CH 5
“Oh gentlemen! I think this is my best work yet!” Nigel called in a surprisingly jubilant tone as he slipped the stout shop key in his pocket. “I’m quite excited about it.”
“You’ve finished then.” One of the pair responded.
“Oh, so nearly, I need to head upstairs and get my calibrated lathing stylus to be sure that the vibratory harmonic won’t interfere with the tangent of the belly in proportion to Mr. Billingsgate’s hand.” Nigel quietly closed the wyrmhide case and set the latches. “Do you suppose that Mr. Billingsgate would be so kind as to come back here...”
“No chance of that, boy.” One of the two cut Nigel short.
This was what Nigel had expected, and his heart slowed, ever so slightly, with the thug’s answer. Billingsgate had a reputation for intense excess. It was understood that the man was often late and nearly incapable of speech until he began playing, at which point he came to and produced some of the most darkly enchanting songs anybody had ever heard.
“Right, I suppose he’s waiting at the gig.” Nigel called out as he silently hid the broken masterpiece in another case.
“He does like a good time before a performance.” One of the men chuckled before tightening his tone. “If you pick it up a bit we might be able to get you backstage at the Matarme so as you can meet the man.”
“If Tyro stays in that bar much longer he won’t be able to stand, much less play.” The tone shifted from serious to deadly.
“Right. I wouldn’t want to ruin the evening.” Nigel closed his eyes as the sweat rolling down his forehead cooled. He unconsciously picked up the lute and headed up the stairs. “Be right down.”
“Tick-Tock Mr. Nigel.”
***
“Utter darkness.” Bill mused out loud as he fumbled for his homemade wand. The air was brackish and thick with decay and the unmistakable rot of sewage. “Utter, blooming darkness.”
He found his wand in his pouch as he slogged out of the soupy water onto what felt like a shoal of sticks and hay. Bill was terrified. He hadn’t heard anything out of Max, and he had no idea where they were. He hesitated a moment before throwing light from his short wand.
Bones. A mound of bones and wiry, dead brambles piled up in a softly flowing lake of sewage. Bill straightened up a bit and looked around in the mediocre sphere of light his wand cast. Max was sitting up. He was bleeding and obviously dazed from a nasty looking cut in his scalp.
“I’m fine.” Max answered before Bill asked. “Mostly fine. How about you? Nothing broken I hope.”
“I’m going to be very sore tomorrow, assuming...” Bill let his words fall off as Max pulled himself up on his staff.
Max took a moment and inhaled deeply, fighting the urge to choke on the sulfuric air. He sent a short pulse of light from his mind into the staff. What the light revealed was no more heartening than what the two had already seen. They were in fact, standing in a lake of sewage running languidly in one direction past the forest of pillars around them. Rainwater spilled from the hole above, and the small island of bones was a tangled larder of nests and refuse that they surmised was one of many that belonged the rats. A few hundred feet away there was a larger island that also appeared to be made entirely of discarded bones. Rags of greasy and rank things were caught in the snags and eddies that surrounded the small hill that rose to the ceiling.
“Lovely place for a holiday.” Bill offered with a pained smile. It was almost a smile, more of forced grin.
“You’re so right.” Max moved forward, sloshing through the water toward the skeletal rise. Both of them felt compelled to get out of the sewage and onto higher ground, even if that meant climbing a hillock of dead men. “Oh my damned head. If it weren’t for my familiarity with hangover, I think I wouldn’t be able to function.”
“Lucky thing.” Bill whimpered as the floor of the sewer fell deeper and he found himself nearly up to his chin in floating crap. “Oh this is lucky... yes I’d call it that... lucky.”
As they scrambled onto the wretched beach, they took a moment to rest. Bill flicked a couple of paltry whitlesnaps into the nest to set it ablaze.
“Thanks for that.” Max sighed as the fire picked up. Though they felt no warmth from the bonfire across the running vein of sewage, it provided enough light that Max could let off keeping his staff glowing.
“I’m famished.” Bill said out loud as he lay back and tried not to shiver.
“You are amazing.” Max shook his head and actually laughed. “Only you, Heartles, could think of eating after nearly drowning in s**t. You must have the metabolism of a bumble bee.”
