“A brandy, Dankyo?” He lifted the cut-glass decanter from the tray on the occasional table.
“No thank you, sir. On duty.” Dankyo stood like another piece of furniture—solid, unmoving, unemotional.
“Dammit, sit, man. There’s nothing for you to do for four hours. One small glass won’t disable you. I give you permission to relax.” He poured a half inch of brandy into two glasses, handed one to Dankyo, and sank into the giving leather of the desk chair.
For a moment Dankyo looked lost; then he took two stiff steps and settled gingerly into the only chair in the room that was bare timber. He sipped. “Very nice, sir.”
The coolness of glass against Theo’s hand contrasted with the rich burn as the alcohol surged down his throat. “Skol. So”—he stretched out his legs, crossed them at the ankles—“what do you think of our Claire?”
“Our?” If anything, Dankyo sat up even stiffer and straighter. “Sir. Permission to express my opinion?”
Theo cocked an eyebrow. “Go ahead. You always have that option, man.”
“We have coddled this woman for several days, and still we know nothing about her apart from her name and that she is a frankenstruct. She was on board a PME diplomatic vessel. I have my doubts about that ship, as well as doubts about who this woman really is.”
“Hmph.” Held at eye height and jiggled, the liquid in the glass swirled like an amber sea in the bottom of the glass. “I like her.”
“That is hardly a professionally assessed fact,” Dankyo said indignantly. “Sir.”
“I know that.” Theo studied the distorted figure of his head of security through the glass. “I admit we need to find out more about her. I shall be careful. But I still like her, and from what I’ve seen, she likes my attentions.”
“In my book, sir, being careful means keeping her ten miles away from you.”
“Ah.” He grinned, knowing his next words would unsettle Dankyo.
“I have plans for her. Have you heard of shibari, Dankyo?”
Dankyo raised both eyebrows a fraction of an inch. “Sir knows it is the ancient Oriental art of rope bondage. Might I also add that though I thoroughly approve of tying the woman up, in the interests of security, I do not believe she is a pleasure slave.” He carefully placed his glass on the spindly table near his chair. “Although sir’s pleasures and hobbies are not mine to comment upon, I doubt she will be agreeable.”
“We shall see.” Theo tossed back a large gulp of brandy. “If nothing else, the pursuit should be invigorating. Hmm. There’s a store on Pannier Street. I should pay a visit. Hinchcliff and Co.”
Unfolding from the chair like some mechanical being, Dankyo rose, straightened his trousers. “I must resume my duties. Might I make one last candid observation, sir?”
Theo waved casually.
“Sir, ahem…caution is advisable.” He stared fixedly at a portion of the wall above Theo’s head. “I believe…the young woman has you by the testicles, sir.”
It took all Theo’s willpower not to choke on his last swallow of brandy. “Well then, I can only hope and pray.”
* * *
Servants brought several new dresses for Claire to select from, and the next morning the handcuffs were supplemented with a long chain running to the bed’s column. Finally she could move about on the bed. The ache in her shoulder muscles went away.
Were these rewards Theo’s idea? The long steel chain ran cold across her hand like a silver serpent. Did they not wonder how dangerous such a thing might be? She could have strangled June if she’d wanted to—not that she would. With small gestures and kindnesses, the woman had become more than a mere jailer.
Inkline would have told her she was weak, and that this, the Hellene Nation, was the enemy of the PME and so therefore all its people were her enemy. Inkline could go to hell, if he wasn’t already there. She’d make her own decision.
Besides, June didn’t have the key anymore and had to call in a guard to free her from the cuffs. She didn’t want to hurt June. Killing anyone no longer seemed right.
Soon after she woke that morning, Harry walked in with a box of books. Blearily, she watched as he lowered it to the floor. “The colonel is to be away a few days, and he thought you might like these. He told me to say enjoy. You do read?” Harry scratched his head.
She slid up onto one elbow, stared dumbfounded from Harry to the box. How had he known? June must have told him. The twinkle in the woman’s eyes as she shuffled about arranging ornaments said it all.
