No, not closed in . . . were driven in, by the flapping of great wings. Seeing the size of those wings, the monster flinched.
Then, flinched again, as it finally looked at its assailant. Flinched, and sidled away. Whining in its throat.
There are rules, creature. The voice hammered into the monster’s brain. This is no longer our time—neither yours, nor mine. But there are still rules!
The monster howled as a great paw slammed into its flank, ripping gouges in the flesh. The blow was terrifying in its power. For all its own strength, the monster knew it was no more than a mouse at the mercy of a cat.
A very large and angry cat.
Another blow, which broke the arm the monster raised to fend it off. Another blow, which shredded its snout. Fangs like swords clamped on its haunches. The monster was jerked off its feet, shaken like a mouse in the maw of a cat.
This time, the monster’s spine did break. So did its shoulder, when it was hurled to the ground. So did its rib cage, under yet another hammerblow of a paw the size of an anvil.
The monster was shrieking pure terror, now. Another blow shattered its jaw, bringing silence.
That’s better. You’ll live, of course. Here in this . . . foul cage. Heal, soon enough. Those too are the rules.
The growling voice turned into a rumbling laugh. But I dare say you’ll not try that again.
A giant paw was raised, in question. Frantically, the monster gargled agreement through a broken jaw.
Remember, beast. This is my city—no one else’s. Tell that to Chernobog, when you see him next. He may attempt to destroy it, if he can. But he may not do as he pleases. THERE ARE RULES!
Another blow came, crushing the monster’s skull.
* * *
Diego found his two companions in Eneko’s room, looking wan and exhausted.
“Did you see a ghost?” he asked cheerfully.
They glared at him. “Near enough,” muttered Pierre. He pointed a weary finger at the Basque. “He summoned the Lion. I think.”
Diego’s eyes widened. Eneko chuckled. “It was Pierre’s prayer, you know. How odd that he didn’t mention that. . . .”
The Basque priest lurched to his feet and walked out onto the balcony. He leaned on the balcony and studied the Imperial embassy across the canal. The huge edifice was now somber with nightfall. Only a few lights could be seen, tapers and lamps flickering behind curtained windows. Behind him, Eneko could hear Pierre’s murmured words, as he explained to their Castillian comrade what had transpired.
His companions joined him on the balcony a short while later.
“Are you certain it was not she herself?” asked Diego quietly. “We must be certain about this, Eneko.”
The Basque shrugged. “I’m not certain of anything. But . . . no. I am now almost sure the girl is an innocent. The more so, since you discovered her identity.”
“The name ‘Montescue’ is an old one, Eneko,” said Diego uncertainly. “Evil enough, in that family, over the centuries.”
Again, the Basque shrugged. “And of what old family can that not be said?” With a little laugh: “Certainly not mine! Did I ever tell you about my great-grandfather—”
“Several times,” growled Pierre. “Just as Diego has bored me endlessly with tales of his own wicked Castillian ancestors. My own progenitors, on the other hand,” he added cheerfully, “were virtuous peasants.”
His companions bestowed skeptical looks upon him. “Each and every one!” he insisted.
The moment of levity was brief. Diego returned to the subject like a dog chewing a bone. “Still, Eneko. We must be certain.”
The Basque was back to his study of the Imperial embassy. His gaze was intent, as if he could penetrate the heavy stone walls and see what transpired within.
“It doesn’t make sense, Diego. I’ve discovered, as you know, that Casa Montescue is in dire financial straits. And the girl Katerina is the only member of the family young enough—and trusted enough—to be working at the ‘gray trade.’ Her grandfather is too old, her sister-in-law . . .” His lips tightened with distaste. “Untrustworthy, by all accounts. That’s enough—more than enough—to explain her mysterious habits.”