D’Arbignal answered her with a wink but she wasn’t sure how to interpret that. The girl was like a little sister to Belle. She couldn’t leave her behind to face a mob of angry men.
She climbed back into the room and started looking for something she could use as a weapon. She lifted a chair experimentally but found it was too heavy to use as a weapon.
When she put the chair back down, it scraped against the floor.
“Hey,” said one of the members of the mob, looking back and seeing her … and D’Arbignal.
“Shhhh …” Werewolf said. He slowly turned the door knob. When he had turned it all the way, he yanked on it. The door rattled but refused to open.
Werewolf cursed, and one of the others exclaimed, “Locked!”
“I do have the keys, you know!” he shouted at the door.
“Umm … guys?” said the man at the back who had seen D’Arbignal.
D’Arbignal flashed an exasperated look at Belle and gestured with his free hand as he mouthed some words at her. She had no idea what he was saying.
She mouthed back, What?
Werewolf had fished out his key ring and was fitting a key to the lock. “You’re just making this hard on yourself, mister.”
“Ummm, Wolf?”
D’Arbignal made a shooing gesture at Belle but she shook her head and mouthed Fancy. He rolled his eyes in response and pointed behind her.
She looked over her shoulder and saw Fancy peering in through the window, waving Belle to come on!
“Wolf, you really need to turn around now.”
“What in the Hells is the matter with you?” Werewolf said, rounding on his comrade. Then he saw D’Arbignal. His eyes went to Belle and then to the window, where outside Fancy stood shivering in the rain. “Oh, for fuck’s sake …”
D’Arbignal shook his head in annoyance.
“That’s the last time I rescue you,” he said to Belle.
6
“Have you really thought this through?” D’Arbignal asked as he evaded a wild swing from Werewolf’s billy club. He swung the flat of the blade—which Belle saw with some surprise was orange—hard against Werewolf’s buttocks. The tavern’s owner howled in pain, dropping the billy club and clenching his rear end with both hands. “Perhaps in a small town like this you might not have heard of me but the cognoscenti consider me to be the greatest swordsman in the world.”
He evaded the cadaverous man’s lunge, the stiletto missing him by feet and not inches. D’Arbignal whacked his knife hand with the orange blade and the stiletto fell to the floor with a clatter.
One of the mob smashed a wine bottle and brandished the broken end. D’Arbignal wrinkled his nose.
“I agree with you that the wine in this establishment is little more than swill but you should try to be more diplomatic.” D’Arbignal put his foot atop the stiletto and slid it along the floor to the mob. Werewolf staggered back in its general direction.
“Thirty pieces of gold may seem like a lot of money,” D’Arbignal was explaining, “but it’s really not. It would scarcely cover your funerals and unlikely as it may seem, you may even leave behind someone who might miss you. Have you thought of them?”
“He’s faking it,” one of the mob said. “He’s been drinking all night. If you struck a flint by his mouth it’d burst into flame.”
“Don’t blame me for the bartender watering down the drinks,” D’Arbignal explained, “I did my part by drinking copious quantities. But anyway, that’s really not the key issue.”
“Oh yeah,” said Werewolf, picking up the stiletto. “What’s the ‘key issue’?”
“The key issue is that I was completely serious about the assassins. Frankly, I’m a bit surprised that they’re not here already.”
“Right,” Werewolf said. He circled D’Arbignal warily, stiletto held low. “And your assassins are coming here beca—”
“Did I say they were my assassins?” D’Arbignal shook his head but apparently, the motion was a bit much for him and he staggered a step. Werewolf tried to move to capitalize on the slip but was too slow. The swordsman had regained his guard again. Werewolf glowered at the swordsman.
“No,” D’Arbignal explained, “these aren’t my assassins in the conventional sense. They’re only my assassins in that they’re coming here to kill me.”
“You said there weren’t no assassins coming,” whined the man in the back who’d been concerned about assassins all along. Now it seems he was justified.
