He leaned forward as my shoulders quivered with fear and rage. “I’ll give you a hint,” he said. “I’m big, which means you’re small. Which means your best target on me is closer to the ground.”
I didn’t understand at first. Then I stared at the ground and saw his thick boots steeped in snow. “Your feet!”
“Right. Kick the knees, stomp on the toes. Whatever you can do to bring him down. And then, while he’s holding his sore foot – then you grab another stick or a rock to smash his face and bring him right down.”
It all made sense. It would work.
I listened and watched his every move. He showed me I could also throw the stick at my attacker, but then I would lose my weapon. But I could snap the rope like a whip without losing hold of it. I could also tie someone up after beating him down, to keep him from coming at me again. Then Francois showed me a different kind of rock, a boulder on the ground. I couldn’t budge it, but I could let a bully run at me, then dodge and push him hard against the rock. Or I could stand behind it, using it as a partial shield.
So many choices. So many ways to fight back.
“Well, what’s the best one, then?” I asked, staring at the rock and rope and branch displayed once more on the table. “Which one would you pick?”
He struck his massive fists on his hips, studying the weapons with me. “I’d choose all three,” he said. “I’d pick anything I could lay my hands on to defend myself and end it quick. Got me?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“So a kid comes at you like this, see,” he said, raising a mallet and taking two large strides toward me. “Now don’t get scared and don’t back down. That’s what he wants. But he wants to beat you down, and you’ve shown him you’re tough. So now he grabs a weapon, see?”
I stared at the wooden mallet in his fist. Imagined it ramming into my gut, my shoulder, my face, the way Jacque’s fists had. But doing a lot more damage. I shoved my fears deep into my stomach. “So what do I do?”
“Same as always. You make him miss. He swings, you step aside. But you lean and keep your balance. That’s right,” he said, swinging the hammer at me as I stepped out of its path. In the hollow yard, I could hear it whizzing by my face. “Good. Remember, you always keep one foot forward and one foot back. So you can charge at him when you see an opening, and you can back away if he gets too close, right? One foot forward, one foot back, step away when he comes too close. So he keeps swinging. And you make him miss. And you make him miss,” he repeated, swinging again and again. “That’s it. And he gets angrier, and swings a little harder and wilder, and he gets tired and clumsy. While you stay sharp and keep your balance, watching his moves. Good, yeah!” He swung faster and harder, the heavy hammer buzzing and slicing the air beside me.
Until I paused a moment too long.
The hammer slammed into my right shoulder, lifting me off the ground and hurling me sideways.
“Helena!”
I landed in a heap of snow, sinking deep over my head. I sprang up instantly, shaking off the freezing flakes and forcing myself to my feet. My shoulder stung from the blow, and my head and neck ached from hitting the ground.
“Helena! I’m so sorry! Are you all right?” He rushed and bent to gently steady me, guiding me to shallower snow. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I took a deep breath, wincing at the pain in my shoulder as I let it out in a calm white breath. I took his arm and staggered back toward the table of weapons. “It’s all right, Francois. Let’s try again.”
“What? Helena, no, we’re done. I’m not gonna let you get more hurt.”
I gave him a crooked smile. “I’ve been lots more hurt than that,” I said. “Let’s fight some more.”
“Helena, what on earth are you doing?” Papa growled, appearing suddenly by the barn door. His fists clenched his hunting musket as he hunched in his thick woolen overcoat, laden with a covering of snow. His eyes were wild, his thick frown of a moustache twitching.
Francois swallowed. “Uh, sorry, Henri, she keeps asking me to teach her to fight. I’ll try to talk some sense into her.” He guided me toward the table as Papa stood there, his chest heaving. Francois bent over me and whispered, “That was all real good. But next time, let me come at you faster so I can fall harder when you dodge.”
“All right,” I said quietly.
He straightened up, putting on a stern face. “Now, Helena, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. We’re here to do chores, so stop trying to fight. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
I smiled. “Yes, Francois.”
