City Of Hope And Despair Part 9

"My first war wound." She smiled again. "What happened after I went under?"

"Kohn and Dewar fought off the attackers," he replied. "I... hid us." It sounded pathetic even to his own ears, though evidently not to Mildra's.

"Thank you," she said again, reaching out to briefly squeeze his hand. "You saved my life as well as your own."

"But how did I do it? I thought my abilities drew on Thaiburley's core, so how do they work so far away from the city?"

Mildra smiled. "It's the river, Tom. Ultimately, the city's core is a gift from the G.o.ddess, and the Thair links Thaiburley to its mother as if the river were an unsevered umbilical cord. I can sense her presence in the waters constantly, and so long as we remain close to the Thair our abilities my healing, your hiding will continue to work as if we were still inside the city's walls."

Tom instinctively wanted to scoff at the idea of G.o.ddesses in rivers, but then stopped, for once doubting his own scepticism. After all, whether Mildra's claim had any basis in reality or not, their abilities did seem to work out here, and he could offer no better explanation as to why.

The Tattooed Men were running out of time. Two nights of hunting and they still weren't anywhere near snagging the Soul Thief. If the b.i.t.c.h stayed true to form she'd haunt the under-City for a period of around six to eight nights, feeding on those who took her fancy which everyone was now willing to admit meant those with talent before disappearing back into the Stain for another year or two. Out of their reach. Not even Kat would be crazy enough to continue pursuit into the Stain, that poisoned, polluted wasteland at the very back of the vast cavern housing the City Below; a place people tended to avoid even talking about, let alone visiting.

The Soul Thief had already been at work for three nights that they knew of, which meant they had perhaps three or four more before she vanished again. Their night-time trawls across the under-City weren't working, that much was obvious, and Kat was increasingly convinced they were never going to. Besides, she had a better plan. The only difficult part was going to be persuading Chavver. Not that the Tattooed Men's leader was inflexible or unwilling to listen to advice, no, not as a rule. It was only when the advice in question came from her sister that Kat could foresee a problem.

So, she'd have to make sure her idea reached Chavver's ears by a less direct route. After a few moments careful consideration, she chose Rel. Although a few years older than Kat, he was among the youngest of the Tattooed Men and had always been eager to make a good impression. The fact that he and she were teamed together made her chatting to him seem all the more natural.

"The problem is," she said as if in the mood to put the world to rights, "that when we do do find the Soul Thief we're too spread out. The few who actually encounter her are never going to be enough to stop her, and by the time we can concentrate our strength, she's gone." find the Soul Thief we're too spread out. The few who actually encounter her are never going to be enough to stop her, and by the time we can concentrate our strength, she's gone."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"There are two parts to this operation: finding the target and neutralising it. One's no good without the other. We've got the first part sorted out but are failing dismally with the second. What we need to do is stop chasing around after the Soul Thief and make her come to us, at a time and place of our choosing, where we're ready and waiting for her."

"Sure, but how?"

"Easy." She sat back and grinned, enjoying the hungry look that had crept into Rel's eyes.

"Well?" he asked on cue.

She leant forward again, and said quietly, as if sharing

some profound secret, "We know the Soul Thief feeds on those with talent, right? The healers, seers, illusionists, sages and all the other meddlers and pedlars who aren't out-and-out con artists but can actually do at least some of what they claim. So, all we have to do is round up everyone we can find with a sc.r.a.p of genuine talent and put them together in one place, then sharpen our swords, load up the crossbows and get ready to nail the b.i.t.c.h when she turns up." Kat held her hands out. "Job done; the Thief'll never be able to resist!"

Rel was nodding vigorously, eyes shining as if he'd seen the light. "Yeah," he said. "You know, that might just work."

"Course it will, and it beats running around chasing our tails like we have been."

Kat wandered off feeling more than a little pleased with herself. All she had to do now was wait, though not for long as it turned out. Within the hour Chavver summoned everyone to a meeting, where the new tactic was revealed.

"Time we stopped chasing the Soul Thief and let her come to us," Chavver declared. Kat couldn't have put it better herself.

They were tasked with identifying and "recruiting" willingly if possible, unwillingly if not as many people as they could find who displayed even a sc.r.a.p of talent.

Kat silently approved of the location her sister had chosen to set the trap. Iron Grove Square sat at the heart of a derelict district and was a place the Tattooed Men had often used as a training area. It was surrounded by abandoned buildings with enough vantage points to hide all of them while providing clear line of site of anything and anyone in the square itself.

Despite this being her idea, Kat was the first to acknowledge that the plan had its drawbacks, particularly for the unfortunates they were going to be using as bait. Given proper opportunity, the Tattooed Men could field enough fire power to stop a small army, and it would all be deployed here. Whether or not that would be enough to stop the Soul Thief was another matter; n.o.body had ever had the chance to find out.