“Shut up,” Werewolf said.
“I’m just saying …”
“I’m just saying shut up,” Werewolf said. To D’Arbignal, he said, “Why would assassins be coming here to kill you?”
D’Arbignal smiled mischievously. “I may have let it slip to some interested parties that I’d be here tonight.”
“And why would you do that?”
D’Arbignal shrugged and sheathed his rapier. “Because I’m immortal.”
“Rush him!” cried the cadaverous man.
The unruly mob ran at him from several directions. The essentially unarmed D’Arbignal seemed to find it amusing. He pivoted on the ball of one foot just as one of them was about to make contact; instead, the rushing man dove into empty space and fell to his hands and knees.
Werewolf thrust the stiletto at D’Arbignal’s midsection. The swordsman rolled backward over the back of the kneeling attacker. D’Arbignal hooked one of the man’s arms with his boot and yanked; the kneeling man crashed face-first into the floor with a surprised grunt.
The stiletto caught nothing but air. Werewolf circled his prone compatriot clockwise and the cadaverous man circled him counter-clockwise, trying to get at D’Arbignal.
“I normally don’t put much faith in fortune tellers and their like but I’ve come across some very solid information about the future,” D’Arbignal explained. He leaped onto the back of the semi-prone attacker, mounting him like he would a pony. He kicked his heels together and made a clicking noise with his tongue. When the Cadaverous man stabbed at him, D’Arbignal rolled back off him just as the rest of the mob was rushing past.
Now the mob were between D’Arbignal and Belle, and they were looking at her. She did not like the way they were looking at her.
“Get the whore!” Werewolf said. “He came back to rescue her.”
“Don’t,” D’Arbignal said, his tone suddenly dark.
The cadaverous man grinned evilly at D’Arbignal and slowly advanced toward Belle. She retreated toward the window, wishing she had climbed out when she had had the chance.
“Last warning,” D’Arbignal said. “Don’t.”
“Come stop me, funny man,” cadaverous man said. He drew a knife from its sheath at his side and aimed for what looked to be a gut shot. Belle backed up against the window. She felt the open space behind her. If only she had a few seconds …
D’Arbignal took a running leap over the prone (and groaning) attacker. The swordsman rolled when he hit the floor and came out of it between Belle and the cadaverous man.
“Sorry,” D’Arbignal grumbled and threw water into the cadaverous man’s face.
Only it wasn’t water. The cadaverous man’s face and chest began to sizzle and smoke and he began to scream in a pitch so high Belle thought it might shatter glass.
D’Arbignal tossed the empty glass vial onto the floor where it rolled in a semicircle, leaking the remainder of its contents, which burned into the wood.
The swordsman dove at Belle now, and surprised, she could do little more than flinch before his body collided with hers and drove her backward through the window and into the night. They corkscrewed in midair and by the time they hit the ground, D’Arbignal was on the bottom and took the impact on his back.
The fall forced the air out of his lungs with a mighty “WOOOF” and he flopped like a landed fish while Belle came to her senses. She crawled to her feet, half-stunned.
She heard the latch of the Welcoming Arms’s door coming free.
“Come on, dearie,” she urged D’Arbignal as she pulled on his arms. The swordsman’s face was red and his mouth gaped for air. Bell shouted, “Help me, Fancy!”
Fancy reluctantly approached and Belle handed her one of D’Arbignal’s arms and together they managed to get him to his feet. He began taking in wheezing gasps.
“Get him moving,” Belle instructed, and they led the injured swordsman down the street and out of the light of the dim street lamps.
“I know a place,” she whispered to D’Arbignal. “Come with us and you can rest until you’re able to walk on your own.”
D’Arbignal tried to say something but only a phlegmy cough issued. He shook his head and tried again.
“That was not fun,” he managed to wheeze. “I mean, not like earlier.”
“You’ve got an odd sense of fun,” Belle observed.
