Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (53 page)

Sounds
of someone on the roof. Dayn standing over the one who'd gotten in,
holding the other man's knife. The doors were slammed into; for a
moment, the remaining wood held. Dayn glanced from the near ladder,
that Kessa'd climbed, to the corner where Bynae cowered.

It
didn't surprise her, as the makeshift bar gave way, that Dayn flung
himself to guard the ladder and let Bynae take care of herself. The
rope, that'd kept the doors from opening far, lasted only a little
longer before snapping with a noise like an alchemical explosion.
Kessa tried to edge closer to the ladder herself, her vial uncapped,
as a small group of men stumbled through, trying to catch their
balance from slamming open the doors.

It
was dim down below. Kessa had to keep an eye on the hole, where
someone likely still lurked. She couldn't count the men, who'd
focused on Dayn as the troublesome one. There were shouts, cries,
curses. The dramsman with a knife and his back to the ladder, but
little leeway to dodge or keep them from ringing him in a
half-circle.

One
man, burly and paler quarter-breed, had a large club. He shouted and
shoved at the others as they tried to harry Dayn, for the clump of
men got in the club's way. Dayn swung the knife to keep them away,
most of them with fists and not blades of their own. Kessa checked
upwards again; when she glanced down, it seemed he'd drunk something
from a hidden vial of his own. It glittered as he threw it into the
crowd, and some small, indignant voice inside Kessa complained that
she couldn't smell what it might be.

Something
that made him faster, perhaps, or stronger. Snatches of images
between watching for that other person on the roof, between her own
indignant, drawn-out screams. Smell of blood, smell of alchemy
(faintly, faintly, perhaps from her own opened vial), cries of pain,
the space between the men and Dayn expanding and contracting as they
jostled to get close to him and were kicked away or slashed.

One
noticed the other ladder, and began moving for it. Dayn, somehow, saw
him and lunged, perhaps trying to draw the others away. A clear space
opened, and the man with the club swung it, level with his own ribs.

Dayn
took the hit on his left arm and was flung back to the right of the
ladder.

Kessa
still had her skirts hiked up with her left hand. Her right held the
vial. There was no time to worry about who might be on the roof. Her
steps were placed with fear-firm precision on the boards, to straddle
the gap above the ladder. Dayn was against the wall. The attackers
pressed towards him.

She
swung the vial in a perfect arc and back again, emptying it out as if
she'd practiced the movement. (And was it so different from spilling
powders from paper twists, onto dogs beneath a wall so they'd sleep?)
For a long heartbeat, she feared it wouldn't work, with their heavy
coats and perhaps too few bare-headed from the fight. She dropped
that vial and yanked the sleeping powder from its pocket, pulling the
stopper free with her teeth.

One
man fell. The one with the club staggered. It slowed them. Dayn
looked up (she saw his eyes, flashing pale between the planks of the
ledge) and the others looked to her, pointing.

Days
of work went into a cloud that drifted downwards. Dayn jerked his
tabard over his nose and shoved himself away. Kessa shifted her
weight, shoving back across the ladder-gap so she could get away from
the hole. A darkness fell across her, behind her, making her shadow
indistinct on the wood.

She
caught up her skirts and darted more paces than she'd meant, half-way
to the corner of the building above where Bynae'd huddled, before she
grabbed for the last vial of paralytic elixir and turned.

Wolf
might've been attractive in the way she'd expected to think men
attractive, back when she was a Shadow-witch's roof-rat apprentice.
Lean, despite his bulky winter tunic, with his black hair tied back
loosely. He'd abandoned his coat somewhere, along with scarf and hat.
He held a dagger with at least decent skill. His face was fine-boned
for a man, but not weak-chinned or overly delicate, and his eyes were
a pale and striking contrast to his hair.

His
expression was an unfriendly sneer. Even that might've been artistic,
if not aimed at her. "Never thought I'd get paid for revenge."

Idiot.
Don't waste your breath.
She held the vial under her cloak,
thinking how to open it so he'd not see till it was too late. "You'd
get paid more for saving me," she said. "Gold trees."

