Chapter 18
"Strange," Martin agreed, sitting back in his seat and setting down his fork. "Do you want my opinion?"
Callista considered, pushing a scrap of eel around on her plate. It was evening, the same day as her lunch at the Tower. "I think Burrows is afraid."
"I agree."
"He must have known the assassination attempt failed - that you're nearly untouchable. So he turned to me. It's the only reason I can think of for why he'd try to entice me now, instead of when you first hired me."
Martin nodded, and reached for a glass of wine. "And Lady Boyle? Pendleton?"
"Pendleton blames us for the deaths of his brothers," she sighed, sitting back. "At least emotionally. But I'm certain he knows that Burrows was behind that, as well, so he's at no risk of defecting."
"Just being obnoxious," Martin agreed with a slight shake of his head.
"Boyle is surprisingly helpful. From what you know of them, is it possible that she could be jealous of the influence her sister has?"
Martin shrugged. His shoulder seemed to be getting better. He'd managed to shave on his own that morning, too, though she could see a few small spots he'd missed and a shallow cut beneath his jaw. "Jealous, I'm not sure. But it's certainly possible she doesn't trust her sister's connections to keep her safe."
"She seems to think Emily's regard is more important, if cultivated correctly."
"I keep imagining those two - Pendleton and Boyle - setting themselves up as surrogate parents for the girl," Martin said, chuckling. "It's a sight."
"She could do worse," Callista said. "She could have us."
Martin's chuckle died, and he canted his head to one side. "I think we'd make acceptable parents."
She flushed and cleared her throat. "Well, then. She could have Burrows."
"Indeed."
They finished their meal in silence, the scraping of forks across plates too loud for Callista's comfort. Martin's comment echoed in her ears. Them- parents? It would have been easier if he hadn't stopped laughing, she decided. If he'd acknowledged, as she had, that there was no chance of children, that their strange relationship and, more importantly, their status prevented it. Besides, Martin willingly tethering himself to a small, defenseless child that could offer him nothing, at least at first?
Unthinkable.
Martin's chair scraped across the floor, and she looked up to find him setting a small parcel and an envelope down by her right hand.
"What's this?"
"A letter," he said. "From the High Oracle. It was also on my desk this morning when I arrived, but I didn't want to concern you with it. Take a look."
She frowned, gaze still on the parcel, but she took the envelope first. It was smooth, made of nondescript but fine paper. Not oiled. It couldn't have traveled far - certainly not from the High Oracle's seat. And that was ignoring the or so days wasn't nearly enough time for her to have returned to her tower and sent a letter, especially with the difficulty of getting anything into the city.
"Read it," Martin prodded, and she pulled the folded sheaf of paper.
High Overseer,
If this letter has reached you, then you have sent no updates to my office in the first fortnight of your reign. I am disappointed in you; I thought that we had an understanding.
Callista looked up, sharply.
"She-"
"Has somebody monitoring our mail, yes," he said, voice cracking from its dryness. "Go on."
I expect summary reports sent each week for your first year in office. We will renegotiate after that. In case Campbell had misplaced my address, I include it for you here.
Anise will return at regular intervals, in case you decide to forego written communications.
It went on to discuss several theological matters that Callista could now parse but couldn't summon up a deep interest in. What stood out to her the most was its tone. When they had met with the old woman, Callista had gotten the impression that she was pleased with them. That Martin's willingness to communicate had engendered some trust and forbearance. This was...
Distressingly aggressive.
She set it down. "We should figure out who her agent is," she said. "There's no good in removing them, of course, but I would feel... safer."
"Indeed."
"It's only been- what, three weeks?"
"And by that measure, it was released late," Martin agreed. "Her letter says fortnight. So perhaps this is just to spook us."
Callista stared at the pages a little longer, then sighed. "I'll write a response tomorrow. What do you want covered?"
"I trust your discretion. Basic events, enough detail to make her feel included. More than you might tell Burrows, but nothing incriminating. I'll review it before you send it out."
Callista nodded and set down the papers. Her hand went to the parcel. "And this? Don't tell me she sent us an all-seeing eye she expects us to mount in your office."
He chuckled. "No, that one's from me. Medicine," he said. "For our- indiscretions."
