Mirror Sight
Page 4
Karigan momentarily blanked out beneath their vile stench as they tore at her greatcoat, tried to force the staff from her hand, groped her. It would be so easy to let go, to give up. . . .
In another moment they were inexplicably off her. She shook her head, the air freshened around her. The predators scattered as a new presence swung a club and threw them aside.
She couldn’t move. She lay on the paving only able to watch as the last thug loped away, the one who had fought them off looming over her, a man, she observed, from the silhouette of his profile. The shadows of his hood obscured his features, but she felt his gaze upon her. Was he her savior or a new danger?
He tossed the club aside, and it clattered loudly on the paving. He knelt beside her and helped her sit up. He produced a nondescript cloak from nowhere and tossed it around her shoulders.
“It is foolish to be out here at this hour unescorted,” he said.
“Who are you?” she asked.
He did not answer but helped her to stand. She’d kept a death grip on her staff and did not loosen it now.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
“Not very well.”
“Lean on me, then.”
She did not. “Who are you, and where are we going?”
He made an impatient noise from beneath his hood. “I am the one who drove off your attackers. I am taking you to safety.”
Karigan wanted to trust him, to pass the responsibility of her safety on to someone else, but could she trust this man? Really, at this point, how much of a choice did she have? With all her injuries, the lapse in her ability to fade, and not knowing this city and its ways, her choices had diminished significantly. So far the man had only aided her. Coming to a decision, she allowed him to put his arm around her so he could bear some of her weight. At least he did not smell offensive.
He led her toward the alley’s outlet and paused to peer both ways down the street. He hissed and suddenly pulled her back into the concealment of the shadows.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Shhh. You ask too many questions.”
She had a sharp retort on her tongue but held it when she heard footsteps out on the street and a curious metallic click-click-click sound. When the footsteps paused so did the clicking, which was replaced by an odd purring hum. Light flowed down the alley, but Karigan and her rescuer were pressed hard enough against the brick wall that the light did not touch them. It focused on a trio of thugs left moaning on the pavement.
“What is it?” a man’s voice asked.
“Dregs is all,” another answered. “Rubbish collectors’ll pick ’em up later. C’mon.”
The footsteps continued on, and there was an odd toot, and the click-click-click started again.
Her rescuer waited at length before peeling away from the wall.
“Who were they?” she demanded.
The man sighed in irritation. “Inspectors. Now come. We don’t want to be caught out.”
Inspectors? she wondered. What were they inspecting? They had not cared about the men lying in the alley, and her rescuer certainly did not like them.
Karigan hated relying on this stranger’s strength. He was not gentle, she thought, as they moved out into the empty street. It wasn’t, she suspected, that he was intentionally being rough, but that he was being more vigilant of their surroundings than of her comfort. And perhaps he did not realize the extent of her various hurts.
“Ow!” she cried, when he bumped her bad leg.
“Silence,” he whispered. “There could be more thugs about, or Inspectors.”
“Then be more careful,” she said.
“I am very sorry, but I’ve a job to do.”
Karigan halted, planted herself on the street. If he wanted to move forward, he’d have to drag her.
“What do you mean job?” she asked, darkening with suspicion. “Are you one of those clowns?”
“What? Clowns?” His voice held a tone of incredulity. She still could not see his face beneath the shadow of his hood, but his eyes glinted in the lamplight.
“Then who are you? Where in the name of the gods am I? You sound Sacoridian, but this is like no place in Sacoridia I’ve ever seen.”
He did not answer, just stared at her.
“I’m very sorry,” he said finally, “but you do ask too many questions, and this is not the time or place.”
Before Karigan could reply, he withdrew a cloth from beneath his cloak and thrust it into her face, pressing it over her mouth and nose, overpowering her with its sickly sweet stench. At first she fought, but he held her fast, and her strength, the little that remained to her, leaked out of her. Her knees gave way, the stranger supporting her as she spiraled into oblivion.
The face belonged to a balding man who peered down at her out of the haze. “Well, hello there, young lady. How are we feeling?”
At first she felt numb, but all her various pains were intensifying with every moment. She appeared to be, however, comfortably situated in a huge bed with a downy mattress and warm blankets pulled up to her chest.
“Who are you? Where am I?” It seemed to take a great deal of strength just to speak.
“I am Mender Samuels, and you are safe and sound in your uncle’s house.”
“Uncle? What uncle?”
