Though a troubled expression wrinkled his brow, Agarik helped Ottotark heft the other corpse, and they left. Tikaya did not wish to spend a lot of time alone down here, especially since the presence of the dead bodyguard implied the practitioner was around somewhere, probably alive, but she wanted a moment to think things through.
“ So,” she said in Nurian, as if the man’s spirit might hear and help, “you’ve been following us all along, biding your time, is that it?” She thought of the hour or two she had spent alone in Wolfhump and shivered, for that could well have been an opportunity for the assassins, but perhaps they, too, had been affected by the gas. “You ran ahead here to lay an ambush for me? Or someone transported you here?” That was a hard skill to master, but not an impossible one. Someone familiar with the arrival area could have done it. “Either way, it seems you got here after the weapon struck, or you’d have been killed the same way as the others. Unless you launched the weapon yourself and came to check the effectiveness of your work. But, no, your people wanted nothing to do with these artifacts.” She took off her spectacles and rubbed her face. “But when you got here, someone was waiting. Was it a Turgonian, or the person or persons who figured this rocket out? Or both?”
Not surprisingly, the dead man was not talking. Likely he had given up all his secrets to his interrogator. Tikaya glanced around, noting that the pliers, knives, and other implements she could not name had been meticulously cleaned after use and returned to the storage rack. Little else caught her eye, though, and she decided it would be wise to finish up and find a spot with people around.
She headed back to the stairs. Someone had shut the door at the bottom. She tried the knob, but it did not turn.
A kernel of dread formed in her gut.
She tried the door again. It could just be a flaky knob, but no. It was locked. She pounded on the door. Maybe someone working upstairs would hear her and let her out.
“ Is anybody out there? Hello?”
No one came.
Tikaya leaned her forehead against the cold wood. Ottotark must have locked the door on the way out without Agarik noticing. Maybe he had even ordered the men clearing bodies to work in a different building. She swallowed. Odds were Ottotark could make sure Agarik stayed busy for a while too.
The rack of torture implements flashed into her mind. “Dolt,” she cursed herself. Of all the places she could be trapped with that man, this had to be the worst.
She slipped the razor Agarik had given her out of her boot and unfolded the blade from the wooden handle. It seemed a puny tool compared to those in the other room. If Ottotark worried about her having weapons, he would not have chosen this spot. He obviously did not see her as a threat in close combat, and rightly so. This was no archery competition where she could stand back and plunk arrows into a target.
She needed to catch him by surprise. She hoped she had time to set one up.
Tikaya checked the supply closet. An idea came as soon as she saw the kerosene tins. Unlike the whale oil her people used, the vapors ought to be flammable. She grabbed a paint pan, a full tin of kerosene, and a box of friction matches. She would only have one chance. It had better work.
In the torture chamber, she closed the door part way. Footsteps thudded in the corridor on the floor above. She swallowed. If that was Ottotark, she did not have much time.
The safety lid of the unopened kerosene tin thwarted her fingernails, and her shoulder sent stabs of pain through her when she tried to brace the can with that hand. She huffed in frustration. Then she remembered the razor. Agarik’s tool would help after all.
She gouged a hole in the top of the tin and, careful not to spill any on herself, poured kerosene into the paint pan. The fumes stung her eyes, but she dared not slow down. Footsteps thudded on the stairs. For once, she had reason to thank her height. Though the doors had been made to accommodate the tall Turgonians, she reached the top without trouble and balanced the pan. The footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs, and the lock clicked. The door creaked open.
Tikaya hopped into the shadows beside the door.
“ I know you’re down here, bitch,” Ottotark said. “No point in hiding.”
Tikaya’s breathing sounded loud in her ears, and she tried to quiet it. She yanked her left arm out of the sling, ignoring the pain, and dug out a fistful of matches. In her right hand, she held a single one. The tremble to her fingers annoyed her. She eyed the pan atop the door, and doubts flooded her. It was too stupid, too obvious. Children did this as a prank; it was not a way to attack an enemy, a bigger stronger enemy who would probably only be angered by the attempt.
“ I’m going to wipe that arrogant defiance off your face,” Ottotark growled. A door creaked. He was checking the closet.
She swallowed. Would he notice the missing kerosene? Or would he smell it before he entered her room?
“ You don’t act like a prisoner, not like you should, and the captain’s too lenient. You screwed us during the war. You gave our secret orders to the Nurians. They knew just how to ambush the Crusher. All those men-my brother — didn’t have a chance.” The heavy footsteps thudded closer. “I’ve been waiting to avenge him since you came on board.”
Ottotark shoved the door so hard it cracked against the stone wall. Tikaya jumped back and almost didn’t see the trap spring. Kerosene drenched him, and the pan clattered to the floor.
“ What the-” He stumbled into the room.
She slammed a boot into his backside with all her strength. He pitched forward, though he turned the fall into a graceful roll and came up facing her. She kicked the door shut and scraped a match against the stone wall. The scent of sulfur stung the air.
Ottotark snarled and started to lunge. She almost threw the flame then and there, but she kept herself to holding it out and shouting.
“ That’s kerosene you’re covered in!”
Ottotark paused, just short of springing.
“ Ever wanted to be a human torch?” Tikaya asked. “You could look just like all the dead soldiers here in about three seconds.”
He snorted. “You’ve not steel enough to kill anyone.” But his gaze stayed on that match, and he did not advance.
“ I’ve killed more people than I can count since this nightmare started. First on the Nurian ship and then in Wolfhump.”
Ottotark’s eyes widened. “The captain was right. You killed Commander Okars!”
Admitting that might be stupid, but it might convince him she was a threat. She needed to resolve this before Ottotark realized she would run out of matches eventually. She had to gamble. “Yes, and I liked him a lot more than I like you.” She tried to put a manic expression on her face as she looked him up and down. “I can’t imagine anyone would even miss you. Maybe I should just-”
“ Wait!” He licked his lips. “What do you want?”
“ Your word that you won’t touch me ever again.” It was another gamble. Just because Rias’s word meant a lot to him did not mean every Turgonian shared that viewpoint. Still, there were several words for honor and promises in their language. Maybe it was not that big of a gamble.
And Ottotark winced. If his word meant nothing, he would have agreed quickly. He would not be thinking it over.
The first match was burning low. She lit a second from it, then tossed the discard into a puddle of kerosene at Ottotark’s feet. The vapors ignited and flames roared, hurling shadows from every corner of the chamber.
Ottotark leapt away, slamming his back against the dangling corpse. “Shit, woman!”
“ Your word or you’re next.” The confident steely tone of her voice surprised her.
“ Fine, fine. I won’t even touch you if you’re dangling on the edge of a cliff, begging me to pull you to safety.”