"Yes," Katrina said.
They dismounted. She passed each stableman a coin, then removed a pack from her horse. Silas checked his own baggage. He found a knapsack with a change of clothes and a few other things he might need.
The taproom was bright and boisterous after their nocturnal ride. Patrons chattered at the tables. Some whispered, others roared. Two drunks laughed and tussled in the far corner. One put the other in a headlock and dug his knuckles into the bearded man's bald pate. His opponent retaliated by tugging his ratty ponytail. It was like being back in the dormitory…
"Oi!" An elderly woman waved them over from behind the bar. "No weapons in here. Causes too much trouble when the ale starts flowin'. If you're stayin' the night, you can stow them upstairs. Otherwise you'll have ta leave them outside with the stablehands."
"We'll take a room," Katrina said.
"One bed or two?"
Silas spluttered. Both women stared, and he pretended to cough.
"Two then?"
"Yes. And we'll eat."
"The rabbit's good."
Katrina nodded.
"And a couple of ales."
Money and a key changed hands.
"Third door on the left."
Katrina gestured to Silas.
"Bag and belt."
He unstrapped his weapons and handed them over, along with his pack. Katrina slung the gear over her shoulder. She disappeared upstairs. Silas stood around and fiddled with his sleeve.
"Want your one now?" The landlady nodded at an empty tankard.
"Please."
She reached for a spigot, opened it, and filled the vessel without looking. Dark liquid wobbled just below its lip.
"Thank you."
He wrapped his hand around it, wedged his fingers inside the handle, sipped. Bittersweet with a hint of apple. He took another drink and smiled at the landlady, but she was busy wiping down the bar and didn't notice.
Silas wandered among the tables. If Katrina was right, maybe…
"…so the bloke says, take my wife while you're at it!"
"I told him horses kicked. Wouldn't listen. No kids for him!"
"…pig crap all over…"
"She said it come from Oled-Thar. But I touched it and the paint were still wet! So I says, if that's from Oled-Thar, me mother's a…"
"…frogs in the well…"
"If she prefers blondes, I know a cracking lass from over in…"
"…husband ran away with a…"
"…donkey…"
"Oi! Who nicked me beer?"
Silas sipped, frowned, sipped again. None of these titbits would impress Katrina with his initiative and intelligence-gathering. He'd have to strike up a few conversations and ask around… A redhead's eyes met his. She beamed at him.
"Hi," he said. "I'm-"
"Oi!"
Someone smacked into his back. He spun, tried to recover his balance. His tankard swung. Ale sloshed. The bald drunkard roared and clutched a handful of jerkin.
"Watch where you're goin', you pile of hog crap! I'm bloody soaked!"
"Sorry, mate." Silas held up his empty hand. "I wasn't-"
"Don't take that from this tubby bastard!" The one with the ponytail nudged his friend. "Kick his arse!"
"There's really no need for that. How about I-"
"Really no need! I say, there's really no need!"
Silas winced. Did he sound like that? If so, he'd want to thump himself too.
"Go on, Lucas. Smash the posh wanker's face!"
Lucas' eyes and scalp reddened.
"Bash him in!"
The bald man shoved. Silas took the impact, stepped back a couple of paces.
"Mate, let's just-"
"You want some?" He advanced, shoulders swaying, and puffed his chest out. The other drunk's grin hovered behind him.
"No! I'm-"
Lucas' fist flew at his face. Silas caught it on his forearm. His right hand twitched around the tankard's weight. One good hit with that… No. He couldn't bludgeon an unarmed drunk in a bar fight. Silas opened his grasp. The handle snagged on his bunched fingers. He swore.
The drunk's second punch rocked his skull. Silas staggered away and flailed. The damn thing wouldn't come loose! Lucas' arm wrapped around Silas' head, yanked him forward into a front headlock. Bone and muscle pressed against his neck. The tankard fell away, clattered on the floor. Lucas tightened his hold. His friend's laughter pounded in Silas' ears.
"Choke the posh boy out! We'll drag him to the outhouse and shove him down the crap-hole!"
