He stalked off, leaving her and her map on the ground. But at the edge of the pavement, he turned around.
‘You should sleep,’ he said. ‘It is a full day’s walk, and we will be up early.’
Mary looked at her map, at the discarded ink and quills, and began to gather everything up. She’d roll the map up and keep it in her room, and return the rest to the store room. She’d light the candle there with a flick of her fingers, just like Crows, and she’d extinguish it with sheer force of will.
18
Pigface came for Dalip sooner than he’d thought. Three days of merciless physical training had left him aching in places he didn’t know he could ache. He felt all but boneless, loose and unconnected. He’d had extra food◦– for all he knew it was Pigface’s own rations, and Stanislav had bullied them out of him◦– but nowhere near enough time for anything to make a difference.
The older man’s demeanour had changed in captivity: he was now all sharp edges and abrupt actions, as if he knew exactly what would put their gaolers on the back foot. And Dalip was afraid to ask where he’d got that knowledge.
‘On your feet, little lion man. She wants you.’
Dalip raised himself from the stone floor. He’d been stretching, feet out in front of him and bending from the hips, trying to get his head as close to his knees as he could. He was, as Stanislav had told him, stiff like an old man, and he needed to be supple in order to fight.
Despite the hours of knife-work, of slow, deliberate blocks, slices and stabs, he was certain that he didn’t know enough to defend himself yet.
‘No. I’m not ready.’ He stood at the back of his cell, so that Pigface would have to come all the way in and drag him out.
‘She doesn’t care, and I don’t care. To the pit with you.’
‘Where’s Stanislav? I want Stanislav.’
‘The Slav’s not been called for. You have.’ Pigface had armed himself with a club, as well as his knife.
‘I need to talk to him before I fight.’
‘No. Get to the pit. She’s waiting, and you don’t keep her waiting.’
‘Then go and get Stanislav, and you won’t keep her waiting.’ Dalip put his hands behind his back and planted his feet, and they stared at each other, both in shadow, one silhouetted by the door, the other limned with light from the window.
Pigface took a step towards Dalip, but it was hesitant and betrayed his weakness. It would come down to whether he wanted a fight with Dalip, risking the fight he was supposed to be putting on for the geomancer, or whether he thought he’d be able to get his work done quicker by letting the prisoners dictate the terms of their imprisonment.
He muttered something under his breath, and left, heading up the corridor to Stanislav’s cell, leaving Dalip’s door open. He wasn’t a very good gaoler at alclass="underline" either that, or he was a coward and a bully, and didn’t know how to take being challenged.
He heard voices. He hadn’t been allowed to mix with the others at all, only Stanislav. He knew from him that Mama was diagonally opposite. Elena and Luiza were further on. The women had been put to work in the kitchen gardens he’d seen on his abortive bid for freedom. As far as Stanislav could tell, they were being treated tolerably.
Grace? No one knew where she was. She didn’t appear to be a prisoner with them, though she could have been somewhere else in the castle. Perhaps she never made it this far: taken by some creature with sharp teeth, or fallen by accident and he’d passed her by within shouting distance.
Perhaps she was dead. It was impossible to know. Pigface seemed to not only know nothing, but also lack the curiosity to find out.
The cell doors were barred with a plank of wood that fitted into hasps on the far side, preventing them from opening. Dalip took the bar from where Pigface had laid it against the wall and took it back into his cell. It was too wide to be useful as a weapon, difficult to grip and swing.
He lifted it up and offered it to the window slit. It would just about fit through, and if there was a time when he’d need to conveniently lose the bar◦– and free the other prisoners◦– then he could just slide them all outside.
He returned it, just before Pigface came back around the corner, walking behind Stanislav and tapping his cosh into the palm of his hand.
‘You are to fight?’
‘Apparently.’
‘What?’
‘He hasn’t said.’
Stanislav idly turned around, and in one fluid move, pinned Pigface’s throat and club hand to the wall. When the guard tried for his knife with his off-hand, Stanislav pushed his forearm harder against the man’s Adam’s apple.
‘We need to know before he goes in the pit.’
Pigface couldn’t turn his head, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t speak. He just made a little gasping noise from somewhere inside.
‘What animal does the boy have to fight?’
Pigface’s lips moved, but they were starting to turn blue.
‘If you kill him,’ said Dalip, ‘Actually I don’t know what’ll happen if you kill him.’
‘We might get someone with some balls. That would make things more difficult for us.’ Stanislav released his hold and Pigface staggered away, wheezing and cupping his neck with his hand.
‘You’re crazy,’ he gasped. ‘You’re mad.’
‘Yes, all of us,’ said Dalip. ‘We’re more trouble than we’re worth.’
Pigface coughed and leant against the wall. ‘She’s waiting. You’re late.’
‘What does the boy have to fight?’ said Stanislav again. ‘Are you going to tell me, or do I beat it out of you?’
Pigface held up his hand to ward him off. ‘Boar. There’s a boar.’
‘A… what?’ Dalip looked askance.
‘Pig. Wild pig. Strong. Dangerous.’
‘I know what it is. But I’m fighting a pig?’
‘No, a boar.’ Stanislav ignored Pigface and walked slowly back to Dalip. ‘They are difficult opponents. Their vital organs are deep in their bodies, under many layers of fat and muscle. A knife will not be enough to kill it.’
‘But a pig?’
‘It will open your belly and root around in your guts if you let it. It has teeth like razors and is angry, always angry. It is your opponent and you must treat it with respect.’
Dalip conceded the point. ‘Okay. But if a knife’s too short, what do I use?’
‘In old times, a spear. Big one, broad. With something to stop the boar pushing down the shaft and attacking you, even as it dies.’ Stanislav raised his eyebrows. ‘You see?’
‘Right.’ It wasn’t a pig, then, all pink and squealy.
‘A knife is all you get, lion man,’ said Pigface, pushing past.
He ended up pressed against the wall again.
‘Find him something longer,’ said Stanislav.
‘I’m not allowed,’ he grunted. ‘She said so.’
‘What else did she say?’ Stanislav tightened his grip. He had no hesitation in inflicting pain on the man. ‘Tell us.’
The confusion that washed through Pigface’s little button eyes almost provoked sympathy from Dalip. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, with prisoners assaulting their guards with impunity.
‘The knife is all he gets. Ever. She wants him to be afraid. Terrified. That’s what she wants.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know why. “Make him afraid,” she told me. “Make him think he’s going to die,” she said. She’s not going to tell me her plans, is she?’
Stanislav let go, and deliberately wiped his hands on his boilersuit.
‘The man that is with her. The one with the silver cane. Who is he?’
‘He’s…’ Then Pigface checked himself. ‘I don’t answer to you.’
All it took was for Stanislav to take step closer, and the guard brought up his club to defend himself.