“I do read.” Her heart did a little skip of joy. They both seemed to be waiting for something. “Uh. Thank you?”
Everything was in there. A whole world of inventiveness. Books about cooking. Archaeology books on diggings where the layers revealed the crushed remains of strange four-wheeled vehicles, their owners entombed within. Books about pets. Stories about murders or monsters or choosing men to marry. Those last, she left in the box.
For hours, engrossed in reading, she forgot to sharpen her fork.
After a lunch of roast meat and salad, eaten with her fingers—oh, if only they knew it was too late—Claire sat cross-legged on the bed, facing June. She arranged the blue skirt of her dress over her knees. The sutures barely bothered her. Tomorrow, she’d be healed enough to escape to the Brito-Gallic League. To freedom.
She sighed. If only she didn’t have this niggling, horrible thought at the back of her head that somehow this was wrong. Yet what could be wrong with freedom?
A half-knitted garment lay on June’s lap. She peered over a pair of spectacles at Claire, though her hands continued clicking and clacking the knitting needles. “Yes?”
More potential weapons, Claire noted. The bone point of the needles would go into an ear or an eye with ease. Ah, these were stupid, stupid thoughts.
“Why?” A tendril of her hair tumbled before her eye. She pulled it out straight and turned it round her finger.
“Why what, dear?”
Dear. Again. She closed her eyes. How could they treat her like this? As if she was normal?
Though the cuffs on her wrists said otherwise.
“Why are you treating me so nicely?” She stared at her fingernails, then dared to look up at June.
June snorted. “‘Cause you’re only a young woman. Not some monster. Ah, don’t look at me all googly-eyed! If the colonel says you’re right by him, then you’re right by me too. ’Bout the only one in the house you gotta watch for is Mister Dankyo. But then he’s paid to be suspicious as all hell.” She raised her hedgelike eyebrows. “‘s that good enough for you?”
A lump had formed in her throat. Claire found a spot on the skirt to rub at. She blinked at June then nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
* * *
Pearly fingers of moonlight edged across the bedspread, slinking through the top clear panes of the doors as if to beckon her to the world outside. She lay awake, mulling over why she might stay and what else she might do.
The words Theo had said held a promise within them—that she was desirable and a woman, and not merely a thing. If they were true, she might be somebody for the first time in her life, a whole person. But if they were lies…if they were lies, her worth could be contained in a gutter.
Could she stay here? How? She couldn’t cook or knit or tend gardens. She could kill. Sure, and that was so damn useful right here and now. Tell Dankyo that and she’d be in a grave faster than a bullet could sing through the air. The center of her grew heavier and heavier. No. An assassin would never be greeted with open arms, and a frankenstruct assassin? Huh, she carried her own death warrant if she told them what she was.
She sighed. She could kill or she could, apparently, enthrall Theo with her womanly ways, and from what he’d done and said to her at breakfast, that meant ending up in his bed. He’d told his staff to take care of her. What was he thinking?
But, oh, he was so gorgeous and did such wonderful things to her. When he was in front of her, she felt wanted. When
he wasn’t—
Heavens, I can’t stop thinking of him.
She squeezed her thighs together and felt the swell of lust. Her body wanted her to stay. She hugged herself and lay there for ages, imagining how things might go if, for once, the world turned her way.
Three in the morning and a new guard arrived, his boots thumping on the floor and awakening her. She asked to go to the bathroom. The thin woman released her from the bed, and in the quietness of the predawn, as she crossed the room, she heard the guards talking.
“You know why the colonel’s away?”
Someone murmured something.
“Yeah, well, I was told the truth. Ain’t saying who told, but they’re bringing back a government interrogator…for her. He’ll be taking her away.”
All her future imaginings turned to ashes. She faltered.
The air itself tasted bitter in her mouth. Her heartbeats thinned and beat like a dying bird’s. The night air wrapped so cold about her fingers, toes, and throat, she almost forgot to breathe.