“My father always said that a dwarf’s apatite- hgghh!” Bill was cut off in mid sentence by ten bony fingers clamped around his throat. A pair of skeletal hands punched out of the pile and choked him while hundreds more indiscriminate bones clicked together and shambled up in a cacophony of horrible chattering. Whole skeletons stood and moaned. Each of them was unnervingly lopsided from having been drawn together by a magick that paid no mind to matching the bits and pieces of particular owners. Bill rolled out of the grasp of the dead thing that attacked him and stomped the two hands into shards.
“Seriously!?” Max picked himself up heavily and swung the tip of his staff up into the chin of the nearest animate, knocking the skull free. He spun the Heartspar around as he followed though and smashed the ribcage of the stumbling creature. “Why can’t we even have a moment’s rest!”
Bill took out an approaching skeleton at the knees, collapsing it like an iceberg calving from a glacier into the sea. The two of them battered and kicked their way through a dozen or more animates, finally putting the last of them down with a crushing stomp to its brittle skull.
“Who the hell is putting these things up?” Max quipped. “Who would spend their time waiting around in a lake of s**t for the chance to attack a pair of idiots who happened to fall into the sewer. For the record, that was sloppy work with those animates, every one of them was spun together poorly.”
Max got his answer almost immediately as a massive brazier atop the hill ignited with a whoosh of evil, blue flame. The vaulted expanse of the sewer rang with deep, callous laughter as the two men sighed with disgust at the consistently southward bend in their luck.
“You aren’t wrong, fool, those were shoddy bits of conjuration...” A disembodied voice sufficiently stuffed with malice boomed through the chambers. A deafening forest of clicking and wheezing surrounded the men as scores of animate dead rattled together from the knobby hill. “I have always preferred to apply quantity over quality when it comes to dismembering intruders.”
“Max?” Bill ventured weakly.
“Yes Bill?”
“I’m not sure we thought this through, this plan of yours.” Bill offered before timidly asking another question.“I don’t suppose you’ve got the juice left to whip out another one of those whacking great ‘kill everything’ spells like you did with the rats upstairs?”
“No Bill, I do not.” Max answered as he kicked the first set of wobbling bones hard enough that it sent pieces into another two, knocking them down as well. “And even if I did, it’s too risky.”
“Too risky?” Bill’s desperation made his voice crack while he popped an animate in the jaw with his stout pole. “Is being torn apart by these bastards not inducement enough to roll the dice on it?”
The soulless voice laughed again, this time with a tone of mirth that conveyed a distinctly human sense of humor.
“Oh, boys, you are quite a lot of fun. I hope you stay on your feet a bit longer, I could use a dose of comedy.” It chuckled for a moment before it continued. “It does get awfully dull down here.”
“We’d rather take tea with you if you’d like a bit of company. Be easier on us, you know.” Bill hollered as he ducked a raking set of sharp fingers.
Max and Bill retreated until they were back to back as the horde pressed in on them. They punched and bashed at the onslaught, only to watch each animate be replaced by three more. Four of the damned skeletons finally ripped the staff from Bill’s exhausted hands. A charging animate sunk it’s filthy teeth into Max’s right hip as it went down. Bill was being stripped of his cloak and pulled away from Max into the crowd of dead.
“Enough!” Max roared as he swept his staff in a semicircle that sent a wave of force out in a series of expanding ripples that splintered every skeleton standing. He sagged to his knees with the effort, trying with difficulty to catch his breath.
Silence held the air for almost a minute before a pale mist flowed from the brazier and gathered into a tall human shape.
“My goodness.” The wraith stepped up to the haggard pair. “It’s a pity you had to wander in here. You are both really so feisty. Especially you. You’re scrappy.” It indicated Bill with a long wispy finger.
“And you.” The powerful specter tipped its misty chin towards Max. “So much strength. I do have a word of criticism though, you shouldn’t throw so much of yourself out at once like that. A fight can be as much about stamina as brute strength.”
“Oh... thanks...” Max exhaled his words on waning breath.
The wraith shifted suddenly, and was right on top of them. Its hands left frost burns on their necks as it wrenched them around. They could see the cruel delight in the drifting wash of its vaporous features as it pulled them in.
