That didn’t mean she’d shaken off dread entirely. The other
members of the coven claimed they weren’t afraid of witch hunters and maybe it
was so. But, hard as she tried not to, Jarla sometimes imagined such avengers
announcing themselves with an insistent knocking on her door, imagined that and
all the pain that would follow.
She tried to answer and found her throat was dry. She
swallowed. “Who’s there?” she quavered.
“Dieter! Let me in!”
She closed her eyes, expelled the last of her fear in a long,
shivering exhalation, and excitement sprang up to take its place. Of late, she
hadn’t seen much of Dieter. He’d claimed he was busy unravelling the secrets of
the god’s sacred texts, but she’d wondered if he’d found someone he liked
better, or decided a common whore was unworthy of his affections.
But evidently not, for when she opened the door, he took her
in his arms, kissed her, and shoved her back down onto the bed.
He took her three times, and after each time, he held her
close and they talked. It was the way Jarla had always dreamed lovemaking could
be, and it was wonderful, or at least it was at first.
At the start of the third coupling, though, she had the odd
feeling that it was essentially determination, not honest desire, that led him
to initiate, and by the time the cracks in the wall stopped glowing, announcing
the arrival of dusk, it seemed to her that they’d run out of things to say. He
wouldn’t stop chattering, though, wouldn’t doze sated and content like a normal
man. He repeated anecdotes he’d told before and questions to which he already
knew the answers.
She remembered how guarded and strange he’d seemed in the
wake of Mama Solveig’s death. He seemed just as peculiar now, and she wondered
with a pang of uneasiness if she actually knew him as well as she believed.
Yes, of course she did, and it was simply the mistreatment
she’d suffered as a child and the anxieties of her double life that made her
imagine otherwise. She wouldn’t let such phantasms tarnish a golden interlude,
or make her doubt the finest gift a grudging universe had ever given her.
She smiled at Dieter and stroked his cheek. “I hate to go,”
she said, “but I have to work at the Axe and Fingers tonight.”
He caught her by the wrist. “No. Stay with me.”
“I wish I could, but I have to earn my living.”
His grip tightened. “No, you don’t. I’ll take care of you.”
She wondered if he truly meant it, and if he was earning
enough to make it practical. “I’d like that.” She hesitated. “But, you know,
even if you support me, I’ll still need to do my work, because that’s how I spy
on the soldiers and serve the god.”
“But you don’t need to do it tonight.” His fingers crushed
her wrist like a torturer’s shackle.
She tried to pull free, but couldn’t. “Dieter, you’re hurting
me!”
His eyes widened as if he truly hadn’t realised. “I’m sorry!”
he said, and let her go.
She shifted away from him and rubbed her wrist. “I think
you’re tired. Mama always said that communing with our lord exalts our spirits,
but it taxes us as well. Now, I’m glad you want to take care of me, gladder than
I can say, but we don’t have to figure everything out this very instant. Let me
go to the tavern, and you stay here and sleep. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
She swung her legs over the side of the mattress and stood up.
He sprang up, too, and she realised that he was on the side
of the bed nearer the door. If she tried to flee, he could intercept her. Wild,
stupid fancies, for she had no reason to bolt, nor he, to hurt her, but for some
reason she couldn’t help picturing it.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“Then don’t go. I need you to do something for me.”
Was that the secret reason for all your tenderness, she
wondered? To make sure I stayed put until you were ready to make use of me?
“What?”
“To accompany me somewhere.”
“Where? Why?”
“If you trust me—”
“I do! But only if you’re honest with me!”
Dieter took a deep breath. “All right. The Master of Change
wants to see us.”
That was so unexpected that for a moment, she wondered if he
was joking. “Have you been to see him already?”
“No. His voice spoke to me from out of the air, the same way
he talks to Leopold Mann.”
“But he only communicates with coven leaders. Maybe he wants
you to pick up where Mama left off, but what does he want with me?”
“Perhaps some other circle is in need of a leader.”
