The Hunter's Pet (8 page)

There were a few people wearing leggings, but they seemed to be of lower rank. The well-dressed ladies and gentlemen moved past them as if they did not exist. Sarah felt a pang of sympathy for those who wore leggings. They seemed closer to nature than their better dressed counterparts, but that seemed to make them mere objects.

This city, so obsessed by its technology, so dependent on a thousand systems of delicate control liked to pretend that it was separate from the world it had walled itself off from. But it was not. The people looked the same to Sarah’s eyes as hogs about a watering hole, or flies on a choice bit of carcass. Swarming beasts were swarming beasts, no matter how you dressed them.

Having judged those who considered her a mere pet, Sarah sat quite proudly on the rooftop and looked down her nose at the citizens. Not a single one of them looked up. They had forgotten about the sky, too busy living in the stink of their own flatulence to remember that predators liked high places.

She knew she would have to keep out of sight. It was not certain how the citizens would react to her presence if they were to become aware of it, but it was too great a risk to test. William must not know she had disobeyed him.

Turning homeward, Sarah realized that her journey back up the tiered houses would not be as simple as her journey down. There were plenty of pillars and ledges to climb on of course, but it was a slower process. It was also less easy to see where she had come from when all she could see were towering walls, which led to yet more towering walls. The houses were slightly staggered back and forth, which made navigating all the more difficult. To eyes attuned to plants and rocks, the plethora of stone facades and pillars looked like a great desert, every inch of it the same as every other inch.

After a good hour climbing here and there, Sarah had to admit to herself that she was well and truly lost. Worse than that, the light was beginning to go. William would surely have missed her by now. He would be angry. He would be looking for her, leather in hand, of that she was certain.

Crouching between an ornate stone flower and a wall, Sarah tried to work out where William’s house was. It couldn’t be over there, for over there was where she had just come from… or was it? There were so very many houses, a multitude of dwellings that looked the same when viewed from the exterior.

She was about to make a decision to go in a new direction when sharp twin prongs lodged in her buttocks and a jolt of electricity shot through them. Screaming with rage and pain, she fell to the ground, her muscles contracting uselessly as a strange citizen stood over her with a set of manacles. Cuffs were attached to her wrists and ankles, then she was picked up, still shivering with the discharged current, and tossed into a crate that was much smaller and much dirtier than the one William had used.

Whimpering to herself as her every muscle ached, Sarah cowered in the back of the crate. It was transported without any kind of care to a place much lower in the city, a place that was barely lit and that smelled of heavy cleaning agents. Worse than sterile, the air smelled lethal, so completely removed from nature that Sarah’s heart beat faster at the scent alone.

The crate was pushed into a corner and left. She was cold. She was hungry. She felt the little pangs of needing to toilet, but there was no toilet in the little crate.

“Let me out!”

“Hold your tongue, or you’ll get another dose of jolts!” The little man had a nasty, nasal voice that carried serious threat—and moreover, anticipation. He clearly enjoyed his job, every mean, painful part of it.

Sarah tried every panel and place in the crate, but although it was filthy, it was just as secure as William’s had been. There would be no escape until the man let her out, at which point it was likely things would get worse. Much worse.

She took refuge in silence and fear, deeply regretting ever having left the comfort and security of William’s home. She had been a fool to take his kindness for granted. Clearly these citizens thought nothing of using violence when it suited them. William’s spankings barely registered on the scale when compared to the vicious device the catcher had unleashed on her.

A hatch in the top of the crate opened and a hand shoved its way in, grasping her by the back of the neck. Sarah shouted in panic as a cold metal device was pressed to the back of her neck. It made beeping sounds, but did not cause any pain aside from the unpleasantly rough gloved grip painfully pinching at her nape.

“Tch!” A frustrated sound was made, and the hand withdrew. “Not marked. Not chipped. If your owner doesn’t claim you in twenty-four hours it won’t go well for you.”

Sarah could not imagine spending another hour in the crate, let alone twenty-four of them. A whimper escaped her lips and was swiftly punished when the catcher slammed his hand against the crate’s side, half deafening her with the reverberations.

He left her with the echoes of the blow, in the cramped cold from which there could be no reprieve. The crate was not large enough to do anything but sit in. She could stretch her legs out in front of her, but she could not stand.

If this was to be her last sight of the world, it would be a sorry one. The scent of death was in the air. She was certain that others had lost their lives down there, she sensed it strongly. It frightened her so deeply she could barely breathe.

Minutes passed by into hours and she started to doze off, not because she was tired but because she was thoroughly exhausted. Fear had faded into despair.

What seemed like an eternity later, heavy footsteps rang out close by, jolting her into awareness. Suddenly, the grated door was flung open. She smelled William before she saw him; his scent alone propelled her from the crate into his arms. She threw herself at him, tears coursing down her face as she gripped him like a spider monkey, wrapping her arms and legs around his body and refusing to let go.

“I guess that says she’s yours,” a voice spoke. It was the voice of the catcher, the man who had shocked her for no reason at all. It evoked a rage that sent her from William’s arms to the catcher’s throat, her canines bared like a beast as she did her very best to bite the cruel citizen.

“Sarah!” Her name cracked through the air. “Here. Now.”

She ceased her attack, pleased to note that the catcher looked suitably frightened. As well he should. If William had not stopped her, she would surely have drawn blood, for the coward deserved at least that and likely a whole lot more.

She retreated to William’s side, standing just behind him, a low growl emanating from her throat. A sharp slap from William’s palm made her cease, but she still glowered at the citizen, who was looking at her as if she were a particularly nasty form of dirt.

“She’s not registered,” the catcher said. “She should have been marked and chipped for identification purposes already. You were informed of that when you applied for your license.”