Papa stepped forward, picking up the heavy mallet from the snow. “Exactly what chores was Helena helping you with?”
“Uh, smashing some snails. They’ve been getting into the barn everywhere, pestering the horses. Helena was hammering a few for me.”
Papa stared at him, cocking his head slightly.
“… I was about to find her a smaller hammer,” Francois said.
“Well,” Papa said dully. “Winter snails are always a problem.”
Francois chuckled. “Don’t I know it!”
Papa frowned at him. “I think that’s enough chores for today, Helena. Mama can use some help at home, if you have that much energy. Come along.”
“Sure,” Francois said. “I’ll handle the rest of the snails from here, Helena. Thanks for stopping by.”
Papa glared at him again. “Good day, Francois. Take care of yourself.”
“I will,” Francois said with a wave.
We trudged toward Papa’s black horse, Royale. He was silent until we had gotten out of earshot. “Fighting’s not the answer, Helena,” he said.
“Well, getting beat isn’t the answer, either,” I huffed. “And what if I have to fight a wolf?”
He stopped and stared at me, his face pale. “… what?”
“You hunt for food. What if a wolf tried to take your kill? Wouldn’t you shoot it with your musket?”
His eyes lowered to the grass and mud. “That’s different.”
“But you would, wouldn’t you? You’d fight to keep our food so we don’t starve. You’d fight to keep us safe.”
“… Yes.”
“I knew it.”
“Helena. There are times to fight, and there are times to keep you and your family safe. I did both during the war. Right now, it’s a time to keep you and Mama safe. Understand?”
“Yes, Papa,” I said. “And if we ever go on a hunt together, I’ll keep you safe.”
He gaped at me, blinking. Then he threw his head back and laughed. He clutched me against his warm side. “Well, that makes me feel safer already. My little protector!” He hugged me tighter, tugging me along as we headed home. “Why don’t you leave the hunting to me, and you can help Mama with some sewing and mending, all right?”
“I don’t know how to sew.”
“I’m sure you can learn. Just do the best you can.”
“All right, Papa.”
Papa had been right, all those years ago. I couldn’t have done anything to stop the wolves back then, and it would have made no sense to pick a fight with Jacque Denue. But if those boys – or the wolves – ever came after me or Mama or Papa, I had planned to be ready. No matter how big they were or how many there were, I would be ready.
Yet last night I had failed.
I wasn’t prepared to fight Grenault, the most dangerous Lycanthru I had ever faced, and I let him frighten me into submission. I had cowered, hiding from sight on the rooftop across from La Maison de Touraine. Instead of pursuing him like any of the other Lycanthru I had hunted and killed.
Now I lay in darkness on my cot in the underground longhouse, my fitful sleep filled with nightmares of Grenault. His giant frame rushing straight past my crossbow bolts once more and up the side of the cooper shop to seize me by the throat. My nightmares did not include any witnesses making a sudden appearance to rescue me. Only Grenault, sneering, chuckling, squeezing the life out o
f me. Preparing me as his trophy to present to the Lycanthru.
The rest of the wolves imagined me to be some supernatural angel of death. Grenault saw me for what I was: a scared young girl, with limited skills and resources. One he could easily frighten out of her mind. If he taught the other Lycanthru to view me the same way, they would stop fearing me altogether.
And then I would be dead.
7.
I woke at noon, feeling a chill through my neck and shoulders. For the first time since I started this war, I considered remaining here in my secret underground hideaway.
My cheeks burned with shame. How had I become so afraid? After all the wolves I had fought and killed? After all the battles I had won? Grenault was stronger and smarter, but still just another Lycanthru. And he would die just as quickly from a touch of silver.
I sat upright on the cot to see Crimson standing within the thin beams of sunlight issuing from the planks in the overhead doors. He blinked at me, looking expectant and ready to move.
Enough pitying myself. I had to stop Grenault, and I would.
I had to save Madame Leóne.
