“Well, Brother Emmer.” I paused to quaff—a style of drinking not dissimilar from swigging but which involves spilling rather more of the brew down your chest. “I don’t know about you but I’m in the mood for some more horizontal entertainment.” And as if on cue sweet Mary stood at my side, smile in place. “Hail Mary, full of grace,” I said, alcohol substituting for wit. “My father’s a cardinal, did you know that? Let’s go upstairs and discuss ecumenical matters.” Mary giggled dutifully, and with a hand on Brother Emmer’s shoulder I found my feet. “Lead on, dear lady.” I started a bow but thought better of it, most traces of balance having deserted me.
I followed Mary to the stairs, veering from one side to the other but thankfully not managing to spill a Brother’s pint or otherwise causing offence, and always drawn back on course by her tempting wiggle. At the bottom of the stairs Mary took a candle from the wall box, lit it, and led on up. It seemed I’d started a trend as someone else followed us up the steps, boots thudding.
A long passageway divided the second floor, doors to either side. Mary led the way to one of the ones standing ajar. She set the candle in a holder on the wall and turned. Her smile slipped away, eyes widening.
“Get lost.” For a moment I wondered why I’d said that, then realized that the voice had come from behind me.
Mary dodged aside and pattered back down the corridor whilst I wrestled with the business of turning around without falling over. Before I could manage it, fingers knotted in the hair at the back of my head and steered me into the darkened room.
“Snorri!” What had been meant as a manly cry for assistance came out more as a squeak.
“We don’t need him.” The hand steered me further in. Shadows swung as the candle moved behind me. “I—” A pause to deepen my voice. “I don’t have any money. Just a copper or two. The Viking carries for me.”
“I don’t want your money, boy.”
Even a skinful of ale only allows so much room for optimism. The edge of a bed frame pressed sharp against my shins. “Fuck that!” I swung round, fist flailing. The flickering light allowed me a glimpse of Brother Emmer before a two-handed shove sent me tumbling backwards. My fist found only air, and the candle went out.
“No!” It became a wail. The bedclothes engulfed me, lavender scented to obscure the stink of old sweat. I lashed out again but the blanket tangled my arm. I heard the door kicked shut. The weight of a body covered me.
“Emmer! I’m not like that!” A shout now. “I’m—” I remembered my knife and started to hunt it.
“Oh, shush.” Much softer tones, close to my face. “Just behave.”
“But—”
“It’s Emma.”
“What?”
“Emma, not Emmer.” An iron grip encircled my wrist as my fingertips found the hilt of my dagger. The body pinning me now stretched out on mine, hard with muscle but shorter than me, and at such close quarters, quite possibly female. “Emma,” she said again. “But let that slip outside this room, pretty boy, and I’ll cut your tongue out and eat it.”
“But—”
“Just relax. I’ve saved you half a silver ducet.”
So I did.
SEVENTEEN
“Mired in sin!” The annoyingly judgmental voice rang behind my ears and sent shards of white pain into my head. “Deeper in deed than in thought! I hadn’t considered it possible.”
“Oh God!” Someone had turned my stomach inside out and filled it with eels. I was sure of it.
“How dare you call upon him!” Baraqel’s anger carried a hint of delight, as if nothing pleased him more than finding good fresh sin to condemn.
“Just kill me!” I rolled over. All of me hurt. I must have slept with my mouth open because by the taste of it the rats had been using it as a latrine all night.
“How a creature such as you came to the light . . .” Baraqel’s imagination or eloquence failed him.
I cracked one eye open. Daylight streamed in like razors, slivers of it reaching through heavy shutters to illuminate a filthy chamber. I ran a hand across my chest, remembering somebody pushing me. Naked? My locket! I lurched up, my stomach lurched faster, and for a moment I struggled not to decorate the headboard. My clothes lay strewn over the floorboards, and an ill-advised lunge placed my hand over the comforting lump that the locket made in the shirt that I’d been wearing since Oppen. This time my struggle was in vain and I threw up what appeared to be everything I’d eaten the night before, along with a couple of other people’s meals and a bag of diced carrots I’d no memory of consuming.
“Cover yourself, man! There’s a lady present.” I winced at the angel’s voice, roaring like nails down the chalkboard of my soul.
“Uuuurgod,” proved to be my snappiest response. I wiped my mouth and hauled myself up so my head rose above the edge of the bed.
On the far side, across a wrinkled sea of soiled linen and grey wool, Emma was pulling herself back into a pair of worn leather trousers. Even in my delicate state I managed to admire the hard, if grimy, lines of her body before they were entirely hidden away. She turned, buttoning her jerkin over tight-wrapped breasts, her expression a mix of amusement and mild disgust. I took her to be somewhere in her thirties, towards the end of them perhaps. Even with her short hair and broken nose, I couldn’t understand how I’d not seen her for what she was before.