Sunny days were always the worst for Clary. Hot weather always meant trouble in Lower City. The summer heat made folk all hot and bothered for little to no reason. The kennel responded by putting extra Dogs on duty, which made no one happier.
Mattes, her new partner, was determined to look cool. His long limbs dangled weightlessly, he strutted with all the energy of a man who had recently escaped the noose. If not for his new allegiance to the guards, he might have been hanged.
Their route was becoming acceptable to folk, people now moved out of the way after saying a quick hello. It was an improvement from the wary stares and whispered complaints they used to receive. Clary nodded respectfully at cloth merchant, her new off-duty tunic was a dream.
She and Mattes wandered down to the bars, batons at the ready. A fight, brawl, or worse was guaranteed on a day like today.
It was scenario three. The pair heard the screams before the sight greeted them. A berserker was having his way with an unsuspecting crowd.
Clary Goodwin's haunches rose and quivered. Mattes blew his whistle, but there was a fat chance in Prettybone that anyone would respond.
The berserker was huge, a full six feet and eight inches, writhing with muscle and blind rage. He was armed with a battle-axe; the furs draped over his shoulder looked like a lion's pelt. Clary gritted her teeth and yelled back. Mattes eyed her as though she was mad. She shoved him away and looked the creature in the eye. Nothing inspired a berserker's attention like a direct challenge.
He lunged for her, and she easily danced out of his way. She noticed Mattes swooping through the crowd, moving the wounded and shooing the idiot onlookers. She swung her baton wide, more to startle him than hit. He grunted, but even an animal could figure out his weapon was bigger than hers. He swung hard, and she had no choice but to duck again. She was fast backing into a wall, and wondering why she was a Dog in the first place.
A jar smashed against the berserker's head, distracting him. Mattes stood defiantly, a grim smile across his lips. The berserker changed directions and headed for him.
Mattes was tall, but he lacked the berserker's wild strength. Clary ran toward the berserker's retreating back, and she jumped. Her arms wrapped around his thick neck, and she pressed her baton into the thickest vain. He dropped his axe and reached for her arms.
She wasn't stupid. She moved before his arms could catch her. She lured him with her eyes, willing him to forget the axe he'd dropped. Her trick worked. Out of sight, out of mind.
"C'mon you big mumper! Show me sumthin' ta fear!" Goodwin taunted. She smacked her club against the palm of her hand, as threateningly as she could manage. The berserker was twice her size; she imagined she'd only get one shot.
He lunged for her, arms spread wide, ready to crush her in their supernatural grip. Clary felt time slow around her. She crouched, planted her weight carefully, low to the ground. He was going to hit her.
Then, at the last second, she fell to the ground, legs spread across his path. The berserker tripped and smashed into the ground. She jumped up, adrenaline rushed through her.
Mattes later said he'd not even seen her move. By the time the berserker raised to one knee, she stood over him, baton ready. Her arm struck out, practiced and sure. The crack was heard throughout the street. Her arm reverberated with the impact.
Clary Goodwin stood over her fallen opponent, trembling. Mattes clapped her one the shoulder.
"Not bad Guardswoman, for a Tuesday."