The Broken Eye
Page 91
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“Let’s go direct. They got away clean.”
Chapter 45
Within three blocks, Teia realized she hadn’t gotten away clean. As invisible as she’d thought she was, someone was following her. There were tricks to this, as there were tricks to everything, but figuring out if you’re being followed was one of the things the Blackguard practiced. So Teia wended her way through the neighborhoods carefully. At first when she’d split from Big Leo, she’d moved at a fast pace. Not jogging, but clearly moving with purpose. At the fifth turn, she was certain: she was being followed.
It was odd. Big Leo would be a hundred times easier to follow. But maybe they figured Big Leo would be that much more careful. Or maybe they were afraid of him. Or maybe they’d followed him as well.
The man she suspected of tailing her was small. Laborer’s clothes, dark hair pulled back tight, and ratty beard adorned with dull beads. He carried a petasos folded in his hand. He was alternating putting the hat on and taking it off to make himself harder to spot as a constant presence behind her. Not a bad trick.
He walked as if he knew the neighborhoods—not glancing around looking for landmarks. When Teia slowed and turned back toward the neighborhood they’d left as if her guard were now down, he followed. That was when she was sure he was following her.
And this is where working with a squad is beautiful.
Teia almost grinned as she headed toward their secondary ambush point. It had been Cruxer’s idea, and Teia had been proud of his deviousness. He seemed so upright and good she’d worried he couldn’t be sneaky. Goss and Winsen would be waiting to incapacitate her tail. Ferkudi would be following one minute back. Daelos would take care of helping Big Leo. Kip and Cruxer would follow Big Leo if it looked like he was being pursued.
It was the right division of labor. No enemy would be going to send a man who couldn’t fight after Big Leo. Still, the two squad members who least inspired Teia’s admiration—or in this case, confidence—had to be Goss and Winsen.
As usual when they worked in town, none of them were to draft unless it was life-or-death: they couldn’t give away who they were.
Teia came around an alley and pulled her hood up. It was a brisk winter day, so it shouldn’t be too alarming to her tail, but the hood was her sign to Goss and Winsen that she needed scrubbing. She winced, though. She’d ducked around that corner, hadn’t she?
She walked down the alley, past Goss and Winsen’s hiding places, whispering, “Black hair, Atashian beard.” Then she kept walking.
Can’t look back, Teia. Don’t give it away. She took care not to duck around the next corner, but she did stop as soon as she was out of sight. She took a deep breath and drew a flat-bladed knife. She got down on her knees and extended the blade past the corner, trying to see in the reflection if a shadow darkened the entrance to the alley.
Nothing. Nothing she could see, anyway. She needed to buy a good little mirror for this.
She waited, certain she would hear the sounds of a scuffle, or a sharp yelp as Goss slammed the piece of wood against the man’s shins as they’d planned. They would rob him if they could, too, to make it appear random, but stopping pursuit was their first worry.
Nothing. Where is he?
As soon as Teia thought the question, she knew she was in trouble. She rocked back onto her feet, taking a squatting position from the kneeling one she’d been in. She began leaping to her feet even as she felt the arms close around her.
The man yanked her backward, stopping her momentum with an arm across her chest. Her reaction was instant enough to make any Archer proud: when you’re rarely as strong as those you fight against, you learn to change the rules. Instead of trying to pull against the man’s grip, Teia pushed hard into it: he had pulled her backward, so she jumped backward, too.
Surprised, the man careened backward, and they slammed into the side of a building together, the man’s body cushioning the blow for Teia. His grip relaxed, and she dove for the ground.
The last of his grip on her arm whipped her hand into the wall, though, and as they fell in opposite directions, they were suddenly both looking at her knife, dropped on the ground.
They both jumped for the knife that lay between them, and they both arrived at the same second. But where the man grabbed for the knife’s grip as they slammed back together, Teia was already grabbing for the man’s wrist. Not finding resistance where he expected it again, the man couldn’t stop the blade as Teia helped its upward momentum—twisting the man’s wrist at the last moment so he rammed the blade full into his own gut.
Shock lit his eyes as he felt the blade slide home, and that gave Teia the pause she needed to pluck the dagger from his fingers. Then they were pressed hard together. He reached around her back and embraced her. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled hard. His breath was hot and stinky on her face.
“Adrasteia the Implacable indeed,” he said. “Bless me, goddess. Bless me!” He laughed sickly, and held her tight.
