath the leather apron, and flinched.
“Nay!” She tried to push him away, but he lowered his hands to her upper arms, pinioning them to her sides. In desperation, she whipped one leg up, knee bent, but he was standing too close, and his apron provided a sort of armor against that kind of attack.
“Typical whore’s trick,” he growled.
She lifted her leg again, this time bringing her heel down sharply on his instep. He howled, his hands loosening from around her arms. She tried to flee, but he grabbed her. He seized her head and slammed it against the door. Pain reverberated in her skull. White light obliterated her vision and then dissolved, leaving a numbing nothingness...
Consciousness returned as a twist of discomfort around her left wrist. Something tightened around it, biting into her skin. She heard the snap of leather being buckled.
No... no! She opened her eyes, then squeezed them shut against the light of the overhead lantern. She lay on her back. When she tried to sit up, she discovered that her feet and left hand were bound to the corners of the table.
Will stood to the side. She fisted her right hand and aimed for his face. He seized her wrist, his grip painfully tight. With a gentle tsk, he stretched this arm above her head and swiftly encircled it with a leather strap. She tried to resist him, but he was strong, and snickered at her feeble efforts. The restraint pinched. He buckled it, then gave it a tug as if to test it.
Seemingly satisfied, he turned to the smaller table and pondered the assortment of knives. With a malevolent smile, he chose the little curved one and held it up; his icy eyes reflected its gleam.
Panic flooded her like a dam breaking. She thrashed violently, yanking at the bindings. He ignored her completely, running his thumb slowly along the edge of the rounded blade.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic. She forced herself to lie still, although her heart thundered in her ears and she couldn’t seem to get enough air. A thought occurred to her. “I have money—lots of it. I’ll give it to you if you let me go.”
He leaned over her, his face blocking out the harsh lantern light. “I’ll take it anyway. And you don’t seem to understand, my dear. I have no intention of letting you go. You’ve led me a merry chase all summer, and I deserve a better reward than mere money now that it’s over. I deserve to avenge myself on that pretty face of yours.”
“I can’t think that will make Sir Roger happy.”
“Nay, but he’ll pay me the rest of what he owes me anyway. He always does, the fat, spineless swine. And then—after I’ve got the other pound—I’ll arrange a conveniently plausible death for you. Perhaps a suicide, like Hildreth’s.”
Corliss remembered the fragile girl who’d drowned herself—or had she?—rather than go through life mutilated beyond recognition. “You killed Hildreth?”
He shrugged casually. “She could have identified me.”
“Without her tongue?”
“She could read and write—not well, but well enough.” He tapped the curved knife against her forehead. “So can you—in three different languages, if I’m not mistaken. Rest assured, you will die. But not” —he trailed the edge of the blade delicately down her nose, over her lips, and along her throat— “until I’ve taken my own particular form of pleasure with you.”
So that’s how it’s to be. She was condemned to death—but only after unspeakable tortures. Swiftly assessing her predicament, she came to a grim but pragmatic conclusion: If death was inevitable, she’d rather it came before this maniac had done his worst to her than after. But bound as she was, there was nothing she could do to hasten her own death—or was there?
Closing her eyes briefly, she transmitted a silent prayer of forgiveness for her act of de facto suicide. And then she swallowed hard and said, “You’re a vicious, murdering bastard, Pigot.”
His face darkened with fury. “Don’t call me—”
“What? Pigot? Because it reminds you what an ugly son of a bitch you are?”
He grimaced, pressing the curved blade against her throat. “You’re trying my—”
“Pigot—that’s what we called this grotesque little dog we had when I was a child. You should have seen it—speckled all over, just like you. People would laugh every time they saw—” She sucked in a gasp as the blade cut through her skin. She felt blood trickle down her neck, onto the table.
He was hoarse with rage. “I told you I’d kill you if you called me that.”
Steeling herself, she said, “Do it, then. What’s the matter, Pigot? Don’t have the nerve to finish what you start?”
He stood there frozen for a moment, the blade just piercing her throat, and then he began to chuckle.
Oh, no...
“You’re good,” he said, grinning as he backed off. He wiped the bloody knife on his apron. “Damned good. Most of them are blubbering and begging by this point, but you’re still trying to control the situation, trying to get your own way, trying to trick me. You’re really quite spirited, aren’t you?”
