Toymaker, The (12 page)

‘Besides,’ said Koenig, ‘there’s the inn.’

In the distance in front of them Mathias could see the pinprick light of a lamp. Behind them the road was empty; small flakes of snow wandered and disappeared into the falling dark. Whoever was following them was out there. Mathias shivered again and pulled up the collar of his coat.

The inn smelled of all the things Katta knew so well, as though they were grimed into her skin: pipe smoke and beer, wood smoke and stale cooking. The smell of travelling men and damp clothes. The big downstairs room was already full. There was a murmur of talk, a fire roaring against one wall. Katta watched the girls carrying laden trays of drink. She might have been looking at herself. People hardly spared them a glance as they came in. Koenig found the innkeeper and paid for a room, then they were taken upstairs. Katta looked at the girl who showed them the way and felt again that same queer sense of
watching herself.

‘What’s it like here?’ she said to the girl, but the girl didn’t answer.

There was a fire lit in their room and Koenig had food brought up. Stefan couldn’t find his knife to cut his meat with – it must have dropped out of his pack in the forest – so Koenig cut it for him and scolded him for losing something he might need. The two of them talked in Burner. Mathias ate his food and then lay down on the big curtained bed. There was only one, but it was large enough for them all if they slept two at each end. His shoulder and ribs ached. Koenig took a small flask from his coat, poured the liquid into its cap and had Mathias drink. It was the same thing that Tashka had given him that morning. It numbed the pain and made him feel warm and drowsy. He put his head onto the dirty pillow and felt sleep begin to creep over him.

Katta sat in the firelight and watched Koenig and Stefan talking.

In the pocket of her apron was Stefan’s knife.

No one had seen her take it. It had been easy. They were all looking at the marks in the snow. She slipped her hand into Stefan’s pack and put the knife in her own pocket. When she was quite sure they hadn’t seen, she undid her coat and quickly dropped the knife into her apron, then fastened her coat again, and that was all Mathias had seen her doing. But now she had the boy, and a knife.

‘Are you sulking still?’ said Koenig.

Katta looked up. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she said.

‘You must eat, or you won’t be able to last tomorrow.’

‘Maybe I won’t have to.’

There was something in the tone of her voice that could not be missed and Koenig looked at her with those deep-seeing eyes of his. If she was not careful,
she thought, he would guess that she had the knife.

‘What are we going to do in Felissehaven?’ she said quickly.

But he was too sharp for that. She could feel his gaze upon her even though she was looking away, looking at the fire, looking anywhere but at him.

‘Let’s get there first, shall we?’ he said. ‘Without too much trouble, that is.’

‘Can’t wait,’ she said.

Koenig had taken off his thick riding coat. Now he might have been a gentleman, with his fine scarf wound around his throat, his silk waistcoat and black stuff jacket. He opened the saddlebags that he had laid across the back of a chair and took from them two pistols. He checked each, and then pushed one down inside his jacket where it could not be seen. ‘I’m going to see if our friend has arrived downstairs,’ he said.

He tossed the other pistol to Stefan, who caught it awkwardly. It looked large and clumsy in his hands.

‘Can’t be too careful,’ he said. ‘Stay here. Don’t open the door to anyone but me. Don’t go outside. Do you understand?’

‘Or he’ll shoot us?’ said Katta mockingly.

‘No,’ said Koenig. ‘But he will shoot anyone else
who tries to come in.’ His voice was deadly serious. ‘Now isn’t the time to play games, Katta.’

It was the first time he had used her name, and it startled her. He must have heard Mathias say it a dozen times, but he hadn’t spoken it until now.

‘No games, Katta,’ he said.

Then he stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.

‘What did he mean?’ said Mathias sleepily from the bed. He’d heard the words but they’d come to him slowly and fuzzily, as though from a long way off.

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll stay awake.’

She watched Mathias close his eyes.

Now it was just her and the boy.