7
The unrelenting rain pounded on them. After a block or so, D’Arbignal began to walk on his own.
“I hope the assassins know where to find me,” he said. He waved his hand while he talked. “I mean now that I’m not at the tavern anymore.”
Belle was having a hard time deciding a distance to walk from him. On the one hand, she felt a certain degree of attraction toward D’Arbignal. He was handsome, after all, and clearly athletic. Also, professional habits were difficult to break.
On the other hand, she was having serious doubts about his sanity. She’d learned the hard way in her life that you didn’t want to get too close to crazy.
“It’s just through here,” Belle said, turning into an alley. She wondered why she was doing this. She had been told to keep him at the tavern. This was most definitely not keeping him at the tavern. Piter would flay her for this.
“Are you serious about the assassins?” Fancy said.
D’Arbignal regarded her with an expression that certainly looked serious. He nodded solemnly.
“But how do you know?”
“Oh,” he said breezily. He still smelled strongly of alcohol. “There has been the occasional attempt over the last few months. Not so much you’d notice, but a few. Men dressed like wolves, enormous flaming giants, an ambush of archers … the usual.”
“Why do they want to kill you?” Belle said, moving aside the wooden panel that sealed the entrance to the shack. She remembered the last time she had stayed here and shuddered. But her husband was dead now and couldn’t hurt her anymore.
“Would you believe it’s my natural good looks?” D’Arbignal’s grin was ghastly. “But it’s nothing to worry about. I’m immortal!”
Belle climbed into the shack first, with D’Arbignal on her heels. The shack was much as she remembered, littered with food trash and occupied by rats. The building was little more than a shed, squeezed between two larger residences. The rain pounded down on the leaking roof. She stared at the far wall where her sleeping mat had been. It seemed venomous to her now.
D’Arbignal sagged to the floor. “Whew! Being immortal is exhausting work.”
Belle shook her head, exasperated.
“Why,” she said, “do you think you’re immortal?”
“It’s a long story,” he said, slurring his words. His lids kept drooping.
“I don’t think we’re going anywhere in this rain,” she said. “Especially not with Werewolf and assassins trying to get at you.” And Piter, but she did not add that.
“Ah, it’s dull. You don’t want to hear this story.”
This from a man who before couldn’t stop talking. Belle’s interest was piqued.
“Go on,” she prodded.
D’Arbignal stifled a yawn but then he stared at Belle with a haunted expression on his face. The smile was gone, as were all traces of levity.
“I met a girl,” he said with no trace of irony in his voice.
Belle snorted. “If I had a copper plunk for every story I heard that started like that.”
D’Arbignal shook his head. “No, not a woman. A girl like Fancy here.”
“Hey!” she protested. “I am a woman.”
D’Arbignal yawned and smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “My apologies. I meant a young woman such as the lovely lady here.”
He started to doze off. Belle prodded him.
“Hey,” she said. When he opened his eyes again, “you said you met a girl and that made you immortal.”
“What?”
“You were telling a story about the girl you met. She made you immortal.”
“Oh, right,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “She didn’t make me immortal. I was already immortal.”
Belle stared at him blankly, so he continued.
“She asked me for a favor.” The haunted expression on his face returned, as though shadows were growing before her eyes. His voice was pained when he added, “It was a terrible favor and I couldn’t do it for her.”
“And that was?”
“Pardon?”
“What was the favor you couldn’t do for the girl?”
The corner of D’Arbignal’s mouth turned up into an empty smile. He exhaled a self-mocking grunt of a laugh. “I don’t want to get into it. Suffice it to say I didn’t do it for her and she exacted a most terrible revenge.”
“What was that?”
“She told me my future.”
8
The rain falling on the roof of the hut had a soothing rhythm to it. Belle found herself thinking of happier days, back when she was married. Will had been a thoroughly loathsome man but even so, it had been nice to belong to someone, to have someone to provide for you.
