"Rot. Utter rot. They did this…" She nudged the carcass with her boot. "…then ran off. Probably made shivs out of stone or bone, like a pair of criminals."
Katrina rose, and replaced her patch.
"How old are they?" she said.
"Lara and Hedmud's girl, Lotti's eight. Jost, Parvi and Kikos' boy, a year older."
"Show me where they sleep."
"Over there." The farmer pointed to a far corner of the field, then went off in that direction.
It resembled a heap of kindling from a distance. A bonfire waiting for the touch of a torch. But as they drew nearer, the spurs of wood became walls and a slanted roof. Marwa kicked the door open. The inside smelled of dung, sweat, and the heaps of straw Silas first took for a makeshift carpet. But each one bore the impressions of a sleeper's body.
"There's no bar or bolt for the door," Katrina said. "It wouldn't have needed to smash its way in. But monsters aren't master burglars. If one came through here and snatched two children, it would've woken their parents."
"That proves it! Nothing took the brats. They had their fun with my cow, then-"
"Do the children work?" Silas said.
"I don't allow freeloaders on my farm. Unless you count that husband of mine…"
"Milking the cows?"
"Yeah…" Her sneer faltered.
"Early in the morning. So they may've been outside when it came."
Katrina's eyebrow arched.
"There's a farm on my family's estate."
They went back outside. Katrina tapped her patch.
"I'll try to pick up the trail. You look around, search for any other evidence."
She strode back towards the carcass. After a moment, the farmer stomped after her. Silas pivoted on the spot and took in each direction.
Most creatures would've torn their victims apart in the field, gobbled up whatever they wanted on the spot. But this one was cunning enough to whisk them away before anyone saw…
He made for the nearest trees. Brambles girded the border between farm and woodland. He paced their length, scoured every inch till he spotted it. Silas plucked it from a barb. He turned around, ready to jog back to Katrina with his prize. But she was already there. Both eyes met his.
"The trail?" he said.
She nodded.
"It leads here. What do you have?"
He passed her the thread. She ran it between her thumbs and forefingers.
"Good quality," Silas said. "It didn't come from a farmhand's clothes."
"Nor a monster's hide."
Katrina put on her gloves and pushed her way through the brambles. He followed, low to the ground, and watched for anything her strange eye might miss. They didn't have to go far.
"The masters said some monsters use tools…"
"They'll throw a boulder to crush your skull. And I saw one rip off a crab's claws, then use them to pry open the shell so it could get at the meat." She toed the edge of the rut. "They don't drive carts. But…"
She touched the scars beneath her eye.
"There're monster traces here. Faint, just like in the field."
"Could anything else make those? A person?"
"If they came in close contact with one. Splashed with its blood in battle… Stepped in its crap… They might carry it for a while. But…"
She frowned, pursed her lips, then shrugged.
"We can follow a cart's tracks easily enough. Get the horses."
***
A crow flew overhead. It matched their route, as though it followed a doppelganger road in the sky. Clara craned her neck and watched it glide. Was it homeless too? Maybe they'd travel together. Other animals would flock to their side and they'd all make their way to Lemstras, turn up on Sachin's doorstep like a travelling menagerie.
The crow arced away to the west. Perhaps it had a nest after all.
They walked past trees where the last leaves clung, and others still dressed in green. Squirrels clambered among them in search of food or places to hide. Sheep lazed in the fields. Cows chewed the cud and lent their fragrance to the breeze. Traverd belonged to another world, one far away and long ago.
And the monster… It belonged to no world at all.
Rayya's fingers touched hers. Clara held them and they cooled her. Perhaps she had a fever, or else that distant Clara burned inside her, along with everything she'd once loved. What would be left when they were ashes? She squeezed Rayya's hand.
The ground rumbled. Wheels rattled behind them. The girls moved to the other side of the road as the cart neared. The horse stopped next to them, blew a raspberry with its nostrils, pawed the ground. It was a stocky thing, and the driver looked almost as broad across the shoulders. She scratched at a crop of iron-coloured hair. Her lips made a chewing motion. But another rumble and clatter came from the opposite direction, and they sealed together without saying anything. The woman stared at the approaching vehicle.
