“Okay,” said Felicity. “Let’s go downstairs.” With an effort, she got to her feet and scooped up her club. “Come on.” Cawthorne was still sitting where she’d left him, his eyes closed, but he opened them as the women came down the stairs.
“Oh, you got her,” he said. “Good.” Felicity made the introductions, and Odette one-handedly examined his injuries. The diagnosis was not good, but it was not as bad as it might have been. Broken forearm from where the monster had slapped his gun away. Broken ribs and possible concussion from getting thrown into the wall.
“You’ll live,” she said.
“Lucky old me.”
Odette bent down and examined the corpse of the monster on the floor, prodding carefully with a combat knife she borrowed from Cawthorne.
“What are you doing?” whispered Felicity fiercely. “These are inhuman creatures that may have been locked away for centuries; we have no idea what kind of toxic crap is inside them.”
“This one is wearing a wristwatch,” Leliefeld pointed out.
“I beg your pardon?” As Felicity looked on, the Grafter poked at the thing’s hide with her knife and, after a bit of effort, managed to saw through it. “Odette, this is not the time or the place to conduct an autopsy.” Leliefeld ignored her, making two cuts and peeling a corner back with the point of the knife.
“I think this hide is actually clothing,” she said. “It looks like it’s been welded to the skin and strengthened with a sort of resin.”
“Oh, crikey, you’re right,” said Felicity. “Look, there’s that tacky trademark thing on the chest.” Odette carefully made an incision at the creature’s hairline and peeled back the membrane. A thick clear syrup drained out, and a man’s face was revealed, his features twisted in pain.
“That’s one of the missing graduate students,” Felicity said.
“Are you sure?” asked Odette.
Felicity nodded. “I remember his picture from the file.”
“So they’re civilians,” Odette said. “And maybe the Pawns that got snatched away. Locked into these suits.”
“Tragic,” said Felicity.
“Since they’re normal people, that might explain why they’re so vulnerable in the middle of the face,” mused Odette. “Whatever’s capturing them, it can’t layer that stuff over their eyes, or they wouldn’t be able to see. Apparently they can see through the liquid and the membrane, but the hide is too tough.” She poked gingerly at the membrane. “It’s much stronger over the mouth and nose. I suppose the eyes are the only weak spot.”
“Good to know. But we should get out of here,” said Cawthorne, and he struggled to his feet. “The gaping holes in the walls and the floors are probably a good signpost to other creatures that we’re here. And the gunshots probably gave the game away as well.”
“Agreed,” said Felicity. “But we need to let the Checquy know about this. Killing them may not be necessary if there’s a possibility these people can be saved.”
“Let’s make the call from somewhere else,” said Cawthorne. “And I can tell you now that if we see any of them before backup gets here, I’m shooting them.”
“Agreed,” said Felicity.
“Agreed,” said Odette.
*
They let themselves out the back door and decided to find a place that was easily defensible and then wait for rescue to arrive. After shuffling along painfully for a while, they came to a passage where two houses leaned so close together that the sky above was just a narrow strip of smoky blue.
Cawthorne sat with his gun pointing in one direction, the women sat with Felicity’s gun facing the other way. Felicity was about to call the Checquy when faint voices came through over Felicity’s headset and Cawthorne’s earpiece. A voice identified as Pawn Bourchier was advising all Checquy operatives in Muirie that backup troops had arrived and were moving in. Anyone needing medical attention should advise. Various Checquy people chirped in from around the village, but there were very few injured. It sounded like most of the combat teams were dead.
“This is Pawn Clements,” said Felicity. “Party of three, serious injuries on... one?” She looked to Odette, who shrugged and nodded. “Also, we have important information about the threat.” She explained its true nature. Bourchier did not sound best pleased with this revelation but thanked her for the information. He advised that he would send medics to treat Cawthorne.
“Do you know where you are?”
“We’re in the snackwallets,” said Odette.
“The what?” said Bourchier.
“Or whatever the hell you call them,” said Odette sourly.
“The snickelways,” said Felicity.
“The what?”
“The fucking alleyways,” said Felicity.
“You would be astounded at how little that narrows it down,” he said.
“No, we wouldn’t,” said Felicity. “We’re off Broy Lane, just next to number ten.”
“Roger that, we’re on our way. Sit tight.”
They sat.
46
Early the next morning, before the sun had even begun to rise, the plane lifted off from Dundee bearing two extremely tired women.
“You know, the doctors could have taken a look at your arm,” said Felicity.
“The painkillers were enough,” said Odette, but she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Besides, I’ll need to get Marcel to reweave the musculature. A regular doctor would probably...” She trailed off.
“Fuck it up?” suggested Felicity.
“It’s best to get a certified repair agent to work on these things,” said Odette.
“Otherwise it might void the warranty?” asked Felicity.
Once the troops had rescued them from the snickelway and brought them to the encampment a mile outside Muirie, doctors had swarmed over them. Cawthorne was spirited away, and the doctors had been aghast when they finally took Odette’s coat off and saw the gnarled muscles that wound up her arm and across her shoulder. She had waved them off (left-handedly) and ordered a special cocktail of painkillers that had them blinking in bewilderment. By the time she and Clements had been checked over and debriefed, it was too late to go back to London. They’d slept uneasily on camp beds and were woken at four in the morning and transported back to Dundee.
They were dozing in their plush seats when word came through from the cockpit that the troops had finally infiltrated the church crypt and found the source of the problem. The pilot didn’t have many details: “A humanoid, very quick, and coated in layers of secretions.” The Checquy had “subdued it,” which could have meant any number of things but definitely meant that the problem was over.
This briefing complete, Felicity was just drifting off again when her phone rang.
“Hello?” she said, without opening her eyes.
“Pawn Clements, this is Trevor Cawthorne.”
“Hi,” she said in surprise. “How’s your arm?”
“In a cast,” said the Retainer. “But still attached.”
“And your brain?”
“Light concussion.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Felicity.
“Thanks. I have some news for you and Miss Leliefeld,” he said.
“I’ll put you on speaker,” said Felicity, plugging her phone into the console. “It’s Cawthorne,” she explained to Odette.
“The historians finally found something in the records about Muirie,” said Cawthorne.
“We already know the monster’s been taken care of,” said Felicity sleepily. “I don’t really care about its provenance.”
“I think you might,” said the Retainer. “The mention of Muirie was in the Checquy burial records.”
“What?”
“A Pawn Hamish Reid was buried in the crypt of the Muirie church in 1502.”
“No,” breathed Felicity, coming completely awake.
“Served in the Order of the Checquy from 1460 until his death. Regular hero — helped put down some big monsters in his time. The records say he could sweat a sort of paste, ‘livid in hue, that bent men’s minds to his will and gave them vigor.’ It sounds like a junior version of the crap that was coated all over the people we fought. The Pawn was laid to rest in his home village.”
“So you think that a dead Pawn of the Checquy, decorated for service to his country and buried with full honors several hundred years ago, suddenly started snatching innocent people and turning them into his drones?”