If they couldn't stop her, they would just have provided the monster with the biggest feast she'd ever dreamed of. Even if they did bring her down, there was every chance that people would be caught in the crossfire, however unintentionally. Either way, Kat was glad that she wasn't going to be standing in that square when the shooting started.

In fact, if she dwelt on the fact that the people they were about to put on the front line were healers and apothakers and seers folk who performed vital functions in the under-City her conscience was likely to give her a severe beating; so she didn't. Instead she concentrated on the prospect of finally getting a real crack at the monster that had made her an orphan. That way, her conscience was reduced to resentful mutterings in the farthest corners of her thoughts.

She slipped away from the gathering, uncertain whether the Men would go hunting that night or not, but, if they did, she wouldn't be with them. Kat had an appointment to keep.

She would have chosen somewhere different for this meeting, anywhere different, had there been an option. Not that she couldn't understand the reasoning, far from it. For a stranger, unfamiliar with the City Below, the chophouses were a safe and sensible bet good quality food at reasonable prices.Kat wasn't a stranger, however, and the chophouses with their fussy ways and invariably waged clientele were so far removed from her usual haunts that they might as well have existed on a different Row entirely. Give her the smoky atmosphere of a dingy tavern and its suspect sandwiches washed down with sour ale any day.

Coalman's Chophouse was built into one of the arches supporting the grand conveyor the elevated moving roadway that carried timber and other imports all the way from the docks to the Whittleson saw mill and factories and it was reckoned to be one of the best. In fairness, Kat supposed a newcomer to the City Below would have trouble finding any of the places she preferred in any case.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. The place was bustling, proof positive that things in the under-City weren't all that bad despite recent events, since plenty of people could clearly still afford the clean cutlery and pretensions of Coalman's Chophouse. Despite her cynicism, Kat had to admit that the smells were mouth-wateringly good. On the tables around her she saw plates piled high with golden-crusted pies from which rich-gravied filling oozed, thick cutlets of griddled meat and juicy chops, plump brown sausages, hens' eggs and duck eggs with bubbled whites and bright yellow yolks, chunky slices of pink bacon and even thicker off-white slabs of tripe, all accompanied by mounds of boiled potatoes and roasted potatoes and peas and wilted greenery, from the sum of which rose wafts of steam and incredibly inviting aromas.

She did her best not to stare but it was a losing battle. Kat had never seen so much saliva-inducing food in one place before and the effect was overwhelming. She had to swallow, feeling suddenly hungry beyond all reason. Her view was abruptly blocked by a blue and white striped ap.r.o.n which proved to be worn by a tall man sporting a heavy moustache and even heavier scowl. "Can I help you?"

Kat had a tendency to stand out in most company, but here it was ridiculous. She'd never heard anything specific about the chophouses being male only preserves, but there certainly weren't any other women present just now, let alone of her age, or dressed in leathers, or carrying twin swords. Coalman's had abruptly gone very quiet, and Kat was acutely aware that every eye seemed to be looking in her direction.

"That's all right," a voice said very clearly and casually, "the young lady's with me."

The speaker was at a table behind the waiter. A tall man, slender and smartly dressed, with slicked-back hair and a rounded face dominated by dark eyebrows that perched above eyes which were perhaps a little too close together. Kat couldn't resist a small smile; at least she was no longer the centre of attention, as everyone had turned their gazes on him, including the waiter, who stood aside and, with a slight sniff, gestured Kat towards the stranger's table.

"Kat, I presume." he said as she slipped into the chair opposite. She nodded, but couldn't stop staring at the sumptuous looking meat pie and potatoes that sat before the man. He could only just have broken the crust, because curls of stream were still rising from the meat and gravy within.

"As you doubtless gathered, I'm Brent. Hungry?"She nodded again, unable to tear her gaze away from the food. Too brecking right she was. The man beckoned the same waiter over, and soon Kat was confronted with a great golden-crusted pie all of her own.

She wasn't especially used to cutlery but knew the principles, and settled for eating with a silver-metal spoon, using its rounded bowl to break open the pie's crust and then pausing to savour the first release of delicious meat-rich aroma before tucking in. To her considerable delight, the food proved even tastier than it looked and at least as good as it smelled. She had wolfed down nearly half the pie before remembering why she was here and glancing up to see her benefactor studying her. Instantly she bristled; there was something sardonic and superior in the man's expression which irritated the h.e.l.l out of Kat and made her palm itch for the feel of a sword hilt. Very deliberately, while still chewing a final mouthful of crisp pastry and tender meat, she sat back and pushed the plate away.

"Had enough?"

"For now." She would have loved to keep going but had suddenly lost her appet.i.te. Besides, she was close to being outfaced, having already stuffed more food down her throat than she could ever recall eating at one meal before.