His smile vaporized. “I hate that in a woman. Luckily, I’ve discovered that spirit, like any poisonous lump, can be excised.” He drew the tip of the knife around each of her eye sockets,
just lightly enough so that he didn’t break the skin. She shivered all over. “One simply has to know where to cut.” He circled her nose, and then each of her ears in turn, with the razor-sharp blade. “Often it’s a matter of trial and error. It can take quite a while. But I’m a patient man. What about you? Are you patient?”
She drew in a deep, steadying breath. “Bugger yourself!”
He clucked softly and touched the blade to her lips. “That’s quite a tongue you’ve got there. I shall have to do something about that tongue of yours.”
Will began to slip the blade between her lips. She wrestled her head to the side. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked it back. She pressed her lips closed, clenched her teeth. The blade slid into her mouth. He twisted his wrist and it pried her teeth open, flirted with her tongue. She tasted steel, and couldn’t stifle the whimper that rose from her.
A crash of splintering wood made both of them start. Will withdrew the blade and turned toward the sound. The shutters covering the alley window were shattered, and a large rock lay on the floor. As they watched, a cowled head appeared.
Rad. He’d followed them, after all! He punched through the remaining slats of wood and scrambled through the window with surprising agility. His horrified gaze took in the big table, the restraints. He met her eyes, his expression grim.
Will laid down the curved blade and picked up the big knife. “You’ve made a very grave mistake, peddler.”
He had, Corliss realized; Will could kill Rad as easily as he would butcher a sheep. “Leave, Rad,” she implored. “Find Rainulf. Tell him Pigot’s got me—”
“Shut up!” Will cracked her across the forehead with the handle of the knife. Through the burst of red-hot pain, she heard Rad’s roar of anger, and the sounds of a scuffle.
It was over quickly. When she refocused her gaze, Rad was stumbling backward, the knife in his gut.
“No!” She yanked ineffectually at the bindings.
Facing Rad, Will grabbed him by his cowl and pulled out the knife; Rad winced and sank to his knees in the debris from the shutter. Holding the blade to Rad’s throat, Will said, “I told you you’d made a grave mistake.”
“Stop it!” Corliss screamed. “Don’t!”
Will spun around. “You shut up!”
Behind him, Rad grabbed the rock, hefting it in both hands. As Will turned toward him, he slammed it into the surgeon’s midsection.
Will fell, whacking his head on the table and hitting the floor with a grunt. Rad doubled over, clutching his bleeding stomach. Shaking his head, Will groped in the sawdust for his knife. Corliss knew Rad didn’t have a chance. No match for Will to begin with, he was further weakened by his injury.
“Leave, Rad!” she screamed. “Go!”
Rad nodded as he struggled to stand up. “I’ll g-get—”
“Just go!”
He clambered out the window, leaving it smeared with blood. Will, one hand cradling his head, the other clutching the knife, rose unsteadily to his feet. “Damn.” He lurched to the window and peered out. Rad’s retreating footfalls were soon absorbed by the boisterous street noise.
Will, his breathing labored, stood with his back to her for a few moments. “Can’t stay here now,” he muttered. “Got to get you to Cuxham. Damn! I hate to do this in broad daylight.”
He hurled the knife across the shop. It stuck in one of the coffins. Crossing the room, he yanked it out, then ran his hand thoughtfully over the wooden box. To her surprise, he began to chuckle. “But I’ve got just the way to get you there without drawing attention.”
* * *
“No more,” said Rainulf as Thomas tried to pour him another brandy. “I’ve no desire to end up drunk.”
A sound came from downstairs—a thump against the front door.
“No more visitors,” Rainulf muttered.
“I’ll send him away,” offered Brad, sprinting downstairs. Rainulf heard the door open, then a startled exclamation in English. “Magister!” Brad called up the stairs. “I think you should come down here!”
Thomas followed Rainulf down the narrow staircase to the street. At first he thought the tattered mass on the ground was a bundle of rags—but then he noticed the blood, and a cowled head. Kneeling, he pulled back the cowl and saw the familiar, hideously pockmarked face. “Rad?”
The peddler opened his eyes and met Rainulf’s gaze. A strange look passed over his face. He muttered something unintelligible.
“What’s he saying?” Thomas asked.
“I’ve no idea, but I don’t like this. This cur used to follow Corliss around. For all I know, he’s...” Captured her? Cut her up? Then what was he doing here? He was mad, that’s what—and clearly hurt.
Rad seemed agitated. He tried to sit up, but grimaced and collapsed again.
Rainulf shook him. “What happened? Where’s Corliss?” Rad’s eyes opened at the mention of her name. “I’ll kill you if you’ve hurt her.” He shook him harder. “Rad! Rad!”