So, that was that. She’d work on the fork this morning and today, then leave at night. No use staying any longer. It had indeed been lies. She was hollow inside, empty as a scraped-out gourd, and felt so terribly lost and betrayed.
Chapter Seven
Nighttime was always best. Making it across the open space surrounding the house would be difficult in daylight. At night it was mostly dark, except that every so often they fired up some sort of searchlight.
The fork did its job well. Half an hour or so of maneuvering the tine inside each lock, while listening for telltale clicks, and she was free. The lock at the end of the long chain proved even faster to pick.
She’d meant to leave June out of this; only, as often happened to plans, it went wrong. The skinny woman fell ill, and June had to do double duty. From the snoring, the long hours had taken a toll. It occurred to Claire to wonder how uncomfortable it must be to have to sleep in that chair, especially for someone as bulky as June. The moon hadn’t risen yet. She studied the room. The outer door—closed and locked. June, sleeping in the chair. She rolled over and looked at the balcony doors. Black outside, for the moment. Nothing stirred bar an owl hunting and a few crickets down below in the gardens.
Pillowcase in hand, the cuffs muffled by the cloth, she crept over to June and swiftly gagged her by stuffing the pillowcase in her mouth. She had it fastened in place and the cuffs and chain holding her in the chair before June properly awoke. The sheet tied her feet to the chair. June’s eyes stared accusingly over the top of the gag.
Sorry, Claire mouthed.
Clothes were a problem. In the drawers were only underwear and nightclothes. The cupboard held dresses. Until she could steal something better, the aqua silk pajamas she had on would do.
She crept to the balcony doors, snicked them open, and folded them back. The dew-wet tiles on the small balcony chilled her bare feet. To her dismay, the Final Rebuttal squatted there before her. The outside searchlights came on, throwing stark shadows and blazing yellow light against the house. She took a slow step back and shrank into the blackness of the door opening.
Give them time. They’ll turn the lights off eventually.
Theo and Dankyo might have returned. Doesn’t matter. Her plan was unchanged. Once past the house defenses, she’d head west, and if this place was where she thought, she’d hit the border within a day.
A sucking noise drew her attention to the room. June. Something fell with a bang. The side table, she guessed. The outer door rattled. “Key!” someone yelled. The noise stopped. June wasn’t breathing.
Run? Go over the railing and hope to get away in the confusion, and let June be? It’d kill her. How to strangle effectively—the facts from the training session flashed to her. Doesn’t take long to die without air. To her own surprise, she didn’t hesitate, and sprinted for June, hurtling the bed in a stride and ripping away the gag.
Nothing. No breathing.
With June tied in the chair, it was difficult to get her breathing again. She took in a lungful, put her lips over June’s, and blew. Once, twice. The door rattled; the key must’ve jammed. June breathed, took in two long breaths, then opened her eyes and muttered a black curse at Claire. The door thudded open and rammed into the wall with a crack.
She smiled weakly. “Good. You’re alive.”
Then the light came on, and chaos rained down upon her.
Harry wasn’t on duty, and these men had never had dealings with her. All they knew was she’d gotten loose and that she’d tied up and maybe hurt June. The first of them came at her with a knife.
Sharp time kicked in. Time slowed, though her muscles did their usual and obeyed her commands with a speed that bewildered the guards. She curved stiffened fingers past the knife, whacked the first guard in the Adam’s apple. The second went over her planted ankle as she pulled him off balance using his own momentum. He went headfirst into the timber side of the bed. The third came in with gun drawn. Training took over. The knife and a knitting needle lay on the floor. She snatched them up, lunged, and nailed the needle through the flesh of the man’s hand, between the long bones of the palm into June’s chair. With him shrieking and the gun falling, she turned to the door.
By then there were three more guards surging into the room. She cocked her hand back to throw and sink the blade into the middle guard. Harry. She halted, appalled at what she’d nearly done, cold metal poised in her fingertips. Harry stood there stunned, but his left-hand partner flung his knife, and the other man charged at her like a bull at a cape.
