The Tied Man

*****

I could smell Coyle before I saw him.  In the shadows of the cellars, his rank, roid-soaked sweat hung in the air like trench gas.

The dungeon door was ajar; only Coyle O’Halloran was dumb enough to attempt an escape by backing himself into a glorified cave.  My fears for Lilith were realised when I saw her strapped to the wooden cross by her wrists, her eyes wide with terror.  Her captor stood between us, flailing an oil lamp around as though he was trying to ward off a pack of wolves.  I took a step forward.

‘Stay back, or I’ll snap the bitch’s neck.’  The madness had entirely overtaken him now, and his threat was real.  There was a fair chance the bastard would do it by accident, because she was standing on the very tips of her toes, and already struggling for breath.

‘You okay, sweetheart?’  I asked and she managed an impressively calm nod.

‘She’ll not be okay in a minute,’ Coyle spat.  ‘Now be a good fag, and go tell the gardai that I’ll be needing a way off here, quick as you like. Fuckin’ go!’

I was just trying to figure out how I could get to Lilith without getting my own neck snapped when the great dumbfuck threw his lamp at me in an attempt to speed me on my way, and things became just a little more urgent.

The lamp shattered on impact with the floor.  Glass fragmented into a thousand shards and the oil spattered across the flagstones and onto the drapes that lined the chamber for that authentic medieval vibe.  Flames began to lick at the ancient fabric and in moments the whole room was lit with flickering, ruddy light as centuries of dust, and dry-as-bones cloth and wood began to catch.

Coyle laughed with delight as acrid smoke snaked around the bedpost.  ‘Would you look at this?  That’s some pretty fuckin’ impressive shit right here  – whole place is about to go up, Finn-boy!’  Behind him, Lilith began to gasp for breath;  I needed to get her out, even if it killed me.  ‘Ooh, sounds like she’s goin’ to choke herself and save me a job.  Now will you go? ‘Cos you know what?  Your sweetheart’s not going anywhere until you do.  I’d rather stay here with the wee whore and burn to ash than do another stretch for Her Ladyship.’

Flames reached the canopy of the four poster, and the whole thing went up in one great flare; there was no way I was leaving Lilith down here now, and Coyle was beyond all reason; I was just going to have to make the bastard fight me.

I had faced Coyle O’Halloran five times in my life.  The first time, I was thirteen, whippet-thin against his already-adult bulk, and just discovering that there was a fine line for some men between being repulsed and aroused by a kid being battered to a bloody pulp.  I’d lasted less than a minute as he launched at me with a fist that hid a length of lead pipe, but it was his last victory.  Afterwards, I’d had my face stitched back together in a stinking pub toilet by the first of many doctors who’d forgotten the words to the Hippocratic Oath, and realised that if I was going to beat Coyle, I would have to get him too mad to think straight, and move faster than his fists. In my present condition, I really didn’t fancy my chances, but he stood between me and Lilith and I’d run out of options.

I stood my ground.  ‘You sure about that, big fella?  I reckon a bit of jail would be right up your alley, if you get me.  Y’know, a chance of a bit of decent cock for once in your life, instead of just getting’ blown by your ma for your birthday.’

Coyle twitched and shuddered like a thing possessed.  ‘Shut your filthy fuckin’ hole,’ he hissed.  I was nearly there.

‘Ah, come on, you’re a man in denial. I’m guessin’ you’d be the cleanest fella in the prison from all the showers you’d take.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Ah, there we go.  I’ve been watching you all these years, darlin’, so don’t try and hide it now.  All this time, and all you’ve ever really wanted is to stuff your dick up my arse, you great poncin’ queen.’ Just in case the man was struggling with the message, I blew him the tenderest kiss I could manage, and mouthed the magic word.  ‘Fag.’

And Coyle O’Halloran bellowed and charged.

I waited until he was barely an inch away from me, and weaved away from the impact.  Coyle still landed me a glancing blow on my shoulder that served as a painful reminder of the damage the man could do.  I staggered backwards but remained upright as he came back for a second attempt to take me down.  This time I was ready for him, and landed a decent right into the centre of his bloated face.  I felt the cartilage in his nose crack under the impact of my fist, but he hardly noticed.