“Wait... hang on a second.” The burning cold of its grip slackened. Its voice went from an intimidating bass to a casual tenor. It hovered for a moment as it considered Bill’s semi-conscious face. “Bill?”
Bill roused himself as he realized that he recognized the wraith’s voice once it was speaking normally. He was confused by the indefinite features for a moment.
“Dennis?”
***
“Oufff! Damn it!” Nigel cursed under his breath as he stumbled into a pile of crates among the stacks of equipment, rubbish, spare parts and spiderwebs. The light was poor and he needed to find the coil of ‘D’ string troll gut they used for large harps.
“Oi!” One of the thugs below called up the stairs. “What are you at up there?”
“Bad light, misplaced tools... be down any second...” Nigel let his remark trail off as he found the coil of gut he was after.
“You know John, I think our luthier may need a hand.” John and Errol sounded so similar from three floors up that to Nigel it seemed one man was having a conversation with himself. “I agree, Errol, something’s rotten about all this. I’d hate to imagine what would come of our little pedigreed friend if he was up to something clever.”
Nigel heard the two men poke around the shop followed by the unmistakable click of the platinum clasps of the wyrmhide case. His pulse leapt as he heard them pound onto the stairs. They only made a couple of steps before one of the tired treads gave way. Nigel tied one end of the cord through the iron ring that opened the trapdoor to the roof above as he listened to the swearing and smashing sound of one of the brothers freeing himself from the broken stair.
“You haven’t got long now, boy.” The big man had a clear note of joy in his tone as he called up to Nigel. “You’re lucky, special even. Most people never get the chance to see what their liver looks like.”
Nigel opened the window that looked out over the front of the shop and tossed the spool out into the street below. He dashed back to the door to the stairway and flipped the lock before climbing onto the cill of the open window.
“Or their pancreas, or their gallbladder... you know the gallbladder is really a part of the liver? Well, you’ll see soon enough, boy.” The twins were forced to take their time as they climbed. With each step the antique treads creaked and sagged under their dense frames. “Don’t fret boy, we’ll give you the complete tour. You might even last long enough to get a gander at one of your kidneys.”
“Oh I think you’re being a bit optimistic, John.”
With the cord in his left hand Nigel tried to remember exactly what he’d learned at summer camp about that one mountaineering thing with the rope where one wraps it over the arm... no, under the armpit... yes that’s it, across the back, hold it with the right - ok push the case aside... sit down onto the line, let it take your weight...
Nigel sat onto the ‘D’ string, shaking so hard he thought his teeth would chatter if his jaw weren’t clamped shut. He pushed away gingerly, trying to walk down the facade of the building. The lock on the door succeeded in stopping the two thugs for slightly less that two seconds, at which time Nigel realized that the cord was far too thin for him to hold onto properly. His rappel turned into a zipping plunge that slowed him enough to prevent his ankles from breaking as he hit the cobblestones. The impact slammed him forward onto his face, turning his nose dramatically westward with a gout of blood. He stumbled onto his feet, both hands burned deeply across the palms and his backside was run across with a matching brand.
The twins made the it to the window to see Nigel staggering over to large stone obelisk in front of the shop. They realized that they could neither jump the three stories to the ground nor take the line down as it wouldn’t bear their weight. The opened their topcoats and took up three small knives in each of their hands. This sort of kill was a signature move of theirs. They loosed all twelve knives in a single salvo of whirling blades.
Nigel’s hands fumbled with pain and fear as he kept slipping at the lock with the key. Finally he managed to turn the lock, freezing the shop and its periphery in place. When he looked up at the window he’d basically fallen from, he saw the two men motionless. Their arms were extended and each of them had a cruel smile on his face.
There were twelve knives reflecting the flickering light of the streetlamp as they hung in space just a few feet above Nigel’s head.
***
“Well, Dennis has explained to me that he’d run across a friend down here. So he brought the two of you up onto the veranda.” Matan’ Daar sat down carefully in a wicker chair fitted with linen cushions. “He also said that he owed you a favor. Which is why he asked me out here to sit with you. He said you’d come all this way just to see me.”
“Thanks” Max said. “We appreciate you taking the time...”
