Scarlet had a tissue, crumpled up in one of the pockets, and she tried to wipe the blood off his face, but it was dried and hard and every time she touched him, he moaned and pulled away. Martin was unconscious, or at least, trying to be, and she sat back on her haunches, looking up at him.
He was a mess, and she grabbed at her jeans, clenching her fists to stop the tears from coming. Her lip was wobbling and she reached out, touching his shoulder as gently as she could, and whispering. ‘Martin, wake up, it’s me, it’s Scarlet.’
He hissed, pulling at the bonds, which she saw now were bands of leather, dark brown and smooth. ‘Don’t say your name.’ His voice was different, lower and rough and slow. She nodded, although he still had his eyes closed. ‘It’s me, Joanna, your apprentice.’
Now his eyes did crack open. ‘Joanna?’
She shrugged. ‘First thing that came to mind. Lots of people asking me who I am tonight.’
‘They’ll do that.’ He coughed, his shoulders bulging as he strained against the bonds. ‘Well done. Why are you here?’
‘Um, you’ve missed my last two lessons.’
His eyes were dull, lifeless, but now they opened wider, and he chuckled, shaking his head at the obvious pain. She sat back again, laughing also. ‘Yeah, I was wondering if you could, you know, maybe give me a catch-up sometime.’
‘Well, I’ve not much on my plate right now. What would you like to learn?’
‘Who are the ladies?’
His head snapped up, eyes burning into her. She’d spent the last six weeks seeing him as a slightly odd, sort of hunky but old sort of person. But he wasn’t that anymore. His eyes were haunted. He was, she realised, actually alive and doing things when she wasn’t there. He had a life, and stuff. Weird.
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Well, um, I sort of met them.’
His head dropped and he sagged in his bonds. He shook his head again, slowly this time, before looking back up at her. ‘Why, uh, Joanna. Why did you meet them?’
‘I was looking for you.’
There was silence for a moment, and he nodded. ‘As did I. My first time. I would be happy to not do so again.’
The effort seemed to exhaust him, and he slumped, his head resting on his chest. She stood, picking at the leather on his wrists. It was tied tightly, but she could pick at it. She bent, talking quietly into his ear. ‘Can you stand, and take the pressure off these, please?’
He looked into her eyes and she winced, looking away before she could see the pain in them any more than she had to. She put her shoulder in his armpit and tried to heave him up. He helped and stood, swaying slowly. She pulled at the bonds, loosening them bit by bit. The leather was wet with sweat and blood and almost glued together, but she got it apart, losing only one nail in the process.
When his right arm dropped, he staggered forward, and spun slowly round, his weight centred on the other bond. She put herself in the way and he bumped into her. She almost fell over. He was far heavier than he looked. And almost naked. And pressed against her.
She bent to the task of the other bond, finally pulling it clear, only just managing to stay on her feet and take his weight. When the leather fell away, he collapsed, taking her down as well, so they lay in a heap. The smell of blood and sweat was strong, tickling her nose and making it itch.
She shoved him as gently as she could until she could crawl free, and sit up, peering down at him. His eyes were closed. The blood was coming from tiny holes, where the skin had been ripped open and still hung, little tags of flesh. There were burns also, the skin tight and discoloured. She stroked his hair, peering around them into the dark.
She started when the door opened, lifting her head off his shoulder. Her eyes were gritty and her mouth like she’d drunk loads of coke and not cleaned her teeth. How long had she been sleeping? What would mum be thinking? Was she supposed to be at school? She was, yes, it was Thursday, how cool is that?
The man she had spoken to earlier stalked into the room. He was one of the four, part of the Council, but he still couldn’t quite get his robe tied properly, one hand fiddling with it as he strode in.
‘We called a meeting.’
Did he want a response to that, round of applause maybe?
‘It has been decided that you may fight for your Master’s freedom. It is an old tradition, but one you may be worthy of. You have an hour to decide and prepare.’
He turned to leave and she tried to put her thoughts into some sort of order. ‘Wait, hold on. What happens if I don’t fight?’
He stopped, glancing back over her shoulder. ‘When I say you may fight, what I mean is, you will.’
She scrambled up, her knees cracking. She flew at him, hands outstretched to do what, she had no idea. He spun, his own hand raising and she stopped, completely. She was trying to move, but nothing was working. What had he done?
She sagged, her body going limp. He stepped closer, staring into her eyes. ‘What you should have asked, is what will happen if you lose.’
She didn’t have the chance to ask, as he strode from the room. When the door slammed behind him, the spell stopped and she staggered and fell on her face, swearing as her head struck the stone. She sat up, rubbing it and groaning.
Martin was watching her, eyes open completely now. ‘We must prepare.’
Next Installment Wednesday 18th December