Her flush returned. "I'm quite capable of going to the pharmacy on my own. And the questions that might get raised, you going by yourself-"
"Are less damning than if you went. Campbell had his whores, Miss Curnow - my indiscretions are less damning if they don't immediately implicate you. Besides, this isn't from the pharmacy. This is from Campbell's personal stash."
She wrinkled her nose.
That drew another chuckle out of him. "As far as I can tell, it's never been opened. Do you know how to take it?"
"Mixed with milk," she sighed. "Yes, I know. I'll get some tomorrow. Do you want a whiskey?"
"Yes, please," he said, stepping back as she pushed her chair out.
"Your buying contraceptives may not raise questions," she said, "but if you continue coming over - in full uniform, no less-"
"I wanted to give the apartment a good look," he said, following her to the kitchen. They passed through a different door than Daud had dragged her through, and she was able to keep her mind off of it. From a different perspective, the room was changed. "Make sure there are no glaring weaknesses. I had my men go over it this afternoon-"
"Excuse me?" Callista said, as she reached for two glasses. "I'd like some warning next time. Or, better yet, don't send them at all."
"I thought you'd appreciate it," he said, shrugging. "Anyway, I had them install a little something, just in case another heretic gets in here. Now that we've confirmed he really was touched by the Outsider, I'd assume all his lackeys are as well."
"Installed," she said, dryly, as she poured them each a finger. "Where, exactly?"
"Sitting room, for now. Come here, I'll show you."
Bristling, she handed him his glass, then followed him. He led her to a portion of the bookshelf that now held a rather nice wooden chest. She hadn't been in the sitting room more than a few minutes since arriving home; Blacky had needed a walk out on the streets, and Martin had arrived soon after.
"At least you didn't try to hide it."
"That would defeat the purpose. Here," he said, holding out his hand for hers. She let him guide it to the side of the box, where she felt a lever. "Pull."
She pushed it down.
The room became filled with the strange, discomforting sound of Holger's device.
"It's automated, crudely," Martin said. "There's a small whale-oil canister around the back. We abandoned the design years ago because they can't be on continuously, and they take too much maintenance - easier to just have a hand-powered machine assigned to various patrols. But it will work well enough."
From down the hall, Blacky whined.
"He doesn't seem to like it," she said, flipping the machine off.
"Better a whining hound than an assassin," he said. He offered her a smile, the old charming sort that he wasn't wearing quite as often these days. "Are you sure you don't want to stay at the Abbey? Campbell kept a private room, near the kennels. I've had it cleared out. It's easily protected without being in the middle of the barracks."
Callista sighed, sitting down on the arm of the chair. "I'm sure. We've discussed this - I need some distance from you. It's better than your first offer of just sharing your bed-"
"I was mostly joking," he said, smiling and coming closer, resting his hand on the back of the chair.
She shook her head. "I'll be safe. They came for you, not me. So as long as you're not here..."
"You're kicking me out," he said, and took a sip of his whiskey. "And here I thought we could have a do-over of last night, without the blood."
Callista could feel herself blushing. "Tempting," she admitted, and mirrored him, draining half her glass. It burned down her throat, and settled warm in her belly. "But you have a meeting with the Watch tonight, don't you?"
"Mm. Follow-up to your stint as interrogator, yes," he said. "But it can be a bit less of a production this time, I think. Just something quick. Indulgent."
Callista slid off the arm of the chair, and moved away from him. "Another day, when I've had a chance to clear my head. And when you haven't just had Overseers come into my home while I'm away and rearrange my things."
He hummed in acknowledgment, then knocked back the rest of his whiskey. "... I do wish we'd been able to enjoy that a little more, last night," he said. "I'd intended to take all night on you."
Her toes curled in her boots, and she refused to look at him. "You're hopeless."
"A little. I've had to keep the old me tamped down for quite a while, you know. Strictures and appearances and all that."
She nursed her glass. "Don't let loose too much," she said.
"Of course not." He crossed the room to her, then leaned in, just enough to clink his empty glass with hers. "Really consider moving into the Abbey, though, at least for a week or two."
"Nobody will come after me," she said.
"Let us hope you're right." His smile was tight. Worried. He tipped his glass to her, then set it on the mantle. "I'll see you in the morning, then."
"In the morning."
He sketched her a slight bow, and turned to leave.
"I'll come early," she said. "To help you shave. You've missed a few spots."
