‘No!’ Tanalvah cried. ‘Don’t go!’
He turned and ran down the stairs, moving with remarkable speed for a man his age. There was no way he was going to risk himself for a prostitute, and certainly not for a Qalochian. She’d seen it in his face, had seen it many times before.
Mahba’s killer didn’t believe the old man was going for help any more than Tanalvah did. He smiled like a snake. ‘Now are you going to see sense?’ he said.
‘All I see is my best friend dead.’
Far below, the front door slammed with a dreadful finality. She knew there were few, if any, other people in the house.
‘You stupid bitch,’ he snarled. ‘Do you really think I’m going to let myself be ruined over a harlot’s worthless life?’
He moved towards her, fury in his eyes. She remembered the knife, lying on the bed. He followed her gaze.
Lunging for it simultaneously, they collided. A struggle ensued as they fought for the blade. Then he backhanded her hard across the face, sending her sprawling to the floor. He had the knife, and came at her with it shouting, his words garbled by rage.
With no time to get to her feet, Tanalvah kicked out at him. More by chance than design she connected solidly with his shin. He lost his balance, almost landing on her. The tussle for the knife resumed, Tanalvah’s hands around his wrist, straining to check it. He was more powerful. The blade made steady progress towards her face.
From the corner of her eye Tanalvah saw Mahba’s arm hanging limply over the side of the bed. Terror at the thought of suffering her friend’s fate gave her the strength of desperation. She fortified her grip and stayed the knife, but couldn’t force it back.
Lowering her head, she sank her teeth into the back of his hand and bit deeply. He yelped and dropped the weapon. Tanalvah grabbed it.
‘Stay back!’ she yelled, scrambling away from him, pointing the knife.
He either didn’t see or didn’t care about the blade, and flung himself at her.
She felt the impact, and the knife slipping into his flesh.
An outrush of breath emptied his lungs. He made a sound like a sigh. The expression on his face seemed one of amazement rather than pain. As she watched, his eyes glazed.
She was on her knees, supporting his slumped body. Horrified, she pushed him off. He fell weightily. The hilt of the knife stuck out from his chest, a widening patch of crimson where she supposed his heart to be. There was no question that he was dead.
The crossing of that insubstantial line between life and death had happened so quickly she couldn’t take it in. Tanalvah wanted to scream, to vomit, to run headlong from this place and hide. For a moment she hung on the edge of hysteria, then gradually fought down the urge for blind flight.
She got to her feet, shakily, and realised she had blood on her dress.
What she was supposed to do was summon the authorities, throw herself on their mercy. She almost smiled. If anybody was going to get the blame for this, she knew, it was her. But she couldn’t think of another way.
She looked at the violated, lifeless body of her friend. Then her eye was caught by a particular object in the debris on the floor. The sight of it sent icy fingers caressing her spine.
Stooping, she picked it up. It was an expensive glamour, resembling a thin, red leather-bound book. Mahba had charmed one of her moneyed clients into buying it for her, and it was probably her most precious possession.
Tanalvah opened it, revealing a shiny black inner surface and activating the spell. Tiny glittering specks began to swirl in the core of its darkness. They quickly multiplied and coalesced, forming a vivid three-dimensional portrait, recently cast. The likenesses of two smiling children – a boy of five with tousled ginger hair and freckled cheeks, and a girl of eight sporting long flaxen locks and a slightly serious expression.
What was there for them now? Tanalvah wondered. A state orphanage? Adoption by favoured officials who couldn’t have children of their own?
More likely training for farm labour or domestic service. She looked closely at the girl. Or a life like hers, in a brothel.
She had to do something, however slim the chances.
Gently, she laid the glamour on Mahba’s chest and folded her already cool hands over it. She lightly kissed her brow. Blinking back tears, she lifted one side of the embroidered bed sheet and covered her body.
There were clothes-hooks on the wall, holding a jacket and a cloak. She searched them and found a key, which she pocketed. Tanalvah took a last look at her friend, and no more than a fleeting glance at her murderer’s corpse as she stepped over it. She closed the door quietly behind her.
Back in her own room she splashed cold water on her face, then swiftly changed into fresh clothes. She collected a few of her meagre belongings and stuffed them into a cloth shoulder bag. Lifting a floorboard, she found the purse containing what little money she’d been able to save. She put on a cape, then wound a cotton scarf around her neck so that her lower face was veiled. It was absurdly inadequate in terms of a disguise, but all she could think of.
She left her room and crept down the stairs, avoiding the creaking boards, frightened someone else was there and about to discover her.
Normally, opening the front door would be a time consuming task with its numerous bolts and chains. But they were all undone, presumably from when her client had fled. The old dolt had been of some use after all. She inhaled deeply a couple of times and stepped outside.
On the street she felt more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. Every passer-by was a potential accuser, every look she drew, an indictment.
She expected the People’s Militia to appear and arrest her at any minute. Eyes downcast, she tried to look like an ordinary person going about her business.
She hoped the bodies wouldn’t be found until the busy evening period. That might give her just enough time.
Walking seemed the best option. She could have taken one of the public horse-drawn wagons, or spent out on a private hire carriage, even if that ran the risk of her right to do so being challenged. But either would make her feel too restricted, too trapped.
It was an anxious journey, full of dark fancies and false scares. But finally she arrived in a residential quarter and found herself facing the housing block where Mahba had a unit. She knew the inside of the two-storey wooden structure wasn’t that different to the rooms in the brothel. Except for what went on in them, of course.
Mahba had been allocated housing outside her workplace partly because she had children, mostly because at least one of them had been fathered by somebody of influence. She had been good at twisting clients around her little finger. Tanalvah had no such connections and lived in the bordello.
She got out the key and entered the building, hoping she looked as though she had every right. Fortunately, Mahba’s apartment was on the ground floor. It consisted of just two rooms, one given over to sleeping, the other used for everything else. They were austere, but spotless and tidy. Tanalvah felt like an intruder.
Going to the single window, she pulled back the shutters, then dragged over a chair and sat down to watch the street.
The hour that followed seemed endless.
Eventually a large wagon appeared, drawn by a team of four horses. It contained benches lined with chattering children, back from kindergarten. The wagon stopped on the opposite side of the road and two tiny figures got off, holding hands.
She dashed to the door and out to the street.
They saw her and ran her way, surprised and delighted. ‘Auntie Tanalvah!’ they chorused, rushing into her arms. She embraced them, fighting back the tears.
Then came the words she dreaded. ‘Where’s Mummy?’
‘Teg, Lirrin,’ she said, ‘I’ve something to tell you. About Mummy.’