Dragon's Heart (27 page)

And then she remembered—well,
remember
was not quite right. She had a flash of insight, of stumbling against someone in the dark. No—against one of the speakers at the debate. Against...

Then she had it. Or part of it. The man who called himself Dark, but she'd known as Number One. Also known as Swarts. A very dangerous man. Somehow she'd stumbled against him. He must have recognized her and grabbed her, brought her here, wherever
here
was. Brought her here alive but concussed. And tied.

But why?

Her head hurt from so much thinking, but she
had
to puzzle it out. She couldn't move her hands, but she
could
think.

But why?
she asked herself again. And then she got it. Alive, she was a liability to him. Of course he could have just left her to die here—unburied, undiscovered, unmourned. Well, maybe not unmourned.

Please, not unmourned.

But that wasn't right. It would have been easier just to leave her in the alley.
The alley!
Now she remembered some more. Something about going out through the alley with Senekka. And the hatchling. And Dark.

And his gun!

Oh, God! He has a gun.
That was important. But she didn't think she'd been shot. Not her. Maybe Senekka? Maybe the hatchling? It would explain why they weren't here.

But why am I?

She fell asleep again.

***

THE NEXT TIME she woke to dark, her mouth fuzzy, her mind muzzy.

Where am I? Why am I here?

Those same questions again. It took her nearly an hour to re-create her thinking of the time before. She worried that she'd lost some pieces, and she painstakingly went over and over the bits she could recall.

Surely, leaving me dead in the alley along with Senekka and the hatchling would have been safer for Dark than hauling me here.
And he
had
to have hauled her. She certainly hadn't walked here by herself.
Wherever here is! He couldn't have
chanced carrying me over his shoulder in the street.
So there must have been a car.

Which car?

The only one she knew of was the senate car.

And what about the driver? That nice man. Dikkon?

Her head, even awhirl with pain, was full of questions.

So why am I here?

She felt tired again, closed her eyes.

Why am I alive?

Trying to make it make sense hurt her head.

Why am I alive and here?

Though she tried to stay awake and follow the thread of that thought, she fell asleep.

Again.

***

THIS TIME when she woke, her head seemed clearer. Her arms were no longer bound behind her, but in front, tied at the wrist. Though she was still lying on the mattress, there was enough light to see that the mattress was thin. And gray. And filthy. She worried about the borrowed dress. The blood-soaked borrowed dress. The torn-at-the-shoulder blood-soaked borrowed dress. It would never recover and what would Henkky say about that? Then she scolded herself. Henkky wouldn't mind as long as she was returned safe.

The shutters on the window were now wide open. Akki sat up and turned her head. The world seemed to spin around. But the thought of lying down again was worse than the pain of being upright.

"Awake at last."

The first sound of the voice gave her hope. But even before she looked around and saw him, she recognized that voice. Dark was perched on a straight-backed chair. His voice was a low rumble. He had a black eye and a long wound—still aflame—that went from his scalp to below the blackened eye.

Did I do that?
Akki wondered. And then she had another small flash of memory, of the hatchling flying at Dark's face, talons out. "
Thou fine fighter,
" she sent, even though the dragonling was nowhere around and sending made her head hurt.

Akki felt as if she'd been sick for days. Her mouth was foul. Her stomach was growling. She'd obviously wet herself while she slept. Oddly enough, those things didn't make her feel ashamed, just relieved.

Relieved!
She laughed out loud at the pun.

Dark leaned forward. "What are you laughing at?" He sounded both puzzled and furious.

I can use that. He thinks I'm not frightened, that I'm laughing at him, and clearly he doesn't like it.
She kept on laughing, tried to make it sound unforced. Hysteria lent a hand.

He stood up and walked toward her.

It's like training a dragon.
She was careful not to show her fear.
This is the point where it's decided which one of us is to be master.

He glared down at her, his mouth open, like a wound. "Where's your boyfriend, then?"

That was a question she wasn't expecting. How could he possibly have known about Jakkin? Suddenly she flashed on what she'd said as she'd run toward Dark.
I'm alive and so is Jakkin.
Had that been a fatal mistake? Or had it actually saved her life? She stopped laughing, considered it quickly. Clearly Dark thought she had information.

Information!
It was a bargaining chip. The only one she had. Though she'd never gambled at the pits, she would have to gamble on this. She laughed again.
Some bargaining chip.
She'd
no
idea where Jakkin was.

She held up her bound hands. "Untie me and I'll tell you what I know. And get me a needle and thread and a wet cloth and I'll sew up your face. You wouldn't want it to become infected." Of course if she gave him any real information, he'd kill her. Actually, he was probably going to kill her, anyway, after he got the information he wanted. She was surprised at how calm she was. Must have been all that time in the mountains with the trogs. She'd faced death before. And anyway, she'd take
later
rather than now.

Later gives me a chance to escape.

It was the only chance she had.

"You can rot here awhile longer till you're ready to speak," Dark said. "And if you think I'll let you loose with a needle near my eyes, you're clearly still reeling from that head wound." He turned his back on her and walked out a door that was on the wall opposite the window. But in his eagerness to show her who was boss, he forgot to lock the shutters. He forgot to retie her hands behind her.

I can
use
that,
she thought again.

***

ONCE DARK'S FOOTSTEPS faded away down the unseen hall, she stood, kicked off the heeled sandals, and began to walk barefoot around the room, getting her legs going, moving away from the filthy, wet mattress. She lifted her arms over her head a dozen times, as they were all pins and needles, which helped a bit, though they began to burn as feeling returned.

Is there anything I can find to help me?
She wasn't actually sure what she needed.
A knife, a hammer, a piece of long rope?
Clearly the rope around her wrist was too short, even if she could get it off.