He cast a crooked smile over his shoulder. "I'll look forward to it," he said, then passed into the hallway. A moment later, she heard the door open and close.
Sighing, she considered her whiskey, then tipped the rest down her throat. Scooping up his glass, she carried both to the kitchen, and tidied up the remains of their dinner. When she was finished, she passed through the apartment, checking each window, making sure they were shut tight. Martin had a point; the Abbey would have been a more secure place to sleep. But she refused to give up her own space. She could only do her best to make sure she was safe.
She nudged open the door to Blacky's room. The hound had been resting for much of the day, while she'd been home. It seemed like a good sign. A hound like him would be alert, if there was anything to worry about.
Blacky was asleep. She smiled, closing the door.
Something dark flashed by the corner of her eye. She froze, peering down the darkened corridor. Nerves, she told herself, firmly. Just nerves. Perhaps she should take Martin up on his offer of a place to stay for a few days, while things settled. Swallowing, she advanced down the hall. She saw nothing.
Glancing around her, she ducked into the sitting room and went to the device on the bookshelves. The lever felt welcome under her hand, and as the noise buzzed to life, she relaxed. It grated on her nerves, but she could ignore that for a chance for her heartbeat to calm.
A floorboard creaked, off to her left. She spun. A masked figure in red - the same red that Daud had worn - crumpled to their knees, and Callista swore and fumbled for the gun at her waist.
"H-hold-" the figure rasped.
Callista thumbed off the safety. "Get out," she said, forcing her voice to be loud and even.
The figure swore, and she thought she heard a woman's voice. Ignoring Callista, the intruder reached for its mask, fumbling with the clasps holding it in place. It was the same mask that the men in the refineries wore.
Clasps giving way, the woman - and it was a woman, with dark skin and angular features - threw it aside, then jerked, retching, vomiting over the wood.
This was the power of the box, on a true witch? Callista noted it, keeping her gun levelled at the woman's head.
Panting, the woman looked up. She looked- confused. Confused. "He's not here," she said, voice ragged.
Martin? "Go out the way you came," Callista said, slowly, "or I'll shoot."
Shoot now, a part of her whispered. Letting her live will only hurt you in the future. She's an assassin, and a witch.
Callista's finger tightened on the trigger.
"I said hold, dammit!" the woman said, trying to stand up. She wavered, unsteadily. "I- fuck-"
"State your name, then."
The woman only glared.
"You came here to kill the High Overseer, like your compatriot?" she asked, advancing. The woman fell back against the wall, heaving for breath and staring up at Callista. "How many more are there?"
"None," she said. "And yes. I did. Thought I'd make up for- for making Daud fail."
"Then in the name of the Abbey, I hereby sentence you to death, for conspiracy and heresy."
The woman laughed; it was broken and shrill, without humor. "Heresy. Oh. That's a good irony for you. With Daud dead, I've got nothing." She tugged hard on her glove, dragging it off her hand. She tossed it aside and shoved her hand out in front of her. "See there? Yesterday morning I had an echo of the mark on his hand. I'm sure you've seen it. You've probably put it on- on display."
The back of her hand was covered in a jagged-edged burn.
"Now I have to climb stairs the old-fashioned way, and seeing in the dark's a dream. Turn off your damn box."
"If you're not a witch without him," Callista said, slowly, "then why did you vomit when I turned the box on?"
Kill her, kill her. The Morlish men had been easy.
"Because- because-"
Callista pulled the trigger.
The bullet ripped into the woman's leg, and she howled in pain, head slamming back against the wall behind her as she wailed.
It was, after all, better to interrogate her first. How many of these heretics had Martin's men caught before? Very few, from the records she'd found earlier that afternoon. This was an opportunity. She seemed bewildered, lost without her leader. No, better to ask questions first, now that she was incapacitated.
The woman's screams turned to pants and swears.
"The box," Callista said, "stays on."
She quickly ran through the odds of the woman staying in place - and alive - long enough for her to send for Martin. He'd want to be here, and would no doubt be angry with her if she didn't call for him. He'd also do a better job.
But Callista felt certain that, even with an injured leg, the woman would be up and gone the moment Callista left the room.
"You're right - he's not here," Callista said. "Is that why I'm not dead?"
"You're not the target," the woman wheezed. "So yes. That's why. The bounty was only for him."