Mender Samuels turned away to address someone behind him. “A little disorientation is not unusual, considering what you said about her time in the asylum, which must have been most distressing.”
In another moment they were inexplicably off her. She shook her head, the air freshened around her. The predators scattered as a new presence swung a club and threw them aside.
She couldn’t move. She lay on the paving only able to watch as the last thug loped away, the one who had fought them off looming over her, a man, she observed, from the silhouette of his profile. The shadows of his hood obscured his features, but she felt his gaze upon her. Was he her savior or a new danger?
He tossed the club aside, and it clattered loudly on the paving. He knelt beside her and helped her sit up. He produced a nondescript cloak from nowhere and tossed it around her shoulders.
“It is foolish to be out here at this hour unescorted,” he said.
“Who are you?” she asked.
He did not answer but helped her to stand. She’d kept a death grip on her staff and did not loosen it now.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
“Not very well.”
“Lean on me, then.”
She did not. “Who are you, and where are we going?”
He made an impatient noise from beneath his hood. “I am the one who drove off your attackers. I am taking you to safety.”
Karigan wanted to trust him, to pass the responsibility of her safety on to someone else, but could she trust this man? Really, at this point, how much of a choice did she have? With all her injuries, the lapse in her ability to fade, and not knowing this city and its ways, her choices had diminished significantly. So far the man had only aided her. Coming to a decision, she allowed him to put his arm around her so he could bear some of her weight. At least he did not smell offensive.
He led her toward the alley’s outlet and paused to peer both ways down the street. He hissed and suddenly pulled her back into the concealment of the shadows.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Shhh. You ask too many questions.”
She had a sharp retort on her tongue but held it when she heard footsteps out on the street and a curious metallic click-click-click sound. When the footsteps paused so did the clicking, which was replaced by an odd purring hum. Light flowed down the alley, but Karigan and her rescuer were pressed hard enough against the brick wall that the light did not touch them. It focused on a trio of thugs left moaning on the pavement.
“What is it?” a man’s voice asked.
“Dregs is all,” another answered. “Rubbish collectors’ll pick ’em up later. C’mon.”
The footsteps continued on, and there was an odd toot, and the click-click-click started again.
Her rescuer waited at length before peeling away from the wall.
“Who were they?” she demanded.
The man sighed in irritation. “Inspectors. Now come. We don’t want to be caught out.”
Inspectors? she wondered. What were they inspecting? They had not cared about the men lying in the alley, and her rescuer certainly did not like them.
Karigan hated relying on this stranger’s strength. He was not gentle, she thought, as they moved out into the empty street. It wasn’t, she suspected, that he was intentionally being rough, but that he was being more vigilant of their surroundings than of her comfort. And perhaps he did not realize the extent of her various hurts.
“Ow!” she cried, when he bumped her bad leg.
“Silence,” he whispered. “There could be more thugs about, or Inspectors.”
“Then be more careful,” she said.
“I am very sorry, but I’ve a job to do.”
Karigan halted, planted herself on the street. If he wanted to move forward, he’d have to drag her.
“What do you mean job?” she asked, darkening with suspicion. “Are you one of those clowns?”
“What? Clowns?” His voice held a tone of incredulity. She still could not see his face beneath the shadow of his hood, but his eyes glinted in the lamplight.
“Then who are you? Where in the name of the gods am I? You sound Sacoridian, but this is like no place in Sacoridia I’ve ever seen.”
He did not answer, just stared at her.
“I’m very sorry,” he said finally, “but you do ask too many questions, and this is not the time or place.”
Before Karigan could reply, he withdrew a cloth from beneath his cloak and thrust it into her face, pressing it over her mouth and nose, overpowering her with its sickly sweet stench. At first she fought, but he held her fast, and her strength, the little that remained to her, leaked out of her. Her knees gave way, the stranger supporting her as she spiraled into oblivion.
The face belonged to a balding man who peered down at her out of the haze. “Well, hello there, young lady. How are we feeling?”
At first she felt numb, but all her various pains were intensifying with every moment. She appeared to be, however, comfortably situated in a huge bed with a downy mattress and warm blankets pulled up to her chest.
“Who are you? Where am I?” It seemed to take a great deal of strength just to speak.
“I am Mender Samuels, and you are safe and sound in your uncle’s house.”
“Uncle? What uncle?”
Mender Samuels turned away to address someone behind him. “A little disorientation is not unusual, considering what you said about her time in the asylum, which must have been most distressing.”
