Chapter 6

Frederick Konstantin clawed his way back to consciousness by degrees, like a sailor fighting to resurface from a sunken ship. When he tried to open his eyes, he wished he had not. Only one responded to his mental directive, but the light leaking into this was enough to ignite napalm blossoms of pain inside his abused skull. His attempts to probe the damage done to his face were hampered by heavy chains binding his hands in between his ankles.

Booted feet shifted behind his back. He was not alone in the room. Continuing to feign unconsciousness, he began taking stock of his surroundings. He was lying against the wall in a room of as yet undetermined size. He was most definitely a captive. Weak light bled into the room through the barred window above him, but Munich’s near constant twilight made it impossible to judge the time. If he was still in Munich. Below the window he heard the screeching hiss of a commuter bus applying its air brakes. Good. He was still in the city.

Judging by the dust covering the floor, this room was not often used. Graffiti on the water-stained boards in front of him further confirmed his suspicions. There were many abandoned buildings inside the city walls. There simply were not enough people left to fill them. The Church occasionally swept the derelict neighborhoods on raids but they lacked the manpower to evict all of the outlaws and vagrants hidden within.

An improbably hairy spider worked its way out of a crack in the wall before Konstantin, waving its fangs menacingly in the Inquisitor’s direction. Trying to ignore his arachnid neighbor, Konstantin surreptitiously began checking the slack on the chains. Without moving he could feel that his captors had taken his gun belt and the knives stowed in his sleeves. With luck…yes, they had missed the small blade hidden inside his boot. A twist of his wrist and a stretch of his fingers and he retrieved the stiletto. Another twist and he was working on the bulky padlock holding his restraints together. It came undone with a click. The pacing man behind him did not notice. Careful not to clink the chains, Konstantin freed his wrists and then hid the knife up his sleeve.

Keys jangled. A door behind him opened. Pacing man paused. A deep voice spoke.

“Get him up. She wants to see him.” The she was emphasized. Konstantin assumed they meant the witch. Standing up on protesting limbs he faced his captors, dropping the chains in front of him.

“Alright then. Shall we go?”

Astonishment warred with outrage and fear on their faces. Rage won out. Bellowing incoherently, the two men dove at their captive like bulls after a matador. Much like a matador, Konstantin shuffled sideways at the last instant, evading their rush. The knife dropped into his hand and it was the work of a moment to trip one of the men and have the blade pressed snugly against the other man’s throat. It was the doorman from the nightclub. Bruised face stared at bruised face. Konstantin grinned through bloody lips.

“Hi.”

The other man leaned forward. Konstantin nicked his hostage’s throat, drawing a bead of blood.

“Now now, play nice. I’m still a little woozy after all; I wouldn’t want to make a tragic slip.”

The man backed away.

“That’s better. You were sent to bring me somewhere. We should probably go. You might get in trouble otherwise.”

If looks could kill, both Konstantin and his hostage would have come to a swift and unpleasant end. As it was, the other man relented, backing through the door he had just opened. Konstantin shuffled after with his prize, into a corridor as ragged as the room they had just left. Nearby, a door stood partially ajar, light streaming out into the debris filled hallway. His new friend took this route, shoving the door open with a bang. The room was crowded with rough looking men standing in small groups or lounging on various piles of junk. Perhaps most telling was the presence of several women as well. Women were rare in the post Judgment world. Konstantin’s dark eyes scanned the area. It was lit by primitive but serviceable gas lanterns. He quickly located his sister. Brita sat unmolested on the far side of the room, chatting amicably with Felix and an attractive dark-skinned woman.

Konstantin shuffled closer. The woman was very attractive. As he approached, conversation in the room died off. Soon the room was silent, except for a faint grinding sound. It took Konstantin a moment to realize the sound was his hostage grinding his teeth in frustration. The men and women in the room were still for only an instant as their brains registered the surprising sight before them. Their moment of hesitation ended with a wave of fiery oaths and unholstered weaponry. Konstantin ignored them all, keeping his eyes on the confident looking woman sitting next to his sister. He knew she was the real threat.

Meeting his gaze levelly she rose, casually lowering Felix’s shotgun with a manicured fingertip as she glided past.

“Now now gentlemen, I don’t think all that will be necessary.” She smiled slightly, “will it Mr. Konstantin?”

Green eyes stared up into black. Her head barely reached his chest. Konstantin felt his arms growing heavy. Why was he holding a knife to a man’s neck? He had been worried for no reason. He was among friends after all; there was no need for all this drama. His arm lowered slightly. The woman’s smile grew wider. He began smiling back. Deep inside his mind, a tiny kernel of self shrieked, throwing its body against the bars of an ever shrinking cage. He shook his head. Something was wrong. The woman’s gaze intensified. Konstantin finally placed the strange whispers at the edge of his consciousness. Witchcraft! He growled deep in his throat. With a titanic effort he raised his knife. It took every bit of his rage-fueled strength but he got it back underneath the doorman’s jaw and held it there.

Dimly he registered nervous shifting among the men surrounding him. They had not expected his resistance. The witch if anything appeared more amused. Grinning still, she turned away, stalking back to her couch with the grace of a jungle cat. With her departure, Konstantin’s mind cleared further. He was barely able to keep himself from slumping in relief. The mental battle had exhausted his energy.

He shook his prisoner as he addressed the witch with a snarl. “Tell your men to lower their weapons, or he dies.”

