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Ekaterine leaned down and murmured in her ear, “I do believe this is about to get violent.”
“This is not the time for levity,” Varanus replied. She looked at Jones and said, “You are making a mistake, Monsieur Jones. And against my better judgment, I will give you a chance to call off your dogs.”
She placed her fists on the table and leaned forward. Had she been taller, she would have loomed over Jones. As it was, she was forced to stand on tiptoes, and she suspected the end result was more comical than intimidating.
No matter. Intimidation was unnecessary when the threat behind it was real.
“Kill them,” Jones said.
Varanus stood up and turned toward Jones’s thugs. The man with the knife was closest, and he came at her first, leisurely, like he didn’t expect her to be a problem, a reasonable assumption on his part.
As the man reached out for her with his free hand, Varanus grabbed him by the wrist and gave his arm a sharp tug. The man swore loudly as he was taken by surprise. Losing his balance, he tumbled forward toward her, and Varanus politely stepped aside and allowed him to fall face-first onto the floor.
The man by the door grabbed Ekaterine while the other men came at Varanus. Varanus took a moment to stomp on the head of the man who had fallen to the floor—best to ensure that he was out of the fight. A moment later the two men were on her. They grabbed her by the arms and hauled her away from the desk. They were as strong as their size suggested, lifting her between them with ease so that her feet dangled above the floor.
Varanus saw Korbinian leaning against the wall in front of her, his arms folded. He smiled at her.
“Having a good time, liebchen?” he asked. “It’s all rather exciting, isn’t it?”
Varanus smiled at him. What an irreverent fellow he was. Here these men were planning to brutally murder her, and he thought it fitting to make jokes.
Using the strength of the men carrying her, Varanus pulled her body up and planted her feet against one of the men’s legs.
“’Ere, what’s this?” the man shouted, shaking her violently to dislodge her.
It did not matter. Varanus had obtained the leverage she required. She kicked out and launched herself toward the other man, while at the same time both pushing the first man away from her and pulling him along with her by the arm. She collided with her target, smashing her forehead into his nose. The man cried out in pain, dropped her, and clutched at his face. The other man, pulled by the force of Varanus’s leap, tumbled forward into her. She crouched and flipped him over her shoulder. He hit the ground hard and was still.
Across the room, Ekaterine relaxed into the grasp of the man behind her, lulling him into complacency before snapping her head back into his chin. The man shuddered, crying out in pain and confusion, but he did not release her. After two more blows, he finally let go. Ekaterine turned in place and struck him twice in the stomach. When the man doubled over, Ekaterine threw him into the table and then onto the floor.
Attentive to her own problems, Varanus grabbed the leg of the man who remained standing and pulled it up, tripping him and making him fall backward. She kicked him in the side of the head for good measure before turning toward Ekaterine and nodding.
Together, they approached the table. Jones, the blood gone from his face, his eyes wide with panic, scrambled out of his seat and huddled into the corner of the room. He grabbed at the walls as if searching for some means of escape.
“What in God’s name…?” he began.
“Sit down, Monsieur Jones,” Varanus said. “Do not embarrass yourself.”
Jones stammered a little before he regained control of himself. He set his face firmly, but his voice still quivered a little as he asked, “How the Hell did you do that?”
“That is not important, Monsieur Jones,” Varanus said.
“Ain’t possible,” Jones said, shaking his head. “Ain’t possible.”
“I assure you, it is,” Varanus answered. “But that is immaterial. Believe me, Monsieur Jones, if I wished to, I could kill you. Your men are in no position to stop me.”
Jones worked his tongue around the inside of his mouth for a few moments, watching Varanus and Ekaterine carefully.
“What do you want?” he finally asked.
“It’s very simple, Monsieur Jones,” Varanus said, walking to the edge of the table. “I want you and your gang out of my territory. Gone, never to return. And once you are gone, I expect you to spread the word to all of your associates. Two streets in every direction around Osborne Court are forbidden to you and your kind. No gangs, no thieves, no pimps, no burglars. Any member of the criminal element who violates my territory will die.”
To better emphasize her point, Varanus climbed onto the table so that she could properly loom over Jones.
“Any man who robs someone in the street,” she continued, “or picks a pocket, or burgles a house, or extorts money from a shopkeeper…will die. And I should like to dispel any illusions you or your associates may have about the women of the streets. They are not your property. Any man who lays a hand on one of those unfortunates or presumes to take her money will be struck down as if by the hand of God.”
Varanus leaned over and stared into Jones’s eyes, forcing him to look away.
“You and the other gangs have two days to leave. After that time, I will see to it that vengeance is exacted against anyone who harms the people under my watch. Do you understand?”
“You’re mad,” Jones said.
“Two days,” Varanus repeated. She cocked her head as the faint sound of something breaking drifted past her ears. She looked at Ekaterine and asked, “Did you hear something?”
“Possibly,” Ekaterine said.
She opened the door, and Varanus followed her out into the hallway and back to the taproom. Varanus found the room in something of a mess. There was broken glass on the floor, more spilled drinks than when they had arrived, a table that had been upended, and two smashed chairs. A number of men lay dazed or unconscious on the dirty floor. There was more than a little blood, but none of them had been seriously wounded, only battered and bruised. Luka sat by himself at a table in the center of the room, smoking his pipe and playing a solitary card game.
“Luka,” Varanus said, walking toward him, “what is the meaning of this?”
“A disagreement,” Luka replied. “A man wanted to share my pipe. I did not want him to. Some friends of his became involved in the discussion.”
“I am pleased to see that your argument won out,” Ekaterine said, patting Luka on the shoulder.
Luka smiled for a moment. Standing, he asked, “How went your meeting with the gentleman?”
“He was given instructions,” Varanus said. “If he carries them out, it will be well. If he does not.…”
“It will be war,” Luka finished for her. He smiled again. “Good.” He looked around with disdain and said, “Let us depart this place. It disagrees with me.”
“Oh what a shame,” Ekaterine said, stepping gingerly over one of the fallen men. “And just when I was starting to enjoy the atmosphere.”
Chapter Six
Blackmoor, England
A week later, Varanus stood on the railway platform at Blackmoor in the midst of a vast expanse of moorland, a sea of black and red and dull yellow broken only by a scattering of small homesteads and peaks of dark rock that jutted from the ground like clawing fingers. The land