“Yes, yes, I know the routine... spare me the pleasantries.” Matan’ Daar was very lean without being thin. Hs dark skin literally glowed with an amber hue as was the case with the most powerful elvish mages. He was well aware that only the minds of only very exceptional men were as keen as those of elves. Even then, he was brighter than most of his kin and he had little patience for human niceties. “Now, Dennis brought you up here, which he never does, and I’ve come out to speak with the two of you, which I never do... Geoffery, bring a round of restoratives for everyone, our guests look like death warmed over.”
A well kept and perfumed animate that had been standing proudly at the back of the crime lord’s retinue swept back into the chambers of the copper palace. There were six or seven well dressed and beautiful hangers on out on the porch smoking from long stemmed pipes and sipping at cocktails. Two of them were very deadly looking in addition to being handsome, they stood immediately behind Matan’ Daar with their hands folded. Each of them was part elf, quite muscular, and armed with a pair of long slender blades sheathed against their thighs.
“Now, I’m curious, how is it that my best sentry owes a small fellow like you a favor?” He looked at Bill and raised a playful eyebrow.
“If I may, sir.” The wraith spoke from behind Bill and Max in a warm tone. He had tightened his shifting form into something more solid and translucent. “Mr. Heartles works at the Ministry. I’d been locked up for quite a while, waiting on an appeal, when the protocol changed.”
“Mmm, yes I recall that little reorganization of theirs.” Matan’ Daar reached for a light blue drink from his servant’s tray. “Please, do go on.”
“They had decided to change the status of all class five free roaming vapors such as myself and have us removed directly to the abyss. They didn’t want our paperwork ‘clogging the system’ they said.” Dennis paused as he recalled the memory. “Bill and I had been working at getting me a release from the limbo processing unit, we were just waiting on a form...”
“A four fifty one ‘R’ nineteen.” Bill offered automatically before shrinking under the unified gaze of Matan’ Daar and his entourage.
“Yeah, anyway, Bill and I had more than a few chats while we’d been waiting on the bloody form, and when the order to redirect me to the abyss came out Bill lost my file and shuffled me out the back, in a manner of speaking.” The mist shrugged with a grin.
“Well, I’d say that’s quite a favor. Saving you from damnation.” Matan’ Daar smiled at Bill. “In a way you’ve done us both a good turn, Dennis is the best wraith I’ve had in my employ for some time. He has a talent for making a bit of fun out of the steady stream of addicts and jugglers that paddle in here from the bay looking to liberate some of my goods.”
Max and Bill looked back and considered the size of the hill of bones below the porch.
“That explains who you are, my little guest. Now, what I’d like to know, Max, is precisely what a champion ‘tosser like yourself is doing down here below the catacombs.” Matan’ Daar smiled at Max. “You can’t be surprised that I remember you. After all, I made quite a bit of gold from gamblers foolish enough to bet against you. Really, I was quite disappointed when your uncle told me you’d decided to join the calvary instead of making your mark in the majors.”
“I imagine, since you knew my uncle, that he owed you money.” Max sighed over his cocktail. The potion’s effects were remarkable, after a couple of sips Max already felt his strength return, along with a dangerous lift in his confidence. “I hope you weren’t...”
“Involved in your uncle’s demise? No. I believe I know who was, but that’s not what we’re talking about just now.” He leaned in, his features gently darkening. “I’d like to know why you two would like to see me.”
“Business.” Max sat up straight. Bill smiled nervously, he was happy to let Max do the talking.
“Business? Between the two of you and myself?” The entourage giggled softly. “Please, tell me what would sort of business would you like to conduct?”
“We’d like to offer you a trade in return for some of your wares.” Max kept his eyes locked with Matan’ Darr’s. “Greyvesdust, specifically, is what we’re after.”
“Oh, that’s sad Mr. Gladivus, don’t tell me that you pair are just another couple of junkies here to try and skim a fix off of me.” Matan’ Daar sat worriedly back in his seat. “I hope, I really do hope, that a champ like you hasn’t fallen to that.”
“No. Not at all. Bill and I need quite a lot of ‘dust in order to... fix a problem.” Max tried to explain without offering too many details.
“In my experience, Mr. Gladivus, greyvesdust does not fix problems, it generates them.” He looked sideways at Max and considered that the man had something odd in mind. “I’m curious, not enough to ask just what you need my product for, but I am curious. How much ‘dust are you in need of?”
