‘Talya shouted a prayer to Naél, lashed out with her whip. Dior flinched as the thongs snapped the air, inches from her throat. I cried warning as the girl struck, almost collecting me on the backswing. But undaunted, Dior stepped up, carving the air with broad blows, and Talya’s whip was sent spinning from her grip. The inquisitor backed away, snatching up a hammer from the bench and roaring to her brethren for help.
‘Dior brought Ash down in a clumsy overhand swing, and the inquisitor darted aside, slammed the hammer into the side of the girl’s skull. Dior staggered, gasping, swinging Ashdrinker in a backhand arc that forced Talya away. To her credit, the inquisitor was no slouch, and alone, even armed only with a hammer, she might’ve proved Dior’s match. But in dodging Dior’s strike, she’d brought herself close to me.
‘I dragged myself up on my chains, bleeding, gasping, scissoring my legs around the woman’s throat. She roared again for her men, slamming her hammer into my leg, my belly, struggling to break free. And Dior took her chance, lunging with Ash and spitting Talya like a Firstmas hog. The blade sheared through that blood-red tabard and into the blood-red meat beyond. The woman wobbled, slipped from between my legs and down to the floor in a puddle of blood – hers and mine.
‘The scent of the murder, the sheer, maddening flood of it overcame me. I gritted my teeth, vision flooded, fangs aching in my gums. Dior looked about, snatched up my pipe from the table. No care taken for measure, she upended a sanctus phial over the bowl, and I whimpered at the sight of the powder spilling on the floor. She stuffed the pipe into my mouth, striking my flintbox.
‘“Quick. Breathe.”
‘I needed no urging, almost weeping as that smoke hit my lungs. My eyes rolled back in my head as it crashed into me and over me, deep as the darkest river, falling upwards into a burning sky. I cursed it even as I loved it, days of agony vanishing in a heartbeat as I dragged down another lungful.
‘I heard Dior twisting Talya’s key, felt my restraints come free at last, slithering to my knees in a pool of red. Head bowed. Just trying to breathe.
‘“M-merci, mademois—”
‘I flinched as my britches crashed into my head, my boots skittering along the stone.
‘“Get dressed,” Dior spat. “Can’t have lil’ Gabriel flapping about while we’re running for our lives through a nunnery.”
‘“… lil’ Gabriel?”
‘“Fucksakes, just get dressed!”
‘I hauled on my britches, my boots. Wincing as I pulled my tunic over my bloodied back, I watched Dior from the corner of my eye. She was gathering up the foundry, the sanctus phials, tying off the burlap with shaking hands. She’d stolen some nun’s nightshirt from the look, but it was soaked with her blood, and I could see her eyes were bright with pain – our captors had been no kinder to her than me.
‘“How’d you get loose?” I murmured.
‘“Good thing about shoes as shitty as these.” She patted her beggar’s boots and the slim leather wallet stashed within. “Most folk don’t want to go poking around inside them.”
‘“Clever bitch,” I whispered.
‘The priory bells started ringing. Not the tolling for mass or the song of the dawn, but an alarm, frantic, echoing in the cellar around us. Dior looked up, cursing.
‘“They know I’m loose.”
‘“Those bells will have the whole city garrison down on us.”
‘Dior tossed me Ashdrinker, snatched up the burlap bundle, and we ran from the cell, red footprints behind us. Bolting down the corridor, we passed another member of the Inquisitor cohort, dead from a single swordblow to his back. I glanced at Dior, but she avoided my gaze. Pounding up a stairwell with Ashdrinker in my hand.
‘Judge her not, Gabriel. The girl d-did what needed to be done, be done.
‘“I know.”
‘She has fire, this one. Fury. She r-reminds me of thee in younger days.
‘“… I know.”
‘Cresting the stairs, we found ourselves on the priory’s ground floor. I could see flickering torchlight ahead; the inquisitorial troops already searching the courtyard. And the bells were bringing more soldiers as I feared – already I could hear them distant, heavy boots tromping up through the streets of Redwatch below.
‘“Not the grandest idea to try fighting our way out of this,” I murmured.
‘Dior nodded to the shadows. “This way.”
‘I limped up another stairwell behind her, my minced back still raw and bleeding. Cresting the first-floor balcony, we ducked low and ran along it, avoiding the crowded courtyard below. At the end of the landing, Dior led me through a small doorway and back down a thin flight of stairs, and we found ourselves in the priory kitchens. Someone was still ringing those bastard bells, and I knew we didn’t have much time before we were overrun.
‘Dior snatched up a burlap sack by the door, stuffed with spudloaves and dried goods. I realized she’d been here already, raiding the stores. Wounded, bloodied, beaten as she was, she’d still had her wits about her. But I also realized she must have been fixing to leave me behind – that she’d got almost as far as the gates before coming back for me.
‘God’s truth, I wondered why she’d done it.
‘Somewhere distant, I heard a scream echoing in the dark. Boiling with rage. “Methinks Inquisitor Valya just discovered her sister,” I murmured.
‘“Sick bitches,” Dior spat. “Wish I’d got them both …”
‘We slipped out the kitchen’s rear, along the priory’s walls. I saw torchlight on stone, heard an inquisitor screaming that we must be found, found! The first wave of soldiers was arriving – young scraps all, sunflower-yellow tabards, brand-new swords. If they cornered us after we’d murdered inquisitorial troops, they’d be in no mood for talk.
‘We passed a laden clothesline, and running to the fluttering cloth, Dior tossed a bundle at my head. Rough homespun and lace. Black and white. Though the habit was a squeeze, the veil covered my scruffy beard at least. And clad as sisters of the San Cleyland Sorority, we crept along the walls to a stairwell, then up to the battlements above.
‘Peering over the edge, I saw a forty-foot drop to the cobbles below. Handing Ashdrinker and our bags to Dior, I patted my minced shoulders.
‘“Climb aboard.”
‘The girl met my eyes, wondering a handful of heartbeats before finally clambering onto my back. With her arms around my neck and the sacrament in my veins, I wormed my fingers into the brickwork and scaled downwards. I could feel Dior’s heartbeat hammering against my back. Smell our blood, red and fresh in the air.
‘“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “That they hurt you.”
‘She made no reply, simply holding tight until we reached the ground.
‘Snow began falling as we stole through the Redwatch streets, quiet and quick. The cityfort about us was waking, those damn bells echoing down thoroughfares and off red-brick walls. More troopers charged past, up towards the priory, but swathed head to foot in our stolen vestments, we were paid little heed. Making our way through the wending dark, we’d soon reached the grubby sprawl of the Redwatch docks.