“P-Pigot,” the peddler gasped.
“What’s that?” asked Brad. “Pigot?”
Rad nodded furiously, and then his eyes rolled up and he slumped heavily to the ground. His chest still rose and fell, shakily; he wasn’t dead quite yet.
Brad regarded the unconscious peddler with a furrowed brow. “Was he saying that’s what his name is? Pigot?”
“I think so,” Rainulf said. “Why?”
“It’s a Saxon name,” explained the young scholar. “Means speckled.”
Rainulf pointed to Rad’s ravaged face. “I think he qualifies.”
“I suppose,” Brad said. “But usually that’s what they call you if you’re covered with freckles.”
Freckles... A face materialized in Rainulf’s mind—milk white and showered with hundreds of bright red freckles. He saw the pale, knowing eyes, the thin smile...
“Like that surgeon,” Brad offered. “What’s his—”
“Will Geary.” Rainulf stood, raking his fingers through his hair.
Was it possible? He recalled the first time he’d seen Will, standing in the doorway of Burnell’s Tavern, his surgical bag in his hand. It’s my fault you got involved in this mess in the first place, Will had told him later. I’m the one who sent you to Cuxham. That was true. If it weren’t for Will, he would never even have known the little village existed.
Rainulf had always found it vaguely troubling that Will sold his services to the likes of Roger Foliot—a man who thought nothing of smashing a boy’s legs with a mallet. So I set the legs, Will had told him over a tankard of ale, and then I ate my fill of stag and turnips and went on my way...
He sends for me, when he needs me.
“Sweet Jesus...”
“Magister?” Thomas began. “What’s the—”
“You and Brad stay here,” Rainulf commanded. “Tend to Rad.”
“Where are you going?”
“Pennyfarthing Street. If I’m not back by nightfall, send for the sheriff.”
* * *
Corliss caught fleeting glimpses of Will through the back door as he harnessed two horses to a cart. Reentering the shop, he substituted his tunic for the leather apron, then lifted one of the coffins and brought it out back, laying it on the bed of the cart.
No...
“Will, don’t do this,” she said as he snatched a roll of bandages from the cupboard.
“Oh, it’s ‘Will’ again, is it?” He tore a strip of linen from the roll and stuffed it into her mouth, then wound a second strip around her head to hold it in place, and tied it off.
Unlatching the leather restraints from her hands, he tied them behind her with another length of bandage, then released her feet.
“Let’s go.” He pulled her off the table and dragged her by her tunic toward the back door.
As she staggered along behind him, she raised her bound hands to the back of her belt, shifting it to the side until the little pouch, which had hung in front, was within reach. Loosening its drawstring with qu
ivering fingers, she fumbled inside it for the little reliquary.
“Come on!” He jerked her toward the back door, not noticing when she let the small silver box drop from her fingers into the sawdust.
He hauled her into the cart and shoved her into the coffin, grinning when she began to kick and thrash. “Get used to it. ‘Twill be your permanent home soon.” He lowered the lid, and everything went black. Presently she heard hammering all around the edge of the lid, as he nailed it shut.
The sense of confinement overwhelmed her; the gag felt suffocating. Alone and bound in the dark confines of the narrow box, she broke out in a sweat. When she heard the horses’ hoofbeats and felt the cart move, rumbling and rocking over the rutted ground, she began to tremble uncontrollably.
* * *
Rainulf entered the surgical shop through the back door, which stood open. With a sense of dread he approached the big oaken table, lit by an overhead lantern, a sinister array of surgical tools laid out next to it. One of them was a small, curved knife, its blade stained crimson. There were drops of blood on the table itself, where a head would have been. He closed his eyes, straining for composure.
It might not be Corliss’s blood. She might never have set foot in this place.
Turning around, he scanned the rest of the shop, seeing nothing of importance... until his gaze lit on something glimmering in the sawdust near the open doorway. He didn’t recognize it until he was kneeling over it; he crossed himself before he lifted it.
Rainulf’s chest grew tight as he cradled the little reliquary in his hand. She wanted me to know she’d been here. He closed his fist around the tiny silver box, his gaze on that monstrous, bloodstained table with its dangling leather straps. And that she’s still alive.
Chapter 20
Corliss was drenched in sweat by the time the cart rattled to a halt. She felt Will jump to the ground; heard a series of creaks as he pried open the lid of the coffin.
The bright afternoon sun made her eyes snap shut. He grabbed her by her tunic and yanked her up, hauling her unceremoniously out of the coffin and off the cart.
Heaven's Fire Page 29
