When Arabel came to settle in her narrow tent, her hands were shaking. She wasn’t sure if they’d been shaking the whole day, following seeing the horrific thundress attack, or it had started when she’d finally allowed herself to stop and think about it. They’d continued through the Clear Valley under Eko’s guidance, taking circuitous routes and making sure never to venture into the open. They had avoided two towns, which Arabel would have loved to investigate under normal circumstances, and they had hunted through dusk for the perfect camping spot, a copse of trees that backed onto tall boulders.
Over a dinner of dried meats, most of the group had kept quiet, except for Harper, who told long-winded jokes in an effort to create a distraction. Grawn had helped Arabel assemble her tent and offered the same service to Caracae, but the witch said she was fine without. No doubt she would sleep apart from the camp, amongst the trees, warmed by her own power. Communing with woodland creatures, Dansot had sneered, as though a connection to wildlife would make her more untrustworthy.
Arabel was happy just to get the day done, but once she had her bed roll out and was taking off her boots, she had to stop and consider those shaking hands. Faced the memory of that poor woman being tied to the thundress’s hair. The man swallowed alive.
The tent flap pulled back, interrupting her reflection, and Dansot came in on his knees. Arabel moved back, startled, almost knocking the tent down but grabbing and steadying the rear pole. He put a finger to his lips and whispered, “Quiet, quiet.”
Arabel tensed, immediately aware this was not a friendly visit. She picked up her glasses and put them back on, trying to see past him, for Grawn. There was no noise outside though, she realised.
“Your knight and the dyke have gone for a patrol,” Dansot told her. “And fat chance getting Harper to risk a hair for you.”
“Risk a hair for me why?” Arabel squeaked, scarcely believing he dared invade her space like this. Her eye ran to her luggage: a satchel bag and her fur blanket, which covered her short-sword and knife, by his knee, nowhere near her hand.
“Relax,” Dansot said. “I ain’t gonna hurt you. I’m not total scum, you know? But I’m also no one’s idiot. I signed up before we had talk of fucking witches and before I saw anything quite like –” He shuddered at today’s memory. “This is nothing personal, understand? You seem sweet, too sweet for all this, and I ain’t about upsetting pretty ladies.”
“Then back off,” Arabel told him, urgently. “Go back to your tent and we’ll say nothing of this. Nothing has happened.”
“Aye and nothing needs to,” Dansot continued, though, continuing in. “You give me the travel allowance and I’ll be on my way.”
Arabel’s brow knitted as she realised his actual intentions. “You’re robbing us?”
He grinned, showing yellowed teeth. He didn’t have a blade, his thick, callused hands empty at his sides, but those hands looked strong and he was too big for her to get around.
“But I’ve only got maybe two hundred coin to get us safely there and back,” Arabel protested. “You’ll be paid thousands once we recover the princess!”
“Thousands ain’t worth a damn in the belly of a giant,” Dansot spat, smile disappearing. “Now where is it –”
He went to grab at the satchel and Arabel jumped forward to take it back, saying, “No, that’s Burgwec property!”
Dansot shoved her, hard, and she fell against the canvas. She wrestled free of the tent fabric as he rummaged in her pack, and she tried to snatch again but he caught her with the back of his hand, flinging her the other way, flicking off her glasses. She dragged the tent down around her and Dansot pulled away cursing, shoving free. When Arabel managed to writhe out of the fallen tent, shouting complaints and putting her glasses back on, she found him standing by the embers of the fire, money pouch in one hand as he dropped the satchel.
Behind him, another tent opened and Harper poked her head out.
“Stay down, you know what’s good for you,” Dansot warned her and the thief froze.
“Dansot, please!” Arabel said from her hands and knees. “We need that!”
He regarded her with pity and shook his head. “You need your head checked, coming out here, consorting with witches.”
“Says the man who chose to betray one,” Caracae’s silky voice intervened, from off in the dark. It made Dansot jump and he turned quickly towards her. Arabel shook free of the tent to see, too: Caracae was a black silhouette at the edge of the trees, a dozen paces away.
“Stay back,” Dansot growled. “This is between me and the baron, nothing to do with you. Taking a fee that’s fair to put me out and going my merry way.”
“At the expense of our expedition,” Caracae said. “I’d say that affects me.”
She raised a hand and the money pouch was suddenly torn from Dansot’s grip, pulled to the witch as though on a string. He looked at his empty hand in disbelief, then up to her, eyes flaring. “You bitch, that’s mine!” He flashed a hand to his sheathed sword, but before he could draw it something caught his neck and he was lifted into the air. Arabel fell onto her rear in surprise as Dansot clawed at his throat, gagging, as though being throttled by an invisible hand – legs kicking above the ground. She flashed a look to Caracae and found the witch’s arm outstretched; she was doing this. The other side of the camp, Harper carefully got out of her tent and stalked to the side, trying to keep out of Caracae’s line of fire.
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“Now, first,” Caracae said, walking forward, into the small light of their clearing, “I think you should apologise.”
“F – fuck you!” Dansot managed to choke out. His eyes looked wildly about as he reached with his hands, nothing to hold onto. “See! Told you what’d happen, enlist a witch!”
“The enlisting wasn’t a problem,” Caracae told him pleasantly, continuing between the tents. “It was the provoking. Ladies, I’m assuming we’re done with this reprobate? Shall we bring him down to size?”
The witch looked to Harper, who quickly shrugged, not wanting to get involved, then to Arabel, who desperately wanted to protest. They had stopped him, that should be enough. But his contorted face was full of malice as he glared at her, and he had been willing to leave them here penniless.