What the— Where was Ferkudi? He was her backup. Where was he?
Teia was trapped. She panicked. Her knife hand was free, and she stabbed. Stabbed, stabbed, stabbed. Not artfully, not carefully finding the angles between ribs that she’d been taught through so many hours. She was flailing, flailing, screaming, barely aware of the sound of her own voice. Her vision went red, and all the world was close and hot and unbearable.
Someone was shouting. Shouting her name. She twisted, lashing out with elbows as the man slid down her body, grip weakening, but she hit nothing.
Someone ripped the little man off her. Ferkudi lifted the man in a hug, trapping his hands down at his sides. Then he ran at the opposite wall of the alley, lowering his shoulder at the last moment and crunching the man against the stones. The man dropped in a bloody smear, falling to the dirt.
Teia spun, crouched low, feral, knife in hand.
Goss and Winsen both stood there with their hands up. “Orholam’s balls, Teia, it’s us!” Goss said.
“Wow,” Winsen said. “You killed the shit outta him.” He sounded … appreciative.
Teia looked at the dead man. He was all rags and blood now. Blood matted his hair and his beaded beard. How had he got blood in his hair? She didn’t even remember cutting his scalp. She wanted to vomit, but instead she felt cold inside. Dead. A killer.
“You have a rag?” she asked quietly. “I’m a mess.”
Goss and Winsen looked at each other, looked at Ferkudi. Shook their heads in awe at the same time. That was funny. She laughed.
A stricken look passed over their faces, like she scared them. Oh, they thought she was laughing about killing that man. For some reason, that was hilarious, too. She laughed louder. She sounded crazy.
Then she walked over to the dead man. She found part of his breeches that were clean, and wiped the dagger carefully. Then she found a portion of the breeches’ leg and began cutting off a chunk of cloth. The young men both just watched her.
She stood, oddly more disconcerted by seeing the bare, hairy leg of the dead man than by the fact that he was dead. Why were some men so … so hairy?
Hirsute. That was the word. Meant hairy. Why are there two words that mean exactly the same thing?
She took the rag and began wiping her face. It came away bloody, sticky. She examined herself. She was wearing a light tan blouse. It had been light tan, anyway. Now, it was a wreck, bloody everywhere. All bloody, again.
Chapter 45
Within three blocks, Teia realized she hadn’t gotten away clean. As invisible as she’d thought she was, someone was following her. There were tricks to this, as there were tricks to everything, but figuring out if you’re being followed was one of the things the Blackguard practiced. So Teia wended her way through the neighborhoods carefully. At first when she’d split from Big Leo, she’d moved at a fast pace. Not jogging, but clearly moving with purpose. At the fifth turn, she was certain: she was being followed.
It was odd. Big Leo would be a hundred times easier to follow. But maybe they figured Big Leo would be that much more careful. Or maybe they were afraid of him. Or maybe they’d followed him as well.
The man she suspected of tailing her was small. Laborer’s clothes, dark hair pulled back tight, and ratty beard adorned with dull beads. He carried a petasos folded in his hand. He was alternating putting the hat on and taking it off to make himself harder to spot as a constant presence behind her. Not a bad trick.
He walked as if he knew the neighborhoods—not glancing around looking for landmarks. When Teia slowed and turned back toward the neighborhood they’d left as if her guard were now down, he followed. That was when she was sure he was following her.
And this is where working with a squad is beautiful.
Teia almost grinned as she headed toward their secondary ambush point. It had been Cruxer’s idea, and Teia had been proud of his deviousness. He seemed so upright and good she’d worried he couldn’t be sneaky. Goss and Winsen would be waiting to incapacitate her tail. Ferkudi would be following one minute back. Daelos would take care of helping Big Leo. Kip and Cruxer would follow Big Leo if it looked like he was being pursued.
It was the right division of labor. No enemy would be going to send a man who couldn’t fight after Big Leo. Still, the two squad members who least inspired Teia’s admiration—or in this case, confidence—had to be Goss and Winsen.
As usual when they worked in town, none of them were to draft unless it was life-or-death: they couldn’t give away who they were.
Teia came around an alley and pulled her hood up. It was a brisk winter day, so it shouldn’t be too alarming to her tail, but the hood was her sign to Goss and Winsen that she needed scrubbing. She winced, though. She’d ducked around that corner, hadn’t she?
She walked down the alley, past Goss and Winsen’s hiding places, whispering, “Black hair, Atashian beard.” Then she kept walking.
