Rag looked at him and saw that he didn’t look half dead no more. There was an evil light in his eyes, the nastiest twinkle she’d ever seen. She knew he meant what he said.
Without another word she turned and ran for the stairs. She didn’t care about making noise now, just about running. When she got up the top it crossed her mind to warn the people left inside — to tell them there was a madman on his way and they should get themselves out.
But they’d made their own beds. They’d come along at Friedrik’s say-so and they’d drunk his wine, watched his fights and fucked his whores.
Now they’d just have to take what was coming.
TWENTY-NINE
He was hurting. Not like in the old days, when the hurt was good and it fed his rage. This was a new hurt. Deeper. Like a fire down inside, and the only thing that would put it out would be the killing.
Nobul hadn’t wanted to frighten Rag, she’d saved him after all, but there was no way she’d want to see what was coming. And he might well have kept his promise and done her along with everyone else he could find. Best if she was far away from here.
There was a dim light coming from the hatch in the ceiling and Nobul took a step towards it. There was a numbness running through his whole body — even the dog bites had stopped hurting. He was hungry and thirsty and he’d spent too long in a dark hole not moving a muscle. A voice inside told him he needed help from an apothecary, but there was work to be done first. It would be messy work. The kind most men would shy away from. The kind Nobul Jacks was born for.
Each step he took towards the light became more assured. Every inch he drew closer to the hatch he was filled more and more with a sense of purpose.
Time to forget the pain. Time to forget your aches.
You know what fucking time it is.
The stairs creaked a little under his weight. His hand gripped the chain still manacled to his right hand and he twisted it around his fist so it wouldn’t make a noise. Best not let anyone up there know he was coming for them. Might ruin the surprise.
At the top he could hear someone whistling. Nobul crept up and peered over the lip of the hatch. There, silhouetted in a doorway, was a naked man taking a piss out onto the dark street. Where his clothes were was a mystery, but he wouldn’t need them anyway. Not where he was going.
As Nobul pulled himself out of the cellar, he wondered if this man had watched him in that pit with the dogs. Wondered if he’d had a good old laugh. Cheered with the baying crowd or spat on him as he fought for his life. As he threw the chain over the man’s head and tightened it around his throat, Nobul realised he didn’t give a fuck either way.
Credit to the bloke — he gave a good old struggle for his life, but in Nobul’s grip he had no chance. At first the man clawed at the chain about his neck, his feet kicking out as he tried to get purchase, but Nobul only tightened his hold, lifting the man off the ground. Then he did that little dance hanged men do when they’re trying to run from the noose. When he could sense the end was near, he forgot about the chain and tried to reach Nobul’s face, clawing for an eye. It did him no good.
The man went slack. Nobul held him there a while, just to make sure he wasn’t faking it, and then lowered the naked corpse to the floor.
For a moment he stared out through the open door. It was dark, the chill of the night blowing in like the breath of winter. He could walk away now, take his freedom. There would be time for vengeance later. It was the sensible thing to do.
But when have you ever done the sensible thing?
Nobul closed the door. He turned the key that was still in the lock, then took it out and tossed it into the cellar.
Carefully Nobul opened an internal door. Wouldn’t want to spook anyone. Wouldn’t want to let the whole place know he was coming.
A wave of warm air hit him as he entered a tavern. A fire crackled in one corner, and there was a bar covered in empty tankards and bottles.
He walked across the room, past the slumbering bodies that lay all around. Someone stirred as he walked by but didn’t wake. When he reached the other side of the room, Nobul slid the deadbolts across the door, then picked up a chair and wedged it under the handle as tight as he could make it.
Wouldn’t want anyone running off before the revelry had ended, would he? And Nobul knew damn well how much this lot liked a bit of revelry.
Before he could decide where to start, Nobul’s eye fell on someone sleeping next to the bar. His head was leaning to one side, and he was breathing noisily.
As Nobul recognised him he felt his heart begin to beat faster. Shivers of excitement crept down the back of his neck.
He’d made this bastard a promise. Time to keep it.
In his right hand he twisted the chain tighter round his fist, while his left reached out for the bastard’s shirt. As he pulled him off the floor, Toothless opened his eyes, letting out a bark of protest. Nobul slammed him back against the bar and held him there, giving his eyes a chance to focus.
Toothless looked confused, angry, then scared as he looked into Nobul’s blooded face.
‘Wakey wakey,’ said Nobul.
Toothless opened his mouth to reply — to beg, or perhaps to snarl his defiance. Nobul smashed his chain-wrapped fist into Toothless’ open mouth. The man squealed as the side of his face erupted in a gout of blood, what rotten teeth he had left flying out of his head.
‘What did I tell you?’ Nobul growled, smashing his fist into Toothless’ face again before he could answer. ‘Can’t remember, fucker?’ Nobul hit him again and Toothless sagged against the bar. ‘I told you I was gonna kill you.’ He picked his victim up in one fist, bringing his face close. ‘And I always keep my promises.’
Nobul let Toothless sag, his head lolling back on the bar. The bastard brought up his hands weakly, pleading for mercy. Nobul brought his fist down, smashing Toothless’ head into the bar top. Again and again he pounded that head, pulping it, cracking it, breaking it. Each blow rang out across the tavern, and behind him Nobul could hear people waking to the sound of murder.
Good! Let them watch this. Let them see what was in store.
Long after Toothless had stopped moving, Nobul let the body slip to the floor. He should have been satisfied at that. Seeing this bastard dead should have been enough.
But it wasn’t.
A woman screamed. There was a commotion, furniture scraping on the floor, someone running for the exit.
Let them run.
He turned to see a naked man coming at him, arm raised, a long black piece of iron in his hand. There was time to see the fear in the man’s bleary eyes before Nobul stepped forward with a crushing head butt. It stopped the man in his tracks, the metal falling from his hand. Another butt of the head and the man fell at his feet.
Nobul stooped to pick up the metal. It was a poker, still warm to the touch, and it felt good in his hand. He raised it, smashing the solid iron into the man’s head where he lay. A scream went up from a woman. Nobul turned and walked towards her. She carried on screaming, rooted to the spot.
Was she another witness to the dogfight? Did he fucking care?
He smashed the chained fist into her mouth and she fell back stunned. Another punch to the side of her head and he felt her skull crack.
People were running from him now, some cowering, desperate to hide. But there was nowhere to hide, not from him.
Nobul turned to the front door. Half-dressed figures were fumbling at the chair and the deadbolts he’d secured there, frantically trying to get it open. Nobul was across the tavern in a bound, raising the poker. A few nights before they’d been laughing and jeering and waiting for him to die. Now they were just a screaming mass of bodies, ripe for the kill.