Free Kalimpura (Green Universe) by Jay Lake Page B

had tried to use against me. A killer’s weapon rather than the broad, honest blades of a fighter such as I carried. This man had always struck me as resembling a ferret. The stiletto was his fangs. Beyond that, Lampet’s pale, perfectly oiled hair and pointed face did nothing to dispel that impression.
    I shuffled toward the fireplace to put down my flowers on one of the side tables by the chairs there. As I leaned forward, Lampet spoke.
    “I hardly expected you to come here, young lady.”
    His voice held all the vicious oiliness I’d come to associate with the man. He knew; he’d probably known since I’d arrived with Marsby’s cart. No one in the house had tipped me. They all did serve this man, body and soul.
    I should have set fire in the first place and the maids be damned. For Cook, I would reserve a special place on her own roasting spit as the flames raced through her kitchen.
    There was nothing for it but to face him with whatever momentum I had left. That was my fighting style, after all—to just keep hitting until everyone was down.
    So I turned, palming my short knives. He wouldn’t be fooled for more than a second or two, but the long knife in its thigh scabbard was too much in this moment. “I come and go where I please,” I told him, striding toward the desk.
    To my right, the door clicked open. The two guards stepped in. When I glanced at them, they now seemed quite a bit more intelligent and alert than they had out in the hallway.
    “You will stop where you are,” Lampet said mildly.
    I hadn’t gotten this far in life by listening to scum like him, so I stepped right up to the edge of the desk. “Or wh—?”
    My question was interrupted by a meaty hand on my shoulder. I twisted away from the grip only to run into a swinging fist with my left temple.
    At least it didn’t hold a blade, I thought as I staggered backwards. One of my short knives rattled on the floor until a booted foot stamped down on it. The guard with his hand now on my right arm twisted it back until my shoulder and elbow began to pop.
    He was about to dislocate my joints. Then I would be under his control, nearly incapacitated by pain and dead at Lampet’s next whim.
    Short knife fully in my own fist, I turned with the twist, allowing my arm to be torn from its socket in return for putting a blade in the big man’s neck from an unexpected direction. It slid in like he was made of butter. I didn’t bother to swallow my scream of unnerving pain as blood sprayed in a fountaining jet from the slashed artery. He convulsed, releasing my arm, which hung useless now.
    I was already moving, spinning rapidly into the other goon who was drawing a sword of his own. In that moment, I knew I would win, because only a fool brings a sword to a knife fight. We were too damned close for the reach of his blade.
    He wasn’t a total fool, however. The second guard ducked my erratic swing at his neck and got the sword between us as a shield of sorts. I slammed into his chest, tried to hug him as if we were lovers, and slipped my knife up under the back of his ring-mailed jerkin to find one of his kidneys.
    I hoped.
    The blade went in easily, but the bastard was tougher than I gave him credit for. He didn’t drop screaming. Instead, he hugged me back with his free hand, putting pressure on my dislocated shoulder. I nearly blacked out from the pain, and my knees gave way. Only my opponent’s grip kept me standing.
    Lampet’s stiletto appeared before my eyes, the tip waving in a tiny circle between my face and the chest of the panting guard. At least he was in agony, too. While focusing on the weapon in front of me, I stirred my short knife inside the guard’s body.
    “Sir…,” he grunted, then released me as we both collapsed. I found myself on the floor with my legs trapped beneath two hundred pounds of armored thug.
    And I had lost my remaining short knife.
    I concentrated on not losing consciousness as well.
    The councilor stood over