Kultus by Richard Ford Page B

Julius a sideways look. ‘Which nobles did he have an interest in?’
    ‘There were several, I can provide you with a list if you like, but it’ll do you little good.’
    ‘And why is that?’
    ‘Because all roads lead to the same place. Blaklok was interested in their secret cubbyholes, their places of quiet reflection and amelioration. Everyone knows where the nobles crawl to in their hour of need. The Cistern.’
    Amelia was starting to get annoyed again. This trail was leading in bloody circles.
    Julius looked scared enough that she had gotten all she was going to get from him, it was time to look elsewhere.
    ‘Apologies for the dogs,’ she said, turning to leave.
    Julius glanced over at his fallen men, obviously unsure of her meaning. When he discovered the fate of his guard hounds, perhaps he would show more remorse than he did for his men; though she doubted it.
    The scenery as she walked from the grounds didn’t seem quite so nice as it had on the way in. There was bitterness in the air now – she had wanted information, but all she had was a name. It was better than nothing, but it still left an acrimonious taste in her mouth.
    Thaddeus Blaklok.
    Whoever this Blaklok was, he had better look out. The Judicature was on its way, and he was only a man, after all. At least that was what Amelia was hoping.

CHAPTER TWELVE
     
    It hurt to admit it, but the bastard had gotten away.
    Blaklok had trailed Castor Cage for almost an hour, at times thinking he was on him, only to find the trail led to a dead end. He would pick up the scent again minutes later, but that too would only lead to nothing.
    In the end, Blaklok was forced to admit defeat.
    That irked him even more than being slapped around in Big Betha’s. He hated giving in; conceding defeat was worse than actually being beaten. At least losing in a fair fight meant you’d been done in by a better bloke. Giving up meant you were a fucking coward, only beaten by yourself.
    He had been made to look an idiot in Betha’s and now had no way to atone for it. His only consolation was that the bastard Cage would keep. There would be another time for a reckoning; and soon if Thaddeus had anything to do with it.
    Anyway, he had let himself become distracted by the circumstantial. All this traipsing around the Cistern was not getting him anywhere but humiliated. He had a job to do: procure the Key of Lunos. No amount of slogging round in the Cistern was going to help him do that.
    Thaddeus began to make his way back up through the stinking tunnel towards the surface. Once he was out in the open air with the smog and the pollution he would be able to think better. He might even come up with a plan to break into the Repository, although he couldn’t imagine he would come up with anything different to the usual: storm in, break heads, steal goods.
    It was thinking of this that distracted Thaddeus from where he was and what he was up to. It was how they managed to get the slip on him. Three of the fuckers, and big lads each, all tooled up to the nines. The first jumped out of the shadows behind him, garrote in hands. Blaklok had been out of the game a while and he had obviously slowed down during his time off, that was how the geezer managed to get so close before he noticed. Nevertheless, he still managed to spot the attack before that garrote was secured around his throat.
    Blaklok grabbed the bloke’s wrists and twisted, turning them so his attacker’s hands were crossed, and then he was in the driving seat. He pulled back, thick arms yanking, and the garrote was around its owner’s neck in no time. Gritting his teeth, Blaklok tightened his grip, pulling with all his might and trying to strain the life out of the bastard. He was starting to enjoy the wheezing, hacking noises that were coming from his victim when a second garrote flashed over his head. Thaddeus barely had time to reach up with one hand and cover his throat before the wire tightened. It cut into his