Kat forced her attention back to the man responsible for providing the feast and still didn't like what she saw, despite his generosity. "So, you're interested in the Soul Thief." She kept her voice low, reckoning a chat about the bogeyman from a kiddies' bedtime tale would only put her even lower in the estimations of the snooty soand-sos around her, if that were possible.

"Indeed."A tight-lipped brecker, and no mistake. Well, two could play at that game. She folded her arms and waited for him to say something. The amused twinkle in his eyes grew and a smile seemed to hover on his lips. This was all a game to him, Kat realised, and she was nothing more than a counter, there for his entertainment. Stuff that! She was no one's toy.

"Thanks for the meal," she said, preparing to stand up, "but if that's all you've got to say, I'm off."

"Your choice, of course, but if you really want to stop the Soul Thief, I'd wait and hear what I have to say if I were you."

He had her there, and knew it. She glared at him, sat back and did as he suggested: waited.

"Better." The word was spoken with such smug confidence that she despised him all the more.

Despite having stopped eating some time ago, Brent now paused to pick up his fork and break off a corner of pie crust from the thin crescent of pastry which was all that remained on his plate, speared it delicately on the tines without crumbling, and lifted it to his mouth. Done for effect rather than any lingering hunger, she felt certain. She glanced around, determined not to give him the satisfaction of having her watching the whole performance. At a table behind Brent sat another lone diner, an elderly man with a kindly face, who caught her eye and winked at Kat before smiling broadly. So warm was the smile and so conspiratorial the wink, that Kat nearly reacted with a grin of her own. However, her attention switched back to her dining companion, who had now finished chewing and dabbed delicately at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. The smile he then showed her was as different to the elderly man's as chalk is to cheese. This time Kat did respond, twisting the corners of her mouth upward in an expression without any hint of humour behind it; she could do patience when called for.

"Now, what do you actually know about the Soul Thief?" he asked.

"Enough."

"I doubt that very much. You see, the best way to defeat any enemy is to know them, and so learn their weaknesses."

"And what could you, an outsider possibly know about the Soul Thief that I don't?"

"You'd be surprised." That smile again; the one that made her want to reach across the table and slap him around the face until it disappeared. "I know what the Soul Thief is, why she feeds, how to prevent her from feeding and so weaken her to the point where she can be killed."

"Really? And how exactly do you know all this?"

"From my employer." A dramatic pause, but if he was expecting Kat to show any impatience, she disappointed him. "The creature you hunt is ancient, a left-over from another age, an abomination that should have returned to the dust long ago. I've been sent here to ensure that this small oversight is corrected."

Sent? This just got better and better. "And who sent you?"

"Ah, now there's a question; the answer to which you don't need to know and I'm not even certain of myself. But does that matter? We both want the same thing. With or without your help I will hunt down and kill the Soul Thief, but I could do so a lot quicker with it, whereas without my help, you'll never succeed."

The waiter reappeared, reaching to collect both their plates. Kat's hand shot out, grabbing the rim of hers. No way she was about to let that much quality food get away from her. Brent raised his eyebrows and addressed the waiter. "Could the lady perhaps be provided with a box or bag in which to take away the rest of her meal for later?"

The man's brief nod was so stiff with disdain that Kat bristled, as he replied, "Certainly, sir. I'll see what I can arrange."

He could stuff his disapproval where the globes don't shine. Polite conduct wouldn't feed her tomorrow, whereas the rest of that pie would.

Once the waiter had left, Kat returned to glowering at Brent. She didn't trust him, and trusted even less the fact that he worked for some unseen employer whose real agenda might be anything. But, on the other hand, if he really could help bring down the Soul Thief... for that prize she'd take any risk.

"So," he asked, "do we work together, or not?"

She held his gaze for a moment and then nodded. "All right, we work together; but if at any stage you screw up or even think of double-crossing me and mine, you'll wish you'd never been born."

He smiled again and held his hands out, palms upward as if to demonstrate he was harmless. "Understood. In fact, I wouldn't want it any other way."

They left the chophouse together, Brent donning a brown coat with an elaborate upturned collar which might have been the height of fashion somewhere in the world but looked comically out of place here in the streets of the under-City. Kat watched him saunter off and was almost tempted to follow, when a voice spoke from behind her.

"Careful of that one, young lady."

She turned around, to see the elderly man who'd smiled at her during the meal from over Brent's shoulder. He was standing in the restaurant's doorway, evidently in the process of leaving.

"What do you mean?"

"None of my business, I know, but he smells of the East to me. Never trust a man who smells of the East." He smiled; the same warm and open expression she'd seen earlier. "Well, good night to you." He then strolled off in the opposite direction.

When Kat turned back again to look at Brent, he'd already disappeared from sight.

