Page 70 of Mongrel
“Everyone inside,” shouts the guard. The onlookers scatter. “You heard me. Inside!”
It’s clear the villagers fear the guard’s wrath because they abandon the scene and clear the streets.
Bowie and Janos tumble in the dirt, leaving me mostly out of it. I crawl toward the purse, figuring that’s what the guards would expect. The pig lies abandoned on the other side of the road, a damn shame because my wolf would have gulped that down in four bites.
Why aren’t the guards pouring out of the gates to arrest us? How much longer must Bowie and Janos trade hits before we’re dragged to the dungeons? Are thievery, public drunkenness, and fighting in the streets tolerated in Csejthe?
“Stop at once,” orders a guard from the safety of the battlements. “Or you will be shot.”
I snap my head to the wall.
The threat gets everyone’s attention. Shot? That’s not part of our plan.
Bowie and Janos spring apart, then freeze.
“Archers at the ready,” shouts another guard.
Moons and stars, this can’t be happening. I hold up my hands. “Wait! Don’t fire!”
A line of archers stands poised, their arrows pointed ominously toward the three of us. Bowie and Janos raise their hands too.
My eyes land on a new figure as she joins the burly guards.
A raven-haired woman, her tresses teased high upon her head. Rubies drip from her neck like blood, matching the red lacing of her gleaming black gown. Dark eyes study us with intense ferocity. Her crimson-stained lips purse into a scowl.
Countess Erzsébet Báthory.
Who else could she be? I stare into the eyes of evil, willing her to call off the archers. We’ll come inside without struggle; that’s been the intention all along. No need to shoot anyone.
Bowie inches backward toward me.
“Freeze!” orders the guard, halting Bowie’s progress.
I itch to be closer to him as well. Those arrows are wooden. What if one pierces his heart? I shudder. I can’t bear to think about it.
Janos continues the charade. “These men accused me of stealing, but I’m no thief. They’re the thieves! I’ll simply take my purse and be on my way.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” says Báthory, her voice carrying without strain. She places elegant hands on the battlement’s stones, fingers splayed wide. “You shall remain perfectly still, or I’ll have you all killed.”
We don’t move a single muscle between us.
Janos stammers, “Milady, I beg you. Don’t fire. We won’t cause you any further trouble.”
I have to wonder if Bowie is quick enough to dodge an arrow aimed for his heart. He’s fast, but are his reflexes that good? I hope we won’t have to find out.
“Ah, but you’ve troubled me already, haven’t you? All three of you.” She points us out one by one. “Sneaking about asking nosy questions, your tongues flailing worse than a gaggle of children sharing someone else’s deepest secret.”
My jaw drops. Fear prickles up my spine.
We’ve underestimated the enemy.
Báthory chuckles low and sinister. “Ah, you thought I didn’t know. I’ll say this. Whatever it is you think you’ve discovered, you’re wrong.”
This was a mistake. We should have searched out the tunnels. Gone in under cover. Getting arrested was my idea. This mess is all my fault.
She continues, “You’ll suffer for disrespecting the noble Báthory name, but first, you’ll tell me everything you know. Guards—”
In a panic, I dart in front of Bowie, shielding him in case she orders them to fire.