"And who was going to pay it?"
"Hiram Burrows," she said, then grimaced, eyes closing as she fought a wave of pain. "That's why it seemed like... a fitting time for him to go..."
Callista frowned, and dragged around her chair. She sat down, keeping the gun on her lap. "You said that already- that you're the reason he failed. What did you do?"
"Poisoned him."
"So he was meant to fail?"
"I thought the old man was strong enough to do the job before he keeled over." She fixed Callista with a glare, then shook her head and tugged at her hair. "Fuck. I can't think straight. It's like I've- been asleep the last month, or something. I barely remember getting here."
"But you remember why you came."
"I remember... yeah. No. Not really. I came to avenge him and to laugh at his corpse and to curse him because I thought without him, I'd be the one in charge. That was the whole damn point. He was weak, I wasn't. I was going to... Fuck!" Her face was going grey as the pain continued and as she bled out onto the floor. Callista had shot her in the calf, not the thigh or knee, and she'd hoped the woman could fight through it, but she was getting less and less certain.
She swallowed and glanced towards the bathroom. There were medical supplies there, but she didn't want to leave the woman alone.
"It's that damn witch," the woman spat, and Callista's gaze jerked back up to her face.
"What witch?" Callista asked.
The veins on her neck stood out above the high collar of her shirt. "Fucking- get me some kind of bandage-"
"I can't afford to let you escape," Callista said.
"Then shoot me! Make up your mind!"
"I want you alive, to answer questions."
"Well, you're shit at interrogating," the woman hissed.
"The Abbey isn't."
She laughed. "I can kill myself faster than they can get answers out of me."
Callista quirked a brow. "Then why are you still alive?"
The woman didn't answer. Her eyes narrowed, but then she turned her attention to her leg, muttering curses. Her fingers worked at the leather of her boot. The pool of blood beneath it seemed to be steadying, no longer expanding.
She looked pathetic. Wounded. But she clearly was holding onto some hope of surviving- and escaping.
"... I'll go get bandages," Callista said, and stood slowly. "But with you bleeding that much, I'll be able to track you if you run. Stay put."
She got a tight grimace as an answer.
Callista kept her gun, and went down the hall to the bathroom. She pulled out bandages, then stilled, unsure of what else she would need. How was she supposed to treat a bullet wound? She stared helplessly at the cabinet, then gave up, returning quickly to the living room.
The woman was slumped, unconscious, against the wall. Her chest still moved with breath, and Callista bit down her swear. She approached cautiously, watching for any sign of movement, of alertness.
She found none.
Crouched at the assassin's feet, Callista took the ruined boot's sole in hand, and gave it a tug. It came away with a wet sucking noise, and blood pulse from the woman's calf as the pressure was removed. Callista leaned forward quickly, and began unrolling the bandage. The bullet had passed straight through, and beneath the woman's leg, there was no sign of bone fragments. Good, Callista supposed.
When the wound was bound, Callista rocked back on her heels, staring at the body. Then she set aside her gun and hauled the woman up. She carried her down the hall to the closet, and tucked her inside in as comfortable a position as she could manage. She wedged a chair under the door handle, then stepped back.
She needed Martin's help.
"Interesting," Anton Sokolov said as he peered into the woman's mouth. "She's got a capsule embedded in a molar. Quite low in profile, so it would take a great deal of force to break it. My guess is that it's some kind of poison. I've heard of such tricks."
"It's documented, yes," Martin said, arms crossed over his chest. "Some kind of gas. Can you remove it?"
"Not without extracting the tooth, and it would be a tricky business even then," Sokolov said. "The pliers can crack the capsule. It would be dangerous."
"For her or us?"
"Just her. Probably."
Martin grimaced. "Do it. I don't want her interrupting our little chat. What do you think, Callista?"
Callista looked up from where she sat, apart from the tableau in her kitchen. "I think this would be better done at the Abbey. And that if she was going to kill herself, she would have already."
"You said she seemed disoriented?" Sokolov asked, turning to his small, basic medical kit. Martin had rousted him from the Golden Cat, but he had come along willingly enough. The mention of witchcraft had drawn him in.
"Yes. She said she didn't remember the last month much at all. And I doubt she would have told me as much as she did, otherwise."
Sokolov hummed.
