Ripka winced. “I’d rather not harm the guards. They’re just doing their jobs, and not badly. And there’s no telling the positions of the other guards. We only know for sure that there are two in the hall – that might be all we have to worry about, or the other four could be patrolling the building, or waiting for us downstairs. Too risky.”
“Sick?”
“Now there’s a thought. Enard has some apothik training, just the usual first aid variety, but so do I, and they’d know that well enough as they’re all aware I was a watch-captain. I bet Tibal could fake an illness, but what we’d really need is an injury – something bloody enough to freak them out and send them into a panic. Make them run for an apothik without realizing they’ve split their numbers. Then we’d be two-to-four, or maybe three-to-four, and have surprise on our side. I’d prefer if they didn’t notice we were gone for a while, but that’s not looking likely now… Hmm. Yeah, that could work, but how to fake the injury? You got any sauce on that plate that looks red enough?”
“No,” Honey said, and stabbed herself in the thigh with the curved end of her spoon.
“Fuck!”
The tray of food flipped and scattered across the floor as Ripka lunged to her feet. Hot blood pumped down the woman’s thigh, bare below her nightshift, and pooled on the rug. Bubbles of blood popped, making a little gurgling sound, around the half-embedded shovel of the spoon, but the flow wasn’t strong enough to indicate an arterial strike.
“What the everloving fuck.” Ripka grabbed a napkin from the spilled tray and shoved it against Honey’s wound, trying to staunch the flow. It didn’t help much. They needed to get that spoon out of her, and the wound cleaned and packed with wool and salve before they could stitch it and bind it, and then –
Honey closed her hand over Ripka’s. “Better call the guards.”
There wasn’t the slightest tremor of pain in her voice, no beads of sweat-shock marred her brow. The crazy woman was just as calm as she’d been a moment before, throwing out ideas to spark Ripka’s imagination. Honey popped a greasy piece of bread in her mouth and chewed, slowly.
“You’re insane, you know that?”
Honey shrugged, though her smile was embarrassed.
No time to admonish the woman. She’d gone ahead and carved an opportunity for them all out of her own flesh, and it was up to Ripka to make the most of it. She scrambled to her feet and looked around. Honey kept on nibbling at her breakfast, calm as could be, the pool of blood spreading steadily around her, but not at a life-threatening rate.
They’d both been wearing plain linen nightshifts, and the bright blood looked rather dramatic against the beige cloth. Ripka tore long strips from one of the blankets and stashed them on the other side of the bed, where the guards would be slow to notice them. With the bloodied napkin clutched in one fist, she took a breath, worked up a false hysteria, and flung herself at the door, pounding with both fists.
“Help! Help! She’s bleeding out!”
Curses in the hall, the tromp of boots and the rattle of the key in the lock. The door jerked open and Ripka stumbled back from the guard pushing toward her, but not too quickly. She wanted the guard, the same woman who’d overseen their breakfast delivery, to get a good long look at Ripka’s blood-smattered clothes, and the dripping rag she held.
“What in the skies?”
“It’s Honey!” Ripka yelled straight into the woman’s face, working up a good tremble to add to the disturbance. The guard pushed Ripka aside and her eyes widened at the sight of Honey who had, thankfully, stopped calmly eating her breakfast.
“Ow,” Honey said.
“Pitshit.” The guard ducked back out into the hall and called at the top of her lungs, “Apothik!”
“Get Tibal!” Ripka snapped. “He was in the Fleet, he has first aid training!”
The guard didn’t even blink. She thrust a finger at the guard manning the door to the boys’ room. “Get those men over here. We’ve got an injury.”
“What in the pits happened?” The other guard jangled his keys as he struggled to get the door open.
“Fucked if I know.”
“I fell,” Honey said. Ripka thanked the skies that her voice was too soft, and the guards too frazzled, for them to have heard her half-hearted explanation.
To keep from being noticed, Ripka hung back as the guards ushered Tibal and Enard, still in their bedclothes, blinking into the women’s room. They did not stay confused for long. Tibal caught sight of Honey seeping blood, her hand half-heartedly clasped against the wound, and sucked air through his teeth so fast he whistled.
Enard, however, went pale as a sheet the second he spied Ripka huddling between the two beds, her nightshift a mess of blood. He regained his composure in a breath, crossed to her side and took her by the shoulders, holding her at arm’s length to get a look at the damage.
“Are you hurt?”
“None of this is mine.”
He cringed at the implication, sparing a glance back over his shoulder to Honey. She’d taken up humming softly under her breath while Tibal tried to figure out the best way to extract the spoon from her leg.
“What in the pits happened here?”
Ripka slid her gaze slowly, pointedly, to the pile of sliced rags on the floor alongside the bed. Enard nodded.
“This looks bad,” Tibal said, infusing his voice with gravelly seriousness. “Don’t one of you guards have any serious medical experience?”
The woman said, “Eshon does–”
“But it’s just the two of us today!” the male guard snapped. “Bitter pits, I told them we should stay four on rotation at all times, but no, and now look what’s happened!”
Enard and Ripka locked gazes, understanding passing between them in an instant. Just two guards today. Two very flustered guards. They shared a grin.
Then lunged.
Ripka was over the bed in a heartbeat, shouldering the door to slam it closed. The guards shouted – the words didn’t matter. The man, who’d been nearest the door, grabbed Ripka’s shoulder, jerking her back so hard she lost her footing. No time to be neat about things. She stumbled into him and took the opportunity to jam her elbow, hard as she could, straight into the man’s ribs. He woofed air and doubled over.
She gave him no quarter. Clutching his wrist, she wrenched his arm around behind his back and turned with the movement so that she stood behind him, yanking up on that twisted arm as hard as she could. He lurched, his back slamming into her chest, and in that moment she felt him draw breath to cry out. There were no other guards about, but there were certainly enough civilians in the hotel to run and call for help from the local watch.
They needed time. Time they wouldn’t get if he got that shout out.
She struck him on the back of the head with the heel of her palm, felt his jaw snap closed and heard his teeth jar and clatter against each other. He gurgled a yelp, and before he could orient himself and try to pull away she stepped backward, overbalanced him, and spun, throwing him face-first onto the bed.
Blood smeared the sheets where his face connected. He bucked, trying to fling her off, but her legs were longer than his and she had them planted firmly while he was bent over, booted toes just barely dragging on the ground. With his face shoved in the blankets, she had control. She glanced up to see Tibal and Enard scuffling with the female guard. Enard pinned her arms back while Tibal tried to get a strip of cloth around her mouth as a gag.
“Keep them silent,” Ripka ordered, and though she didn’t raise her voice it was whip-strong with the snap of command. Pits below, but that felt good.
Enard and Tibal wrestled the woman to the ground and got her tied off properly, then hurried over to help Ripka with her thrashing charge. With their help, it took no time at all to get the guard hog-tied, gagged, and blindfolded.