“She needs more taming before she will be ready to receive my brand.”

“All pets are to be marked within thirty-six hours of entering the city.” The catcher was not reading from a page, but he sounded as though he was. That was what reading did to people—turned them into reciting mimics, no original thoughts of their own. “You must comply with regulations, or face fines.”

“I understand,” William said stiffly. She looked up at him curiously. He could have crushed the catcher if he so desired. He was a much larger man, a much stronger specimen entirely—but somehow the catcher with his rules and his regulations was holding sway. Sarah did not understand it at all.

“I want to go home,” she said.

“Home?” William turned to her with his brow raised. She had never called it home before, but a spell in the kennels had made her realize that William’s domicile had become her home too. It was a place where she might find some comfort, where she knew she was protected from little men with big guns. His expression softened slightly, but only for a moment.

The catcher did not care much for their bonding time. “That’s four thousand credits,” he said. “One thousand for allowing a pet loose in the city, an additional two thousand for her being hostile, and another one thousand for her lack of marks.”

“Four thousand credits is enough to feed a family for a year,” William pointed out. “That’s a bit steep, isn’t it?”

“If you want to keep one of these wild things, you need to have it under effective control,” the catcher replied. “You were informed of your responsibilities when you applied for your license.”

William’s expression went from grim to grimmer, his jaw locking as he paid over four thousand credits by pressing his thumb to the handheld device. Sarah didn’t really understand the system, but she understood that the clerk was taking something William valued, and he was doing it because she had been caught.

She began to feel a very strange emotion, one she had not felt before. It was uncomfortable and prickly, like a sore bottom but on the inside, just above her stomach. It made her feel slightly nauseous, though the kennel had done a good job of that as well.

“Come,” William said curtly. She followed at his heel, eager to be away from the place.

“Leash!” the clerk called out. “She must be on a leash!”

Sighing, William snapped one about her neck. She made no objection, and was thoroughly surprised when he handed her the end of the chain to hold herself.

“There,” he said, turning to the clerk. “She’s leashed.”

The clerk’s face turned pink then red with thwarted frustration. “That is not what leashing means.”

“She’s wearing a leash,” William said. “And we’re leaving.”

He walked toward freedom. Sarah followed, a little grin on her face. William had a bit of a rebellious streak, so it seemed. She had not seen that side of him before. She liked it.

“I did not like that man,” she said as they left.

“There wasn’t much to like,” William agreed.

“He treated me like an animal. I might be a pet, but I am still a person.”

“There are those in the city who would debate that,” William said grimly. “There are those who think that people with your mutation are not properly human.”

“I do not like them either.”

They walked toward the transporter in silence. The nasty gnawing feeling was back. She looked up at him and saw very little in the way of expression on his face. He seemed neither upset, nor angry, nor happy, nor pleased, nor any emotion she could place.

“I should not have left the house,” she said as they stood on the transporter. “It was a mistake.”

“Yes,” William agreed. “It was.”

Nothing more was said about it as the transporter swept them first up into the air and thence toward William’s domicile. Though there was plenty of room on the platform, she pressed close to his side, taking solace in his strong presence.

At first he did nothing, then he put his arm around her. She knew she was in trouble, but the small gesture reminded her that he cared.

The moment the transporter stopped, she bolted into the house without being told. She made straight for her room, for the bed she had so missed during those hours in the crate. Burrowing into the sheets, she curled them around and around until she was wrapped up in a soft plethora of comforting scents. The sheets smelled like her, like William, and like home.

She heard him enter the room behind her. “You are in trouble, Sarah,” he said grimly. “But I’m glad you’re home. Get some sleep. You will need it.”

His words sounded ominous, but all Sarah heard was the warmth contained in them. He cared. He cared and that was all that mattered.

* * *

The following day was not at all pleasant for Sarah. It began shortly after she awoke and ate. William was in his office. She could hear him in there, working away with fast tapping. The sound made her nervous, but it was even scarier when it stopped.

She was eating a sausage when William emerged. A pair of spectacles were perched on his nose, making him look a little more serious than usual. A little less hunter, a little more… something else. He looked over the rims and she felt an excited fizz in her loins.

“Sarah,” he said sternly. “Finish your meal and see me in my office.”

She still had half a sausage left, but she couldn’t seem to find an appetite to consume it. Abandoning her meal, she went and found him.

“I’m ready,” she said in a small voice.

William removed his spectacles and laid them carefully down in front of him. “I told you not to leave the house,” he said. “And you did. I told you that the city was dangerous, and you exposed yourself to it regardless. Why would you do that?”

“I thought the danger you meant was a different sort of danger,” Sarah tried to explain. “I am used to danger.”

“But not the danger of the city.”

“No,” she agreed. “Not the danger of the city. I am used to creatures that stalk and attack. Not men who shoot bolts of hellfire and lightning and cage their prey.”

“There is no hunter more dangerous than a human,” William agreed. “The pet catchers do not often get to flex their muscle. When they do, they are quite diligent in their duties.”

“You didn’t tell me that I might be caught,” she said. “You didn’t tell me anything in particular.”

“I told you not to leave the house. That should have been enough.” His tone grew curt and she knew that argument was not a good idea.

Lowering her head, Sarah looked toward her toes and hoped that he would take pity on her. His next question dashed that hope.

“What did I say would happen if you left?”

“You…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. He had promised to discipline her. He had promised to spank her. She shouldn’t have been afraid of saying that, in fact ordinarily she wouldn’t have been, but something had changed since her visit to the kennels.

“I said I would spank you until sitting comfortably was a distant dream,” he said, finishing her aborted sentence.

“But I don’t want you to.”

“You don’t want me to?” he almost chuckled. “Well, you had a chance to avoid this, and you decided to take the action that would lead to it anyway.”