himself saying defensively. He didn’t like the man and felt he was being manipulated.”
Again the man looked over his shoulder. “It is my only rooms that I offer you, best you take them as it stands; but I will tell you what I will do as I know I would not want it on my conscience if anything happened to my sister in such circumstances. It is late; there will be no more along this night so you can have the room for what I charge for the others. I can do no better than that?”
Nicholas felt uneasy but the man was probably right. He knew he had little coin and looked at Harriet, she nodded. “We will need to stable our horses.”
The man gave another grin and beckoned past Nicholas. “Peter will show you where to put your animals, and where you will sleep.”
Nicholas turned to see a surly youth look up from the five. He seemed reluctant until the one next to him; wearing the coat of a low rank officer, pushed him forward. Peter noisily pushed his chair back before he came over to them.
“Show the gentleman the stables Peter.” The keeper said, though Peter didn’t seem at all anxious to. “Come on look lively.” He taunted him. “The boys will wait your return before they get into the game.”
Peter made towards the door as the keeper spoke again. “You go with Peter, and I'll show the young lady up to her room.” He immediately lost interest in Nicholas as he turned to Harriet. “If you would follow me this way miss?”
The others of the group were throwing back their drinks as Nicholas followed Peter to the door, but he thought nothing of it.
They led the animals into an adjacent building. It was dirty and stank. Nicholas found the single cleanest stable he could. The horses would have to share for the night. Peter stood watching him as he began to unbuckle the saddle on his mount. He heard another enter behind him and speak softly to Peter. They seemed to be talking to each other about the weather, and he paid little notice.
Harriet's horse was nuzzling a pannier upon his mount that contained chaff. Both horses seemed restless and he pulled out the food to settle them down. He slung the bag over the horse’s neck; it shook its head. Its eyes wide and staring in his direction; “Easy boy. Easy,” he said comfortingly as he went to remove the saddle. Without warning he felt a sharp pain in his kidneys. His back arched in reflex and his legs went weak. Before they had buckled under him, a second vicious blow sank deep into him. His head began to spin and he drifted into a half-conscious state, barely comprehending as he was roughly gripped by the shoulder and spun around to face two grinning men. One of them said something, and there was laughter, but all that evaporated as a fist crushed up under his rib cage, driving every drop of air out of his lungs. As he curled up in agony, a hand hooked around the back of his neck, pulling his head forward and down, as a knee smashed up into his face.
Nicholas stumbled back, crashing into the rear wall of the stable, in front of the horses. He fell between their legs, and they stepped back as a pile of rotten hay and manure cushioned his fall.
His horse shied and almost brought its hoof down on his head, but he was dragged out from under them by his feet, and roughly propped upright against the partition. He felt dreamlike hands going through his pockets. When they had finished they let go and Nicholas slumped down onto his knees, holding his face in his hands; blood from his crushed nose was running down over his lips, and between his fingers.
Everything seemed to be happening in flashes as suddenly he was being hauled to his feet again. One man on either side, he was dragged outside into the cool evening air.
His mind was a haze. His toes were dragging over tar. They were crossing the road. Vaguely he could see they were approaching the Crete wall. One of his assailants was talking, laughing. He was telling the other to hurry or they would miss a turn.
Nicholas once more had the wind knocked out of him as he was roughly dropped, kneeling and half draped over the wall. He stared down. It seemed far, far down and he could only dimly make out the rapids in the almost darkness. They were laughing and talking about flying, as he felt his legs lifted. Nicholas suddenly understood that they were going to throw him over into the chasm. “I have money,” he desperately cried out.
They held him.
“There are tokens… in my shirt.” He pleaded through painfully aching lips as he balanced over the precipice.
“He’s got more?” he heard one say
“He’s lying, I looked,” said the other defensively.
“I have a… hidden pouch.” Nicholas said breathlessly, but now a little more confident that he wasn’t about to plunge over the wall any moment.
