“...problem is that with your eyes already swollen, I don’t expect much got in. But it should be enough, eventually.”
What was he talking about?
“I’ve read your file, Gruwel,” said the Antagonist. His voice was moving, and she turned her head to try to follow him, to pinpoint where he was. “When we learned that they’d assigned a guard to Odette, we checked up on you. I know what you are — a soldier, a killer. My cousin is a scholar and an artist, and they put a beast like you behind her so that you could knife her in the back. But now you can barely see,” he gloated. “I’m actually mildly impressed that you caught up with us. According to your file, you don’t have any abnormalities that make you impervious to the fog, so you must be in a lot of pain. I certainly hope so.”
Don’t listen to him! Where is he? What is he doing?
A few seconds ago, she saw, he had been crouched, and then extending to leap for — he hit her, but she’d thrown up her arm so that his spur caught in the bunched cloth of her coat rather than slicing through her cheek. His weight made her left leg buckle, and she grabbed his shirt so that they fell together.
Good. If we’re grappling, then I know exactly where he is. She clutched at his wrists and tried to deliver a knee to his crotch. She connected, but there was none of the squishing she’d anticipated, nor did Simon’s strength waver for even a moment. Did I miss? Then she remembered the white-skinned man from the row house and his novel approach to genital configuration. So, he may have his willy tucked away in his abdomen, she thought. Fine. I doubt he’s retracted his skull, and she slammed her head forward in the hope that it would make contact with his nose or forehead.
Instead, her forehead glanced off his chin, which seemed to startle him, because he flinched and she shoved forward against his wrists. He fell back, and she scrambled up. A pause to read the situation as it was a moment ago, and she saw that he was also standing. Her back was against the wall and he was lunging forward, raising his left leg to kick at her.
Dodge! She twisted wildly to the left and heard a crack like a detonation. A hand against the wall and a moment’s incredulous peek into the past gave her an image of the Antagonist kicking a hole through the bricks. Cut his legs out from under him! She swung around, crouched down, swept out in a kick that caught his ankle, and (his other foot still being lodged in the wall) brought him flat down on his back.
He’s got the weapons, but no training. Take him down quickly, because he just needs to get one lick in with those spurs and you’re dead. She heard the breaking of bricks as he wrenched his foot out of the wall, and her Sight strobed flashes of him pushing himself up and turning to face her.
It was ugly, awkward fighting. He had the strength and the spurs, but she had the skills and the Sight. They both had the kind of hate that meant they didn’t hesitate and they didn’t fight clean. They spat, swore, and slung litter. Again and again they came together and fell back. Felicity’s attacks and dodges became more and more rigid as the fog took its toll. It became harder to look into the past, but each time, she managed to get in a blow or twist out of his way. Finally, goaded and frustrated, the Antagonist rushed in toward her. His spurs were low and ichor dripped from them.
She twisted down onto the ground under the spurs and kicked up hard into his stomach. He fell, winded, and she rolled onto him. The Antagonist feebly tried to bring his arms up, but she was quicker. End it! She struck down at his face, her hand a dagger. End it!
It would have killed a normal person, she was sure of that, but it didn’t kill him. He shrieked, and she pressed down, scrabbling and clawing until he flung her off. The bubbling, blubbering sounds that came out of his mouth were nothing human, and she braced herself for more, but instead he turned, clutching at his face, and fled away into the city.
I’m not following him, she thought wearily. No one could expect me to. She shuffled over to where Odette lay and knelt down. She’d better be okay, Felicity thought. She was fairly certain that she had trodden on the girl at some point during the fighting, but there was no blood that she could detect.
What do I do now? she thought. Try to pick her up and shamble out of here? It simply wasn’t going to happen. The adrenaline and rage that had helped her ignore the pain she was in were fading, and all she really wanted to do was lie down and pass out. Even dying didn’t seem like that bad an option. Then she remembered that Leliefeld also had a phone. Was it still on her? She was listlessly pawing through the girl’s clothes when she heard a distant sound.
“Felicity Clements!” came a faraway shout. It was curiously muffled, but it had a distinctly English accent.
“Here,” she croaked. “Here! Here!” She heard boots on asphalt and felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Pawn Clements, we’re here,” said a voice. It was muffled by a gas mask.
“It would have killed you to get here five minutes earlier?” She wheezed. A mask was pressed against her mouth, and she breathed cool, clean air.
“Well, you know how it is,” said the Checquy man. “Been a bit busy.”
“The terrorist who caused this,” said Felicity weakly. “He was just here, no more than a minute or two ago.”
“We can still catch him?” said the trooper.
“God, I hope so,” said Felicity. She put her hand down on the ground for a moment. “He went that way. Fuck him up if you can.”
“Can you describe him?” asked the trooper. “What does he look like?”
“Well, he’s not lying blinded on the ground,” she said testily. “That should make him stick out. He’s blond, has a pointy nose, and is wearing a blue designer suit.” She took in another deep breath of that glorious air. “Oh, and he’s missing an eye.”
“Right,” said the trooper. He sounded a little taken aback. “Brilliant, we’re on it.” He spoke into his radio, issued instructions. “So, which eye is he missing?”
“This one,” she said, holding up her hand.
39
A lessio looked up as Odette came into the room, and immediately jumped to his feet.
“You’re here! It’s been crazy, ’Dette! They’d taken us up the Shard to see the city, and there was this green cloud growing across the river, and I realized that it was right where our hotel is. And then the teacher got a call, and we all went down, and there were two men in the lobby who said I had to come with them and they drove me here and put me in this room and told me to stay here and no one’s told me anything and it’s been hours!”
Odette blinked. Her normally calm brother was evidently completely freaked-out. She hugged him tight and looked around the room critically. They’d been delivered to the Annexe, the Checquy’s headquarters for international operations. It was a somewhat squat, unassuming building in the southernmost part of London. It stood only a few meters from a decidedly unsquat, extremely assuming office building that contained some impressive and flashy businesses, including a television production company, a modeling agency, and the editorial offices of a notorious magazine that featured lithe young women wearing mainly hats and gloves, so the Annexe was often overlooked entirely by passersby — which was, of course, the point.
Alessio had been deposited in a sort of break room where Checquy office workers could hold little meetings or presentations. He’d been supplied with a microwaved pizza, a few bottles of water, a battered edition of Tom Brown’s Schooldays, and some old copies of the Beano Annual. An armed guard outside the door had escorted him to the lavatory twice.
“So what’s going on?” he demanded.
“I can’t tell you right now,” she said and looked up at the ceiling meaningfully. His eyes grew wide.
“Are they — are they going to kill us?” he asked weakly.