This wagon was larger. Clara and Rayya stepped off the road, onto the grass verge, so it could pass by. But its driver pulled back on his reins and his pair of horses stopped alongside the other animal. Barrels sloshed. The man and woman held each other's gazes. Neither blinked.
"Lencia." His face resembled a chunk of bark. He might've been the same age as Clara's mother, or ancient as Joss.
"Manesh."
She twitched the reins. The horse blew one more raspberry. Its hooves clopped and the cart trundled off. Manesh's head swivelled. He watched over his shoulder until she cleared a rise and vanished. Then he looked down at the girls and his expression softened.
"Good morning."
He raised his hat a couple of inches off a crown of white hair. They replied with one voice and it came out as a chorus.
"Morning."
"Where're you two headed?"
"Hogmire," Clara said.
He whistled.
"That's a long walk. Wish I could offer you a lift, but…" He pointed his thumb at the barrels. "These've got to get where they're going."
He glanced over his shoulder again. His brow darkened.
"You girls keep your distance from Lencia."
Clara and Rayya looked at one another.
"Hope you have a good journey," he said.
"Thanks," Clara said. "You too."
He set the horses going and his cart rumbled down the road.
***
Fahmaia squatted beside the graves. Jasmina walked a couple more steps towards the house, but halted when she noticed.
One mound was longer than the other. Two chunks of night-black stone looked upon them. These were hefty, unsculpted things, but their planes and angles were beautiful all the same. The mawlana doubted they'd been quarried anywhere in the region. Their inscriptions sprawled, scrunched, and tilted. No craftsman had engraved those letters. But they too were lovely, and Fahmaia touched them.
The mawlana nodded to her companion. Jasmina approached the door, and Fahmaia took up her place near a shuttered window.
Jasmina knocked. After some moments, the door opened. Another passed before a woman spoke.
"Yes?"
"Hello… Have you seen a young girl… with olive skin, lighter than mine? She's wearing a nightshirt… My daughter. She's… touched. She ran off last night, and I… I… Have you? Have you seen her?"
Seconds crept by.
"No. I'm sorry."
Jasmina glanced at Fahmaia. The mawlana was already moving to the doorway.
***
"Fancy," Katrina said.
"Yeah…" Silas said.
He'd been to grander country houses. The Renshaws had one of their own. Still, the building beyond the gate was a place to host banquets and garden parties, not monsters, kidnappers, and cattle-mutilators. But the cart's tracks scarred the dirt where it had turned into the grounds.
They dismounted and tied their horses. Katrina lifted her patch, while Silas examined the bronze plaque on the gatepost.
"Monster traces. Still can't tell if it's t
he one from Traverd."
"This's a Harvishti family crest."
"You know who lives here?"
"No. Some of the Harvishtis come to my family's feasts and balls, but not these ones." He pointed to either side of the emblem's shield. "There's usually a wyvern and a bear. Some of the flourishes are missing too. This belongs to a lesser branch. Oh… I just meant…"
"A lowly noble family. Not good enough to associate with the Renshaws."
"No! I… I mean, yes… But…" He looked away, and indicated something else on the device. "A minor lord and lady live here."
"Then let's meet them."
She tried the gate. It wasn't locked, and the two of them approached the front door. Katrina replaced her eyepatch before she knocked. Silas breathed easier. He hadn't dared point that out.
Some seconds passed. She beat her fist on the door. Then a third time, as though clubbing it to death. At last it opened.
"Yes? May I help you?"
The man wore a butler's uniform. He glanced down, brushed crumbs off his belly. A few more hid in his moustache.
"We're looking for two missing children," Katrina said. "We believe someone brought them this way."
"Children? I assure you there are no children here, madam."
"How about a cart?"
"Excuse me?"
"Has anyone from this household taken a cart out today? To the nearby farms?"