“Look again, and make sure this time,” snapped his one assailant. Nicholas was pulled back away from the wall, roughly turned and dropped heavily onto the roadway, as one ripped open his cloak to look inside. The coarse fingers tore his top open to expose a small bag hung around his neck. He ripped it off and tossed it to his companion. His rough hands grasped at the torn shirt. “Is that all?” he snarled.
Nicholas stared into his eyes. “For you it is.” He said calmly as he reached up and clutched out at the man, his fingers curling around the cloak lapels. The surprised man instinctively tried to stand back up, but Nick held onto the front of his tunic, letting himself be lifted almost waist high before lifting his own foot, kicking it into the thug’s stomach. The man grunted and lost his balance as Nicholas allowed his own weight to drop him onto his back, pulling the thug down with him. Nicholas hit the ground hard, crunching the back of his head on the gravel as he rolled backward, simultaneously straightening his legs and pushing up his with all his remaining strength. The man easily cleared the wall, and was already plummeting down towards the rapids before he uttered his first and only, dwindling scream.
Nicholas had completed the rolling motion against the wall and was almost on his feet. Ignoring the pain he braced against the wall, twisting his panting body into a crouch. The other man was still staring in disbelief past him until he saw Nick rise up. He dropped the pouch and let out a stream of abuse as he thrust his hand into his tunic.
Nicholas didn't wait to see what for; he clenched his fingers and lunging up with a straightened arm, jabbed them deep into his opponent's throat. The thug’s head snapped backward as he dropped to his knees choking and gasping for breath. Using his left hand Nicholas grabbed him by the hair pulling his face down before bringing his right hand down in a chop to the back of the man’s neck with the force of an axe. He dropped the prone body to the ground and stepped straight over him. Wiping the blood from his face with his sleeve, he stumbled in agony back towards the tavern.
Nicholas burst through the door, immediately noticing that the table used by the five was empty. He pushed his way through startled patrons toward the entrance to the rooms. Shouts and curses were called after him as he spilt drinks and knocked games of playing cards over, but no one dared to bar his way. The bar tenderer had seen him coming, and produced a vicious looking club from beneath the bar. He stepped in front of Nicholas and raised the weapon to hit him. As it came down Nicholas swept a chair from besides him, and deflected the blow. The chair splintered into a dozen pieces, but Nicholas had already released it and stepped through the shower fragments to grab the man’s shirt. Pulling him closer, at the same time as he lunged forward Nicholas drove his forehead into the bridge of the man’s nose. There was a sharp crack as his nose broke, and blood splattered everywhere, driving the few patrons still near, well away. Nicholas cast the moaning man to the side and strode towards the door. Even though his bones ached he took the stairs three at a time, and rushed down the first floor passageway, throwing; or kicking open door after door. A number of the rooms were occupied; those inside startled and frightened by the bloody apparitions sudden invasion. There was no sign of Harriet
Screams were coming from before and after him now, as he desperately climbed to the second floor, to meet a man coming down the stairs. The man gripped the balustrades, and swung his feet forward in a kicking motion.
Dur
ing the swordfight Nicholas had been confused at how he reacted. The seemingly slowing of action: and how he had controlled fear and panic, retaining clearness in his mind. Now he knew how to use them, and as he ducked to the side of the man’s steel studded boots, he gripped his ankles, twisted, and leaned over the balustrade. The man shouted in shock as his own bodyweight carried him over the banister. He hung on with one hand and desperately tried to grab with the other, as he sailed out into the stairwell. Nicholas didn’t wait to see if he was successful, guessing he wouldn’t be as he ran up the last stairs. Two doors down a man ducked back into a room slamming the door behind him. Nicholas raced to it and kicked it open. She was there.
The keeper held her arms pinned behind her, with his other hand over her mouth. She had a look of fear and desperation in her eyes. Her cloak was torn back over her shoulders and her shirt was ripped open. A second man: the officer from the five was cupping her breast. Between him and this man was another; their leering faces all turned to Nicholas.
A short while before Nicholas had not expected trouble, which had been a mistake; or been prepared for it, which had been an even greater mistake. But now he was, and as had been the case with the Veldt,