"Just rip it out," Martin said. "The Abbey has been tracking them for months - and Hume wasn't able to take any of them alive tonight."
"She said she'd lost her abilities," Callista offered. "She was complaining that she had to climb stairs."
"That fits with what Hume reported," Martin agreed.
"A shame," Sokolov grunted, frowning down at the woman. "And not what I came here to see. Still - that is one of the suspected abilities of those in contact with the Outsider," Sokolov continued, extracting a set of pliers from his bag. "It's a sort of teleportation. They can cross a set space in the blink of an eye, barely touching down between. Interesting, to have it confirmed. Did you see any other strange things? Or any of her fellows?"
Callista looked over to Martin.
"We encountered Daud last night," Martin said. "I would assume this one has come to finish what he started."
"She said as much, yes," Callista confirmed.
Sokolov circled the table that had been converted into a surgery bed, his patient's limbs bound down to the legs of it. As he reached for the woman's mouth, Callista turned her head away and stared patiently down the hall.
"She also suggested that the reason Daud did not succeed was that he'd been poisoned," she added.
Callista closed her eyes at the sharp crack of the tooth being extracted. She heard Martin release a long-held breath. The capsule, she supposed, hadn't broken.
She swallowed down the bile in her throat.
"Poisoned," Martin said. "Yes, that makes sense. He seemed- unsteady. Strange, for such an infamous assassin. He was unsteady, and she was disoriented."
"She mentioned a witch," Callista said. "Blamed her."
Martin nodded. "You said as much. Were you able to get a name?"
"No," she said. "Perhaps, though, it would be best to take her to the Abbey, let Hume-"
"Did she know who hired Daud?"
"... Yes," Callista said. "Yes, she knows the details." She glanced at Sokolov, then flinched and turned away as he set the tooth, covered in blood, onto the table. Red flecked the woman's pale lips.
"Then I don't want this going back to the Abbey," Martin said.
"She said I'm shit at interrogating," Callista offered.
Martin laughed. "No doubt. I have a bit more experience, though, Miss Curnow. As does the doctor, if I'm not mistaken?"
Sokolov grunted in response. "I'm no expert. It's dirty work. I'll leave it to you. And I won't be patching up whatever new holes you put in the woman," he said, gesturing to the fresh bandage wrapped around her leg. "Not unless I get more of what she knows about the Void, that is."
"Here for the pursuit of knowledge, of course," Martin said, with a low laugh. "Well, thank you for letting me pull you away from your other pursuits, Dr. Sokolov."
"Hmph. It's interesting enough. Though not as interesting as you led me to believe, High Overseer."
"My apologies. I didn't know the woman had lost her power," Martin said, smoothly. He came to Sokolov's side. "I'll have a bottle of King Street sent over tomorrow."
"Much appreciated," the man said. He looked down at his patient. "Let me know if she says anything else of interest."
"Of course, Royal Physician. Thank you." She managed a thin, grim smile for him, which he barely seemed to notice as he went to gather up his supplies. "How long will she be out?"
"Given that she didn't wake up when I extracted the tooth - probably another half hour, an hour at most."
"But she will wake up?" Martin pressed.
"If you keep her head tilted so she doesn't choke on her own blood, then yes," Sokolov drawled. "I have some batting in her mouth to soak up the worst of it. If you're feeling brave, you can change it."
"I think I'd like to keep my fingers," Martin said. "Well- shall I show you out? Let you get back to your pleasures? I'd expect at least one lady likes a doctor with some blood on his hands."
Sokolov snorted, but inclined his head to Callista and followed Martin out of the room.
Callista balled up her fist and tucked it beneath her chin, worrying at her lip as she looked at the assassin. Asleep, the patient looked surprisingly young. The opium had made her limp, and stripped of her boots and jacket, her weapons cast aside, she looked weak. Vulnerable.
Martin returned, his hands rubbing together idly. "Nice to have at least one ally," he said.
Callista nodded, eyes still on the woman. "What will we ask of her?"
"Her name. The location of the other assassins. The identity of this witch of hers."
"And then?"
"And then we'll kill her, I suppose," Martin said. "Or would you prefer she took another crack at you once her leg is healed?"
"Neither," she said.
Martin snorted. "And here I thought - given the other night - that you'd be itching to put a bullet in her head."
