Wychling

Chapter 3

"Down here! Down here! Finally, its right in my-"

The great bearded man stopped short as he rounded the corner, and Tal froze. He was a Monk. From the Rectory. Big bellied, big bearded, wearing a brown cloak with a few lumps that looked suspiciously like weapons and armour. On another man the paunch and beard might have suggested jolliness, but this man had deep sunken eyes under thick brows, and something about the way they peered at the world suggested that they had never been satisfied with what they found before them.

His face ran through several emotions very quickly; shock, anger, disappointment, rage. Last and worst, a terrible, gleeful hunger spread across his features, as those dead little eyes travelled up and down her. Her skin crawled. She felt violated by that look. The cold eyes assessing every inch of her, the way an eagle might look at a particularly fat rabbit, all cold calculation and feral desire. He was clearly from the Rectory with those brown robes and the hempen belt, but he moved like a predator not a preacher.

She suddenly understood why her Father had told her, again and again, to steer clear of these men. She had never been so terrified in her life. Something about that look screamed at her to run, but she was frozen. Not like she had been before, this was a choice, born of fear, as if, by not moving, his eyes might slide off of her and on to some other target, despite the empty alley. She finally broke from her stillness and cast her eyes around her, frantically scanning for an escape, help, a weapon. Anything.

Everyone whispered about the power of the Monks, but always with respect and reverence. The city folk she had grown up with insisted that that they were the voice of the Great God. There were still a scattering of people that believed in the Many Gods, but mostly, these last few years especially, it was best to keep that to yourself. Some folk were definitely less tolerant than others when it came to other Gods and ways of living. For the majority of the foolish folk in her neighbourhood, these men were the last line of defence between "the people" and all of the evils of the world.

Some saw them as shepherds, guides and teachers, benevolently helping people to live as the Great God wanted. The more fanatical saw them as the last defenders of mankind from Creatures of Wryn; the daemon legion that they believed were responsible for all ill in the world. The latter group seemed to grow by the day.

She saw neither a heroic defender, nor a benevolent teacher, instead every instinct she possessed screamed that this man was just...wrong. She felt a low rumbling growl vibrate every bone in her body, taking her fear away, and calming her. The Monk's horrible gleeful grin slid from his face as he saw her stance harden and the defiance come back. The satisfaction disappeared leaving only the rage of the fanatic in his terrible eyes. His visage became a hard, cruel, slab; devoid of anything warm, or kind.

This was it. She needed to run. Death would be better than being caught by this dog. The alley behind her ran between two sets of houses, it was dark and full of tripping hazards, but the space between the buildings was tight. If she could get enough of a head start, she could shimmy herself up between the buildings and onto the rooftops, where this Fat Monk would never be able to follow. From there she could come down anywhere, almost any other street nearby.

It would be cold and slippery, but he would never be able to catch her up there, she just needed a big enough head start. Even if he was quicker than he looked, she was as fleet as the wind. The problem was that he was already too close, and she didn't know what was in the alley. That left her with a choice: she would need to either run blind down an alley for half a moment, or turn, and then run. Either was risky. He was only fifteen feet away. It would be tight.

If she turned, then he would start towards her before she was able to get going. Despite his size he had come around the corner fast and stopped very suddenly. A man quick on his feet and unlikely to stumble, even in this rain. She hesitated as more drumbeat footsteps echoed from the walls, interrupting her frantic calculations. Just when she thought it was over for her, an entire squad of Watchmen crashed around the corner in a noisy scrum.

The Fat Monk's face went carefully blank, which was almost more terrifying than his twisted greed. All trace of emotion left him as he controlled his features utterly. Leaving her feeling foolish. Had she imagined the whole thing? It had happened in the space of a moment, but no, her gut told her she had seen him for who he really was. His defenses lowered in his shock at finding her there.

"Take her in for questioning, I want this whole area searched" the Fat Monk ordered in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

The Watchmen came to a stop in a rough huddle behind him, with much cursing and pushing. It was clear that they had been trying to catch up for a while. None looked happy to be out in this weather. Idiots. Wonderful, lifesaving, idiots.

"Now, now Sir. We can't just arrest people for loitering." Said one of the Watchmen, stepping forward brusquely to talk to the Monk.

He barked at his men and they immediately scrambled into a more orderly formation. Alone among them, he stood as if he didn't notice the weather. A stout, broad shouldered man with a salt and pepper beard and much darker skin than the rest of the Watchmen. His deep brown skin marked him as a man from the Southern Isles, almost half the world away. Despite his differences, it was clear from the way the others jumped to his orders, and the lack of argument or complaint, that he was in charge.

"Sergeant...need I remind you of the importance of my mission?" The Fat Monk's voice took on a false reasonability that had a dangerous edge.

"He's only mentioned it once a sodding minute, all bloody watch..." one of the youngest men, at the back, muttered just too loudly.

The Fat Monk clearly caught it, but simply raised an eyebrow at their leader, expectantly. There was a grudging pause before the clearly irritated Sergeant shouted his man to silence.

"Shut it, Corby! You can take the waif back to the barracks while we search the area!" The man-child's shoulders slumped as he stepped forwards slowly to comply. Just like that she was safe...well until her Father discovered she was arrested by the Watch. Best think of a third option.

"Dinger, Switch, you take the west road! You two down the alley! Wiley, Buckets get back the way we came, anyone loitering in this weather is sure as anything up to no good..." the rest of the Sergeant's orders were cut off by the youngest Watchman reaching her.

He wasn't that young, in his early twenties, but he looked curiously adolescent, huddled against the rain and, more fiercely, his Sergeant's displeasure. He took Tal by the arm with a gentle hand, looking somewhat sheepish from his admonition.

"Come on girl, let's get you out of here. Who are your parents?" he asked kindly, like she was a little girl lost in the rain.

She kept her head down trying to think fast, but everything had happened so quickly that she was, for once, lost for words.

~Sod it, sod it, sod it, think Tal!~

"Err...well I've just moved here from the country and I got lost going home." she began in a vague tone, finding her flow at last.

The Watchman that the Sergeant had called Corby switched out of his huddled and beaten attitude in a heartbeat. Casually swatting the back of her head with a free hand and handing out an admonition of his own.

"Don't you go telling me stories now you little wastrel-" he began.

All of the fury and fear within Tal boiled over as he stunned her mid-lie. The tap on the back of her head unlocking her rage like the ropes of the trap giving way minutes before. She spun, leaping at him, all fury and speed as her nails raked one side of his face and then her shin hit him between the legs with all of her weight behind it. His mouth formed a perfect 'O' as the breath was knocked from him and Tal kicked out, launching herself backwards, to freedom.

She hit something big and metal, which sent her bouncing back towards the hunched Watchman. Then it hit her across the back of the head, hard. She spun clean around, as she fell onto her knees. Looking up into the rain, vision blurry, there was a large meaty fist flying towards her. She tried to dodge, but far, far too late. It connected cleanly with her temple. White light flashed before her eyes and when it cleared, her vision had gone from blurred to swimming.

Everything was whirling in the dark and rain, but she strained, fighting against unconsciousness with the strength of a wet kitten. She dug deep into her reserves and focussed her eyes one last time. The last thing she saw before the world went black, was his eyes. His terrible, hungry eyes.