dead
end loomed close. The drainage tunnel was a black puddle at the bottom corner
of the wall. Nabber began to gravitate toward it.
Slap! Thump!
Tap! So did Bad Leg.
Sweat was now
running unchecked down Nabber's cheek. The sound of the man's footsteps had his
nerves on edge. Feet away from the tunnel now, Nabber gave up all semblance of
dignity and made a run for it. Water splashed round his ankles, air raced past
his face. The violent thumping of his heart drowned out all other noise. A
whiff of air rose up from the tunnel: the foul stench meant freedom.
Feet first? Head
first? Nabber had only a split second to decide. Taking a deep breath, he dived
for the tunnel.
The entrance
engulfed him, dark and inviting. He slid down into its moist and furtive
depths. Hands, head, shoulders, body, legs ... Feet! Nabber felt something
clawing at his feet. Close to panicking, he kicked out wildly. His hands
searched the curved wall of the tunnel for something to grip on to. His kick
had no effect: Bad Leg's fingers still grasped at his feet. They felt like
talons.
Then a hand moved
up to his ankle. Nabber tried to crawl forward, but Bad Leg pulled him back.
The sheer strength of the pull took him by surprise. For some reason Nabber had
thought the man would be weak. Scrambling for a handhold, Nabber was dragged
from the tunnel. His belly scraped through the mud. His heart was beating so
fast it was surely going to burst. The hands moved up to his knees and one
sharp tug brought him out into the night.
Nabber twisted
around and came face to face with Bad Leg.
Dark though it
was, he recognized the man's features. Or at least the look of them.
Gripping his
wrist, the man smiled. "Nabber, isn't it?" he said. His voice was as
thin as wire. He was not out of breath, not even breathing fast. "You
might already know me. I'm Skaythe, Blayze's brother." He smiled again,
twisting Nabber's wrist behind his back. This time when he spoke, his breath
caught the side of Nabber's face. "We met the night of the fight. I was
Blayze's second."
Nabber tried not
to breathe in the man's breath-it smelled like sweet things turned bad. Skaythe
was a shorter, wiry, and less handsome version of his brother. His teeth were
like Blayze's only slightly crooked, his eyes were a little narrower, and his
lips, unlike his brother's full and sculpted one's, were nothing more than a
jagged line. He didn't have Blayze's flair for fashion, either-his clothes were
plain and boasted no frills. He was strong, though. Nabber couldn't remember
ever having felt a grip so powerful.
"What d'you
want with me, then?" said Nabber, trying very hard to inject a measure of
defiance into his voice. Another twist of his wrist was all it got him.
"You know what I want, boy," hissed Skaythe. "I want Tawl."
Nabber tried to
pull free, but the grip just got tighter. "And you're going to take me to
him."
Something glinted,
catching Nabber's eye. It was the tip of Skaythe's stick; molded onto the end
of the wood was a spike of darkened steel. Nabber's heart stopped at the sight
of it. The spike came toward his face.
"Where is
he?"
Nabber wasn't at
all sure if he was pleased when his heart started again, as it seemed to have
moved up toward his throat. "I don't know where Tawl is. I ain't seen him
since the night of the murder."
Skaythe drew the
spike under Nabber's chin. Its progress was so smooth that only the warm
trickle following it told of its slicing action. Nabber froze.
"Tell me
where Tawl is, or I'll cut more than just skin next time."
Nabber didn't
doubt he was a man of his word. "Tawl's in the north of the city-hiding
out in Old Knackers Lane." The spike came close once more. "Why you
in the south, then, boy?"
Unable to move
forward, Nabber slumped back against the man's side. The action forced Skaythe
to readjust his grip on the stick. Nabber used this diversion to raise his
right knee and then slam his heel into Skaythe's bad leg.
Skaythe stumbled
back. Nabber
end loomed close. The drainage tunnel was a black puddle at the bottom corner
of the wall. Nabber began to gravitate toward it.
Slap! Thump!
Tap! So did Bad Leg.
Sweat was now
running unchecked down Nabber's cheek. The sound of the man's footsteps had his
nerves on edge. Feet away from the tunnel now, Nabber gave up all semblance of
dignity and made a run for it. Water splashed round his ankles, air raced past
his face. The violent thumping of his heart drowned out all other noise. A
whiff of air rose up from the tunnel: the foul stench meant freedom.
Feet first? Head
first? Nabber had only a split second to decide. Taking a deep breath, he dived
for the tunnel.
The entrance
engulfed him, dark and inviting. He slid down into its moist and furtive
depths. Hands, head, shoulders, body, legs ... Feet! Nabber felt something
clawing at his feet. Close to panicking, he kicked out wildly. His hands
searched the curved wall of the tunnel for something to grip on to. His kick
had no effect: Bad Leg's fingers still grasped at his feet. They felt like
talons.
Then a hand moved
up to his ankle. Nabber tried to crawl forward, but Bad Leg pulled him back.
The sheer strength of the pull took him by surprise. For some reason Nabber had
thought the man would be weak. Scrambling for a handhold, Nabber was dragged
from the tunnel. His belly scraped through the mud. His heart was beating so
fast it was surely going to burst. The hands moved up to his knees and one
sharp tug brought him out into the night.
Nabber twisted
around and came face to face with Bad Leg.
Dark though it
was, he recognized the man's features. Or at least the look of them.
Gripping his
wrist, the man smiled. "Nabber, isn't it?" he said. His voice was as
thin as wire. He was not out of breath, not even breathing fast. "You
might already know me. I'm Skaythe, Blayze's brother." He smiled again,
twisting Nabber's wrist behind his back. This time when he spoke, his breath
caught the side of Nabber's face. "We met the night of the fight. I was
Blayze's second."
Nabber tried not
to breathe in the man's breath-it smelled like sweet things turned bad. Skaythe
was a shorter, wiry, and less handsome version of his brother. His teeth were
like Blayze's only slightly crooked, his eyes were a little narrower, and his
lips, unlike his brother's full and sculpted one's, were nothing more than a
jagged line. He didn't have Blayze's flair for fashion, either-his clothes were
plain and boasted no frills. He was strong, though. Nabber couldn't remember
ever having felt a grip so powerful.
"What d'you
want with me, then?" said Nabber, trying very hard to inject a measure of
defiance into his voice. Another twist of his wrist was all it got him.
"You know what I want, boy," hissed Skaythe. "I want Tawl."
Nabber tried to
pull free, but the grip just got tighter. "And you're going to take me to
him."
Something glinted,
catching Nabber's eye. It was the tip of Skaythe's stick; molded onto the end
of the wood was a spike of darkened steel. Nabber's heart stopped at the sight
of it. The spike came toward his face.
"Where is
he?"
Nabber wasn't at
all sure if he was pleased when his heart started again, as it seemed to have
moved up toward his throat. "I don't know where Tawl is. I ain't seen him
since the night of the murder."
Skaythe drew the
spike under Nabber's chin. Its progress was so smooth that only the warm
trickle following it told of its slicing action. Nabber froze.
"Tell me
where Tawl is, or I'll cut more than just skin next time."
Nabber didn't
doubt he was a man of his word. "Tawl's in the north of the city-hiding
out in Old Knackers Lane." The spike came close once more. "Why you
in the south, then, boy?"
Unable to move
forward, Nabber slumped back against the man's side. The action forced Skaythe
to readjust his grip on the stick. Nabber used this diversion to raise his
right knee and then slam his heel into Skaythe's bad leg.
Skaythe stumbled
back. Nabber
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