TEN.

Tom came awake slowly, shedding layers of sleep like a snake casting off old skin. Not bad for someone who'd been convinced they wouldn't manage another wink for the rest of the night. True to his word, Dewar had returned before the sun rose. His mood seemed even blacker than before he'd ridden off and he refused to discuss where he'd been or what had happened. All of which irritated Tom no end. Who did he think he was?

"A couple of hours rest, then we'll break camp," their reticent "leader" declared. "We need to put as much distance between us and Crosston as soon as possible."

Crosston: was that where he'd disappeared too? Despite being curious and feeling frustrated at Dewar's insistence on treating him like the child the dour man doubtless thought him to be, Tom basically felt a huge sense of relief. He'd been afraid that Dewar might want them to move on immediately, particularly given the night's events. Had the man done so, Tom would have refused, not for his own sake but for Mildra's. The Thaistess was clearly exhausted by the effort of having to heal herself and had nodded off to sleep long before Dewar reappeared. Quite what the outcome of such a refusal might have been he had no idea, and was glad he wouldn't have to find out.

Morning found Mildra still looking tired while insisting she felt fine. Not that Tom was fooled; nor presumably was Dewar, because he insisted she sat on the horse when they set out. Mildra protested initially, though without any great conviction. Apparently there should have been two of the beasts, but the second had seized the opportunity to escape while Dewar was off on his mysterious night-time ride.

One was quite enough for Tom, though as the morning progressed he overcame his vague mistrust of horses sufficiently to walk beside the Thaistess and even to spell Dewar in leading her mount from time to time.

"So, you can ride now?" he teased at one point.

"I wish," she replied. "Sit on a horse, yes; ride it, no. If Beauty went any faster than her current walk, I'd be on my backside in the gra.s.s in no time." She patted the horse affectionately.

"Beauty?"

"Well, I had to call her something. And she is, isn't she?"

Tom frowned at the horse, then back at Mildra. "You don't really want me to answer that, do you?"

Mildra laughed. "Men!"

Tom couldn't help but smile. It felt good to be called that. Especially by her.

He was finding walking easier this second day, less taxing on the muscles, though whether that was due to them growing more accustomed to the exercise or the lingering after-effects of Mildra's laying-on of hands the previous evening, he couldn't be sure.

The day's biggest surprise, at least from Tom's perspective, came when they stopped for lunch.

"Not you," Dewar said, singling out Tom, who only had eyes for the bread and dried meat he was in the process of unpacking at the time.

"What?"

"Come over here, and bring your sword. Let's at least make sure you know how to hold the brecking thing so you look less as if you just stumbled across it in a bin and more as if the weapon actually belongs to you."

So began Tom's first ever lesson in swordsmanship.

All too soon Dewar signalled an end to proceedings, sheathing his sword and saying, "Remember, practice!"

The session hadn't lasted long and barely scratched the surface of a few rudimentary skills, but Tom came away with a little more confidence; enough to justify missing out on the precious chance to rest, even if it did mean bolting some food down hurriedly as they were about to set off again.

Dewar's instruction to practice sounded like good advice to Tom, which he would have loved to have followed, if only he weren't so busy traipsing across the countryside at the time.

The Thair was a close companion for much of that day, and they saw stilt-legged herons high-stepping their way daintily through the river's shallows, snake-necked cormorants diving her depths to emerge with fish wriggling in their outstretched beaks, and V-shaped formations of ever-scolding geese flying above her waters, while boats frequently rode her central currents in both directions.

When leaving Crosston they'd chosen a less-travelled road in order to stay close to the Thair Dewar in the everdwindling hope of finding a vessel willing to take them upriver, Mildra for her own reasons as Tom was now coming to realise. He hated to think what would have happened if the previous night's attack had occurred any distance from the river and the Thaistess had been unable to draw on her healing abilities. They encountered few other travellers. "Most who come this way do so in a boat," as Dewar muttered a little wistfully when watching yet another vessel at the river's heart steadily outpace them.

They pa.s.sed several isolated dwellings hugging the river's bank, each with a boat or two moored nearby or sometimes out on the water, fishing, and they walked through two small villages that afternoon, with Tom hopeful that they might dally for a while in the second and perhaps end the day's walking early. He quite fancied the idea of a warm bed and of falling asleep with a roof over his head, but everyone else seemed happy to continue, which meant another night under the stars trying to get comfortable on the unyielding ground. At least they did stop long enough to pick up some fresh fish in the village, introducing a bit of variety to their evening meal.

While Mildra set the fire Dewar gutted the fish, before taking Tom to one side for a further quick but intense training session. Tom came away with aching arms and sweat dampening his clothes, but exhilarated and pleased with how the session had gone. He was more than ready for the fish, which proved delicious to the last flaky white-fleshed mouthful.