“Ten stone’s of it.” Bill answered wanly.
There was a pause, complete silence covered the veranda for a long moment before the entire group, excepting Max and Bill, erupted into laughter.
“Oh my. Oh my goodness you two are wonderful fun! And here I thought Tyro was going to be the highlight of my evening!” Matan‘ Daar regarded the expressions of his guests. “I don’t believe it. You’re serious, aren’t you? Can either of you conceive of just how much that would cost?”
“Not precisely.” Max removed the deed to his estate from it’s oilskin pouch and set it on the slight cafe table between them. “But I’m hoping we can do business.”
Matan’ Daar smiled a moment. During the lull, another well built guard came out of the palace and whispered to his boss.
“Pardon me a moment chaps, I want to see where you’re going with this, I really am fascinated.” Matan’ Daar leaned back as his subject silently left the porch and went back inside. “Alcinia?”
One of the intolerably sexy ladies in the back of the small crowd stepped up by Matan’ Daar’s side.
“Yes?” She asked tossing her hair back in a calculated way that would become the primary ingredient in Max’s fantasies for weeks. She was as tall as Max and as radiant as her lord. Her skin was a dark honeyed gold in color. Both Max and Bill were immediately as intimidated by her as they were by their host.
“Alcinia, could you look into that project we’d talked about earlier?” He smiled easily at her.
“My pleasure.” She let a feline smile pass over her lips as she glanced once at Max and went back into the dome.
“Anyway... it seems to me that you are offering me full title of your estate, the manor of the Gladivus line included, as a trade for an obscene amount of my goods.” He looked incredulously at Max and Bill. “If that’s your idea of a fair trade, then I’m afraid you aren’t nearly the salesman your uncle was.”
“The estate of the Gladivus line is an untenable burden, not a commodity. It includes, correct me if I leave anything out, several thousand acres of blighted countryside complete with roaming beats, deadly vegetation and villages reduced to haunted ashes as well as a manor that is cursed with who knows what dark magicks. The structure is replete with ghasts and at least one wraith of purportedly invincible power. Add to that the fact that all of that wonderfully deadly property of yours has been borrowed against, heavily.” Maatan’ Daar frowned at Max.
“What you’ve just listed are it’s best attributes.” Max smiled charmingly. “And it isn’t a manor, it’s a keep. A fortress carved from the very living rock. It has withstood two great wars and the cataclysm. It is impregnable and surrounded, as you said, by a wasteland of deadly wilds. A few splashes of paint and a quick cleanup of the present inhabitants, and a fellow like you would have an impenetrable headquarters. No lawyer or collector would dare try and make good on a lien against anyone who lived there.” Max finished his drink and set it on the table next to the deed.
“A few splashes of paint, a quick clean up?” Matan‘ Daar wrinkled his brow at Bill. “Is he mad? Even I wouldn’t try to unseat the... things that make their home there.”
“No he isn’t.” Bill managed a smile and set the seal of the abyss, the one instrument that could pull any disembodied soul into eternal hell, on top of the deed. “And, for the record, one might be better off conscripting rather than banishing whatever baddies they found in there, if one had the tools to do so.”
Matan’ Daar sat back and pressed his fingertips together. Dennis evaporated with a faint rushing sound and, except for his bodyguards, the partygoers quietly slipped back inside. This was the sort of business they didn’t want to be accessory to.
“Gents.” Matan’ Daar spoke over his shoulder to his bodyguards. “Could you leave us alone for a moment and find my accountant?”
The two warriors removed themselves without a sound.
“You are full of surprises. I am impressed, very, very impressed.” Matan’ Daar’s eyes glowed with a violet light that betrayed his excitement. “You both know that what you’re offering isn’t just a trade, it’s an impossible bargain for me.” His mind was working steadily across the avenues of the future. The fortress of the Gladivus line guarded by an army of unseemly monsters. It would be an immense career move. With that kind of a base of operations he could become a global enterprise. Even the Helliotic church wouldn’t risk challenging him.
“I can’t help but say yes to this proposition of yours.” Matan’ Daar tilted his head with his query. “But what’s to keep me from adding you to my collection of bones and just keeping these treasures?”
“Nothing at all.” Max answered.
