limp, or something, and call down the wrath of the avenging Score on me, so you could get away.
'You can go first. I'm a beggar-girl from Griven, and I've had harder mistresses than you; I can handle lack of food and sleep a lot better than you, by the look. I also reckon I could best you if it came to a fight, and I'm willing to try. Are you?'
Melana's eyes locked on Drexelica's, but the former beggar did not look away, in flagrant breach of the rule of Holy Modesty. The nun was the first to avert her gaze, and Drex smiled, confident now that the Sister had seen sense.
'Very well, Grivense slut. You win-for now.” Melana slunk out of the dark haven like a ferret creeping from its hole, and Drex followed closely behind, hugging the walls of a large hall, the edges of which were shrouded in shadow from a parapet above.
She saw nuns bustling through the atrium with brisk efficiency, their heads low, and she began to believe that success was in sight: these Sisters seemed intent only on their own business. A large, imposing door on the far side of the hall must be their goal.
It's all too easy! Surely, Melana could have slipped out at any time-what's all the fuss about?
As the two furtive figures approached the exit, Drex looked up. The chime was soft, but unmistakeable, and it could not be coincidental that it had sounded at this time.
Melana thrust Drexelica into the full light of the hall and ran for the door, as a pair of cowled figures ran towards the tumbling Supplicant.
As she sprawled on the marble floor, Drex felt herself consumed by rage.
You traitorous bitch! she thought, as the two nuns closed upon her.
With a facility born of intensive, forced practice, Drexelica reached mental tendrils through the floor into the earth beneath the Priory, drawing its energy into her. She did not even think as she loosed a bolt of pure, will- sapping despair into the mind of Melana.
Two more nuns appeared, as the Sister, her hand on the door handle, collapsed with a moan of mingled guilt and terror. Drex held the power on for as long as she could, before a bright spark of pain behind her ear turned into a blazing globe of agony.
As if from a distance, she heard the dry, crackling voice of Prioress Lizaveta: “Very good, my dear: I see that Melana's instruction was not totally wasted. I think you'll make a splendid witch. Of course, we'll need to step up the obedience training a little…'
Red light subsumed Drexelica's consciousness, and she knew no more.
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Chapter 10: “A Credit To The Order'
Drexelica awoke to find herself in an unfamiliar room. She looked in wonder at the colourful, tasteful tapestries on the walls, and the luxurious, green carpet. She was lying on one of a pair of comfortable, well- upholstered, red velvet divans, and she reflected on the stark contrast between this opulence and the squalor of the straw palliasse on which she had lain for a few brief hours each night since she had been transported to the Priory.
How long has it been? A week? A month? Longer?
She wracked her mind for clear recollection, but her memories of the time she had spent here were blurred together into a melange of pain and misery.
They're probably keeping me here to soften me up for further indoctrination But all they're doing is allowing me to clear my thoughts, to ready myself for the next round. I'll beat ‘em yet!
As if to shame her for the sin of hubris, the door opened and Prioress Lizaveta walked in, accompanied by a dumpy, matronly-looking woman. The mere sight of the Reverend Mother made Drex felt like a marionette whose strings had been seized by a manic puppeteer. To her consternation, her body, seeming to possess a will of its own, flung itself from the divan to prostrate her before Lizaveta.
'My will is yours, Reverend Mother,” the girl's traitorous mouth said. “I wish only to serve.'
To her disgust, she found herself kissing the hem of the Prioress’ robe with a fervour approaching rapture, despite struggling to resist the strange impulses that had taken control of her body.
Drex heard the Prioress’ crackling voice intone, “You may rise, Supplicant.'
She pushed herself to her feet and stood before the Reverend Mother, not daring to raise her eyes or to speak.
'Sit, girl.” Lizaveta eased herself into the velvet embrace of the divan nearest the door.
Wondering what was happening to her, Drex lowered herself onto the other settee, her gaze fixed on the bottle-green carpet.
'Look at me.” The voice crashed like a thunderclap, and she complied at once with the command.
The old woman's face looked like a map showing the twists and turns of a long life. Wrinkled lips surrounded by deep lines were twisted in a foul imitation of a friendly smile, but… those eyes! They shone out like lambent beacons from the wizened face, intense and intelligent, seeming to drill through Drex's skull and into her mind. It seemed as if her soul had been laid bare, like an anatomist's dissection pinned out in a display for a group of students.
The amber eyes seemed to grow larger and larger, until Drexelica feared she would fall into them. After a while, fear gave way to blissful serenity, and she longed to lose herself in the yellow pools. She felt herself drifting, drifting…
She felt puzzled by the harsh, rhythmic sound she heard, until she realised dimly that the Prioress was laughing. Her senses returned with the impact of a snapped bowstring, and she fell backwards.
For a few moments, Drexelica struggled to master her vocal chords. When she did, all that emerged from her throat was a guttural, stammering, “What?'
'Your soul is your own again, girl,” Lizaveta said. “You may speak freely for the moment, although you should be aware that what you just experienced was the merest fraction of my powers. I can exert total control over you whenever I desire.
'Do speak; you must have many questions to ask me.'
Sitting up straight, Drex asked, “Why did you do that, Reverend Mother?'
'You may dispense with the formalities of the Order for now, Supplicant. I want to talk with the Grivense street gamine, Drexelica, on her last night of existence.'
Drex felt a flood of relief run through her; death would be a blessing, surcease from her ordeal.
She's given up on me! At least she won't be able to use me against Grimm. I hope he rips her heart out!
'So what will it be, Lizaveta? I don't care what you do to me. Whip me to death if you want, tear my limbs off, burn me; whatever you do, it'll be paradise compared with having to chant those bloody stupid Responses just once more.
Just get on with it.'
Drexelica smiled as she saw a frisson of horror run across the dumpy matron's face, but Lizaveta's expression was as calm as ever.
'My dear; how unimaginative you are!” the smiling Prioress said. “There are far worse torments than the ones you mentioned. Sister Melana will discover many of them very soon.'
Drexelica stared. “Do you mean she wasn't a part of this stupid little game? I thought…'
Lizaveta's dry, hacking laugh filled the air. “I have had my eye on the dear Sister for some time. She was altogether too opinionated and conceited, so I thought I'd see how far I'd push her before she showed her true colours. I was rather pleased by the results, and especially pleased with your performance.'
'Me?” The word exploded from Drex's lips. “What did I have to do with it?'
'Why, your splendid Geomantic spell, dear Drexelica! Neither Melana nor you would have got far-we were waiting for something to happen, sooner or later. However, we were hoping that you would unshackle your power in the process, and you have done so. That you unleashed your energies at Melana herself was particularly pleasant to see. She's quite a strong witch, that one, but you brought her down as if she were a straw effigy in a gale.'
