Free Justice and Utu by David Hair Page B

my vigilance that confines these people to the wild places, and lets ordinary folk here live out their existences safely. I come down hard on those who cause trouble. Do you understand, young Adept?’
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ Mat muttered.
    â€˜Bit o’ time in the navy would do t’ boy some good,’ slurred Hobson.
    â€˜In the military, most assuredly,’ Grey agreed. ‘My father died fighting Napoleon, you know.’ He eyed Mat suspiciously,as if he’d like to open up his head and examine all his thoughts at first hand. At length he sighed. ‘Very well. Mr Douglas, you will remain here; the warden will take the boy through.’ He rapped on the door, and a burly, bearded gaoler answered. ‘Take the boy to her, Mitchell.’
    Mat was led past the stairs, through two sets of iron-bound doors, stopping at each as the warden unlocked them carefully. Then it was down a long corridor and around a corner, walking between cell after cell full of rough-dressed women with tangled hair and filthy cotton dresses. The stench of slop buckets and sweat hit him in a warm, wet wave, and when they saw him a cacophony of screeching taunts met his ears. ‘Witch-friend!’ was the only half-polite thing he heard — the rest was obscene abuse. Hands reached out, snagging his clothing, pulling at his hair. He had to jerk himself from grip to grip, until Mitchell, the warden, flailed an arm and battered them away.
    â€˜Drunken harlots the lot o’ them!’ Mitchell shouted, his hard face unsympathetic. He led Mat around a right-hand turn and another bank of cells, including one that was completely empty but awash in foul liquids and brown lumps of faeces, as if it were the dumping ground for every slop bucket in the gaol. ‘That’s de witch’s cell,’ Mitchell guffawed. ‘She’s waitin’ in the far room for ye. Don’ worry though, we hosed her down afirst!’
    Mat put a hand over his nose and staggered onward. She’s been here for six months! Hanging will be a mercy to her, he thought, aghast.
    Mitchell stopped him at the door, as the uproar reverberated about them, and pulled Mat close to him. Hereeked of whisky. ‘Lad, if you be wantin’ ta go in thar alone, it’ll be extra coin. Two shillin’s; three if yer dab it up wit’ ’er.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Y’know!’ The gaoler made a rude gesture. ‘So, let’s be havin’ yer.’
    Why am I doing this? Although he had no desire to be alone with Donna Kyle, he also had no desire for this repulsive man to be standing over them both, so he pulled out three dollar coins and thrust them at the man. ‘These do?’
    Mitchell beamed. ‘Aye, sure dey will. You be havin’ a good time in dere, y’hear?’ He leant towards Mat, the smile on his face vanishing. ‘One last thing. You might’ve heard that she’s been infected with fairy blood. You know what that means? It means she’s just one mouthful of blood away from turning into something that kills to live. So don’t you go feeding her any blood of your own, will you? One drop is all it’ll take. She’ll turn into one of those patupai-whatsits. Then we’ll have to lop her head off, straight away. Understand?’
    Mat nodded mutely, filing the information away.
    Mitchell unlocked the last door, shoved Mat through and locked it. The clamour fell to almost nothing, a distant squall. Abruptly it was just Mat, and the woman sitting in the chair in front of him. Donna Kyle.
    She was clad in rough overalls. The cloth was stained and soaking, and her hair was wet and awry. She looked like she’d not slept in days, her pale face as brittle as chipped crockery. Her arms were behind her back, and Mat realized that she was handcuffed to the wooden chair. ‘You came,’ she said flatly, studying him.
    Mat found he had no idea what to say, so he said