***
Nigel gasped and fought to keep from collapsing into a bawling heap. He was alive, but still in so, so much trouble. His fevered brain had only a few of its basic components still functioning. He looked about wildly for a single, curative solution to his situation. Terrified he found himself on the bench of Billingsgate’s flamboyant coach, whipping the reins and flying though the streets of Walesport.
***
Bill and Max felt themselves pierced by scores of disgusted glares as they walked through the nightclub. They were wild eyed, grinning and still covered in sewage. Their individual wounds were healed, their limbs felt strong and rested, and each of them was beaming at the immaculate patrons of Matan’ Daar’s exclusive venue. They passed along the back of the dance floor and stopped for a moment to consider the sad state of the opening performer. His wig was hanging by a few strands in the gold chains around his neck, great rivers of mascara ran down his face with sweat and tears. He was on his knees banging away at his lute. This profound display of breakdown was all happening right at the front of the stage. Most pitiful of all the man’s voice was hoarse to the point of sounding shredded.
“Isn’t that Byron James?” Max asked Bill.
“Yeah... It is.” Bill was surprised to see another classmate. He felt no compassion, however, for the bastard melting on stage. James had pursued an agenda of spreading racist rumors about him behind his back. The inference that dwarves preferred the company of ponies to women was not the worst of the slurs he’d passed around.
“Looks like Billingsgate hasn’t shown up yet.” Bill laughed. “Seems to be taking its toll on old Byron.”
“I wouldn’t want to open for that drunken idiot.” Max grinned as the two of them stepped past the guard at the rope. “Byron’s likely to be playing all night.”
The two of them were flush with victory and the potent elixir Matan’ Daar had provided them two glasses of. The first was a courtesy, the second a toast. They were so excited and magickally elevated that the five stone duffle bags each of them carried hardly weighed on them.
At the precise moment that they tasted the open air, a calamity of wheels on cobblestones and skittering hooves came down the street at full tilt. A pandemonium of colored lights and garishly decorated horses barreled at them.
“Looks like Billingsgate’s at the reins himself.” Bill joked.
“Yeah, I guess he’s going to make his show after all.” Max added with a grin that faded as he recognized the driver. “Oh s**t... Bill, that’s Nigel!”
The coach barely came to a stop in front of them. All three were so confused by their sudden meeting that nobody said anything for a minute.
“Right... change of plans!” Nigel shrieked at his friends without any idea what he was saying. “Get on! Quick! Get on!”
Max leapt aboard, more out of his instinctual love of bad ideas than anything. Bill followed suit with a shake of his head. He figured that there was no point in splitting up now, they’d made it this far together.
“Thank all the gods! You have have to help me.” Nigel lashed the horses again and took off down the street. “I have buggered everything up, you won’t believe what I’ve gone and done...”
“Nigel, why are you driving Billingsgate’s coach?” Bill asked as Max took their bags and stowed them on top of the bouncing wagon. “Which brings me to ask why, since you are the acting chauffeur for his highness, Tyro Billingsgate, did you not drop him off at his show?”
“What?” Nigel asked in a panic. “What do you mean? He’s already there, didn’t you see him in there, you know surrounded by maidens... drunk off his ass?”
“No, he never showed.” Max looked at Nigel. He noticed the lute case under the bench and felt what would have been a sinking sensation had he not been so hopped up rejuvenating spirit. He swiped the case from under the seat and opened it. The brilliant jade lute forced a shudder from Max. “What the hell are you doing with this?!”
“I told you, I’ve buggered it, I’ve completely buggered it...” Nigel was making very little sense.
“You know this thing is evil. Really evil.” Max felt waves of malice emanating from the instrument. He snapped the case shut and tossed it through the curtain behind the bench.
“Ow!” A voice from inside called out.
“Nigel...” Bill managed to say as Tyro Billingsgate tuck his head past the curtain. By the bags under his eyes it was apparent to the three of them that the man had been sleeping one off. “Nigel you... bastard!”
“Oi! I told you morons to wake me when... wait... who the hell are-” Tyro’s question was cut short as Max punched him in the jaw, knocking him out cold. The rock star swayed a moment and fell back into his coach. Nigel and Bill looked at Max completely speechless with horror.
“Things are complicated enough.” Max told them.
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