"You're
a lying vixen. Beast-eyed, too. You'll go out like a candle flame."
He advanced slowly, menacingly.

She
retreated carefully, step by step. She didn't dare look away to see
who'd fallen. "Wind'll take my breath soon enough. Speed it and
you'll be hunted forever."

"I'll
get enough coin for your life that I'll not be found." He
slashed out, lazily, with the dagger.

Kessa
slid a foot back; her heel pressed on wood that creaked in the bad
way, that said there was no anchor on its other end, and the middle
none too sure it was staying, either. The vial's stopper resisted her
careful prodding. She slid it under her mitten, into that palm, and
put a hand to her cloak-clasp.

Wolf
advanced again. "Run out of ledge, vixen?"

"Mmm,"
she said, distantly, and turned to jump.

He
grabbed her cloak, of course. It pulled free past her shoulders as
she started to curl for the impact. Then the ground slammed into her
feet and she was rolling for all she was worth because broken ankles
were every roof-rat's terror. She fetched up against a wall more
quickly than expected, roll gone crooked, and tried to sort out which
was wall and which was floor.

There
was still a scuffle going on, perhaps one or two attackers left
standing along with Dayn, but that was all she could notice as Wolf
came down more carefully: bending to put his hand on the ledge and
swinging his legs over. It wasn't a roof-rat's move, and she didn't
know what skill it might bespeak. She shifted to grab the vial from
her cushioning mitten, and felt the stopper against her fingers and
wetness on her hand beneath the yarn. She pulled the vial free,
hoping there was still some left, and resisted the urge to back up.
There'd only be a corner behind her, and likely debris that might
trip her.

As
Wolf stalked forwards, she bared her teeth. "You burnt down my
shop, for something
I
never arranged."

"You
should've been happy you weren't in it, vixen."

"I
was busy poisoning alley-way thugs, paid to hurt me."

"You'll
not bite me, snake."

"I
don't have to bite." She held the vial, wishing she could check
its level, and took aim.

He'd
been so quick to talk before; she was startled when he closed the
distance swiftly instead, grabbing her wrist with his left hand. She
couldn't see his knife, so it had to be coming up at her gut or
heart. She slapped down, left handed, mitten squelching as she shoved
the gut-shot into her leg instead, with a shallow stinging that might
become pain if she lived so long.

She
jerked up her knee, aiming for his groin, and he twisted to block
with his hip, yanking his knife-hand away. Then he was trying to pull
her off-balance, to her right so he could have her whole body to
stab. She flung her mittened hand up to ward off the attack –
and realized what that damp squelching meant.

It
was . . . simple, to turn her wild, left-handed swing
into a directed thrust. And though he jerked his head away, making
her blow into a flat-handed caress of his jaw and neck, she pressed
her potion-soaked mitten against his bare skin. It left a purplish
smear.

His
knife came down against her ribs, but it was already losing force and
what could've been a killing thrust twitched, tangling in her coat,
into a ragged cut down her side.

Wolf
fell, jerking as his body suddenly refused to obey him. His breath
came in hoarse croaks that were probably curses. Kessa wrapped her
arm around her ribs, not sure how badly she was bleeding, and started
pulling the mitten off with her teeth so she could get at the
healing
potions. Then, alchemy a bittersweet tang in her mouth, she realized
the back door – that'd been locked against her – was
ajar. And Bynae no longer huddled near it.

Kessa
ran for the door, pain starting to be more than just a bad sensation
hovering behind the fear. She managed not to slam into the wall, and
looked out, along the dockside of the warehouse.

It
was luck, that she looked the right direction to see Bynae, held by a
thin, brown-haired man. She could've called him dark, but her
standards had changed; he was only a bit sallow, really. From the way
Bynae clutched his sleeves, she supposed it was Viam, her lover –
and Iasen Kymus' dramsman. Kessa bit back her breath so she could
hear what he murmured, so she could think what to do and if her
mitten held enough elixir to take him down as well.