"They have not. Now, I'm afraid I really must return to-"
"We want to speak to your employer, and the other servants. One of them might've seen something."
"That's entirely out of the question. The household's in the grip of a rather unpleasant illness, and I fear I'm the only member out of bed."
Katrina's eye glimmered.
"You're a poor liar for a servant. I've always heard you lot are good at that, whenever you have to explain where the jewellery or silverware's gone."
The butler flinched. His back straightened, and he transfixed her with a look that would've done credit to a duke.
"Leave my mistress and master's property at once, before I have you chased off."
"Look," Silas said, "we're sorry. But please understand, there are children's lives at stake and we can't just-"
Katrina punched the man. Her knuckles caught him on the chin and his eyes rolled back in his head. He collapsed in a heap. Silas gawped. She stepped over the butler, into the hallway.
"Draw your weapon. He didn't lie to us and try to send us away for nothing."
Silas' hand went to his bludgeon. But Katrina drew her sword and he did the same. His heart pounded. Bloodshed? Here? This was a noble family's house, not a cave in the wilderness!
A drawing room opened off the hall. No fire burned in its grate, and the candles weren't lit. Armchairs, couches, and tables wallowed in shadow. Rugs smothered his footsteps. The silence comforted him, but only at first. Where was everyone?
The dining chamber lay empty. They moved through a study, into a library. Hundreds of tomes mingled on its shelves. His mother would've torn through the place and arranged them by colour or size. Perhaps this family kept books for reading…
They returned to the hall. Katrina glanced up the staircase, where more shadows waited. But she went forward instead of ascending. The gloom was softer at the rear of the hallway, beneath the stairs. Katrina eased the door open. A set of steps led down, and a light burned at the bottom. She adjusted her stance as she took them — readied her sword for battle in those confines. But nothing appeared to test its point.
Silas had seldom been below stairs, where servants had their quarters. But he'd expected more… stuff? They passed rooms with bare mattresses. No belongings graced tables, shelves, or the corners where a maid or manservant might've thrown their clutter. Only one room looked lived in. A candle flickered over a plate containing two whole biscuits and one half-eaten. Nightclothes lay atop the bed.
Near the end of the passage, Katrina froze. She gestured before advancing. Her boots crept, and he did his best to match their tread. At first he took the sound for a trick of the wind. But after a few more steps it shifted, into… voices? Chanting?
The corridor turned. A hole gaped in front of them, where a section of wall had swung outward. Beyond it, flames lapped at stone. Candles dripped in a sconce and illuminated another set of stairs.
Silas tensed. Secret doors weren't unusual in these houses. A couple of centuries prior, the Renshaws, Harvishtis, and other families had stashed their loot where the tax-collectors wouldn't find it. He'd played in such places as a boy, while adults told stories of their past. But now? After missing children and a mangled cow? While that chant flittered in his ears? His fingers tightened around the sword.
The voices grew as they descended. What language was that? Its tones and cadence reverberated from the stone and prickled his skin.
Four figures stood in torchlight, backs to the stairs, and bent their heads over a slab. Paint adorned the walls around them. Those symbols were more elegant, but not that different from the ones on the cow's carcass.
"Stop! Stop!" A woman said, and the chant died. "Harold, we told you not to come down here during-"
She turned and her jaw hung open. The others whirled around. For an instant they all just gawped. The woman and the man next to her were middle-aged. The other two, a boy and a girl, might've been a couple of years younger than Silas. Both had the man's round face and the woman's upturned nose.
Their daggers matched too. Four blades, made of bone.
"What the hell is this?" Katrina said.
"We…" the woman said.
"We're…" the man said.
They exchanged glances. The boy glared at Katrina.
"You're trespassing." He took a step towards her. "This is our home, and we have every right to peacefully practise our religion here."
"Those knives don't look very peaceful."
The boy held out his left hand. Scabs and scars laced its palm.
"We shed our own blood. That's no crime."
"And you two don't look much like peacekeepers anyway," the girl said.