The ride into town did me good, breathing in fresh air, listening to the bustle of people moving through the streets to do business. I didn’t even mind the stares now, whether they seemed to admire or pity me. Though I still found myself tensing at the thought of running into Grenault again when night fell.
I shook off my fears, reminding myself that I had come here for Madame Leóne – whom I suddenly spotted marching through the center of town, carrying a bundle of clothes.
I pulled Crimson to a halt, stunned. I had expected to check in on her at their house and speak to Pierre for a few minutes. I had rarely seen her away from home, except to visit my family.
I followed at a distance, keeping Crimson at a slow canter.
Madame Leóne smiled and greeted a few people passing by as men tipped their hats to her. Then she stopped at the Clothier de Denue, the shop owned by Jacque Denue’s father, and stepped inside.
I paused, staring at the door as it shut behind her.
When I was seven years old, after Jacque Denue beat me half to death, Papa had taken me to Monsieur Denue’s store to look for a dress. But Jacque’s father shut the door on us, either too ashamed of his son or too frightened of Papa to let us in. I had never wanted to set foot in that place since. But I had to keep a close eye on Madame Leóne.
I drew up to the front stoop and dismounted, leaving Crimson beside a black horse at the hitching post. I had never been inside a clothier shop. We could never afford much when I was little and we rarely went into town. And I hardly needed a dress now, while there were wolves to fight.
I gripped the doorknob but didn’t turn it. I still felt the sting of being locked out nine years ago. Forbidden to buy a dress, even though Monsieur Denue realized his own son had caused my injuries. Yet I was shut out of a place that anyone else could enter. Forever shut out of a normal life.
I shoved my sentiments aside. I only needed to keep track of Madame Leóne, no matter where she went.
Inside, she stood across the room with her back to me, displaying three dresses that she had laid out on a counter. A man spoke pleasantly with her, bending forward to feel the fabric in his large hands.
“Yes, these are fine,” the man said with a deep voice. “Monsieur Denue is out at the Verdantes, purchasing material. He and Madame Denue make all of their own clothing, but I’m sure I can persuade them to consider your wares, if they all look like these. How many more can you make?”
“Given time, I can make another dozen or so,” Madame Leóne said. “I’m so sorry I missed Monsieur Denue.”
“I’ll mention it to him, and tell him you’ll be back here tomorrow, same time,” the man said, standing to his full height. “Not to worry, Madame.”
I gasped at the sight of his face, two heads taller than Madame Leóne.
It was Grenault.
He turned to me, and his face brightened with evil delight.
“Helena,” Madame Leóne said. “What are you doing here?”
“Helena,” Grenault said, as if savoring the sound of my name on his lips. “Isn’t that a pretty name? How can I be of service – Helena?”
I clenched my jaw and stepped forward, as I struggled to stop the trembling in my shoulders. Another few steps and we would be as close as we were last night, when he held me by the throat.
I turned toward Madame Leóne, resisting the urge to study Grenault’s every move. “I saw you come in. Wanted to say ‘hello’.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you did. What do you think?” She spread her dresses out further for me to see, folding each one back to show the next one.
I took no real time to admire them as I kept glancing at Grenault. “They’re magnificent,” I said dully, as if I knew anything about fashion.
“Thank you,” she replied. “Let’s just hope Monsieur Denue thinks so.”
“May I help you?”
A rotund, pockmarked woman had entered through a back room curtain. “I’m Madame Denue. My husband manages the clothier.”
I stared at her, feeling my throat dry. This was the mother of Jacque Denue, the boy who delighted in beating me.
“I’m handling it, Madame,” Grenault said, moving to the end of the counter as if he meant to step between them. “She has a business proposition that I promised to share with Monsieur Denue later.”
Madame Denue frowned at him. “If it’s a business proposition for our shop, I should like to hear it myself.”
Grenault bit his lip and returned to his place.
“Now how may I –?” She approached us with a small smile, which vanished at the sight of my scarred face, cloak, and trousers. “May I – how can I help you, Mademoiselle?”