Gunnar's advice echoed through Silas' head, chided him. He knew what to do. His fist clenched, opened, clenched again. And Lucas shifted, shielded himself with his thigh before Silas could punch or grab him there. He squeezed and Silas was back in the forest. His vision wobbled. Lucy-Lucas had him. His eyes bulged. Lucy, Lucas, Lucy… The universe was laughing at him, just like the other drunk.
The universe could go to hell.
He threw his arms around Lucas' waist. The drunk twisted, but Silas locked his grip behind the man's back. He bent his legs. Popped his hips. Lucas howled and flew overhead.
Silas gave him an extra heave, put him all the way over instead of spiking him on his skull. It was a bar brawl, not a massacre. Lucas' back hit the floor. He roared. Silas lay beside him and gasped.
"Posh wanker!"
The other drunk stormed towards him. His boot drew back. Silas put his arms up, tried to guard his head. But a hand snatched the drunk's ponytail, pulled him backwards before he could kick. He squealed. Katrina's boot hooked his legs out from under him. He landed on his butt, sat there, and swore.
Silas got up. Lucas did the same, and his torso heaved.
"He spilled his drink on me!"
Katrina went to the bar. The landlady passed her a tankard, and she held it out to him.
"Here. You can take this one internally."
"Oh."
He took it and, after a moment, glugged.
"Oi!" The other one sprang to his feet. His mouth snapped at her like a dog's. "Try me when I can see you comin', you one-eyed bint!"
Katrina held his gaze. Her lip curled.
"My companion and I are monster hunters. We kill things that'd eat the two of you."
The man sneered, but it quivered at the edges. He looked to his friend, looked back at her, and snorted. The drunks slouched across the taproom. Katrina glanced at the landlady.
"Two more ales, please."
They took a table. Katrina said nothing. A boy brought their food over and they ate in silence. Lucas shot him the occasional look from the other side of the room, but there was no fire, no glint in his eyes. When Silas nodded at him, he nodded back and raised his tankard.
Katrina led him up to their room. She'd left his bag and weapons by the further of the two beds. He went to them and rummaged in the pack. When he stood up, she was half-undressed. The marks of blade and tooth and talon decorated her skin like constellations. He turned his back and changed.
Silas lay in bed, closed his eyes. But too many things tumbled through his mind and they opened instead of sinking. Darkness thickened on the ceiling.
"Who first taught you to fight?" Katrina said.
He tensed. He'd been lying there for hours, hadn't he? Was she awake this whole time?
"My family's duelling master."
"I thought as much. Noble duels have too many rules. You need to break those habits, stop shying away from 'dirty' tactics. There are no referees in our fights."
He waited. Steeled himself for whatever came next. But no more words parted the shadows, and his eyelids grew heavier until they sealed shut.
***
Blackness filled Clara's bedroom. It drifted before her like silk. A silhouette stood beside her bed, darker than everything else. The wardrobe door opened. Her brows knitted. The figure reached for her. She waited for claws to shred her face, but warm fingers stroked her cheek. Clara shivered.
"You're not-"
But the bedroom was gone now, and her words melted away too.
"Do you like it?" Ella Mandrake said.
Clara sat with her at their kitchen table. Wisps of steam rose from a plum cake and played around her mother's eyes. Clara chomped down on the chunk in her hand. Hot, sticky, magnificent sweetness burst inside her mouth.
"Needs more eggshells."
Ella laughed. Clara laughed too. They stood and hugged and Clara knew, but clung to her all the same. The world faded. She tried to linger, plunge back into its depths. Her lids fluttered.
Rayya's eyes shone, inches from her own. Red lines bled across their whiteness but they were dry. She touched Clara's cheek and whispered.
"There really was a monster."
"Yeah."
"Or we're just a couple of crazy girls. Crazy orphans…"
They hugged beneath the blanket. Rayya was warm now. The ice-girl had melted, but Clara's friend was still there.
The clothes from the wardrobe fit well enough. They dressed in what they'd picked out, and the garments hung like armour after so long in just nightshirts. The boots were a bit big for Rayya, but they found woollen socks and the padding did the trick.
