The Unicorn Hunters: A Novel(94)

Anne’s heart leaped in astonished gladness, for the knight was Henri. “Christ!” he said fervently. “One moment I am questing for a black tower and a fair maiden and the next this imp is telling me it’s all a dream, and kicking my shins and shouting at me to follow her cat.” His drawn sword caught the next blade that swung for Louis’s head. He kicked the wielder—these korriganed did not seem to be as strong as men—and Louis swiped off another head. Then it was a mêlée, quick and savage, but these two men knew their work.

Moreau was holding Isabeau tightly, his eyes on her. “Marry me, let the child take her punishment, and I will be satisfied,” he said.

Anne was remembering the chapel with red walls. Always here, Moreau had said. If I do not take care.

She could feel it looming now, always nearby in the map of his soul. Hardly a step away. But how to make him take it?

She’d forgotten the cat. Butter came out of nowhere and leaped onto the table, yowling. Moreau fell back in surprise. In that moment of distraction, Anne half-fell across the boards and got both hands on his doublet, and then they were rolling together, Anne and Moreau—and Isabeau too, snatched at the last moment. And the cat. Rolling through the wild shadows.

Moreau struck Anne across the face as she rolled; she felt Isabeau throw herself at him, screaming a high-pitched war cry. Anne hardly noticed. She was looking for the shadows of women in the darkness round him.

Strangled and drowned, burned and bloodied.

When Anne and Moreau and Isabeau came to rest in the chapel with red walls, the dead women stood silently, watching him. One held a long blue sword in her bloody hand. Moreau, breath sawing in his throat, groped in his sleeve for his mirror. His hand came out empty and he spat a curse. Isabeau ran to Anne, helped her to her feet. Arms around each other, they backed up. The cat was with them, her fur bristling in fury. Anaon, Anne thought. But once they had flesh.

She locked her eyes upon them and pulled with all her might, doubling over, dragging them into the same pallid light that shone upon herself and her sister.

If the light changed upon their bodies, Anne couldn’t see it. Moreau had got to his feet, begun to stalk her and Isabeau across the floor.

But then the dead lady with the sword put it to his throat.

He froze, incredulous. “You are dead,” he told her. But there was a slow-dawning fear in his face. He was bent to protect his injured side. His dead wives were ringing him round save the first one, the one with the sword. She offered the sword to Anne, hilt-first. Moreau tried to get hold of it, but the lady slashed once and cut off his reaching hand.

Moreau fell to his knees, clutching the stump.

The lady offered Anne the sword again. It was lighter than it looked. Her lips moved. No sound came out. But Anne understood. Take the sword for better ends.

Anne grasped the sword with both hands. Whispered, “What will you do?”

“We can touch him now,” croaked the drowned lady in a hideous voice. “For that we thank you. This place was always his doom, and he is ours.”

Moreau tried to stand, to run, but the burning lady tripped him and he fell heavily.

“Isabeau,” Anne whispered.

As Isabeau’s arms came round her, holding tight, Anne stepped out of the dreadful light of that chapel, carrying the sword with her, the triumphant cat running at her feet.

The last thing she heard was Julien Moreau’s wail, and the last thing she saw were his four dead wives, clustered close as lovers around his prone body.





Chapter


32

    The hall Anne returned to was not the one she had left, and at first she thought she’d made a terrible mistake. These walls were not red, but green as leaves, and the firelight made jewelry of the inlay on the floor.

Yet Louis and Henri stood there panting and bloodied and holding their stolen swords, surrounded by silent korriganed. There was more blood on the floor.

As Anne and Isabeau stepped out of the shadows behind them, Elesbed crawled out from beneath a table where she had taken refuge. “Butter!” she cried.

Anne was still holding the sword. To her surprise, the korriganed drew back, wordless, and left the way clear to Louis and Henri. Watching them warily, she stepped forward. Henri’s mouth pursed in a whistle as she proffered the sword to Louis, who took it up with a reverent hand. It didn’t weigh very much, and the blade was a deep blue, with folds in the steel like the grain in wood, a plain crosspiece, leather grip, the pommel sculped in the shape of a sea-drake’s head.

A little of the tension bled from the room. Henri said, “I beg you will make this child Elesbed a countess at least, for she has the courage of ten knights, and a very clever cat.”

Anne was smiling. “Brother, I am glad to see you.”

Elesbed was already with Isabeau, saying, “And then the abbess asked what I should like and I said I wanted Butter and she came to help me—made us go through a door all made of metal. I could hardly see but I came out into a beautiful room and saw the baron in his armor. He had gone on a noble quest, but only in his mind, and all the people were korriganed. He didn’t see me until Butter jumped on him and I kicked him. I said we had to save you and he followed me. The big doors don’t work, they just lead to pretty places that aren’t real, but there are little doors all hidden too. My cat knew just where to go because she’s the cleverest cat—do you think she’s a faerie-cat?”