Can’t look back, Teia. Don’t give it away. She took care not to duck around the next corner, but she did stop as soon as she was out of sight. She took a deep breath and drew a flat-bladed knife. She got down on her knees and extended the blade past the corner, trying to see in the reflection if a shadow darkened the entrance to the alley.
Nothing. Nothing she could see, anyway. She needed to buy a good little mirror for this.
She waited, certain she would hear the sounds of a scuffle, or a sharp yelp as Goss slammed the piece of wood against the man’s shins as they’d planned. They would rob him if they could, too, to make it appear random, but stopping pursuit was their first worry.
Nothing. Where is he?
As soon as Teia thought the question, she knew she was in trouble. She rocked back onto her feet, taking a squatting position from the kneeling one she’d been in. She began leaping to her feet even as she felt the arms close around her.
The man yanked her backward, stopping her momentum with an arm across her chest. Her reaction was instant enough to make any Archer proud: when you’re rarely as strong as those you fight against, you learn to change the rules. Instead of trying to pull against the man’s grip, Teia pushed hard into it: he had pulled her backward, so she jumped backward, too.
Surprised, the man careened backward, and they slammed into the side of a building together, the man’s body cushioning the blow for Teia. His grip relaxed, and she dove for the ground.
The last of his grip on her arm whipped her hand into the wall, though, and as they fell in opposite directions, they were suddenly both looking at her knife, dropped on the ground.
They both jumped for the knife that lay between them, and they both arrived at the same second. But where the man grabbed for the knife’s grip as they slammed back together, Teia was already grabbing for the man’s wrist. Not finding resistance where he expected it again, the man couldn’t stop the blade as Teia helped its upward momentum—twisting the man’s wrist at the last moment so he rammed the blade full into his own gut.
Shock lit his eyes as he felt the blade slide home, and that gave Teia the pause she needed to pluck the dagger from his fingers. Then they were pressed hard together. He reached around her back and embraced her. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled hard. His breath was hot and stinky on her face.
“Adrasteia the Implacable indeed,” he said. “Bless me, goddess. Bless me!” He laughed sickly, and held her tight.
What the— Where was Ferkudi? He was her backup. Where was he?
Teia was trapped. She panicked. Her knife hand was free, and she stabbed. Stabbed, stabbed, stabbed. Not artfully, not carefully finding the angles between ribs that she’d been taught through so many hours. She was flailing, flailing, screaming, barely aware of the sound of her own voice. Her vision went red, and all the world was close and hot and unbearable.
Someone was shouting. Shouting her name. She twisted, lashing out with elbows as the man slid down her body, grip weakening, but she hit nothing.
Someone ripped the little man off her. Ferkudi lifted the man in a hug, trapping his hands down at his sides. Then he ran at the opposite wall of the alley, lowering his shoulder at the last moment and crunching the man against the stones. The man dropped in a bloody smear, falling to the dirt.
Teia spun, crouched low, feral, knife in hand.
Goss and Winsen both stood there with their hands up. “Orholam’s balls, Teia, it’s us!” Goss said.
“Wow,” Winsen said. “You killed the shit outta him.” He sounded … appreciative.
Teia looked at the dead man. He was all rags and blood now. Blood matted his hair and his beaded beard. How had he got blood in his hair? She didn’t even remember cutting his scalp. She wanted to vomit, but instead she felt cold inside. Dead. A killer.
“You have a rag?” she asked quietly. “I’m a mess.”
Goss and Winsen looked at each other, looked at Ferkudi. Shook their heads in awe at the same time. That was funny. She laughed.
A stricken look passed over their faces, like she scared them. Oh, they thought she was laughing about killing that man. For some reason, that was hilarious, too. She laughed louder. She sounded crazy.
Then she walked over to the dead man. She found part of his breeches that were clean, and wiped the dagger carefully. Then she found a portion of the breeches’ leg and began cutting off a chunk of cloth. The young men both just watched her.
She stood, oddly more disconcerted by seeing the bare, hairy leg of the dead man than by the fact that he was dead. Why were some men so … so hairy?
Hirsute. That was the word. Meant hairy. Why are there two words that mean exactly the same thing?
She took the rag and began wiping her face. It came away bloody, sticky. She examined herself. She was wearing a light tan blouse. It had been light tan, anyway. Now, it was a wreck, bloody everywhere. All bloody, again.