“You know it’s wrong!” Dansot gagged. “Call the monster hunter back, she’ll make short work of this bitch!”
“Actually” – Caracae cocked her head to one side, moving her hands to frame him – “we can make short work of you.”
He tried to shout, but she squeezed her hands together and Dansot compacted where he hung in the air. Arabel gasped and Harper straightened up in surprise as the mercenary shrunk, his limbs sucking in, leather armour tightening, and stocky frame reduced to the size of a mouse in a second. His protest turned to a squeak as he fell to the ground and rolled through grass taller than him.
It made Arabel stand in concern, to look impotently from the tiny man, down by the fire embers, to the smirking witch. She knew she should stop this – she wasn’t in control. But she was alone, as Harper stepped closer to Dansot, fingers moving with wicked eagerness. The miniaturised Dansot regained his senses, spinning to look up at Harper and Caracae, and he drew his sword, defiant even at a few inches tall. He shouted, the words just audible, “Fuck you! Change me back or you’ll regret it!”
Harper crouched next to him, while he was focused on the witch, and she poked a finger into his back, making him stumble. He spun back on her, swinging with the sword, but missed. It made the thief laugh, further angering him, and when he took another swing she pinched the sword between finger and thumb. He kept hold just long enough to be lifted off the ground before he let go and stumbled.
“Oh, can I have him?” Harper looked up with a grin, twiddling the sword in her fingers. Caracae stepped closer, folding her arms under her chest. Dansot made a dash, running between the women towards Arabel. He waved his hands, yelling, “Stop this, Arabel! For the love of the Saints, you’re better than this!”
The two women watched for her response as Dansot stumbled through the grass towards her. Harper looked playful and Caracae sinisterly expectant. Dansot slowed down as he realised Arabel wasn’t immediately helping.
“Go on and grab him, Arabel,” Harper said, then told Caracae, “He’s been an ass from the second he joined up. You’ve no idea how much easier this will make life.”
Dansot swore nastily at her and started running in another direction. Arabel stepped in front of him without thinking, knowing only that they couldn’t let him escape. Her socked foot fell closer than she intended and he bumped into it with a cry, falling flat on his back again. She was right above him, and the expression on his face as he looked up at her gave a hint how immense she must look: it was fear like she’d felt watching that thundress hunting those people.
“I think we’ve scared him enough,” Caracae decided with a sigh, and Dansot was sucked up from the ground. He yelled as the witch’s invisible force pulled him through the air, away from Arabel, into Caracae’s waiting hand. She caught him in a fist, then pinched his ankle with her other hand as he tried to wrestle free. Lifting him upside down, she said, “I would love to let you have him, dear Harper, but I have used a little energy dealing with him.” Her sly eyes settled on Arabel, who could barely focus, watching Dansot thrash about. “I expect you’d like me at full capacity tomorrow. There’s no knowing what we might encounter.”
Arabel tried to say something but the words didn’t come. This couldn’t be happening again. Some of Harper’s good humour had gone, too, the thief staring at the increasingly panicked tiny mercenary.
Caracae took their silence as permission, and tilted her head back, opening her mouth wide. As she lifted Dansot over it, the small man violently cursed them all, Arabel cried, “Wait! No! We should wait for the others! Any punishment should be decided as a group.”
Caracae gave her a sad look. “I thought you were the leader?”
“Harper,” Arabel appealed to the thief. “You know we can’t.”
“I’m not getting between a witch and her meal,” Harper said, raising both hands and stepping back.
“Eko’s gonna fucking gut you!” Dansot shouted. “This is black magic and she will gut you for it!”
Arabel realised it might be true. Eko would not take this lightly, cautious as she’d been about having a palm witch on board. But if Dansot was gone, she needn’t find out. It was a choice between protecting Dansot and preserving cohesion between the rest of the group. He had been willing to risk all their lives for a quick bit of coin. And they didn’t want Caracae weak tomorrow . . . Arabel swallowed the responsibility. “Okay.”
“Yes?” Caracae’s smile spreading with cruel pleasure.
Dansot paused, disbelieving. Arabel gave the tiniest of nods.
“You fucking can’t!” Dansot roared, as loud as his squeaky voice allowed.
Caracae lifted him over her mouth again, the man bucking like a mouse hanging from its tail, and she lowered him in. Dansot tried to push against her lips and her teeth, but he moved too erratically to get purchase and slipped past. Caracae closed her mouth over his leg and let go, then closed her eyes to savour him. His foot twitched about before she swallowed, a bulge rolling down her slender throat.
Dansot was finally silenced.
“Wow,” Harper whispered, fear mixed in her excitement. “Clothes and all?”
Caracae winked. “I’m not fussy.”
“Is he –” Harper raised an unconscious hand towards the witch’s belly, as though she could touch the man inside.
“Yes,” Caracae said, “he’s struggling. Usually, they last an hour or so. But we can all rest easy now, can’t we?” She turned to leave but looked down at Arabel’s collapsed tent. “Do you need some help putting it back up?”
Arabel quickly shook her head, only wanting the witch to go. Caracae continued, still smiling sinisterly, and stroked a hand down Arabel’s cheek as she passed. It made her flinch, but she said nothing, waiting for the witch to disappear back into the shadows of the trees.
“So we’re saying he made off in the night?” Harper asked, loudly, realising they needed to get their stories straight. “Or tried to snatch the money but we stopped him?”
Caracae didn’t reply, already gone, and Arabel realised herself that the witch had their money. Damned if she was going to ask for it back. Not right now.
An hour or so, the thought came unbidden. Dansot could be alive in there, trapped as Caracae digested him, for an hour or so. It was an extra horror to add to the memory of the giant woman’s attack.