Down in the quiet of the stables, the horses shifted their feet uneasily as something disturbed them, a small square shape slipping from shadow to shadow across the yard. The big horse lifted its head, pricked its ears and snorted.

‘Why don’t you lie down?’ said Katta.

Stefan was sitting in a chair by the fire; he had turned it so that it faced the door. He had the pistol
on his lap. He looked up at her, a little surprised. It was the first time she’d spoken to him. She put her hands together like a pillow against her cheek.

‘Sleep,’ she said and pointed to him. ‘You sleep now. I’ll watch.’

‘I watch,’ said Stefan.

‘Not for much longer, you won’t,’ said Katta under her breath. ‘I’ll sleep then,’ she said, pointing to her chest. ‘Me.’

Stefan nodded, and Katta climbed onto the bed. She closed her eyes, but she wasn’t asleep. She lay there with her eyes shut and listened to the buzzing of the bee in her head.

Koenig sat at a table close to the fire. He wasn’t alone. He had found a place next to two gentlemen and their lady companions. The ladies had their hair piled up in the fashionable way. They had all travelled together in the same carriage. Koenig listened to their empty chatter, but all the while he watched the room, saw who came in and went out. When one of the girls with her empty tray passed him, he stopped her.

‘I was expecting a friend,’ he said. ‘A short man. He’s been walking, no horse to stable. Has he come yet?’

This girl would know. He had chosen one he had seen when they arrived, so he knew she would have noticed anyone who had come after them.

She looked about. ‘That him?’ she said.

She pointed across the room to a small fat man who was smoking a pipe. He had a small fat wife beside him.

‘No,’ said Koenig.

‘Only one I’ve seen,’ she said.

One of the ladies touched his arm. ‘Do you play cards, sir?’ she said.

‘Never for money,’ said Koenig.

She smiled at him. ‘Perhaps we could play then?’

She rapped her fan on the table. ‘Cards, everyone!’ she said. ‘Our new companion can deal.’

She laid her hand on his arm again. ‘I’m sure I can trust you to play fairly,’ she said.

Up in the room Katta was watching Stefan. He had settled in the chair and the warmth of the fire was making him drowsy. It had been a long, cold day and they had walked so far. Sometimes his head would nod, but then he’d lift it again and stretch and blink, trying to keep awake. Then the warmth would work upon him, and after a while his eyes would close.
Katta said nothing. But she watched like a hawk, barely breathing, not making a sound, not moving a muscle. Finally his head drooped and he didn’t lift it. For all that he had tried not to, for all that Koenig had left him to watch, Stefan was asleep.

Very slowly, not taking her eyes off him, Katta sat up in the bed. She looked at Mathias. His eyes were shut and he was breathing deeply and evenly. Carefully she put her hand into her apron and took out the knife. It felt hard and heavy. It was folded shut. Just as carefully, she opened it. The blade was sharp; it felt cold against her hand. The light of the flames from the fire danced along it. It was how she had always imagined it – the boy sleeping, not knowing what was about to happen to him, the knife in her hand. But it was not the same at all.

It was real.

All those other, imagined times fell away from her like the paper-thin things they were, and she was left with a real knife and a real boy. How could she do it? It was so wrong. But then, what he had done was wrong too. But he hadn’t known he’d done it. But he’d thrown the stone, hadn’t he? He must have meant to hurt someone – he’d meant that, and it had been her he’d hurt. That’s what he’d done. But
maybe he hadn’t really meant it at all?

She sat statue-still while the different thoughts raced in her head. But slowly one thought gained the upper hand, pushing all the others aside. She had sworn that she would do this to him if she ever found him. It would be like a broken promise if she didn’t. As if she were a coward. It didn’t matter that it was wrong. She had sworn that she would do it, so that is what she was going to do.