Jarla shook her head. With Dieter’s encouragement, she’d been
trying to think more highly of herself than she had hitherto, but even so, she
was certain she’d make a wretched choice to direct a secret cabal of rebels and
warlocks. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Dieter’s face twisted as if he was losing patience with her
recalcitrance. At that moment, he reminded her of Adolph.
“You know I wouldn’t let anybody hurt you,” he said. “I’ve
taken steps—I mean, all along, I’ve done my best to look after you, haven’t
I?”
Why had he referred to someone hurting her? Why had that
possibility even occurred to him? “Yes,” she said, “you have.”
“And I always will. So let’s do as the Master orders.” He
grinned, a bleak and bitter rictus. “It’s not as if either one of us has a
choice.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Of course, I’ll do whatever you say.
I just didn’t understand.” She struggled to give him a smile. “Whether I’m going
to the tavern or to meet our leader, I suppose I need to get dressed.” Her hand
trembling ever so slightly, she reached for her shift, and he didn’t stop her.
He simply watched her for another moment, then started pulling on his own
garments.
She didn’t know what to do. She loved Dieter. Of all the
people she’d ever loved, he was the only one left. The Cult of the Red Crown had
given her a sense of belonging and significance.
Considered in that light, it would be insane to break with
either, let alone both. Yet doubt and fear tugged at her more insistently with
every passing moment, begging her to flee from whatever fate held in store.
As she laced the front of her gown, she watched for an
opportunity, uncertain whether she truly meant to take it even if it came. Then
Dieter pulled his shirt over his head.
At that moment, the garment covered his eyes and would hinder
the use of his arms and hands. Jarla ran at him and shoved him stumbling
backwards. She whirled, fumbled with the catch, and yanked on the door.
Dieter’s back slammed against the wall. He pushed off it,
recovered his balance, jerked his shirt down over his head, and thrust his hands
out the ends of the sleeves. Some portion of the shabby old garment ripped.
The trailing folds of Jarla’s skirt vanished out the doorway.
Dieter realised he was lucky the door stuck. Otherwise, she’d have a bigger lead—although the situation was bad enough as it was.
He ran after her, out into the twilight. He hadn’t yet put on
his shoes, and the mucky surface of the rutted street sucked at his bare feet.
Passers-by and vendors minding their stalls and barrows turned to watch the
pursuit. Shovels and sledgehammers cocked over their shoulders, a quartet of
filthy labourers grinned in anticipation of an amusing altercation.
Jarla either heard or sensed Dieter coming after her. She
peered about, then oriented on a big, balding, black-bearded man seated on the
bench of a cart. By the looks of it, he was just about to drive away.
Jarla evidently meant to beg him for help. Hoping to speak
first, or to yell louder and drown her out, Dieter gasped in a breath and
bellowed, “Thief! Stop her! That whore stole all my money!”
“No!” Jarla cried. “I never did!”
But she was dressed like a whore, and not entirely dressed at
that, and perhaps that prejudiced the carter against her. At any rate, he smiled
an ugly smile and said, “The same things happened to me. Teach the bitch a
lesson.” He called to his horse, flicked the reins, and the cart clattered into
motion.
Jarla cast about, saw that none of the other spectators were
inclined to help her either, and ran on. Dieter pounded after her, caught her by
the hair, and yanked her off balance. She fell down in the mud, and he kicked
her until she stopped resisting. Sobbing, she simply curled up to shield her
most vulnerable parts.
He hauled her to her feet and marched her back to her stall.
Some of the onlookers cheered ironically. He flung Jarla down on the bed and
shoved the door shut.
As was so often the case of late, contradictory feelings and
urges pulled him in two directions. He loved her, was ashamed of what he’d done,
and ached to make amends. Yet at the same time, he yearned to go on hurting her,
to punish her for defying him or simply for the pleasure it would give him.
He strained to suppress the latter impulse, and to his
relief, it faded, although without making him feel as if his decent, rational
side had truly assumed control. Rather, he had the odd feeling that the
corrupted Dieter, born of dark lore and Tzeentch’s touch, had simply opted to
humour him.