She saw now that she was in a large attic room, about seven meters wide and ten meters long. The roof slanted down at the window end, the window being built into a dormer that was too high for her to look out of without standing on her tiptoes.
I should have kept the shoes on.

Outside, the sun was now so bright, Akki had to blink a few times before she could actually see anything. When she could finally make out some buildings, she realized that she didn't recognize them. But clearly, she was on the outskirts of a city. There was some strange kind of arch to the buildings—odd-looking. They weren't at all like the houses in the center of The Rokk, which leaned toward one another. These all seemed to be leaning away. They were large buildings with few windows. Off to the left she could just make out part of a field. The room she was in seemed to be on the third floor, too high up for the rope around her wrists to help.

These buildings were city buildings, not village or farm buildings. Krakkow wasn't close enough for him to have driven there before Dark-After. Though even unconscious,
she
could have withstood the cold,
he
couldn't stay alive in the bone-chill, the car giving scant protection.
This must still be The Rokk.

Knowledge is good,
she told herself.
And the fact that I'm still here.
She sighed.
Golden will already be looking for me.
At least she
hoped
he was looking for her. Which he would be if this was just the next morning, if Senekka had been found in the alley, if the hatchling ... But if Senekka had not gotten out of the alley, she'd be dead from the cold. And maybe not yet found.
Golden and Henkky might not even know I'm missing. Yet.

Her stomach growled again. She had no idea how long it had been since she'd eaten last. More important than eating, though, was finding water.

By this point she'd paced around the entire room. There wasn't any sink. There was nothing in the room except the mattress, the chair, a single window, the shutters, and bare boards. The only way to get water was going to be through Dark.

Bare boards have nails.
She was suddenly alive with hope.
I can use the nails.

The first time around the room, she'd paced like a newly caught feral in a stall. This time she went around more slowly, until she'd gathered half a dozen nails, loosening them first with her fingertips and then pulling them out. She split off half of her left thumbnail in the process.

Something else that hurts.
Then she realized:
Doesn't matter.

Quickly she sorted through the six nails, chose the sharpest, hid the other five under the filthy mattress. Flopping down on a dry part of the mattress—as far away from the wet spot as possible, as close to the window for the light—she began picking at the rope around her wrists with the sixth nail.

It was slow work, especially with her wrists already rubbed sore. She tried not to cry, but the picking went infinitely slowly. And everything hurt so much: her wrists, her torn nail, her head. But if she cried, she wouldn't be able to see what she was doing. So she snuffled a couple of times, then went back to work.

Suddenly, she straightened up.
Even if I free my hands, I can't fight Dark. He's bigger and stronger—and he has that gun.

"Don't be worm waste," she whispered to herself. "You have to do one thing at a time." She bent back over and stuck the sharp point of the nail into the rope, picking out another bit of the strand. The nail slipped, and scratched the back of her hand. In her current book of pain, it didn't even rate a mention.

But that small bit of unraveling was all she managed, for just then she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Putting the nail in the little pocket of her dress, she lay down on her side, her back to the door, closed her eyes, pretended to sleep.

And actually slept.

***

SHE AWOKE and found herself half off the mattress. The shutters were closed, but a bit of light through the chink showed her that it was coming toward Dark-After. Again.

Her hands were still tied in front, her feet twisted in a thin blanket, hardly more than a worn piece of cloth. Dark must have come in while she slept this last time and placed it over her. She must have kicked it off in her sleep. However, she understood the message. He was determined to be master, doling out bits of comfort along with the bad stuff—the bound hands, the filthy mattress.
Carrot, stick,
she thought.
Stick, carrot.

Of course, what he didn't know was how little she needed the blanket. And how much she needed water.

Standing, hands still bound in front, tied at the wrists, she began to walk carefully toward the window. Dark was surely sleeping now. In a soft bed with sheets and blankets. Having had a full meal. A hot bath. Possibly having gone out to look for her with Golden and the others. The next debates would be put off. Everyone would marvel at how ceaselessly Dark gave of himself. And, of course, how he blamed himself. Possibly he would tell them that an armed man had jumped them in the alley. He'd probably point to his blackened eye. Tell them how the man took the gun away from him—his useless, bulletless gun—knocking him out, stealing the girl. The live girl, not the dead one. Probably holding Golden's niece for ransom. Golden, a rich man like his name.

Oh, he's a sly piece of lizard waste,
she told herself, sure she'd figured it out. Opening the shutters, she tried to open the window, but the latch was too high up. She'd have to carry over the chair, stand on it.

So she felt her way to the chair, found it, started to pick it up—which was the hardest thing she'd ever done, because she was now quite weak and getting disoriented. Suddenly, something that had been sitting on the chair began to slide toward her. She caught it before it crashed to the ground, but not before something spilled onto her dress.

Water!

She lowered the chair carefully, felt around the bowl. There were several fingers of water left. She gulped the water down, then wrung out the skirt of her dress into her mouth, not so easy to do with her wrists still bound. There wasn't enough water to ease her thirst completely, but it was certainly better than nothing. She put the bowl on the mattress and went back to the chair, lifting it carefully so that it didn't scrape on the floor.

She got it to the window. Putting the chair down carefully, she climbed up onto it, worried all the while that the chair was going to tip over. Feeling along the glass till she came to the latch, she gave it a twist. It seemed to be painted shut. She slammed the side of her fist against it and felt something give way. This time when she tried to twist the latch, it moved a bit. She rested, tried again.
Now
she was able to turn it.

She managed to crack the window open. The cold of Dark-After crept in. It sneaked along her hands and arms like a trickle of cold water. She closed the window again and put her hands on the glass. Leaning forward, she sent out a silent cry.