Quietly she put her feet on the floor and, not making a sound, stood up. Very slowly she began to move towards him. The firelight flickered and her shadow stretched back across the room. She bent down and reached one hand forward to take the pistol from his lap, but his hand was resting on it and she hesitated, drew back and edged around his chair so that she stood behind him. Then she reached her hand over his head and brought the knife down until the blade rested in front of his eyes. She could feel her heart pounding; she was shaking.

‘Katta! No!’

Mathias had sat up in bed: he was awake, staring at her with wide eyes. As Stefan jerked his head and opened his eyes, Katta drew the blade across them. But he’d moved enough – the blade sliced across his
forehead, deep as the bone, and suddenly there was blood everywhere as he stumbled from the chair.

‘Katta!’ shouted Mathias.

She stood staring in disbelief at the knife in her hands, and realized what she had done. Stefan had his hands to his face; there was blood coming between his fingers. He couldn’t see – he blundered into the table and fell. Mathias was out of the bed in a flash, arm tight across his chest, trying to reach Stefan before Katta did. His face was shocked and white.

‘What have you done?’

Stefan was whimpering; he was pressing himself against the bed, trying to get away from Katta, but she didn’t move. She dropped the knife. What had she done? All those years of impotent hate burst inside her.

‘He did it to me!’ she screamed, her eyes full of tears.

Mathias looked blankly up at her.

‘This!’ she shouted and, grabbing her cap, pulled it off her head and threw it at him as hard as she could. Her hair was red in the firelight.

‘He did it to me!’ she shouted. ‘It was him!’

She stabbed her fingers to the place in her head. Parted the hair so that he could see the bone.

‘This! He did it to me.’

Mathias didn’t understand. She had never told him. He stared uncomprehendingly from her to the boy. There was blood everywhere.

Katta put her hands to her head and ran. The door to the room was shut and bolted; she drew the bolt and flung it open. She didn’t know where she was going – she ran blindly down the narrow passages and turns, not seeing, not stopping until, coming round a corner, she looked down into the
half-light and froze.

Climbing in through a window at the end of the passageway in front of her was Valter.

She let out a scream, stifling it at once. But it was too late – that was enough. He hadn’t seen her until then. He was already halfway through the window; he turned his head and looked right at her.

She didn’t wait. She turned and fled back the way she had come, but she wasn’t sure which way it was. There was a small flight of steps – had she come down it? She couldn’t remember. She took them two at a time and ran along the passage, shouting at the top of her voice.

‘Mathias! Mathias!’

The door to the room was still open; she came through it at a run and slammed it, bolting it behind her. Stefan now had a sheet to his head: Mathias was holding it, trying to staunch the blood. When they saw her, they both flinched; Stefan backed away. She slid the bolt home in the door.

‘Get the pistol!’ she shouted.

Neither Mathias nor Stefan moved.

‘It’s him!’

Desperately she began looking for where the pistol had fallen from Stefan’s lap. She saw it under
the table, got down on her hands and knees and was scrabbling for it as the door bent inwards and the frame cracked. She stared, horrified; outside Valter put his shoulder to the door again. It bent further and this time, in a splintering of wood, the bolt gave way.

He was a terrible sight. He had been burned and buried. He stood with his arms wide, ready to catch them if they ran.

‘Where is it?’ he hissed.

Katta had the pistol in her hands. She had never used one before, not even held one. It was so heavy. She didn’t know what to do. She pulled the hammer back with her hand like she’d seen people do; it was hard, but it locked with a click. Still crouching, she raised the pistol at Valter and pulled the trigger. There was a flash and it fired. The sound was deafening in the small space – plaster showered from the ceiling behind Valter where the ball struck – but it had missed him completely. With a yell, he leaped at Mathias, who jumped up onto the bed one side and down the other.

Stefan was in the way; he didn’t seem to understand what was happening. Valter caught hold of him and, with the back of his hand, gave him one
enormous blow across his face. It sent Stefan crashing into the wall; he slid down it to the floor, then didn’t move. Valter fixed his eyes on Mathias, who stood with the bed between them.