Theodore was startled, and not entirely certain that he did understand.
“Then there was a traitor?” he asked uncertainly.
Sir Amik said nothing.
“And you are asking me to lie,” the squire continued. “To Kara, and to others in our order?” This flew in the face of so much that he had been taught about the knighthood.
Sir Amik put a hand to his forehead in distress.
“I am doing exactly that” he said. “I know it goes against everything we stand for, but we cannot pass up an opportunity like this. To do so would allow a murderer to escape justice.”
Theodore’s brow creased in puzzlement.
“A murderer?” he uttered quietly.
“Oh yes, Theodore. Many of our order have perished under mysterious circumstances, and some had families who were targeted by Zamorak’s agents. All of this happened long before you joined the knights.” He paused for a moment, appearing to gather his thoughts. “In my position, Theodore, I must make hard choices, but I can truthfully say that putting Kara in harm’s way is the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.”
“You believe her to be in danger?” Theodore’s voice was suddenly very high, his words strangled in disbelief.
“If the traitor is still alive, then it could be so,” Sir Amik admitted. “That is why I haven’t moved her from the ward, and that is why you are to spend as much time as you can with her without arousing suspicion.”
“I am to guard her then?” Theodore asked.
“That, and observe,” the knight acknowledged. “Watch who comes to see her, and make sure she doesn’t go out around the castle. She doesn’t know that she is the bait for our trap, and therefore she cannot be allowed to break the illusion that what she knows is vital to unmasking the traitor. You do understand, do you not?”
Theodore nodded, suddenly feeling unclean.
“I do understand, sir. And I will obey your orders. But I take no joy in doing so. What I do, I do for the good of the order, and perhaps the ruination of myself.”
Sir Amik had no reply. The young man bowed his head and left.
The old woman was restless. She chewed on her dirt-stained fingers, her eyes flashing nervously from left to right.
She stepped to the small doorway and looked through into the darkness within. Her lodger was sleeping, his body motionless in the shadows with his hands behind his head. He slept in absolute silence, and for a moment she hoped he might be dead.
“He is rich” she said to herself softly, for that same afternoon she had seen the contents of his pouch, the glittering jewels. “And he is sleeping. How can I lose this opportunity?” Her greed overcame her conscience. The knife felt heavy in her sweaty grasp. “It will only take a few seconds. He won’t feel a thing.”
She stepped through the doorway, careful to avoid the creaking and unsteady floorboards. Within a few seconds she was standing over her sleeping guest.
She raised the knife, breathing out slowly. And then she drove the knife downward into his body.
His cry was all the louder for the silence that had preceded it.
She pushed down with all her weight. But something was wrong.
There was no blood.
The knife pierced the skin easily enough, but there was something underneath that prevented it from going any further, something that gave a sound like sackcloth tearing.
And he stopped screaming. His arm was drawn across his face, his breathing deep. Then the hoarse laughing began.
“How utterly pathetic!” he sneered, his voice animalistic and inhuman.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling the knife out quickly as if she thought that was enough to make him forgive her. Then, suddenly, she stabbed down again, trying to pierce his heart.
The blade hit his body and failed to penetrate the sackclothlike coating that lay beneath his robe. He laughed once more. His huge hand seized hers and squeezed, causing her to let out a shriek of terror.
“You’re hurting me!” she gasped, falling to her knees.
He tightened his grip on her hand and old bones cracked under his fingers. Her breath came out in rapid gulps, each one a grunt of pain.
“Have mercy on an old lady!” she wept. Never before had she felt such agony.
“I shall give you the same mercy you offered me,” he growled. With his free hand he pulled back the hood, his red eyes glaring in the darkness, his long teeth gleaming under his wide nose.
“No!” she gasped. “No!” Her heart was pounding in her chest.
“You humans are all alike.” He released her hand and she could feel her old skin torn into strips by her broken bones, wet with her own blood. “I assume you are interested in my expensive jewels?”
She shook her head feebly, a last attempt to deny her greed.
He reached for his pouch, and plunged a clawed hand into it.
“You may have this one-the largest one!” He withdrew the hand, which held a huge opal between thumb and forefinger, bringing it just an inch away from her eyes. Then he grabbed her jaw with his free hand and forced her mouth open, inserting the opal before she could resist. Her attempt to bite seemed only to amuse him. Her soft gums barely tickled his thick skin, for she had lost all her teeth years before.
He shook her violently and she swallowed the opal in a single gulp, the large gemstone lodging in her throat. With a savage push the monster sent her staggering into the centre of the room, where she fell.
The old woman’s hands reached for her throat as she began to choke. But nothing could dislodge the opal. Her last thought was to avenge herself on her murderer, to reveal his presence to the citizens of Falador, but she hadn’t enough strength even to reach the door.
The monster watched her die without any satisfaction. He had suspected she might attempt something like this.
Yet killing her meant that he had to act quickly now. She was, he knew, well-known in the marketplace. It would only be a matter of time before she was missed. He needed to lure Theodore out of his castle for a lengthy and very private interrogation.
And he needed to do it immediately.
TWENTY-NINE
It was morning, and Doric was angry.
After a sleepless night in one of Falador’s gaols, spent in the company of a flatulent drunkard, he was released at dawn with a warning from the guard who had arrested him.
“No more talk of the monster, citizen,” the man said pompously. “We can’t afford a panic in the city.” With that, the self-important law-giver shut the door.
As he stood alone in the morning light, Doric shivered, and anger gave way to wisdom. He recalled the scene of the purple-robed men who had been killed in their sleep. It was no mere animal with a taste for flesh they were after; it was a callous assassin, a cunning murderer who possessed monstrous strength. Whatever it was, its intellect made it doubly dangerous.
His first plan was to alert Theodore. He made his way to the castle, and his mood darkened further when he was told by a guard that the squire could not take the time to see him.
“You have not even told him that I am here,” he said angrily. “Tell the squire that the monster is in the city.” His voice rose, and he tried his best to put fear into the man. “Tell Sir Amik to recall his men from the countryside. Tell him to bring them home to patrol the streets of Falador!”
But to no avail. The guard ceased even responding to his entreaties, and he left with a foul curse on his lips. With no other course to follow, he returned to The Rising Sun and retrieved his weaponry and helm, for he would not be caught unguarded. It was shortly after midday when he found his way once more to the gem stall in the marketplace.
The trader gave him a long look as he saw him approaching.
“You won’t be disturbing my customers again, will you, master dwarf?” he asked.
“No disturbance today,” the dwarf said quietly, swallowing his pride and leaning heavily on his axe. He couldn’t let his temper get the better of him again. “But I am interested in the old woman. Do you happen to know where she lives?”