If so, perhaps he’d done it to illustrate just how impotent
Dieter’s good intentions actually were, for it soon became apparent that none of
his apologies or reassurances were having any effect. Arms wrapped protectively
around herself, face ashen, tears sliding down her cheeks, Jarla just stared at
him. Eventually he ran out of words, and then there was nothing to do but finish
dressing and wait for the Master of Change to call them forth.
The summons came about an hour after night swallowed the
city. A ball of purple foxfire appeared in the air near the door, then floated
towards the panel, plainly indicating that it wanted Dieter to follow it out
into the night.
He looked at Jarla and realised from her unchanged demeanour
that she couldn’t see the luminous orb. “Get up,” he said, “it’s time.” He
hesitated. “If you try to run away—”
“You’ll only hurt me again,” she spat. “I understand.”
That flash of bitter anger showed he hadn’t beaten all the
spirit out of her, and he was glad. “I know you won’t believe this. You have
every reason not to. But it really is going to be all right.”
The glowing sphere led them on a zigzag course through the
darkened streets. He held Jarla’s hand lest she try again to break away, while
other folk trudged indifferently past. To Dieter, the passers-by appeared less
than real. He had the insane but persistent feeling that as soon as he took
another step and changed his angle of view, he’d see they were flat, like
figures in a painting.
Trying not to be obvious about it, he glanced around, looking
for some indication that Krieger and his men were on his trail. They should be—he’d left the mark before proceeding to Jarla’s room—yet he couldn’t see any
sign of them. Mouth dry, pulse ticking in his neck, he told himself it didn’t
mean anything. He shouldn’t be able to spot them, not if they were sneaking with
sufficient craft to take the Master of Change by surprise.
Eventually the orb dropped and oozed through a rusty iron
grate in the cobbles. Dieter sighed. He’d hated his brief stint as an assistant
rat catcher, but it seemed he was destined to wade through the sewers one more
time.
The grate wasn’t locked or bolted down. The edges simply sat
in grooves devised to hold it in place. Dieter stooped, lifted it, and shifted
it aside. A stomach-churning stench wafted up from the darkness below.
Jarla winced. “Down there?”
“It will be all right.” The statement sounded more absurd
every time he repeated it.
He gestured for her to precede him down the ladder. Before he
followed, he took what might be his final look at the sky. I’m still bound to
you, he thought. I never stopped trying to be a worthy Celestial wizard, no
matter how it looks.
One small mercy waited at the bottom of the descent: a
walkway set above the sluggishly flowing filth. For the time being, at least,
they wouldn’t actually have to splash through the waste. Rats made a rustling
sound as they skittered through the blackness.
He drew his belt knife and conjured a glow onto the blade to
serve as a torch. Disdainful of the light, the darkness stepped backwards. The
foxfire floated east, and once again, he waved for Jarla to take the lead. The
ledge wasn’t wide enough for them to walk side by side, and it would be unwise
to place her at his back.
After a while, she said, “We don’t have to stay in the cult,
risking our lives in a cause we can never win. We can run away together. I
swear, I’ll make you happy!”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But right from the start, it’s all
been leading here, no matter how I tried to abandon the path, and now our only
hope is to try to find a way out the other side.”
The glowing orb abruptly made a right-angle turn and vanished
into what appeared to be solid, fungus-spotted masonry. But when Dieter gingerly
ran his hand over the wall, he found the edge where obstruction gave way to
empty air. The hidden archway wavered into a blurry sort of semi-visibility when
his fingers slipped inside it. The orb hung waiting on the other side.
Jarla took a deep breath. “All right.” She started in.
“Wait.” Dieter peered back the way they’d come and still
couldn’t see any indication that Krieger and his men were on his trail.
Maybe they weren’t. Maybe they never had been, and even if
they had, they might well have lost track of him by now. The sewers were a maze.
But he had to assume they were behind him somewhere, and
likewise needed to make certain they wouldn’t miss the concealed doorway. Using
the point of the glowing knife, he scratched an arrow on the stonework.
“What are you doing?” Jarla asked.
“Quiet,” he replied. He didn’t dare explain for fear that
someone would overhear. Of course, it was entirely possible that the Master of
Change was employing sorcery to observe him at this very moment, but he simply
had to hope it wasn’t so.