Ghadi had bowls of soup ready in the main room. Steam snaked around her face, framed her smile, and Clara wanted to laugh or cry but did neither. The girls thanked her and drank. It was thin, yet filled Clara's body. Spices lit fires along her tongue that tingled instead of burning.
Their hostess held her baby. The infant coughed, and Ghadi rocked her.
"There's a town called Hogmire." Her eyes were still on the child, and it sounded like the first line of a lullaby or nursery rhyme. But she turned to the girls and said, "Have you heard of it?"
"I think so," Clara said.
"Yeah. Miss Jazrah, our teacher, comes from…" Rayya bit her lip.
"It's a couple of days north if you follow the road outside. My cousin, Jarbul, lives there. He runs The Cracked Crown pub." Ghadi laid the infant in her crib and sat beside it. "Tell him I sent you and ask him to put you on a wagon that's heading to Lemstras. Lots of merchants from Hogmire trade in the city. He'll find one easy enough."
The baby coughed again. Clara wanted to ask if she was okay, but something glimmered in Ghadi's eye, weighted the edges of her smile, and drove the words back down.
"There are farms on the road. Travellers can get a spot in the hayloft and a good meal at some of them, in exchange for an afternoon's work. You'll come to one today, before it gets dark. Marvin and Isley Darthun's place. The gateposts outside their farmhouse have roses carved on them. They're friends. They'll take you in for the night if you say I asked them to."
She went over it again, made the girls repeat the name of her cousin's pub and the mark on the Darthuns' gateposts. Clara and Rayya thanked her, though it didn't seem enough. Clara wished she had something to give the woman. Money, or food, or… anything. She finished her soup. Stood. Glanced at the bedroom with its dust and drapes. The baby coughed in her crib. When Ghadi rose, Clara threw her arms around her. Ghadi hugged her back. Squeezed her tight.
"Thank you so much," Clara said.
Ghadi just nodded, but her smile grew. She saw the girls to the door, wished them luck. Then Clara and Rayya took to the road.
***
The aroma captured Silas at the top of the stairs. For an instant, the scent of meat brought back Traverd and its pyres. But even those horrors couldn't eclipse the glory of bacon. Other smells joined it. Bread fresh from the oven, eggs and mushrooms atop bubbling grease.
Trainees didn't starve at the academy — the masters gave them all they needed to fuel hard exercise and build strength. But there was a difference between nourishing and tasty.
His mouth watered. He sprang down the steps to the taproom. A waitress hurried by, and bore things far more colourful than the blocks of porridge they ate for breakfast at Tensia. Katrina was already there. She sat in a corner and watched the room.
"That's him," the redhead said when he passed by. She leaned towards the girl next to her, but the whisper carried at least a dozen paces. "He nearly put that sloshed tosser through the floor."
Both women gazed at him, and Silas' back straightened. His gut withdrew into a semblance of flatness. He strode to Katrina's table and sat down. Her eyepatch fastened on him. That hidden eye bored into his thoughts, glared at his pride. Silas deflated, looked away, and gave thanks when the waitress came over and set plates down in front of them. Katrina's eye and patch focused on bacon, eggs, devilled kidneys, and a slab of bread. She began her assault. He did the same.
"I wasn't born with my eye like this…"
Silas closed his mouth and stifled a splutter. Yolk oozed against his teeth. Katrina pursed her lips and looked over his shoulder.
"Yes?" she said.
A woman stopped at their table, planted her feet, and crossed her arms.
"You two the monster hunters?" Her forearms bulged like ham hocks.
"We are. Katrina von Talhoffer and Silas Renshaw."
Katrina held out her hand. The woman grunted, spat on her own palm, and shook.
"Marwa Fazan."
Silas offered a handshake too, but she re-crossed her arms without looking at him. He picked up a piece of bread instead.
"How can we help you?" Katrina said.
"By telling my husband he's a fool who needs some sense knocked into him."
"Not our usual line of work…"
Marwa snorted and scratched at her collar. The skin beneath the garment was a shade or two lighter than her face and hands.
"Someone killed one of my cows. Carved up its hide too, the little bastards."
"Little bastards?" Silas said.