"We aren't," Katrina said. "We're-"
A roar bellowed through the chamber. Katrina's head snapped to the right. A passageway led from the room, and she moved towards it. The boy darted forward and stabbed at her neck. She jerked round, slashed him. The other Harvishtis cried out. He rolled on the floor and screamed.
"Kill them!" Red droplets spattered the stone around him. "Kill them or we all hang!"
The man charged at Silas. Eyes shone, mouth twisted. They flew towards him, more terrible than the dagger. He backpedalled. His blade flashed before he knew he'd swung it. The knife hit the floor and the man staggered away, clutched a forearm.
Someone shrieked. A blur in the corner of his vision. Silas spun round, tried to bring his weapon up to parry, to shield his face, to…
Impact shuddered along his forearms, into his shoulders and chest. The girl gasped. So did he. She looked down at the sword, where it joined her dress, then up at him. Their gazes locked. Her eyes trembled. She fell backwards and dragged him with her. Silas planted his feet. She slid off the blade with a wet, butcher-shop sound, and thumped the stone.
Redness slathered steel. Dark things stuck to it. Bits of… of…
Noise droned around him. Something moved nearby. The red… The bits…
His mind locked but his muscles didn't. When the man leapt at him, screeching, clawing, the sword hacked. The man thrashed on the floor. Brown fingers grasped his throat, tried to hold it together. But blood gushed and his arms fell away. Hands slapped stone, then just twitched. Father and daughter lay side-by-side.
"Silas."
Pierced, torn, broken.
"Silas!"
Katrina shook him.
"Huh?"
"Come."
The woman and the boy sprawled behind her. Neither moved. Katrina went past him, towards the passage. He was with her, halfway along the corridor, before he f
elt his legs under him. Next to a door. A bar and bolt held it closed, but there was a window at eye-level. Katrina peered between its rods, then stepped back so he could see. In the cell beyond, two children lay in darkness. Silas' throat squeezed shut. They were too late. They'd… But his eyes adjusted and air flowed back into his lungs. Their limbs twitched. Chests rose and fell.
Katrina threw the bar aside, drew back the bolt, and opened the door.
"Hey." Silas shook the girl's wrist. "Lotti?"
Katrina touched the boy's eyelid.
"Drugged," she said.
Silas set his sword down, put his arms under the child.
"No." Katrina held his shoulder. "Not yet. Leave them out of harm's way."
A roar tore through the corridor outside, rebounded from wall to wall. She went to it. Silas picked up his weapon.
Further along, the passage stank like an overflowing latrine. The stench grew as they neared the door. This one was larger than the cell's. A slab of metal, with three bars and several bolts. An iron plate sealed its window. Katrina undid the latch and slid it back. Her features set, eyes hardened. She stepped aside. Silas took a deep breath. The air assaulted his throat but steadied him.
They had countless diagrams at the academy. Paintings. Stuffed corpses masters and mistresses pointed to as they lectured, and gooier ones they dissected. But a single glimpse made all of them meaningless.
A monster. A living monster.
Katrina said nothing, and Silas pulled himself together. He wasn't there to gawk like some labourer or shopkeeper. Training… Assess the threat. It was a hulking beast, maybe a few inches taller than Katrina and broader across the chest than both of them put together. Dark green scales covered its body. A metal collar held its neck. Chains clanked and rattled. They ground against the brackets which fastened them to the wall, but the Harvishtis or their minions had done their work well. That steel might've lasted for decades…
"Ready?" she said.
How could he ever be?
"Silas? Are you-"
"Y… Yeah. Yeah."
"Pincer. You're left, I'm right. You know what to do with scales?"
He nodded. Katrina began on the bars. Silas' hands helped her, while his mind played out a dozen victories and a million deaths. The door opened and the monster's roar battered his bones. It lunged. Jaws snapped, fingers raked. The chains' links rang out as one. The monster growled, strained against them. Lumps of muscle bulged under its hide. But it came no further.
Clara Mandrake's Monster Page 10