Even she couldn’t do both, so she caught the knife as it plunged spinning at her throat, and was flattened by the charging guard and sent sliding half under the bed, her neck wrenched painfully as it hit the bed leg.
Within seconds there were three guards holding her down. Her head ached from being shunted into the bed, and her hands were clamped behind her back. Dimly, she heard Harry taking charge and calming them down.
Lord. What had she done? Everything is what, she wearily told herself. I’ve done everything wrong.
* * *
Theo stalked into his outer study, straight past the oak desk and Dankyo, his three guards, and the woman. Claire knelt, tied hand and foot, beside them. He flung his gray frock coat on the leather sofa, let it slide to the floor. The silence stretched as he pretended, with chin in hand, to examine the wall behind the sofa. He rubbed at stubble, knowing his eyes were sunken from lack of sleep. They all waited for him to do something, to command, and for once he was dumbfounded.
This woman he’d trusted, despite Dankyo’s advice, had betrayed him, almost killed several of his people. How long had she been planning this? Right under my nose. Damn. How did I get this so bloody wrong? Yet something inside him still urged this ludicrous decision, still wanted…yes, to somehow pull her from the fire.
What could he do? She’d left him with little option except to send her off to be assessed and sentenced by the paper pushers in the capital.
If I have to do this, God forgive me, at least let me be as sure as I can be. I need facts, not emotions.
“Report, Dankyo.” He didn’t turn around.
“The frankenstruct attempted to escape, sir. She subdued and tied up June. The guards realized something was wrong. When they entered the room, she attacked them. Two guards were injured, and I believe June almost died from asphyxiation.”
“Ah. I see.” The heavy feeling in his stomach spread, mixed with anger at the damage she’d done to his people.
“My advice, sir. Hand her over to the authorities. It’s clear—”
“I’m sorry.” The words were so quiet, Theo almost missed them.
He spun on his heel, staring down at Claire and seeing only the back of her tousled fair hair. Slowly she lifted her head until she met his eyes. The anguish on her face would have matched his own if he hadn’t schooled his reaction. Had some common sense finally sunk in to whatever mess lurked in her head? Even now, he co
uldn’t help but note the beauty of her form. Only it was clear that her sensuous, toned body wasn’t just for show.
Her mouth quivered, as if there might be more she wished to add.
“What did you say?” he asked gently.
She swallowed. A tangle of sweat-sodden hair fell across her forehead. He restrained himself from reaching down and brushing it away. “I said I’m sorry.” The redness around her eyes deepened. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Just wanted to get away. Please tell June, I didn’t mean to—”
“Sir,” Dankyo interjected. “This is unnecessary.”
“Wait.” Theo held up his palm.
A guard cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir. I’m Harry Snow. Could I say something?”
“Yes.”
“Uh, just, well there’s more to it. She coulda knifed me, and she didn’t. With her speed, she had me, and she didn’t do nothing. Plus June tells me the girl came back to help her when she choked, an’ she got her breathin’ again. And though she did stab Gary through the hand, he was going to shoot her. It’s a tiny wound.” Harry grinned. “He’s quite chuffed that he has a knitting-needle wound to show the girls, sir.”
Theo raised an eyebrow, felt a flare of curiosity and relief. “Dankyo?”
As always, Dankyo’s flat-top hair was razor sharp, and his black shoes shone like the deepest lake at midnight. Slowly, he shifted his large feet until they were precisely shoulder-width apart, clasped his hands behind his back.
“Ahh. It is substantiated. It is true, sir.” Dankyo grimaced, then pinned Theo with his steady gaze. “Nevertheless, the woman is dangerous, and I cannot have her anywhere on your property. Her speed was phenomenal. Three men report seeing her catching a thrown knife in midair.” He glanced at Claire, who’d subsided onto her heels and seemed to be more interested in the carpet than anything else. “Surely, you won’t contemplate anything other than removing her?”
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