"I am aware," she said, "that my interrogation methods leave much to be desired."
She flinched as Martin's hand came to rest on her shoulder. "You'll learn," he said. His hand worked into the muscle, and she sighed, letting her hand drop from her chin.
They stayed in companionable silence until the woman began to stir. She moaned low in her throat, and shifted on the table. It took several minutes for her to become aware of her bonds, but when she did, she didn't fight. Instead, she went completely still. She turned her head.
Martin's hand stilled on Callista's shoulder, then slipped away. He straightened his uniform and approached the table.
"Your jaw is likely sore. We removed your capsule," he said.
Callista stood just in time to see the woman glare at Martin. She worked her jaw, then flinched. Turning her head, she pursed her lips, then spat out the lump of blood-soaked fiber.
"Your leg has been properly attended to," Martin continued, "and the damage isn't permanent. There was no injury to the bone. You are lucky that Miss Curnow didn't shoot to kill this time - she hasn't been so kind with others who don't answer her questions."
"I answered her questions," the woman said, words slurred and vague. She let her head fall back against the table once more, and closed her eyes.
Martin considered her a moment, then went to the music box that he'd moved from the sitting room. He flipped it on.
The woman flinched, but it was small. She didn't pale or thrash. "That's horrible," she grunted.
"A name, please, or I leave it on."
"Billie," she said. "Not that your box is doing any good, you know. The witch is out of me. Fat lot of good it'll do me, but I guess I should thank you."
"What witch?" Callista asked, walking into Billie's line of view. Billie. It was such a normal name.
Billie glared at her, then sighed, testing her bonds again. "I'm a bit tired. Maybe we can talk this over in the morning?"
"Now, please," Martin said. He circled the table, then reached down to take one of her hands in his, pulling it up against the rope binding her wrist to the table leg. "I'm a bit more patient in my methods, Billie. How do broken fingers work for you?"
"Fucking bastards," Billie groaned. "Fine. Her name's Delilah Copperspoon. Happy?"
"And where is she?"
"Out in Brigmore." Billie managed a fierce smile, her teeth coated in her own blood. "How about you send some of your soldiers out there? Torch the place. I'll thank you."
"I'd rather know where any others of your other assassins are," he said. "I've had two attempts on my life in two days, and Miss Curnow keeps getting caught in the crossfire."
"Maybe if you'd keep your dick in your pants-"
Martin pulled his hand back. Callista flinched at the crack of finger bones breaking, and Billie hissed, then shouted through her clenched teeth.
"I do have neighbors," Callista said.
"They've ignored gunshots before," Martin said. "I think they can ignore this."
Billie gasped for breath, panting hard, as Martin released her hand and stepped back. "They're all dead!" Billie swore. "All dead, or gone. Without Daud, they're all scattering, and your men routed any who stayed behind. We've got nothing now - no home, no powers. If you ask me- if you ask me, Delilah wanted us gone."
"It sounds like I should thank her, then."
Her fierce, horrible grin was back. "You do that. See how she twists up your brain in knots."
"I want names, Billie. Your compatriots. Names, and appearances."
"Fuck off," she said, then spat a gob of saliva and blood at Martin. It never reached him, but Callista could see the patina of rage descend on his face. She approached the table, quickly.
"Martin-"
"I am going to ensure that none of these shitstains ever get close enough to cast a shadow on you, Miss Curnow," he hissed.
"I'm the only one who knows you were a target," Billie said, quickly. "The only one. He didn't tell anybody else, do you understand?"
Martin smiled, grimly, and leaned down over the table. Callista nearly reached for his elbow but stopped herself before she could move.
The longer Billie resisted, the more violent Martin would become. She couldn't make Martin look weak. It would be worse for all of them.
"Fuck. Off," Billie said again, smiling sweetly.
Martin struck her, hand colliding with the swollen side of her face. Billie cried out. It was necessary, of course, but Callista's stomach churned all the same.
She turned and left the room.
Geoff, of course, would have done just the same in Martin's place. Torture and violence were necessary; he'd told her that once when he'd come off shift with blood spattered on his sleeve and his knuckles raw. And she had seen men with their heads blown off, had listened to sermons at the Abbey that encouraged the Overseers to destroy the bodies of heretics so that they could not pass on their filth even in death. She'd struggled for her life and watched a hound tear out a man's throat.