And they hadn’t all been bad times, back then, had they? When she had shared the sleeping mat with Will, that had been good. Their lovemaking had been passionate and real, and while she had slept with countless men since, not a one of them had been as good in bed as her departed husband.
She lazily tried to envision a scenario where she and Will reconciled, even though he was now deceased. He would open his arms and she’d run into them.
“I’d missed you,” he’d say.
But she’d have to overlook the time she’d found him in bed with her daughter. The recollection chilled her. Sometimes, she would manage to go for days without thinking of that horrible day. Sometimes …
A clank disturbed her from her doze. She straightened her head with a snort and saw Fancy crawling across the floor of the shack on her hands and knees.
Fancy froze for a moment like a cat who had heard a noise. Then she relaxed and continued across the floor toward D’Arbignal. The swordsman appeared to have fallen asleep, his head tilted forward and his plumed hat covered his face.
The rat-a-tat-tat-tat of the rain on the roof lulled her. She felt like going back to sleep but for some reason, she forced herself to keep watching Fancy.
Fancy reached out a single hand and touched the tip of the plume on D’Arbignal’s hat. She stroked it gently like it was a newborn kitten.
“Don’t disturb him,” Belle whispered. “He needs to sleep off whatever he drank.”
Fancy backed a few crawling steps from D’Arbignal and got to her feet. Even her slight frame looked large in this tiny shack. How Belle, Will, and Laurabelle had managed to live her all those years was beyond her now.
“Do you believe him?” Fancy whispered back.
“Believe him about what?”
“About him being immortal?” Fancy’s expression was a cipher.
Belle shook her head. “Don’t be daft, dear. Nobody is immortal. Now, how about you see if you can find us a loaf of bread? Or maybe some meat if you can?”
“What if I run into Piter?” Fancy looked down at her feet.
Belle shivered. She hadn’t thought of that. By now, Piter had probably arranged his crew and was wondering where in the hells his mark had gone. He probably had talked to Werewolf,
who had told him quite a tale.
Oh, shit, she was in trouble.
Still, nothing for it right now. She’d have to stay clear of Piter for a few days, hope he’d have time to calm down.
“Keep your eyes open, love,” Belle said, “and try to stay clear of him.”
Fancy hesitated for a moment, then crawled out through the opening in the wall.
Belle sat alone in the room with the sleeping D’Arbignal. With that hat covering his face, he could be anybody.
Without exactly knowing why, Belle crossed the floor and sat up against the wall next to D’Arbignal. His breathing was slow and even and she found the sound soothing. She took another brief glance at the sleeping mat across the room, and then she leaned into the swordsman’s warmth and fell almost instantly asleep.
9
“Bring him out here!”
A violent shove awakened Belle and she fell to the floor of the shack. For a moment, her sleep-muddied brain thought she had dreamed her life on the street, and that she was still with Will and that he had just belted one.
“I’m sorry!” she apologized automatically, lost in time. She knew to apologize quickly when Will hit her. Otherwise, he’d—
Wait. Will had left her years ago.
She looked around the shack, dazed. She saw a half-dozen figures surrounding a struggling D’Arbignal. His shiny leather boots kicked at air as they rained down punches and blows from black leather blackjacks.
“Watch out,” said a voice Belle recognized as belonging to Werewolf. “He’s slippery. Never seen a man move like that.” He craned in to strike with his own billy club. “Watch out!”
“Hang on,” someone shouted. “I got him!”
“Ow!” shouted someone else. “You got me, asshole!”
“Sorry! It was an accident.”
Another man entered the shack with a length of rope. He handed it to Werewolf, who slipped into the melee.
“I’ve got his bag!” someone shouted triumphantly.
There was a sudden burst of motion, and Belle caught a brief glimpse of D’Arbignal’s face as he started to break through a gap in the mob: contused and lacerated, bleeding in several places. He started to break through but to no avail, as he was yanked back into the melee by the collar of his sky blue cloak.
The Curse of Immortality Page 3
