A Matter Of Delicacy

The Attack

     Instantly I was out of bed, seizing my sword from the dressing table, and powering through the adjoining door to the Princess's room. It was dark, lit only by a candle on the bedside table which cast long and ghastly shadows throughout the room. More were cast by the thick brocade curtains around the bed and at the open window.
     Standing by the bed and leaving a long shadow across the room, was a man. He had stepped a few paces back from the Princess after her scream and now turned frantically as he heard me enter. He was dressed all in black, an un-embellished suit with a leather belt and thick gloves. His face was covered by a black cotton handkerchief, leaving his eyes to roll in panic. There was a shiny pistol jammed in his waistband.
     I let out a sharp cry to distract him and set off, running a few steps and then jumping to a coffee table and the armrest of a sofa to get the height I needed. From this position I launched myself through the air and landed heavily on the man's chest. He cried out, falling back under my weight and both of us smashed into a light wooden table and onto the floor.
     'Your Highness, run!' I shouted, pushing my skirts out of the way to get to the man's head. The Princess rolled out of the bed and pelted out the door, screaming all the way. I had no doubt that she would be safer out there, where the ladies and guards would be coming to answer her.
     The man underneath me was wriggling like a worm between a child's fingers, grappling with my legs and trying desperately to pull one trapped hand out from under my knee. When his face became visible from under my nightgown I bent, jamming my left elbow under his chin and pinning his neck to the ground. Growling with anger the man brought his hand round and hit me hard across the face. Stars exploded in my eye but after years of practice I absorbed the force of it and kept his neck down. He was shocked by my lack of response, and I used the hesitation to bring my right arm around and stab the point of my smallsword through the flesh of his hand and deep into the wood of the floor.
     He screamed, a guttural cry of pain punctuated by foul curses and groans of agony. Blood spurted out of the wound, spraying across my face and dress. A part of me regretted the loss of one of the finest things I had ever owned but I kept myself low and pressed to his chest, ignoring the occasional blood spatter across my chest. He had started to weep, clawing at his hand and watching as his fingers twitched uncontrollably. He barely noticed when I reached back up and tore the handkerchief off his face.
     I didn't recognise him. His jaw was weak and trembling with pain, razor scratches on the shin and thick bulging lips that showed his cracked teeth in a grimace. His eyes were a watery grey and his brows thick and dark, messy and unruly. I memorised his features and hit my fist firmly down on his chest to get his attention. 'Who are you? What was your plan with the Princess?'
He cried out again, writhing under me and rolling his head on the floor. Again, I hit, this time aiming at his Adam's apple, leaving his coughing violently and staring at me in open terror.
     'Answer me!' I yelled.
Before he could do anything besides roll his eyes like a horse put out for slaughter the doors crashed open and several guards burst in. They cried out at the sight of me, charging over and dragging me off the man by my arms. I yelled in frustration, but they simply threw me onto the sofa and grabbed him, one of them pulling my sword out of the floor with a grotesque suck of flesh.
     I followed, wiping a smear of blood out of my eyes and marching towards the attacker, giving the guards an evil look when they started to protest. I pulled back my fist, the man realising what I was about to do the second before my knuckles smashed into his eyes socket. His head cracked back, he groaned, and the force made him bite hard into his lip. When he had had a moment to recover and was gasping and spitting blood onto the Turkish carpet, I came close, grasped a handful of his hair in my fingers and pulling his head to face me.
     'Who do you work for?'
He just breathed heavily and spat a gob of bloody spittle onto my chest. It was cold and smelt vile and slipped down my skin and between my breasts like a slug. I swallowed hard to stop my stomach churning out the food I had eaten at the ball, only an hour or two before. Again I punched him, this time in his right arm so the wound in his hand would throb painfully. He groaned in pain.
     'I said, who do you work for?'
The guards shifted uneasily, two of them holding the man's arms behind his body. I couldn't blame them. After being assigned a cushy job like this I doubted they were used to having any action at all, let alone a woman in her nightgown punching the lights out of an attacker.