"Two of the farmhands' kids are gone. You ask me, they did the cow in and ran off." Her fingers curled into rocks. "Workers these days have no respect for our property, and their brats have even less. We feed them, give them a roof over their heads, and they…"
The farmer's knuckles twitched.
"Their parents are crying about a monster attack. They expect me to believe a beast came along, tore up the cow, then snatched their scum kids. But my husband's a gullible sod. And those layabouts, Lucas and Jacar, said there were monster hunters at the inn. Now I won't get any peace from the lot of them till you've come and poked around."
Katrina's eye flicked to Silas. Her expression didn't change, but he understood. Monsters didn't keep livestock. If something dragged off a pair of children, it was already too late for them.
"We'll investigate the matter," she said.
"Mind, I won't be conned out of my gold. Plenty of charlatans pass through here, and they get nothing but bruises from me."
"Our order has its own sources of wealth. We don't charge for our services."
Marwa snorted again.
"Heard that one before. Work's free, but a few chickens go missing… Well, hurry up then. If I'm not there, the whole farm'll be going to ruin."
They wolfed down the rest of their breakfast and went for their weapons.
***
Jasmina approached the cottage door. She looked to Fahmaia. The mawlana stepped over a bed of plants, inhaled their perfume, and leaned against the wall some paces from the entrance. Even with her markings covered, it was better this way. Masked women didn't inspire trust.
Fahmaia gestured and Jasmina knocked. The door opened.
"Hello?" A woman's voice. She sounded young.
"Hello…" Jasmina's face crumpled. "Have you seen a little girl, wearing a nightshirt? My daughter… She's… She's touched in the head. She ran off in the middle of the night. I… I've been looking everywhere, but…"
The mawlana winced. Jasmina was a far better warrior than an actress.
"Oh, the poor thing!"
But maybe the world was full of bad acting, and no one who didn't know her as well as Fahmaia could tell the difference…
"I'm sorry. I haven't seen any strange girls around here."
"Oka
y. I'm… I'm sorry to trouble you."
"I hope you find her."
"Thank you."
Jasmina walked away and the door closed behind her. Fahmaia joined her in the road.
"Keep trying?" Jasmina said.
"Yes. A small child without proper clothes on her back doesn't sleep under the stars or live off the land. She must've tried to find shelter somewhere…"
8
"Scum." Marwa Fazan spat. It splattered on the pink and red tangles that festered beside the tear in the cow's underbelly. "Nothing but scum. In my mother's day, she'd've tied them to a tree and whipped the skin right off their backsides."
A fly landed on the animal's eye, walked a circle, then flew off again. Silas' nose wrinkled. Death and manure battled for supremacy.
"These wounds…" Katrina crouched on the other side of the cow, by its spine.
Across the field, Lucas and Jacar leaned on their hoes and watched the monster hunters work. Silas tilted his head to them. Lucas touched his cap.
"Oi!" Marwa stomped towards the pair. A cowpat burst under her boot. "Don't stand there gawping! Get back to your work or I'll send you both packing!"
The men lifted their tools onto their shoulders and plodded away.
"These aren't slaughter marks." Katrina waved her hand over the animal's flank.
The lacerations crossed one another again and again, like the patterns of scar tissue on Katrina's body. But each group was spaced out across the cow's side.
Katrina put a fingertip into one of the cuts, traced its line.
"Rougher and more jagged than you'd expect from steel."
"Nails?" he said.
"Perhaps. But I've never heard of a monster carving symbols into its kill. And those guts haven't been snacked on."
She flipped her eyepatch up. Marwa barked out a syllable, then clenched her jaw. Katrina's gaze roamed back and forth. Both eyes were open, but she squinted — favouring the right.
"There are traces from a monster, but they're faint. Much fainter than I'd expect."
"Is it the same one? From Traverd?"
"I don't know." She looked up at him, then at Marwa. "We'll speak with the farmhands. The parents."
"Can't. They're off looking for their brats. Asking around the other farms. Shirking their work, as usual…"
"A monster may've snatched their children," Silas said.
Clara Mandrake's Monster Page 9
