Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [251]
"Come," the captain said.
"Where?" I asked. He said a word I didn't know. I learned it soon enough: prison.
They walked us both, me and the Tatar, through town; the Tatar hobbling in silence. He looked worse for the wear, with a split lip and a thin trickle of blood running down his neck from a lump on his skull. I daresay I looked much the same. I could feel my right eye swelling closed from a blow I didn't remember taking.
Tarkov must have been a peaceable enough place most of the time. There was a single gaol cell attached to the guardhouse, which was located in the center of town. Squinting through my left eye, I caught a glimpse of other buildings there. A freshly whitewashed temple, sporting a cross atop a single spire. A modest manor, which I guessed belonged to the local governor, whoever he might be.
And then I saw no more, as they ushered us into the guardhouse. The main chamber looked like guardrooms everywhere, with gear and half-eaten food strewn about, evidence of abandoned dice games. Warm braziers with stools drawn up around them, bedrolls tucked into corners.
The single gaol cell had a heavy wooden door. It was set with one small window, high and barred with iron. The lead guard unlocked the door. Three men shoved the stumbling Tatar past it. Prodded at sword-point, I balked.
"I not with him!" I said in frustrated Rus. "Ask ben Ximon!”
"We will," the captain said dourly.
The sharp tip prodded harder. I whirled in anger, slapping at the flat of the blade with my palm, trapping it against the door-jamb. The guard's eyes widened. I hooked his left leg with my right and jerked, hitting him hard beneath the chin with the heel of my left palm. He staggered backward, letting go his hilt. I seized his trapped sword. Behind me, the Tatar hooted and clapped.
"Shut up!" I shouted at him, wielding the sword in a two-handed grip.
"Friend." The captain shouldered past the man I'd disarmed. He opened his own arms, although he still held his sword. So did the dozen men standing behind him. Like the innkeeper, he spoke slowly to me, choosing simple words. "You come, Tatars come. You help him. You have a Tatar mark. War comes again. What do we think? Maybe you help Fedor Vral." He shrugged. "Wait. We send to Vralgrad and ask ben Ximon. Maybe you go free.”
I hissed through my teeth. "I do not want be here with him.”
The captain glanced past me. "Scared?”
"I do not like Tatars!" I said fiercely.
He shrugged again. "He cannot hurt you. Wait, or try to kill us all.”
Elua knows, I wanted to. And Elua knows, I couldn't. Mayhap Joscelin could have. I couldn't. I hesitated for a moment, then threw down the sword. It skittered over the flagstones. The guard I'd taken it from scurried after it.
"Good choice," the captain said dryly, gesturing.
I took a step backward. The heavy wooden door slammed shut. Someone turned the key in the latch. I leapt and caught the iron bars, fingers clinging, and pressed my face to the window. "Send to Vralgrad!" I shouted. "Ask ben Ximon!”
"We will," came the reply.
I let myself drop, breathing hard. Turned to take stock of my cell. There wasn't much. Four straw pallets. A chamberpot. A pitcher of water. And one young Tatar, slumped on a pallet. He looked ashen beneath his brown skin, but he was grinning at me. He said somewhat in his own tongue, brows raised expressively. With his hands, he mimed my own actions with the sword. Whatever he said, it sounded admiring.
"Shut up," I said to him in D'Angeline. "Just…shut up.”
The Tatar laughed.
Chapter Fifty-Four
The Tatar's name was Kebek, although I learned it later.
For the duration of the first day of our joint imprisonment, I didn't speak to him except to tell him to shut up and leave me alone. On the following day, when a pair of guards opened the door to our cell and ushered him out, I hoped I'd seen the last of him. Mayhap he wasn't the one who'd wielded the sword, but of a surety, he'd been part of a raid that resulted in a man's death. I wouldn't have been surprised if they'd executed him; and I wouldn't have been