I myself was rather impressed by the man. Despite his worn leathers, mismatched gloves and the threadbare handkerchief he wore, he was remarkably resolute. I had stabbed through his hand, most likely meaning amputation, punched him hard many times and nearly choked him enough to make him swallow his tongue. And yet he remained silent.
     I held out my hand for my sword and reluctantly a guard gave it to me. Slowly, luxuriously, I wiped it on my dress, cleaning the blood off in long streaks until it was shining and bright. The man groaned again.
     'I'm only going to ask you three questions,' I said, running the pad of my thumb across the edge of the blade. 'And only once more. After that, if you don't answer me... well, we'll have to try other ways tomorrow.'
     The man's eyes rolled around, looking desperately at the guards who glanced at each other in shock.
     I stepped forward again and held the edge of my sword against his throat. 'Who are you? What was your plan in coming here? Who do you work for?'
     He gasped for air and shook his head.
     I was caught in a mixture of respect and irritation. It had been a while since my persuasion tactics had failed, and even then, it was rarely to anyone lower than a trained soldier. This man looked starved and desperate but held a strong resolve. I liked it.
     Stepping back, I nodded at the guards, 'take him to wherever you keep prisoners here. But don't take him out of the grounds or I'll wager he'll be taken back to whoever sent him. I'll want to question him tomorrow.'
     The guards nodded, relieved that I had stopped my tirade against their charge. Hurriedly, they dragged him out of the room, trailing a thin line of blood from his hand and split lip. I was left alone in the Princess's bedroom, the sound of the clock echoing the rushing of blood in my ears and the thumping of my heart. Dropping my sword with a clatter I sank onto the sofa.
     I always felt like this after a fight, no matter how big or small it was. My blood was rushing around my body, making my cheeks flush and my stomach churn with excitement. I could smell iron in my nose, taste the sourness of bile, blood and fear in my mouth and I knew in a few hours I would get a migraine that would be slow me down. I was breathing deeply, my chest heaving after the intense action that lasted, could it be, only a few minutes. Even after the long ball and the fight afterwards, I was suddenly alive, my skin tingling as if I had jumped into a vat of boiling water. My mind raced in time to my heartbeat, imagining other scenarios of what had just played out, dangers I had overlooked, moves I had made that needed improvement, points of entry that had led the man across several high walls, through layers of guards, up a steep wall with no handholds and into one of the most well-guarded bedrooms in the country. Had the Princess not still been awake, or had she not woken and screamed when she had, I would now be mopping up her blood, instead of staring at a pool of his seeping into the carpet around a jagged hole in the floor.
     The door behind me flew open again and Sarah fell at my feet, stroking my face and clutching at my hands, 'Oh thank God, Kate. Thank God. You're alright. You are alright, aren't you? He didn't hurt you?'
     I shook my head, suddenly completely exhausted, and patted her hand. She rested her forehead on my knees, 'oh thank God.'
     'Is the Princess safe?' I asked, barely moving my lips.
     'Yes, she's fine. The guards took her to her safe room when the man was still in here and now that he's been captured, she's been moved to another bedroom with Lady Bruce and the Captain of her guards is sleeping in the next room. She's safe.' Sarah lifted her head and noticed the blood on me, 'Kate! You're covered! Are you sure he didn't hurt you?'
     'It's not mine.' I wiped my face again and it came away red with blood. I could feel the rest of it wet across my forehead and over my nose and cheek. I must have looked barbaric to her.
     'His? What on earth did you do to him, Kate?' Sarah's huge eyes were wide with worry and confusion. Her society mind not comprehending the danger and violence of the world outside of the ballroom or parlour.
     'Don't worry about it.' I patted her shoulder and she helped me stand. Despite not being injured the fight had left me with aches all over my chest from landing on him and I suspected that I would be blue with bruises in the morning. Sarah wrapped her arms around me and helped me back to my bedroom, easing me out of the bloody nightgown and into a fresh one from the wardrobe. While I lay in bed, slowly slipping into sleep she sat by my side, gently wiping away the blood from my face with a damp cloth. I could already hear the Princess making a fuss down the hallway and knew that she was safe.
     But the assassin had got to her bedside. She was safe for now, but for how much longer?