It
was color, not sound, that caught her attention. Viam pulled Bynae's
hands from his clothes, pressed something into her fingers. Something
red. Vial-sized, with a glass shine in the snowy air. As Bynae raised
it to her lips, Kessa could see it more clearly, and fancied she
could even smell the thing: sweeter than any honey, bittersweet
alchemy overpowering the sweetness till it was like rot.

Kessa
was too far away to knock the draught from the girl's hands. Viam
watched her, eyes wide and expression intent and desperate.

Iathor's
stern warning came from memory.
"Once she's taken the
draught, there shall be
utter silence."
As the
girl's head tipped back . . . as her lover
watched . . . as the red drained from the
crystal . . . Kessa shoved at the door, leaning
against it into the light, and dragged another cry from her own
throat. "Bynae!
Look at me!
"

Instinctively,
the girl did, and her pupils were black pools with banks of dark
green iris. Even at some few paces, Kessa could see color and
darkness shifting as Bynae's pupils flared and contracted.

"No,"
Viam gasped. "
No!
Bynae, love, look at me, at
me
!"
He tried to turn her face.

Bynae
resisted, pressing back against his hands. "But . . ."

"No . . .
No, it's not supposed to be like this. You mustn't speak of it."
Viam shook his head, horrified.

"I'm
sorry," Kessa said, perhaps to both of them.

"M'lady,"
Bynae whispered, gently pulling Viam's hand away when he tried to
break her gaze with it.

"Come
here, away from him," Kessa said, rasping. "He's dangerous.
Whether he will or no."

Softly,
persistently, Bynae started to walk towards her. "I don't
understand, m'lady."

Kessa
watched Viam's hands tremble as he released the girl. "He's got
orders." She swallowed. Her throat hurt from screaming. "But
he'd best run now. There's no more time, and he'll need to warn his
master. He can't silence us all: you and me, Dayn and all those men
inside who could say who hired them. Not in time to get away. But if
he runs fast enough, perhaps you and I needn't speak of this."

"I've . . .
orders," Viam repeated, his own voice hoarse now. His own pupils
flaring and contracting.

Kessa
reached out with her bare right hand, pulling Bynae closer. "Please,
help Dayn if you can. If it's safe for you to try."

The
girl nodded and walked into the warehouse.

"Orders."
Viam's eyes were unnaturally black.

"Orders
not to get caught, I wager." Kessa braced herself against the
doorframe and tried not to wince nor wonder how deep that rib-score
was. "Orders to report back. You've got to warn him. If you
don't, you'll be caught. Then everyone will know for sure. You won't
be able to lie to protect him, not if you're here."

"She
can't talk. She can't be allowed to talk. M'lord . . ."

So
you stole his draught, to use on her?
There was no happy ending.
It hurt in her chest, her throat, her side and leg. "I won't let
you kill her. I won't let you bind her to your master, not even by
proxy."

The
dramsman might've said something more, shifting his weight, or
might've rushed at her so she'd find if her mitten or his hands were
faster. But there was shouting at the other door, of
city watch
and
Millwell patrol
, and Viam paused.

Kessa
shoved herself back inside, staggering in a direction that hopefully
wasn't too obvious if Viam decided to come after her.

He
didn't; all to the good, as her leg stopped holding her up. Kessa
sprawled onto the floor, mitten under her. Bynae cried, "M'lady!"
Then the girl was at her shoulder, helping her sit, and Kessa had to
keep the damp yarn away from anyone's skin.

"I
need healing," she whispered, pulling open that side of her
coat, to show those vials. "Help?"

"Of
course, m'lady," Bynae said, with only a hint of distant
confusion.

Dayn
was groggy but awake enough to give the watchmen instructions, and
they gathered up the attackers. They paid special attention to Wolf,
once Dayn recognized him, and even treated Kessa with wary care as
Bynae helped her to Joniacae's buggy. Craym, the driver, had gotten
away after all, and somehow brought the watch back with him in time.