But this felt different. This prolonged, intentional violence, with no end in sight-
It was too close to what Attano had gone through.
Callista slumped into the armchair, ignoring the stink of blood just in front of her. She combed her fingers back into her hair, then covered her ears, to block out whatever sounds and screams Martin would wring from the woman.
She jerked when his hands settled over hers, just a few moments later.
She opened her eyes to find him crouched before her, brow furrowed. He eased her hands down, wrapping his gloved hands around her fingers.
"It gets easier," he said.
"Easier."
"It does. Right now, we carry too many secrets and are posts are... new. New and vulnerable. The people below us have no reason to keep our secrets for us, or to ignore damning things about us. So we have to protect ourselves. But that gets easier. Once we're stable, once we're truly installed as the head of the Abbey, any Overseer could hear a man ranting that I was once a highwayman in Morley, and he would only beat the man harder for his heresy, for his lying tongue. It won't be long before we don't have to do any of this ourselves. I promise."
"And that's easier?"
"It is. Believe me." He squeezed her hands again.
"I'd rather not have to do it at all. A month ago, I'd never have had to torture somebody to protect my standing as a governess."
"This is the way the world works, Callista," he murmured. "As a governess, you were at the mercy of other people's whims. Anybody off the street could have assaulted you, and the only reason they wouldn't have gotten away with it was because your uncle was in the Watch. Now, if we play things right, they will get out of your way as you pass. You'll be untouchable. You'll be safe, and strong, and dangerous - and because people will know that, they won't cross you. They'll be safe, too. No more of this."
She looked at him, face feeling over-tight, heart feeling leaden.
"You did the right thing tonight, by coming to get me. I've almost got the names of the assassins out of her. Hume is sure he got all of them, but we both know better - and if we can put up wanted posters, these gelded assassins will stumble into the light and be swept up by the Watch like refuse. And now we know of another enclave of witches. Think- if we root out evil at its source, not once, but twice - if we take down real beds of heresy-"
"The people will feel safer," she finished.
"Exactly. And we'll be legitimized in the eyes of the rank and file Overseers. We will have led two mighty charges against the enemy. They love that sort of thing." He smiled.
"We're still torturing a young woman," Callista said. "We ripped her tooth out."
"I've seen much worse done to people with far less blood on their hands. Think, Callista, of how many families her blade has sundered. Think of how much death she's brought. The number of deaths you've experienced in your life - that's probably a pittance to what she's done."
Slowly, Callista nodded.
"You still have a soft heart," he murmured. "But that's okay.I'm glad to see it. After the Morlish men, I'd been afraid I'd lost it. You'll be my conscience."
"As long as I don't get in the way?"
He chuckled. "I don't think you'll ever get in the way. Now, sit here while I finish up. I'll take care of her and the body. I'll have to think of some story I can tell to explain how I encountered another heretic so soon after the last, and it might be more plausible if it didn't happen here."
"Sokolov-"
"Will have to be trusted for now. The brandy should help with that."
He released her hands and stood, but lingered a moment until Callista lifted her head. He offered her his old charming smile, then went to hall.
Then he swore, loudly enough to wake the dead. His footsteps pounded in the hall, until he appeared in the doorway.
"She's gone!" he hissed.
Callista was on her feet and at his side in an instant, and together they went back to the kitchen. The bonds had been cut, coarsely by one wrist, then with careful, precise practice at all other points. They hadn't checked her for knives.
"She can't have gone far," Callista said. "With the wound to her leg, and the loss of her powers-"
Martin ran to the windows, throwing open the shutters and craning his head out over the side. "Check the other exterior walls!" he shouted, and Callista nodded, rushing to the other rooms. She even checked the sitting room window, as ridiculous as it seemed.
She found nothing.
Martin met her by the dried blood by the window. "Get your things," he said. "You're coming with me back to Holger. Now."
She didn't argue. Five minutes later, she had a small satchel filled with a spare uniform, her gun, and the items she'd need in the morning. Martin was already waiting by the door. On her walk from the bedroom to the door, she glanced along the hall.
There was a spot of blood by the closet door, streaked along the floor, from when she'd stuffed Billie in the closet earlier.
It wasn't until after they'd locked the door and gone halfway down to the street that she remembered that she'd already cleaned that up.