She waved dismissively as she sat next back next to Brita. “I should let you kill poor Snorri there. He hasn’t been very dependable recently has he?” Konstantin had not thought it possible but the man in his grip stiffened even more. “But then what kind of cousin would I be? Please Mr. Konstantin won’t you join us? Surely we can work out our differences in a civilized manner.” She gestured to her men and they began filing into the hallway. When the door shut behind them only a few people remained in the room. Brita and the black witch remained seated on the ragged couch. Felix stood beside Brita glaring daggers at Konstantin. Another huge man loomed behind the couch, his hairy arms crossed over a powerful chest. His menacing glower was all the more intimidating coming as it was from only one eye, the other being an empty socket. A thick red scar traced its way from the top of his forehead down to the side of his chin. Where Felix’s hair and beard were kept long and wild, this man’s face and head were shaved to stubble, except for a purple-dyed mohawk. The inquisitor’s trained eye wasn’t necessary to tell they were brothers.

Konstantin released Snorri with a shove. A gentle cough from the seated woman sent the man stomping to the door, mumbling death threats in Konstantin’s direction. Felix blew him a kiss. Despite himself, Konstantin smirked a little at that.

Pushing a rusty folding chair against the wall, Konstantin sat facing the two women. He kept his grip on the knife. Seated, he and the witch woman took some time to study each other.

Her sharp features were almost fey. She had the high cheek bones and full lips of a pinup, with a complexion somewhere between dark chocolate and caramel. A spattering of freckles fell across her upturned nose. Her wild hair was black, with some streaks dyed red or blue. Glossy raven feathers had been woven in haphazardly, giving her an uncivilized look. When she smiled, her teeth were white and straight and a little too long. Her smile reached her green eyes, crinkling their edges and filling them with a mischievous twinkle Konstantin was uncomfortably drawn to. Lowering his gaze did nothing to alleviate his discomfort. Her body was a teenager’s wet dream, like something out of the ancient lingerie catalog his father had caught him with once.

Konstantin was painfully aware of the contrasting sight he made. His face was bruised and bloodied, misshapen by swelling over his eye and nose. While her body was an ebony collection of sensual curves, his was more an unmemorable accumulation of straight lines and severe angles. He swallowed. It was just like a witch to use her feminine wiles on a dedicated man of God. The brown sugar devil.

She giggled. Could she read his mind then? Curse the witch.

“Where are my manners?” Her full lips pouted slightly. “We haven’t even introduced ourselves yet. You know Felix of course. The big ox behind me is his older brother Naoise, my husband.”

The large man took a moment from glaring at Konstantin to smile down at his wife. Konstantin was surprised by the amount of feeling they both put into that glance. This was a couple that would move mountains for each other.

He coughed. “I know you. You’re the Raven these men so foolishly follow.”

She smiled gently. “People have taken to calling me that, among other things. Those closest to me know me by the name Deirdre.”

Konstantin scowled. “I’m not close to you, witch.”

The big men bristled. Brita winced. Deirdre just laughed.

“Well, technically, you are, in a geographic sense, yes?”

Konstantin growled.

“Frederick. Be civil.” Brita said, “Deirdre and I spoke while you were asleep.” She meant beaten senseless. “She has agreed to help us.”

Konstantin cocked an eyebrow.

“It is true my dear Inquisitor. I find myself quite taken by your lovely sister. For her sake, I wish to help.”

Konstantin scratched at his stubble, wincing when he brushed a deep scratch along his jaw line. “So witch…Deirdre. I have your promise that you will help rid my sister of this curse?”

She hesitated a moment before replying. “I do not have the ability to…cure your sister. I do know someone who can. You have my oath. I will do what is best for Brita.”

Konstantin’s eyes narrowed. That was not what he had asked. He would play along however, as she seemed to be Brita’s best hope of returning to normal. Konstantin’s best hope.

“This witch that can cure Brita. You will take us to her?”

Her laugh was like the bright tinkle of Konstantin’s favorite bell choir. “He is not a witch Inquisitor. He is Merlin. My father. And yes, I will take Brita to him if that is what she wants. Which places me in an interesting position concerning you. My men wish you dead. I admit my first inclination is to allow them their revenge. Your sister has lobbied strongly on your behalf. She can be surprisingly persuasive. Therefore, if you are willing to surrender, you may travel with us, as our prisoner. As long as you behave you will not be ill treated.”

Konstantin gritted his teeth. He wasted a few moments silently creating new curse words. He was a proud man. Negotiating with witches and outlaws went against everything he had ever stood for. He looked at his sister. She was sitting on the edge of the couch, her eyes wide and frightened. She seemed so vulnerable. Lord, test not your faithful servant. He sighed. He would never be able to return to his order either way. They were not a merciful sect. Very well.

“If I begin to suspect you are further corrupting Brita, you will find that even as your prisoner I can bring you no end of grief.” He knelt. “I accept your terms. Save my sister.” Flipping his knife in his hand, he offered the hilt to Felix. He could not bear to surrender to the woman directly.

Deirdre clapped her hands. “I am impressed Inquisitor. Your love for your sister is an admirable trait. Perhaps I have misjudged you after all.”

He stood, allowing his arms to be bound heavily by the two brothers. Neither man was gentle.

“Take him downstairs dearest.” She dismissed them. “Ready the men. We leave immediately.”

Grabbing an elbow each, Naoise and Felix marched to the door. Hobbling between them, Konstantin kept his head turned, meeting his sister’s eye as long as he could. The door closed, leaving the two women alone on their couch.

Deirdre nodded to herself. “Your brother is very brave. If he is intelligent as well he will not be harmed. By me, or my men. He has a lot of other enemies however.”

Brita tore her gaze away from the door. “Thank you. For everything.” A moment passed. “Deirdre…where are we going?”

The beautiful woman’s laughter tinkled again. “Haven’t you guessed yet dear one? We’re going into the wilds!”