It took her a few seconds to place what it was because it seemed so far out of context to the predicament she was in. But then she had it.
It was singing.
Somewhere above her, people were singing.
What sounded like a mix between a battle hymn and a song of praise.
The Final Faith, she thought. Munch must have brought her to one of their churches, and she was sitting beneath one of their congregations. But which congregation, in which church, where? She strained to listen and, beyond the singing, caught the sound of bells.
Twelve bells to be precise, each of them pealing in turn. Kali felt her heart thump as recognition dawned. There was only one place she knew of that had such bell towers. Pits of Kerberos, the little bastard had brought her to Scholten — abducted her halfway across the peninsula, to the cathedral itself.
The realisation — and its implications — sinking in, Kali began to struggle anew against her bonds, but as she felt blood start to trickle, she let out a cry of frustration.
At the same time she heard footsteps approaching on the other side of the door.
A key turned in its lock and the door opened.
Three people walked into the room, studying her but staying silent. The first of them was Munch, the second a disturbingly tall, thin man she didn't recognise, and the third a woman she did — but only because she looked a bit like her statues.
It was Caroline MacDonald. The Anointed Lady.
No, hang on, that didn't sound right, Kali thought. MacDonald, maybe but… Christine? Katarina? Katherine. She was sure it was Katherine.
Yes, that was it. Katherine MacDonald, the Anointed Lady.
Hells, she really ought to get to church more often.
"We do seem to be plagued by pests of late," the woman sighed. She strode towards Kali and looked directly at her. "Kali Hooper," she intoned. "Age twenty-two, sex, sometimes, current occupation proprietor of the tavern formerly known as the Retching Weasel and now the Here There Be Flagons, situated in the hamlet of Stopford, in the western county of Tarn."
Kali smiled. "Thanks for reminding me. Now I'll be able to find my own way home. Whenever you're ready, that is."
"I'm not. Oh, and if you're thinking of shouting for help, don't bother." She pointed up. "The Eternal Choir never stops."
"That must get on your tits."
Makennon ignored her. "Not much to go on at all, Kali. And that is all the information in our records — tell me, don't you find that strange?"
Kali stared at her. "No, what I find strange is you have records about me at all. Tell me, Katherine, it is just a church you're running here, isn't it — not a dictatorship? And hey, I could have done without the crack about the sex."
"Proprietor of the aforementioned tavern and sometime tomb raider, I am led to believe."
Kali's eyes narrowed.
"Actually, I prefer to think of them more as repositories, or reliquaries — museums of the past. To be honest, I'd be pretty much gobsmacked if I found anyone dead in them, their owners having been gone for quite some time. But seriously, Katherine, you are really going to have to go to interrogation classes if you're going to ask me questions and then ignore everything I say." She smiled sweetly. "Kind of defeats the object, doesn't it?"
Makennon slapped her suddenly and unexpectedly on the cheek, hard.
"This isn't a damned game, tomb raider!"
Her head involuntarily snapped to the side, Kali worked her jaw and spat out a small glob of blood. Then she snapped her head back and glared at her captor, hair mussed over eyebrows that were deeply veed, her expression thunderous. But she spoke steadily.
"I'd kind of worked that out when your hired psychopath here slaughtered my horse."
Makennon smiled. "What can I say? Konstantin has a… passion for his work."
"Burn in the hells!"
Makennon cocked her head, almost curiously. "I hardly think that's likely, Kali, do you? I am Katherine Makennon, the Anointed Lord, head of the largest faith — the largest church — on Twilight. Hundreds of thousands of people see me as the Lord of All's representative on this world of His, and they revere me as much as they do Him. Each of these people pray for my well-being on a daily basis, and each of them will solicit my passage to the heavens when my time eventually comes. Think about it. With that kind of support, how could I possibly burn?"
"Oh, I'm sure there's a big enough match somewhere," Kali said. Makennon, right. "Why have you brought me here?"
"You know why, Kali. I want the key."
"I thought it was Munch who wanted the key?" Kali retorted. It was a weak retort but the best she could do in an attempt to halt the growing unease in her gut. "What are you going to do — fight amongst yourselves?"
"My desires are Munch's desires, and our desires are those of the Faith. The key belongs to no one individual but to the Church itself — it has been written."
"Oh, really? By whom?"
"The Old Races. The forefathers of we, the Divine Race."
"Oh right, them," Kali responded casually. Makennon was obviously referring to the elves and the dwarves, but other than that she didn't have a clue what she was on about. She just wished someone would tell her why the key was in so much demand or what it was that the damn thing actually did.
Makennon studied her, a smile playing on her lips. "You don't know what it is, do you? You haven't a clue. The key was just some… bauble you saw your chance to steal from us."
"Why don't you tell me what it is?"
"When you tell me where it is."
"You know, I am getting heartily sick of that question. As I told your flunky here — I don't know."
"That we shall have to see, won't we?" Makennon said. She turned to Munch and the tall man. "Get on with it," she ordered. "Report to me below when you're done."
Below? Kali thought. But weren't they already in the cellars? She thought no more of it, though, as she realised Makennon was about to leave, and in her current circumstances being left with Munch and his mate as they got on with it made her feel more than a little concerned.
"Makennon, wait," she said. "You're the head of the Final Faith — a church — how can you countenance this?"
The Anointed Lord smiled. "I don't. I just ignore it."
With Makennon gone, Kali stared at Munch and he stared back, saying nothing but slowly rubbing his hand over large black bruises on his face, what looked like a broken nose, a stitched gash above his eye. He breathed shallowly and Kali noticed that bandages wrapped his ribs. She'd given him a good drubbing, all right, but right now it didn't make her feel much better. The bloody mouth Makennon had given her was nothing compared to the damage Munch could inflict while she was as helpless as she was.
But she was not going to let it matter what he did to her. She couldn't. Because if she told him about the key then she would have to tell him about Merrit Moon, and there was no way she was dragging the old man into this.
All she could hope for was that she blacked out quick.
Unfortunately, it seemed that oblivion was not going to be. As Kali swallowed in expectation of what was to come, it wasn't Munch who made the first move but the tall, thin man. With no expression showing on his sunken, sallow face he walked behind her, cupped her skull in his hands and then tipped it from side to side, fingers rubbing gently. The incongruity of what he was doing made her swallow harder still, her unease made all the worse by the fact that she couldn't see a thing. "What's with the massage, Munch?" she asked, sounding calmer than she felt. "You think maybe I need to relax?"
Munch spoke for the first time. He sounded calm and in control but Kali caught a flash of bloodlust in his eyes that belied his manner — the little bastard was looking forward to this. "This gentleman's name is Querilous Fitch," he said. "Mister Fitch is here to ensure our session lasts as long as is necessary. It is his job to ensure that you remain attentive and do not lapse into unconsciousness, a technique at which he is particularly adept."