“I don’t need any help,” I said.
She cleared her throat. “Just as well. I’m not sure what I could –.” She cleared her throat again, focusing on Madame Leóne. “And what is this business proposition, Madame?”
“I’ve been fashioning my own dresses to sell,” Madame Leóne said, displaying her wares again. “I wondered if you and your husband might be interested in selling them through your shop.”
Madame Denue examined the clothes. “Well, I don’t know. We’ve never purchased any such things before, but – they are quite nice, aren’t they?”
“I’m glad you think so. I’m Lisette. My husband is Frayne Leóne.”
“Ah, yes,” she said with a wave of acknowledgment. “Where would we be without him? Well, pleased to meet you. I’m Marguerite Denue. I’ll have to see what Andre thinks of all this, of course, but – tell me, how long did these take you to finish?”
I stepped away from their conversation and traveled the length of the counter with Grenault. I kept my breathing even as we studied one another, cautious as cats. I couldn’t let my fear show. “I thought you worked in a coal mine,” I said.
He chuckled. “I said most of us do. I used to work there. Broke our foreman’s heart to see me go.”
“He’ll be even sadder to see you die,” I said.
He snorted. “Still playing the brave warrior? I realize, for me to apprentice here hardly seems fitting, if you’ll pardon the expression. You never see tall, strapping men handling delicate finery.” He leaned forward, like a wicked child sharing a secret. I forced myself to stand in place, my heart drumming wildly. “But I reasoned – working at the mine, I would only meet other men. Here I have constant visits from beautiful young women, sometimes bringing small children on the hip. They often leave us their addresses, to contact them or deliver clothing to their door. Makes it easy to visit the most appealing ones later on, under the light of the moon.”
I shuddered, and couldn’t help glancing sideways at Madame Leóne.
Grenault rose to his full height, grinning. “Such a handsome woman,” he continued in a low tone. “I do hope the Denues will do business with her. I’d like to see more of – what was it? Liset
te. Such an attractive name, like an opera. I wonder how sweet she’ll sing when I bite into her.”
My nerves flared like fire. “Touch her and you’ll lose a hand.”
“Now, now. Don’t get so excited – Helena. Your friend is safe for now. Assuming, of course, she knows nothing of my private activities. I trust you haven’t shared anything with her about our secret relationship. That might force me to stop any such rumors from leaving this room.”
I stiffened, lifting my chin. “I haven’t told her anything. I barely even know her.”
He shook his head. “You’re a pitiful liar, Mademoiselle. But I see you’re too frightened to tell your lovely friend about me. That’s good. Keep it private. After what you did to Gregor, Thayer, and Robillet, I look forward to spending time with you alone. And you won’t want either of these ladies to be part of that meeting. Will you?”
I glanced back at Madame Leóne and Madame Denue, who seemed innocent enough for having raised an insufferable bully. To think that Grenault worked right under her nose, day after day, waiting to devour her customers.
“Well, I’m certainly interested,” Madame Denue said. “But I’ll have to speak to Andre about it. He’s gone for the afternoon but I’ll talk to him tonight and let you know.” She waved a folded note in her hand, smiling.
“Is that Madame Leóne’s address?” Grenault interrupted. “I’ll add it to our other contacts here.”
“No need,” Madame Denue said, waving him off. “I’ll keep it for now.” She touched Madame Leóne’s hand. “Come back tomorrow afternoon. I’ll let you know what he said. Thank you for stopping in.”
“My pleasure,” Madame Leóne said, gathering up her dresses. She raised her eyebrows at me with playful anticipation and sauntered out the door.
“She’s intriguing, that one,” Grenault said quietly as Madame Denue smiled at the note, before folding it again to tuck it into a pocket of her dress. “So full of life. I’m sure she’ll put up quite a fight. I suppose I’ll have to relieve Madame Denue of that address tonight.”
The Red Rider (The Red Rider Saga Book 1) Page 5
