The door would surely be guarded. There was no other potential exit, not even a fireplace. Only the bed, several chests full of clothing, the canopy over the bed which was too fragile to support anyone, a couple of chairs, the oval mirror, the cold cut-slate floor, the single glowbulb high above, and the two freestanding oil lamps.
Those were her only potential weapons. But minks were quick. If she threw a lamp and missed, she doubted it would improve his disposition any. And he could always call for help.
She decided to try another tack. “Please, good sir; me friends and I are just passing through this part o’ the world. They’ll come lookin’ for me, don’t you know. One o’ them is a rich an’ powerful merchant.”
“Who has to haggle for a bargain in the marketplace.” As he advanced she saw that Krasvin’s teeth were very white, and very sharp.
She bumped up against the bed frame and started edging sideways. While undeniably beautiful, the dress was a definite hindrance. Perhaps that was the idea.
“Stay away from me.”
“On the contrary, I intend to get quite close to you. Bear in mind that I have gone to some trouble and expense to position you in your present circumstances. I have no intention of letting you leave until we have come to know each other much better. So to speak. A number of times.”
“I think I know you as well as I want to already.” She made it around the foot of the bed, and he followed relentlessly, making no move to rush her, clearly enjoying the athletic foreplay. Eventually she would tire, and there was nowhere else for her to go. They all came to that realization eventually.
“Come now,” he chided her. “I’m not such a bad fellow. I assure you from experience that our minor tribal differences will not hinder mutual revelation. Haven’t you ever wondered if what they say about minks is true?”
“Not even from an academic standpoint,” she shot back.
“You’re lying, but that’s okay. You’re going to get answers to questions you never thought to ask. How old are you, by the way?” His persistent stare was base and clinical. “Not very, I’d wager. Just beginning to bloom. Delightful.” Despite his veneer of sophistication, he was all but drooling on the floor.
He was closer now, one paw extended.
“Keep away from me!” She whirled and raced to the other side of the bed.
As Krasvin advanced purposefully, she removed the oil lamp from its metal holder and set the flaming crystal container aside, wielding the metal pole which had formerly supported it like a lance. Krasvin was not intimidated.
“That dress flatters every line of your body, you know.”
“No closer!” She gestured wamingly with the tip of the lamp pole.
He halted. “Oh, my. You have armed yourself. I fear I must rethink my intentions.” He turned his back on her.
She didn’t relax even slightly. “Get out. Through the door, go on. I’ll just wait in ‘ere for me friends.”
He peered back over his shoulder, the earring bobbing above his fur. “Anything else you’d like me to do for you? Any other demands? No?” He turned and dropped his eyes momentarily. An instant later he was upon her.
Normally there wasn’t a creature alive an agile mink couldn’t run down. But despite being slightly stouter of build, otters were nearly as quick. She threw the lamp pole as soon as he made his move. He twisted lithely, knocking it to the floor with both hands. It landed between them, clanging against the stone floor.
As soon as the pole left her fingers, she grabbed up the lamp and heaved it. Again the Baron dodged. The lamp just missed his head, landing a good distance behind him and shattering against the slate. Flaming oil spread along the grout between the stones.
Krasvin glanced at the fire, which would burn itself out harmlessly, before turning back to her. “Don’t you find it warm enough in here already? You should save your strength. You’re going to need it.” He resumed his measured advance. “Has it not occurred to you by now that I have followed this exact scenario through to its inevitable conclusion many times before this, and that I am familiar with anything you might do or try? Much as I enjoy these little games, I don’t see any sense in prolonging them. You will not leave this chamber until I say so. Meanwhile, why not give in to reality and make it as easy as possible on yourself?”
Neena seemed to slump. “I guess . . .! guess you’re right.” She dropped her head, adopting what she imagined to be a conciliatory, complaisant posture.
“That’s better,” he said curtly. He nodded to his right. “On the bed with you. Or would you like me to throw you there?” He came nearer, stepping over the fallen lamp pole as he reached for her.
As he did so, she advanced submissively toward him. One slippered foot came down on the base of the fallen pole. Hard.
The other end of the pole snapped upward directly between his short legs. His eyes widened sufficiently for her to see the dying oil fire reflected fully in them, while his grin was replaced by another expression entirely as he crumpled to the floor.
She rushed to him and ripped the decorative dagger from his waistband. For some reason he made no move to stop her, perhaps because his hands were presently elsewhere occupied. Nor did he venture any clever ban mots.
Skirt swirling around her, she raced for the door and began pounding madly on the heavy wooden barrier. “The Baron,” she screamed, “the Baron’s ‘avin’ a heart attack! Someone help, please help us!”
As the door swung wide to reveal a pair of muscular, heavily armed weasels, she stepped aside, holding her hands behind her. While one kept a wary eye on her, the other rushed into the room as soon as he spotted the Baron writhing on the floor. Krasvin was holding himself with one hand and gesturing weakly with the other, his ability to sculpt coherent words still somewhat inhibited. “No . . . don’t . . .,” he was gasping. His feeble protestations drew the attention of the second guard, at which point Neena brought her arm around fast and hard to thrust the dagger into his side, just beneath his armor. The weasel squealed but managed only a desultory gesture of interference as she sprinted past him.
Only to find an orang-utan clad in black chain mail and spiked helmet blocking the hallway. His long arms extended from one wall to the other, preventing her from dashing past.
“Now where did you think you were going, m’lady?” he growled at her.
“Nowhere,” she gasped. “ Tis just that the Baron “as been taken suddenly ill an’ . . .” She looked back toward the chamber. Through the gaping door she could see the first guard helping Krasvin to his feet. The other had staggered into the room, clutching his side.
Frowning, the orang looked past her. “Looks like he’s being helped.”
“ ‘E needs it,” she replied, “an’ so will you.” A lightning strike with the dagger thrust up under the chest armor and into the orang’s belly. One long arm groped for her and missed as she withdrew the bloody blade and hurried onward.
Dress flying, she sped down the now empty hallway, searching wildly for any exit. The building she was in seemed endless. As she turned a corner she nearly ran into a pair of spear-carrying rats and a single langur.
There was an open door on her left, and she took it, finding herself in some kind of pantry or kitchen annex. Bundles of dried meat, packages sealed with wax, sacks of flour barred her path as she struggled through. Behind her, voices were rising in counterpoint to the echo of booted and sandaled feet. The household was being alerted to her flight.
She forced open the door on the far side of the vestibule and found herself in a large, open room lit by oil lamps and the single obligatory overhead glowbulb. Fully three walls of the two-story-high chamber were lined with shelves on which reposed more books than she’d ever seen in her life, more books than she imagined even Clothahump must possess. Bindings of wood and metal, of leather and exotic materials, gleamed in the indirect light.